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            interesting. she returned the gesture with a half curtsy, eyed the taller woman in a cautious glance up and down her unfamiliar attire. she had the aura and the calm self possession of a leader; though very much not the type of leader flavia had become accustomed to. not very many of those had breasts and reddened cheeks.

            "--then it is fortunate for you that i speak more than one," she replied after a moment, contemplating what sort of visitor this woman was. it was unlikely, if this stranger had approached any but herself, that it would be received with any validity. "i assume you are visiting for trade," she added offhandedly, scanning her eyes for a response.

          ⟨« ♛ »⟩ ——        Negotiations & alliances; that was her main goal of this expedition. The Amazons were in need of new loyalties as the world began to grow bigger to them, not when they could no longer trust the close Athenians to come to their aid. So, at the sound of a voice greeting her, the queen turned on her heel, greeting the stranger with a respectful nod & a mild bow.

                   ❝ pardon my ignorance, but i do not know of the language you speak. ❞

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           "..no more sense would it make if i drank myself blind and disregarded the complaints of those poisoned with the stench of my breath."

            she fixes the much taller man with an indignant stare, covering a clenched fist over her mouth and nose. "--i don't see why you cannot dirty the air elsewhere."

              “Not intentionally, but ‘s no fault                ‘o mine the wind be blowin’ it                your way, lass.”

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Above all, in my anger, I was sad. Isn’t that always the way, that at the heart of the fire is a frozen kernel of sorrow that the fire is trying - valiantly, fruitlessly - to eradicate.

Claire Messud, The Woman Upstairs (via quoted-books)

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+ amxzonian

            she is not a particularly delicate woman herself, and the sense to recognize that in others is undeniable. her lips twitch upwards out of their neutral frown, eyes fix the stranger in mild curiosity.

            a short, welcoming word is all she offers, clasping her fingers together. "--salve."

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              "--then blow that disgusting smoke in some other poor fool's face, like i asked so graciously the first time!"

             “Stop bloody repeatin' yourself,                           I heard ‘ya the first time.”

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When God is gone and the Devil takes hold; who will have mercy on your soul? No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold; nothing satisfies me but your soul.

O Death.

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                  the knuckles on her left hand grow white from the pressure of her grip, nails scratching harshly on the brass handle. she can smell the tinny odor of it. it has turned darker, spotted green from disuse, and she can feel the substance scratch off under those long nails; hears it whine like a creaking door.

                  the solitude would be the death of her.

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♞ --- forza.

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ON A SCALE OF 1-10 HOW SWAG IS FLAVIA.

              very.

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WHAT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER WHEN YOU ARE IN A BAD MOOD?

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For the purpose of character-building, feel free to send an ask regarding anything you would like to know about my character.

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A strong woman who recklessly throws away her strength, she is worse than a weak woman who has never had any strength to throw away.

Thomas Hardy // Tess of the D’Urbervilles (via saamward)

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Do you have a message from the King?