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[romillygliacon-blog]

caloreprincess:

My eyes aren’t blue.

One would think this might shock the princess from her reverie, but she’s stuck in that place between consciousness and confusion. She doesn’t think about it, not in any sort of sensical way at least, when she says ❝ Just come lay next to me a moment. ❞

She can’t be sure who it is she speaking to. Perhaps she’s speaking to Rom, the girl she’d spent the better part of her life going from girl to grown alongside. Perhaps she was speaking to her brother, the boy with piercing eyes who had sent daggers into her heart when he laid next to her in bed – fuck could really have only been a few days prior? Odd, truly, the passing of time. How days could feels like minutes and mere moments could feels like decades. 

This was one of those moments. 

❝ I am feeling… ❞ and it dawns on her. She can’t feel the right side of her body, or at least the top half of it. She can’t look down at it, but she suspects she would find further evidence of the fire’s betrayal, would see where her clavicle had fallen prey to flying shrapnel, a gasp spilling blood down her pretty new dress. ❝ Why can’t I feel my arm? ❞

         Her brows draw together at Max’s request -- does the princess even comprehend what just happened? ( a brief thought flickers through Romilly’s mind: does she herself? ) She looks from her friend to the room and it is like she is looking through a window. There is a disconnect -- she feels no worry for the rest, just for her friend.

                  Is this what being cold has caused her to become?

         A sigh escapes through her lips before she finds herself sitting beside her friend, her skirts dusty and looking bedraggled upon the floor. It is a weird perspective down here. Looking up, everything seems so big. She feels small. Her voice sounds distant when she says, “ I’ll only sit for a moment. We shouldn’t stay sat here forever. ”

         They should have likely left already, if they were able. This is no place for them to be. The idea of safety seems foreign, but she knows it is what they should be seeking. The sounds of the room are beginning to become harder to ignore, but for a moment it was nice to sit next to her best friend, her head empty of both worries and the frilly bits that normally filled it. 

                  It is a quick thing -- the second it takes for it all to come crashing down.

         Romilly’s eyes find the red stain blooming on her friend’s dress and she wonders, ‘how did I miss that before?’ Her lips part and she doesn’t know what to do. What can she say? She is frozen, and she is becoming more conscience of the sound of the thudding of her own heart beating. 

         Her hand reaches out, her fingers ghosting over her friend’s injury. “ I’m going to get someone -- anyone. I don’t know what to do -- can I leave you alone? Are you alright with that? ”

[romillygliacon-blog]

caldergliacon:

        It was, frankly, a rather boring day. Max was busy in her room, writing or doing something else important and royalty-related, and he was stuck outside the door, wishing more than anything just to talk to someone. He missed it, on these quiet days, days where the world stood so still he felt entirely invisible. Cal knew that he was easy to forget, but it never got any easier to fade into the background anyway.

        His attention perked when the door opened, and he was surprised into a smile when Romilly walked through – no matter how often she ignored him, it was instinctive to be happier with her there. He was a homebody at heart, someone who liked to be close to the people he loved, and when she stopped, he felt an odd warmth in his chest. It faltered, slightly, at her words ( I didn’t expect to see you here, this place where we both work and share space ) but he persisted. If Romilly wanted to talk, he wanted to listen.

        She smiled too, and for a moment he thought, this is it, this is my chance, but the longer he looked at it the more he realized she was looking at nothing at all. She smiled the way you smile at someone you haven’t met before, and that distance – it was icier than one of his own blades straight through his heart. He kept it from his face, but he felt hollowed by this, his failure, his broken relationship with the person he’d been meant to care for since before he’d ever known Max Calore. How could she see anything more than a stranger when it was obvious he’d disappointed her yet again?

       Idle gossip stained her lips, and again he was reminded of a meeting between strangers, two people who had only seen each other from afar. It was a dull ache rapidly coming back to a sharp pain, echoing in the back of his skull as memory flooded him. Of nights where he would come home covered in pale bruises and Romilly, still so small, would climb into his lap and pat at his face so carefully. I’m okay, he would say, over and over until she believed it, but he never had been. She looked at him now and wondered if she would still come, if he was hurt, if he was bleeding. Or if her eyes would skate over him in search of someone she truly cared for.

        It doesn’t matter, he told himself. It doesn’t matter if they care for you. Care for them. That’s your job. 

        ❝ I think not, ❞ he argued, doing his best to offer her what he hoped was a congenial enough smile. ❝ I don’t think Orion would appreciate me leaving my post. Nor would I be a good ruler. You’re twice as strong of will as I am and you know it. ❞ There was familiarity to those words that he knew she might hate, the reminder that they’d been close, the reminder that he missed her. That he wanted her to know him anyway. ❝ I told Vezina I’d make you a nice, glittery sign to hold up when I watch you compete. ❞

          Where did regret come from? Time that passed, letting the divide split and crack? A sour tongue that burned with words unspoken? No matter -- the grief had been building up within Romilly’s chest for some time, layers of sadness and solitude that choked and ruined a girl. There was no way to turn back time to stop the walls from being built, to keep her kind and soft. 

         The cold and unfeeling woman she saw when she looked in the mirror was unfamiliar.          She still could close her eyes and remember when she was composed of soft edges.          Looking at Calder now sent a wave of melancholic nostalgia through her veins.

         It seemed that the ground they stood upon was made of ice. They were trapped, having to stay  in the same place, for fear of everything cracking and finally falling apart. Every motion, every movement -- precarious. It was a pity and a shame.

         You’re twice as strong of will as I am and you know it.

         Her head tilted towards the side, doubt crossing her features. She wanted to contradict him, to say that it wasn’t true -- how she wished to say it was; what a dream that would be  -- but how could she? Did he know her anymore? Did she know him? She wished she could say she did. “ I would hardly say that. ” Her gaze turned downwards, and she dismissed his words with a flick of her hand. “ I have done nothing of any importance, and should say I likely will not in the coming future. ” 

        She paused in her deprecations, looking at him. She wondered briefly what view he had of himself. Time had passed, but she still thought of him in the same ways she did when she was young: he could tell her he held the stars in his hands, and she wouldn’t doubt it.

         At his last comment, she looked at him, her eyes widening. It took a moment, but then a laugh bubbled up to her lips, spilling out in semblance of amused surprise. The sound startled her, and she could feel her cheeks begin to flush. When she spoke, she had cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. “ Calder Adair Gliacon -- you will do no such thing. ” She wouldn’t admit it, but the idea of the support was nice. The idea of it being in such a visual manner was even better.

[romillygliacon-blog]

what a shame it is to look as if you have it all under control – a smile frozen on your face, eyes gazing forward in an unwavering stare. you wish only to square your shoulders and keep your chin raised high but you can’t. you know it. they know it. all that is asked of you is to sit still, look pretty. if only you could raise your fists high, if only you could be fairly compared to those around you.

[romillygliacon-blog]

i miss my brother like the sea would miss salt if that were taken away.

Emma Cameron, Cinnamon Rain  (via slytherinwritess)

[romillygliacon-blog]

caloreprincess:

The flames have betrayed her and she cannot breathe. 

( To be fair, she hasn’t been  able to breathe in years. )

She didn’t see it coming – no one did – when the flash of light struck across the stage, sending the podium her brother had been standing at into a million fluttering shatters, causing slivers of wood to fall from the sky like a deadly pillow fight. It is disorienting, to say the very least. She had never felt a force such as that; not when Cassius send marble statues to smithereens in front of her, not when Marius landed a particularly good blow at her chest, not even when Calder when lifted her into his arms did she feel such pure, crushing shock. It was like it was all she could see, stars and technicolor, a devastation extending so far beyond what she could imagine. 

But like a siren’s song, she hears a voice through the darkness. ❝ Cal? ❞ she mumbles, her voice a nonsensical vibration in her throat. She can’t help the way she prays for Calder, even ( Perhaps, especially ) in this state of devastation. But she’s being shaken, force to roll over fully onto her back, and as her eyes flutter open they are met by a different pair of green eyes than the ones she expects. A Gliacon to her rescue, as usual. 

She stares up from the ground at her best friend and even as she feels the weight of rubble on her chest and in her hair and ash in her lungs, she smiles a ridiculous little thing. ❝ You’ve such blue eyes, Rom. ❞ 

She’s delusion, surely. She cant make sense of nothing.

         The fact that Max brought up Cal struck her in a way that was unfamiliar. It was the obvious reaction for the princess to seek her guard, but for a sister not to think of her brother first? A pang struck her in her heart, and a beat of time passed.

                    There were more important things at hand to worry about now.

         Her hand reached out to rest on the arm of her friend, a gentle touch. Quick glances flitted over the princess, looking for any sign of sign of external injury. ( she didn’t know what she’d look for. the other woman looked dazed and dirtied, and those were the most obvious things -- all composure had been lost, as if it had never existed in the first place. )

                          “ You’ve such blue eyes, Rom. ” 

                    The laugh that escaped her lips was probably inappropriate, given the situation.

                          “ My eyes aren’t blue. ” 

                   It didn’t matter. Still, the phrase came out without thought. Romilly’s mind was moving slowly, jumping from one thought to another, giving no substance or value to much.

         “ I’m going to get you some help. Just tell me what you’re feeling right now. ”

[romillygliacon-blog]

          Romilly had never been one to spend too much time at the gym, especially not during the day when people are more likely to frequent it. When she did go, she tended to go in the mornings before dawn, or at night after most had left. Her insecurities were not something she liked to share, and her ability ( or lack thereof ) was the most obvious to everyone around. Working with Valeria, though, she had gained more confidence. Not a lot, but it was still more than she had in the past.

          She is just preparing to leave the gym -- she has been gone from Max’s side for too long now, plus more people had begun to arrive. She doesn’t want all these people around her, watching, especially not after all the things that have been happening within the Silver society itself.

          “ Oh -- ”  Romilly hears the sound of Vezina tripping, the noise of the objects falling being what really caught her attention “ -- Don’t apologize, there’s no need. ” She walks back towards the other woman, silently reaching down to pick up the few things that Vezina had yet to grab.

          She holds the objects out towards the other woman, before she drops her hand to her side. “ I think you should step away for a moment. Compose yourself. ” The words sound blunt, but Romilly means no harm. She knows how she feels when she is upset and, though she isn’t close with Vezina, she still has a sympathetic heart. She wouldn’t do anything to further someone’s discomfort or distress.

DATE: march 21st LOCATION: outside the gym STATUS: open  

         Vezina was a mess, but the world wasn’t sitting around waiting for a mess to breathe again. The world didn’t just stop because someone Vezina loved (she really did love her mother, no matter how often things were awful with her. She takes a deep breath, her mind racing like it hasn’t since she was still in school. The gym will quell her fear, will calm her anxieties. She just needs a punching bag. 

          She makes her way to the gym quickly and quietly, not stopping at all. Then, in quick succession, three things happen: Vezina trips over her own two feet ( a rarity that Vezina has her guard down enough to trip is nearly a miracle ), Her boxing gloves fall out of the bag, along with a knife, and Vezina lands on the ground and feels tears prickling her eyes. 

           She doesn’t cry, ever. Vezina isn’t a fan of showing weakness, but in this moment she is weak. Her mother is the gone, Evelina is gone, so many people she knows were gone in one instant and she’s not allowing herself to cry too much at home because she is caring for her father. Right now, she obviously needs to cry, but she wants to run away from Norta itself, away from anyone who might see. 

          “I’m sorry,” she chokes out at a spectator, trying to gather her things and escape. 

[romillygliacon-blog]

do not let her icy demeanor fool you, for she is pure fire.

and she will burn the world – (r.o.)

[romillygliacon-blog]

          The ground under her feet still hadn’t steadied. It had been hours since the explosion, but still each step she took within the bunker was carefully measured ( she was still worried that any moment another terrible thing would happen, sending her through the air once more ). It was a terrible grip this worry had on her, but she spoke of it to no one.

                    The ice princess façade everyone thought defined her would not break today.

          But still she paced around the area in the bunker that remained unfilled with silver and red alike -- the only real sign of her discomfort. One step after the other, counting in sets of eight, she had lost track some time ago of how long she had been walking. It was her way of working the stress out. She had to put all of her attention into something consuming, something that took no real thought to do. The effort it took caused her sore muscles to stretch and burn, but it was better than sitting still. It was better than letting herself be absorbed into the solemn demeanor of the bunker.

          Perhaps her pacing wasn’t the best thing to do -- the mass of people was hard to maneuver around, people blocking what should have been open paths by sitting or laying down -- but she had been doing just fine avoiding stepping into anyone for some time.

                             She had done well at avoiding stepping into someone -- until she didn’t.

         An apology had bubbled to her lips, but the urge to           say it had popped when Octavian began to speak to her.

                   She was tired.                     
          She was bloodied. 
                                        She was bruised.                                        Tonight she would hold no tolerance for any impatience. 

                   Her eyes glinted with displeasure, with anger, and her stare turned cold. “ Don’t you dare speak to me like that. ” Romilly folded her arms across her chest, raising her chin so she could look at him directly. “ You might be tired. You might be hurting from the explosion. You might not want to be here. But the fact is we all are feeling those things right now, and your anger will not make anything better.”

          Her jaw clenched and her gaze turned away from him for a split second, irritation covering her features. A moment passed before she shook her head and returned to looking at him. “ If I hurt you by walking into you, I could understand your outburst. However I hardly believe my bumping you was anything more than an annoyance. If you’re seeking some validation by putting out your frustrations on someone, I hope you’re wise enough to grasp that that someone will not be me. ”

THICK WITH THE SCENT OF CHAOS

DATE: March 19th TIME: 8:52 PM LOCATION: Bunker STATUS: Open to all

The sobs of a woman to his right drowns out all other sounds. A room this size, with as many people as there are in here, should be filled with chatter, enough to drown out anyone’s thoughts, but all Octavian can hear are this woman’s sobs. No matter what corner he runs to, who he talks to, he can only hear her. The sound of absolute grief, pulling at his heartstrings, gnawing at his conscience. It’s been nearly an hour and now her wails are starting to affect his head, resonating just behind his eyes in a strong ache, consuming all his other senses. 

Goddamnit.

He rubs irritably at his temples, willing her to keep quiet, to let the others within the bunker get some rest, get some peace, but her pain is clearly more than anyone else’s. At least that’s how it seems as she widens her mouth once again, sucking in another long gasp for air, only to exhale it a moment later in the same octave as a small child. Jesus Christ.

“For God’s sake, woman!” He turns and yells at her, but instantly regrets it and bends at the knee to apologize, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but you—” he stops momentarily, reaching behind him for a glass of water atop the table closest to him. “Here,” he offers it up and she takes it with a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes; she’s still scared after his outburst, and he doesn’t blame her. “I’m sorry,” he offers again, “it’s been a rough day for all of us.” He stresses the fact that everyone has lost someone. He doesn’t want to diminish her pain, her sacrifice, he just wants to get her to shut up. Any other day and the entire incident would have laid on his conscience for weeks on end, but he’s already had someone die right in front of him today, and he’s seen his best friend lose his soul. He’s had enough. 

He gives her a pat on the shoulder and a sympathetic smile, reaching into his back pocket as he stands and pulls out a handkerchief. It’s red and folded three times in half, sentimental, yes, but in the moment he can’t remember why and hands it to her anyway. “Thank you,” she whispers, barely audible and he nods before turning on his heels to head back into the crowd, but he’s stopped abruptly as he slams into someone hard. “Watch where you’re fucking going,” he barks, not in the mood for carelessness right now, nor rudeness.

[romillygliacon-blog]

                              I guess you could say that my life's a mess                                    but I'm still looking pretty in this dress                                              I'm the image of deception

[romillygliacon-blog]

[romillygliacon-blog]

DATE: March 19th LOCATION: The Gathering Hall OPEN TO: @caloreprincess

She opens her eyes.

         There’s a beat.                    A pause.                              A moment when the world feels still.

          What happened? The thought runs through Romilly’s head, and everything just feels wrong. Actually, everything hurts. Her head, her back, herarmsherneckhereverything. What happened? She takes a deep breath, struggling to lift her head up from where it rests on the tiled floor. There is dust in the air, and something smells like smoke.

          There are other people. She sees them now. Some are moving, and some aren’t.

                   She blinks.

          Orion had been speaking about Crownstrial, and then he had stepped away from the podium, and then boom.

                    The world had brightened -- it flashed, it blinded -- and she watched as those in front of her were suddenly further away as she was thrown backwards towards the wall. The sound of the explosion was the last thing she heard. Her ears are now filled with a high pitched noise. 

        She looks around again, seeing those still in the hall with their mouths open in soundless screams. Her mouth is open, too, she realizes, and her throat feels raw and ragged.

                  She reaches her hands up towards her head. Her fingers come away, glazed in silver. That explains the pain, she thinks. Her head feels foggy. Something is missing.

                            The sound comes back. 

                   Slowly. 

         Gradually. 

                   And then all at once. What she hears is unpleasant.

          She lays her head back down on the tile, her eyes focusing on the ceiling above. She takes a second to think of how she’s never really looked up in this room before. What else in the palace has she not seen?

                    There were so many places she had been. The kitchens, the quarters of others. Gardens, and libraries, and meeting halls. She and Sofiya and Max had done their fair share of exploring. It was usually the other two who decided to explore, Romilly would never disagree, but Sofiya and Max always --

          Max.

                    Max.

                              Where was Max?

          The other girl had been standing right beside her.            Romilly feels her blood run cold.

                             “ Max, ” her voice is ragged, and suddenly tears spring to her eyes.

                   She uses both hands to push herself upwards, her face wrinkling in discomfort. She turns her head, glazed eyes moving quickly over the bodies she doesn’t recognize as her friend. “ Max, where are you? ” she calls out for her friend again.

          A figure on the ground not too far from her catches her eyes and she feels her heart nearly stop. Thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Despite her muscles and bones screaming for her to stay still, to not move, she crawls gingerly towards the figure.

                    She reaches out a hand, letting it rest on her friend a beat before giving a gentle nudge. “ Max? It’s me, it’s Rom. ”

[romillygliacon-blog]

          Every noise made in the bunker made Romilly flinch: the rustles of torn fabric dragging against the stone floors, the sounds of sighs slipping through open lips. They were terrible things to hear, and the idea of them became worse when she remembered the circumstance of why they were gathered together. Even when Romilly reached up to cover her ears with her hands, she could still hear the echoes of them in her head. There was no escape.

          Oh, how she wished she couldn’t hear them -- the cries and the moans that filled the room were surely to fuel her nightmares in the future -- and even the tinny ringing she had heard just after the explosion would be a welcome replacement. She wished she couldn’t remember, she wished her mind was empty of all thought.

          Still, every time she shut her eyes, the scene replayed in her mind. There was a bright flash, and then looks of shock, of horror, on the faces of those turned towards her. She had reached out to find Max’s hand, but all she grasped was open air and then rubble. Then the screams became louder than high-pitched buzz, and she realized that her throat was sore because her voice was one of those in the chorus of screams.

          Romilly couldn’t sit still within. Every new place was louder than the last, and each time she moved she grew more and more frustrated. Looking around the bunker, she saw that there were fewer people towards the far end of the bunker. She hadn’t wanted to drift too far from the main group of people but if it meant it was quieter, she would appreciate it. She walked over, her steps slow and methodical, before taking a seat alongside one of the few people over there.

          She glanced towards Theo, the one she now sat beside, her arms wrapping around herself. “ I am sorry if I am bothering you -- ” the words escaped her lips in a tense whisper “ -- it’s just too loud over there. ” A sob bubbled up out of her, unexpectedly and sudden. All other times she appreciated the sounds of the castle -- the whispers that contained gossip, the giggles and titters that escaped the mouths of her and her friends -- but now all she could wish for was silence. She didn’t think it was a wish that would come true.

DATE: March 19th

LOCATION: Bunker below the castle

STATUS: Open

Theo’s been on the war front for so long. He’s fought through countless of battles and killed countless of people. Each time he told himself he was used to it. Each time he felt himself growing more used to the vision of a dead body in front of him and the knowledge that he did that. 

Theo was not used to it.

The event happened in a blur. One minute he was standing guard, listening to the king talk about what will happen at crownstrial and the murmurs it gathered from the crowd, and the next minute he could hardly hear or see anything besides smoke and the panic of those around him. Theo had thought it was a dream— a flashback to his time at war. He thought it couldn’t possibly be happening, but he was thrown into reality when Suriel fell into his arms and he watched Nicolaus stumble forward to do the same. Thelonious was ready to hold them both, hold everyone if he had to, but he watched helplessly as Nicolaus collapsed beside him and became motionless.

Theo sat near the far end of the bunker, his body tucked up alongside a wall. He held his legs close to his chest, head buried into his arm as if trying to awaken from the nightmare he found himself in. The death just replaying in his mind, over and over again like a movie that’s stuck on repeat. He’d been off the battlefield for so long he forgot how painful the sight of death was, so much that he didn’t notice when a figure came and sat down beside him.

[romillygliacon-blog]

how to care for kassiopea nolle:

step one: don’t look at the girl and think soft. don’t look at her and think delicate. see that she is more than silken skin and a pretty smile. she is an exhilaration. she is a thrill. she is — know that soft-hearted stares will be blinded by the flashbang nuances of her soul, letting her image be seared into the back of your eyelids for forever.

step two: embrace the storm that lives within her. feel the edges of her, brilliant and ragged, under rough fingertips. let her current run through your heart, each shock knocking a new rhythm into its beat. learn to live with the lightning that strikes when least expected. learn to live with the passion that come with smiles that could brighten even the darkest of skies.

step three: learn about her. learn what potential she has. show her that storms have power, and that there can be beauty and glory beyond the fear and destruction. let her live to her fullest. let her be striking. let her illuminate all that’s around. she is light, she is power, she is inimitable.

step four: if she pushes away, pull her back. whisper that you can weather it all. whisper that you can see the calm after the storm. don’t forget that storms are fights. dark clouds might cover the future. you might only see cracks and jagged edges but remember: she has never been known to be tame. she has never been known to be frail or fragile.

step five: let her love fiercely, and you need to love the same. love with passion: turn your love into strength and do not let it dissipate. you chose to love her seeing the brightness of clouds on a nice day. you need to love her even when things grow dark. you need to love the fighter’s mind behind those eyes. you need to love the hands that are soft to you even when they’ve struck more than you can imagine.

[romillygliacon-blog]

          There was a physicality that had been introduced to Romilly as of late, one that she was still unsure of how she felt about. She was putting all of her hopes, all of her trust, into Valeria training her -- the memory of her asking the older woman to do so still caused her heart to race, for a lump to rise up in her throat -- but there was a part of her that had her doubts. 

          What if she couldn’t become better?                     What if she failed anyways?

          Whatever the outcome, she knew that she was going to try. She was in too deep to walk out now. If she had to train in the early hours before the sun rose, if she had to go through her day tired and frustrated after repeated failures -- so be it. 

          It was a hard thing to keep it secret. She wished she could tell Max and Sofiya. They surely would be supportive. She wanted to show Cal that she had improved in her ability slightly; she wanted to say that she was the same little girl that looked at her brother like he held the world in his hands. The same one who only wanted to be like him. But she was doing this for herself. Not for the Gliacon name, not for society. She was doing this to prove to herself that she could improve and exceed expectations. She wanted to be able to see herself as more than just a girl made of satin and lace. It would be known to her and Valeria only -- only time could tell if it would be revealed to others.

          The problem with secrets were that they were a hard thing to keep. Between the Houses, gossip ran rampant. It would take one more person to know, and then everyone would know. 

          There were bruises on her forearms because of Valeria’s methods. Valeria wanted Romilly to be more than just her ability ( romilly had tried to argue that she wasn’t even that at the start to no avail ) and had been teaching her how to be reflexive and how to react. 

         It wasn’t going well. 

         To go to a skin healer meant questions, but her arms still stung -- she was unused to feeling such discomfort -- and she could hopefully come up with a good enough lie to cover up the reasons why.

          She walked into the infirmary, her chin raised upwards as she approached the first person she saw -- a younger woman with a book. Romilly did not return her smile, instead she gave a curt nod. She turned her gaze away and not seeing the Skonos healer, she sighed. “ I don’t suppose you could get me a cool compress, or ice even, if you have it? ”

DATE: march 14. LOCATION: infirmary. STATUS: open.

The days Bailey could spend in the infirmary, learning how to heal, how to make a difference were her favourites. Some days, it could be frustrating – you can’t learn the healing arts in a night, and there was so much Bailey had to learn. Other days, the methodicalness of her routines were calming. Whatever calm had been with her today, though, had long since been shattered. Each person who’d passed her had been in a state about this new change, Queenstrial to Crownstrial. A bride to a spouse, and sheer power as the sole judging criteria to something new, something better. In terms of changes to tradition, this did not seem as drastic as the attitudes of the Silvers Elites suggested. It merely gave more people, more families, the chance to bring themselves honour. What was so horrifying about that?

Maybe it was because she had little left to lose any more that the concept of change wasn’t so daunting anymore, but she couldn’t understand the Silvers reaction. If they reacted this badly to Queenstrial, however was equality for Reds going to happen?

The door to the infirmary opened, causing Bailey to look up from the medical ook she’d been studying. She offered them a bright smile, standing up to greet whoever had just entered.

“Can I help you?”

[romillygliacon-blog]

DATE: March 13th LOCATION: Entryway to Princess Max Calore’s Quarters TIME: About 7:15 pm OPEN TO: @caldergliacon​

        The taste of sugar lingered on her lips as Romilly left the kitchens, heading back upstairs to her lady’s chambers. It was a sweet reminder that there were still small distractions to be found despite the overwhelming urge she had to simply just shout. Never in her life had she felt so shaken by something as she did by the announcement of Crownstrial. It was not so much that she was opposed to it, but Romilly had always been the sort to appreciate tradition. Change rattled her, sending thought after buzzing thought through her mind until the hum of possibilities of the future to come was all she could focus on.

        Finally she approached the door leading to Princess Adeline’s rooms, she reached a hand out to push it open. It would be an understatement to say she was surprised to see the figure standing behind it --

         “ Calder, I wasn’t expecting to see you. ”

        The surprise came from the fact that rarely did she see him apart from Max, but even then there was little interaction between the siblings. He had his duty as guard, she provided companionship to the princess. 

        A smile rose to her lips as she greeted her brother, though there was little kindness nor even mirth behind it. If anything, it came from obligation, a habit, and this was clear in her expression. There was no hesitation in saying that Romilly had lost the ability to speak freely to him, someone she would have once called a confident. Looking up at him, she wondered when it was that he had begun to seem unfamiliar to her.

                    When was it that she lost touch with her brother?

        It was if a stranger was standing in front of her, she thought, as she looked up at him. Her gaze didn’t waver, and for a moment it seemed like she was studying him. There was surely a slight resemblance between the physically, in their coloring and perhaps the angles of their faces. They both carried a stoic silence with them, a cool demeanor.

                  ( When was it that she lost touch with herself? )

                    The question came to the forefront of her mind so suddenly,                     and it was nearly overwhelming -- but she knew that now was not                     the time to dwell on such, especially with conversation at hand.

        Romilly forced herself to bring her focus back to her brother, to the conversation she had initiated. ( Would it have been easier if she had only said a greeting before mumbling an excuse about being busy? ) As her lips parted, it occurred to her that she wasn’t sure of what she should talk to him about. The obvious choice was Max -- the Princess was one of the few things they had in common -- but no matter the alternative it was likely any conversation that could bloom would seem forced.

         What a pity that was.

        The only other idea that came to mind was to speak of Crownstrial. It was surely what was on everyone’s mind -- whether because they were excited for the change to arrive, or angered by the slight to tradition that their new king had -- and perhaps it would make for a good, if not slightly-neutral topic to bring up.

        “ House Gliacon might finally see one of their own with a crown on their head with this change of competition -- ” there was a teasing tilt to her tone of voice, bordering perhaps even on harsh “ -- and you surely would have a better chance than I, wouldn’t you think? ”

[romillygliacon-blog]

          It was a hard thing to keep calm, to keep her nerves down. Romilly had been training for Queenstrial for so long, in both standard and private settings -- and to hear that it was all changing? She wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or to be upset. Surely it gave her more of a chance to win, wouldn’t it? If what it took to win was more than just simple show of power, she could proceed further than she ever imagined. Still, since hearing the announcement, a stone had settled in her stomach, leaving her feeling ill and unsettled. All she wanted to do was make her family proud, to have them look upon her with more than just stoic coldness, but she couldn’t help but wonder what if she made a fool out of herself anyways?

          A fortunate thing was how busy the castle was -- there was always a distraction to be found if only she looked hard enough. Though she loved being alongside her two dearest friends, she knew that the pair would certainly have many things to say about the new Crownstrial. Thoughts of the event were all that ran through her head -- she needed no aid in keeping such things there. The kitchen seemed a good place to go, she thought. She could claim she wanted to run to fetch a snack for herself, as well as Max and Sofiya. It was a good excuse as any. She slipped through the doors to the kitchen as one opened inwards. 

         Standing off to the side, the very first thing that caught her eye was a girl frosting what looked like to be a cake. Romilly could appreciate the focus the other had, the attention to detail. It was easy enough to lose track of time, and watch as the formerly bare cake became something beautifully decorated. When she noticed the other pause and look up, Romilly stiffened. She hadn’t hoped to make conversation.

          “ Oh, I really shouldn’t, ” Romilly took a step back, glancing over her shoulder before she let her gaze meet the girl’s once more. “ I only came here to -- ” she faltered, a sigh spilling from her lips before she shook her head. One of her hands rested on the table, close to the side of the cake opposite to where the girl worked. It would only take a single motion to reach out and glance her fingers upon the frosting that looked so soft. “ Actually, I wouldn’t mind trying it, if that it alright with you? ” She could see no harm coming from it -- if anything, it would only provide her with fair chance to waste time some more.

DATE: march 15 LOCATION: archeon kitchen STATUS: open

There was a low hum that echoed throughout the Archeon halls that spoke of the future Queen, the Crownstrial; it was all terribly distracting, until Melody began to feel that she could scarcely hear her own heart in the midst of the low whispers of who will compete and who will the families choose. After all, she had no claim in any house rivalries and competitions; she understood little of their politics, only knew the world from her place as a new Red apprentice. So she spent most of her time in the kitchen, deciding that she will placate the people’s spirits with food and treats and all edible, lovely things. 

She was nearly done decorating the cake with icing and small garnishes when a stranger made themselves known. Melody stilled her worker’s hands and looked up, a comfortable smile on her lips (for how could she be anything but comfortable in the kitchen?). “Were you hoping to sneak a taste? Because I made an extra one, just for fun.”

[romillygliacon-blog]

bvrner:

     That was the last thing that Orion really want to hear from his own statement ( that an opposite action was possible ). He wanted to hear silence after his statement with the hope that no one was truly there, but he had been a fool to think that he could remain in such peace. When he turned to see that it was Romilly, he was tempted to smile at her, but the formation would take far too much work to make one look genuine. A smile would potentially wreck havoc on his composure and trigger tears instead. He had to remain complacent at this time, so he looked back down at the bottle resting in his lap.

     “That type of love leaves scars, you know? The scars that no one can see until they’ve dug deep enough into your soul to see them,” he said in a way that made it seem as if he were disregarding her words altogether and pretending she hadn’t spoken, to begin with.

          “ Doesn’t all love leave scars? ” It was less of a retort rather than a genuine sentiment. “ Yes, love that is rooted in jealousy and bitterness, that will surely leave scars that sting and scorch. But even softer sorts of love -- it leaves scars in the way it burns memories into both your mind and onto your heart. ”

          How funny it was for her to speak of love -- what did she know of it? Her knowledge of love came from storybooks and tales whispered in hushed voices, punctuated by giggles and dreamy sighs. She knew of the love she held for her family, though it is something she showed rarely. Romilly held so much love for both Sofiya and Max, as well, and all too often it felt like her heart would swell until it burst with how much she cared for those two. “ I wonder what’s worse -- to have been scarred by love and be seemingly unfazed, or to have been wracked with such things and to still have your heart on your sleeve. ”