#warborn.start

“i regret to inform you that my ladies will not be receiving visitors today.” her voice rises and falls in a gentle melody, her words softened by the lilting wenchinkan accent and while her expression exudes that same demure gentleness, there’s a firmness behind her words. there would be no argument to be had here. after the festivities their lord king had so graciously provided ( excessive—  it had all been so excessive ), sephrenia had felt it best that the ghita clan rest, taking it upon herself to stand watch outside the doors that led to the family she served to ensure no one would disturb the peace they deserved. ( someone has to be here to drive the snakes away— their agitation makes them more likely to bite. ) 

          This lake had always calmed her down ever since she found out about it’s existence. It was a peaceful and quiet place to be, and since people still seemed to be affected by the visions they saw, this was the right place to be. No people meant not feeling their emotions. It was just her, the calm water and the soughing of the wind in the trees.

          Calian, who had been laying next to her feet, lifter his head and turned it. Meilin didn’t hear anything, neither she could feel anyone. She looked down and pet him a bit. “Is someone coming?” she asked her friend and got a soft whine as a reply.

    Three. Five. Ten. Constance couldn't recall the precise number of times she read the letter from her parents months after her native home fell to the Ottolan Empire. For so long, she attempted to make sense of the reasoning behind the inked words on the parchment over and over; nonetheless, she could not comprehend it. It has been decades since she heard from her parents. Why bother contacting her now? And for what? To inform her that they escaped? Evaded possible death? Nothing from the letter had any logic to it.

          His brother and his family was visiting him for the celebration. It had been years since he last saw them and their daughter had grown up so much. Last time he saw his niece she was just a baby, but now she was almost seven. And he wanted to get her something from the market during the festival, but he had no idea what to get. He had been eyeing a rag doll that looked like a princess, but was hesitant to buy it. What if she didn’t like it?

a poison being involved, especially in the small yet big world of a monarch and his castle, could mean several things ; gaining a free ticket for the chopping block for just breathing in the wrongest of moments being one very much feared by all of the ensemble currently guest of the waning highness’ opulence, selfishly clenching to their life like they’d clench to a piece of ore --and ironically, legitimately so.

but to those like him, whose nose was more interested in trailing along dried ink and withering paper, hearing of a poison would only mean that someone had been clever and cautious enough to smuggle an intricate concoction under their nose. or has prepared it within the castle walls with an excuse or another, the possibilities were many --and mind of a scholar always would run to the next book, the scroll put aside, the notes written by an alchemist’s morbid curiosity.

chasing cautiously everything that could become a potential lead or herring --for when it came to a king’s health, after all, nothing was left to fate, because fate has left walochnia a long, long time ago.