Cafuné or duende for Royai please? Thanks Shay!! ❤️❤️❤️
duende (n) dwen-des: the mysterious power that a work of art has to deeply move a person (Spanish)
In any other lifetime, he would have thought it beautiful -almost immaculate- the way its serpentine curves wound themselves around the circle that held within it the core of his craft.
On any other medium, he would have marveled at the prowess of its creator, freely dragging his fingers over the symbolic emblems of flame whenever he wished to recall its power.
But instead it brought about the putrid stench of burned flesh. The memories of corpses rotting beneath the hot desert sun; the once white sand which soaked up the ichor that flowed from raw, fetid wounds then saturated crimson.
It reminded him of the shattered promise he had uttered to its guardian. How her eyes once bright with naïve hope had become clouded with despair after witnessing the carnage her decision evoked.
He brushed his fingers along the edge of the circle and over the most pungent words that dictated the lethal code that was scrawled onto naked skin. Already he could taste the caustic sting of iron on his tongue. Could already feel the blast of heat that accompanied it. Could smell the acrid scent of bubbling fat that held with it the faintest fog of humanity.
He retched, tearing his hand away from her back to cover his mouth for fear that he would no longer be able to hold back what had been sitting at the back of his throat since the moment she had requested of him the deed he was about to commit. She jumped, startled by his gasp. But then she recovered, the muscles in her back tightening as she curled her arms against her chest as she whispered a mute, “Please…” just loud enough to be heard over the pounding of his heart against his chest.
Roy swallowed, but the sickness still remained. He pulled his hand away from his mouth and saw the deep crimson blood of those he had slain staining the weapon he had worn. He lifted his hand, pressed his fingers together, watching as the blood continued to travel down and saturate the pristine white of his glove until it dominated his vision.
And then he looked over them and saw dark red splotches dotting his vision, covering the most deadly of words. Guiding him toward their destruction. He held his breath, hand trembling, as he rejected the reminiscent scent of broiling flesh until the moment his lungs could no longer hold the air he held.
A second reticent plea broke him and he gasped, blinking back the tears that had begun to accumulate in the corners of his eyes as he fixed his gaze on the spot that lay over her left shoulder…
How stunning it would have been if it were written, not carved.
How wonderful it would be had it not been used for such destruction.
How beautiful it could have been if it had never existed…
He uttered one final, broken plea for forgiveness - for everything. And then, he steadied trembling fingers, and snapped.
A number of invitations are sent out, via couriers, to several individuals. On the back of the card was the sundry details of the soiree:
For the afternoon of the 18th of the Fifth Umbral Moon, at Number 17 of the Seasons Pillars Apartments. The reception is a open affair, so that the attendees may arrive and depart at their own leisure. Attendants are free to bring extra guests with them. An array of tea, wine, fruit, and cake shall be available. I would be honored to greet you in my new residence.
((A number of invitations were also dropped in a few public places, by a careless courier, in case someone wishes to use this as a chance to meet Ceridwen. Or I forgot to tag you.
Where: Lily Hills Apartments #17, Ward 10 of Lavender Beds
Last movie you saw: The Truman Show aka the best movie ever Last song you listened to: I Walk The Line - Halsey Last show you watched: Friends Last book you read: i’m pretty sure it was a history book but if not, Filoctetes by Sophocles Last thing you ate: a Kit Kat If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be: Disney World or New York First thing you’d do with lottery money: travel Fictional character you’d hang out with for a day: Dwen Stacy Time right now: 11:23pm
Ceridwen was walking through one of the streets near the Jeweled Crozier, with Cirrus on a leash. The flying gaelicat had not shown an interested in fleeing his mistress’s side. But Dwen knew better than to exercise a pet, without a visible restraint, in polite society. Especially one that might be considered exotic.
A piece of paper on the ground nearby caught Dwen’s attention. The pattern of the gold embossing was all too familiar. She sighed and knelt, scooping the invitation to her apartment reception off of the cold stone. She spotted a social calendar board nearby and saw that a few more of the invitations had been pinned there. Well… She had told the couriers to post it on the social boards around town.
Ceridwen shook her head and tucked the invitation into the box of extra fliers by the board and went on her way. She was generally unaware of the fact that her courier had been new, excitable, and all too eager to do her job. There were invites in just about any place someone could find news or socialization, in Ishgard.
Dwen quietly entered her father’s home, feeling content with how things had gone. Getting to have tea with someone, and for it to be a pleasant social visit, had been wonderful. She was happy that someone had been so interested in her training, and understood her efforts thus far. To think, she might’ve found a friend and an ally in her efforts, all through her brother.
But this brought her to another thought. Had Cassandre been flirting with her? Did she like that Cassandre might’ve been flirting with her? Did this mean that she didn’t like men? She could like both, right?Or was it because she’d never been shown any interest from someone who wasn’t half drunk, a pirate, or selling ‘services’? But what if this was just how women their age interacted? Some women were awfully close, without it being more than that. Right?
Dwen sighed and went to find Rhydia. Rhydia had a very close bosom companion. Dwen wasn’t sure if it was romantic or platonic. But it would be enough to answer some of her own questions, after all. Truly, it would be unwise to try to navigate this without some sort of advice.
Sirus had returned to Camp Cloudtop with the packages of seeds and fertilizers he’d been sent for. A trip to the Gridanian botany guild was always fascinating. Even more so when you accidentally run into one of your peers there.
Lady Cassandre Voleaux… She had an edge to her that was all too reminiscent of Dwen’s demeanor these days. Only… more experienced. More prepared. Sirus preps his next letter for home, thinking that if nothing else, more friends for Dwen was always a good thing.
Sirus just hoped that Lady Voleaux wouldn’t care about their family’s history, once she found out. They always did seem to find out, after all.