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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 3: Black Opal]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus, more in comments 🥰

💎 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💎

You dream that you are made of gemstones: fossilized, crystalized, eons spent beneath the earth, diamonds for bones, onyx glittering in the pupils of your eyes, crimson pebbles tumbling through your arteries, red beryl and rubies and cinnabar. Daemon is breaking you apart with a pickaxe, heaving swings and sweat dripping from his brow. He fills a wheelbarrow with jagged, gleaming pieces of you and carts them away to be cut and polished and sold. Then—in the settling dust, in the silence—the viola player comes to the empty space where you once were and kneels, collects specks of you until his palm is full of them, and stores your infinitesimal, shimmering echoes in the pockets of his trousers. Don’t worry, Petra, he is saying. I’ll put you back together. I won’t let you be lost.

You jolt awake as his hand is skimming over your hip. Then, still lying behind you, he grips you roughly and yanks you against him, shoving the hem of your nightgown up to your waist as he opens his robe, his large hands hurried and impatient.

“Yes,” you whisper into your pillows, a soft pliant surrender as golden sunlight streams in through gaps in the curtains. It’s been so long; it’s been ages down in the subterranean darkness. You are starving for this, even if you fear him, even if you hate him, even if Daemon does not try to satisfy you anymore. When you were first married he left you exhausted and breathless just to prove he could, to draw the stark blood-red line between his skill and yours. Now he withholds pleasure—something you find nearly impossible to give to yourself, perhaps five times in as many years—and takes you like this: unceremoniously, unpredictably, with rareness like a jewel’s. Yet still this taste of being desired is intoxicating, cigarette smoke in your lungs, sparkling champagne gulped until your face burns.

Daemon is panting, effort and urgency. You can feel him trying to push his way inside you; and then, when he is not yet hard enough, stroking himself with one hand, grinding himself against your warmth, your wetness, slick mineral hunger.

You moan pitifully: “Daemon, please…”

“Quiet,” he says, and when you look back at him his eyes are closed like he’s trying to imagine you are somebody else.

He is the only man who’s ever had me, and now I repulse him. What can that mean except that I am unworthy, incapable, broken?

Abruptly, Daemon shoves you away by your hips and exhales in a huff, rising from the bed.

You roll towards him and ask without venom, desperate to know: “Daemon…what am I doing wrong?”

“It’s not anything you’re doing,” he says as he ties his robe shut. His eyes are flinty, his words severe. “It’s just you.” Then he stalks out of the bedroom and you are alone.

You push yourself up on your palms and stare at your reflection in the oval-shaped mirror against the wall. Your hair is wild and your eyes forlorn. Your engagement ring, black opal from Australia, glistens on your left hand. There’s a mark on your throat—a gift from the point of Daemon’s dagger—that you’ll need to conceal. You are ashamed of yourself; you turn away.

It’s the morning of April 13th, and Titanic is 1,000 miles from Ireland.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are reclined in one of the pink-painted teak chairs on the Boat Deck and reading a copy of Henry VI, Part 3, which you borrowed from the ship’s small library. You’ve been thinking about the play ever since the viola player quoted it yesterday, here where he was not supposed to be loitering, making his oil paintings and spying on you. You are trying not to glance over at the lifeboats by the railing. You wish you didn’t know that there are far too few to hold all the passengers in the event of a cataclysm. The temperature of the water of the North Atlantic Ocean is below freezing.

“I heard you quarreled last night,” a voice says.

You look up to see Rhaenyra standing in the daylight, blue sky, white clouds, a chilly wind she guards against with a maroon shawl draped across her shoulders. Rhaenyra is dressed like a blood drop: deep gory red, gorgeous but horrible. Strings of rubies dangle from her ears. Strands of her long blonde hair—gradually turning from lemon quartz to a darker, sandier hue—have escaped from her pins and blow in the salt-lashed air.

Daemon told her? Daemon confided in her?

It is just one more humiliation, Daemon unburdening himself to his niece instead of his wife. And whatever version of events Rhaenyra heard, you’re sure it didn’t include him holding a blade to your throat. Reflexively, you touch your fingertips to the thin slice of a wound, covered by several layers of powder foundation and a choker necklace made of diamonds, pearls, and white gold. Your gown is an anemic cream color to match. “Oh?” is all you can think to say at first, inane, pathetic.

Rhaenyra sits down on the deckchair beside you and clasps her hands together, kneading them restlessly. “I believe you could have a contented marriage,” she says. “If only you would allow Daemon the freedom he requires.”

You close your book and scrutinize her with a hard glare. You have not asked for advice; you cannot trust anything she tells you. Rhaenyra will defend Daemon eternally, unflinchingly. They share more than blood. They share a defiance that scalds and singes. You are no dragon, you have never yearned for treasure, prominence, adventure, exceptionalism. You wanted to stay exactly where you belonged. “What sort of freedom?”

“The freedom to make his own way in the world,” Rhaenyra says. “To not be constrained by archaic traditions, or arbitrary bounds of morality, or overcaution, or…or…”

“The freedom to force me to leave my homeland? The freedom to take my child away from me?”

Rhaenyra is stunned. “He’s right here on the ship.”

“And your sons are back in England with the 9th Duke of Beaufort, yet I assure you that you are closer to them now than I’ve ever been to Draco.”

She cannot understand your vitriol. You have cracked the rose-colored spectacles she’s been gazing at the world through. “I’m trying to help you.”

“I have not sought your counsel.”

“Then I’m trying to help Daemon,” Rhaenyra says, flustered, struggling to remain composed. “He is not a young man anymore, and he doesn’t need discord in his own home on top of a transcontinental move and a demanding new position at Tiffany’s.” Her voice goes tender. “I know he does not wish to torment you. Daemon can be headstrong and proud, but he’s not a cruel man. And he’s been so kind while I’ve been mourning Sir Harwin Strong…”

“Kind,” you repeat dully. It is not a word many people associate with Daemon Targaryen.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra insists, as if daring you to contradict her. “Tremendously kind.”

And you notice something strange: one of the rings she is twisting on her fingers is a black opal, huge, rimmed by diamonds. It’s not a stone you can recall ever seeing her wearing before. Your eyes return to her face. Perhaps you have taken the wrong course of action. Perhaps you can appeal to her mercy, one parent to another. “Our quarrel was on the subject of my son. I wish to be a true mother to him.”

Rhaenyra rises to her feet, as if suddenly bored of this conversation. God, she’s so much like Daemon. “Then you will get further by being friends than enemies.” She inclines her head slightly, a dismissive little curtsy, then swishes off in her bloody dress. You watch her go, then open your white handbag to take out a cigarette and your holder. Then you remember you don’t have any way to light it and sigh in defeat, staring morosely at the unplentiful lifeboats.

Can I have one person who’s on my side? Just one?

As if you’ve called for him aloud, the viola player appears. He has added a black wool hat to his stolen regalia, pulled down low over his face. He glances after Rhaenyra as she disappears down the staircase that leads to the Promenade Deck—watchful, anxious—and then turns back to you.

The viola player says, his hands in the pockets of his coat: “You look like you could use a break from your part of the ship.”

You try to resist him, battling a playful half-smile that pulls at the edges of your lips, strings running beneath your skin like the rigging of a ship. “Where else would I go? To fraternize with the third-class degenerates?”

“Oh, we have all manner of degenerates for you to enjoy,” he replies, grinning. He props one shoe up on your deckchair. “The Greeks, the Italians, the Irish. I’m partial to the Irish myself.”

“Good for cheap, expendable labor? Good for dying beneath the railroad tracks?”

“Good for painting,” he says instead. He takes a small aluminum lighter from his coat pocket, flicks it to life, and holds it out to you. As you steady the lighter with one hand, you can feel that there is an engraving on the side of it. You cannot see what it is; as soon as your cigarette begins to smolder, the viola player snaps the lid shut and returns the lighter to his pocket.

You take a drag, peering up at him, thoughtful. “Are you extending an invitation of some sort?”

“I am,” he says, pleased that you’ve asked. “Think you can find your way to the Third-Class Dining Saloon? It’s all the way down on F-Deck. Every night after dinner there’s dancing and card games and…uh…” He gestures vaguely, flirtatiously. “Camaraderie for the lonesome.”

You chuckle. “I see. And do you have an Irish girl down there to entertain you?”

“Not yet. But I’m trying.”

You consider him as you smoke. The viola player waits, though he glances around uneasily, as if afraid his disguise will be seen through like a pane of unfogged glass. “F-Deck, you said?”

He nods. “In the middle of the ship, in between the two main staircases. Right next to the Turkish Baths.”

“Oh, good. I can ask Laenor for directions.”

“I can wait somewhere for you, if you want, and take you down there myself. But…” But people might see us.

“No, it’s better if I go alone,” you say. “When does the most wicked of the debauchery begin? 9 p.m.?”

“9 is sinful,” the viola player agrees. “10 is irredeemably villainous. And by 11 we’ve always begun the orgy, we’re very punctual, you could set your watch by it.”

You laugh, loud and freely, your cigarette holder tucked between your index and middle fingers. “Perhaps I’ll make an appearance this evening, Picasso.”

“I hope so. I’ll be looking for you.” Then he steps down off your pink deckchair and saunters off, soon out of sight, his black coat and hat vanishing into crowds of first-class men—heirs and tycoons and aristocrats and politicians—dressed the same way.

You try to return to your Shakespeare play (now Margaret of Anjou is declaring war on the Yorkists) but it’s no use; the viola player with all his knowing, crooked grins has filled your skull like water pouring into a sinking ship, and for a moment you have forgotten about Daemon, and Dagmar, and Rhaenyra, and this is a feeling one could get addicted to, a warm softness that polishes away barbed edges, a numb haze like too much cider or champagne.

The wind is getting stronger, and you haven’t brought a coat or a shawl. You wander back towards your staterooms—impatient for dinner, and for what will come afterwards—and on your way, down on the Promenade Deck, you find Dagmar sitting on a chair with Draco, bundled up in more than enough layers as his short white-blonde hair blows around chaotically. Dagmar is reading a book to him: Scandinavian, of course, The Ugly Duckling. She has a different voice that she uses for each character; her ancient face becomes bright and animated, as if she is draining the life from them like a vampire. Draco giggles as she reads, and you stop to watch them, standing alone on the deck and shivering in your ivory-pale dress.

Draco spots you, blinks a few times, then smiles and waves with his little hand. You can feel yourself smiling back. “Hi, Mam.”

“Hi,” you say, stepping closer. Dagmar’s blue eyes go frigid and sharp like ice. Her fingers that grip the book are knobby, gnarled, bestial. “Are you enjoying your story?”

“Yeah! The duck is so ugly everyone makes fun of him.” Draco is beaming as he announces this. You are unsure of how to respond.

“Well…maybe things will get better for him. Could I…” You point timidly at the book. “Could I finish the story, do you think? Could I read to you?”

Draco turns to Dagmar. “Can she?” he asks, and he sounds almost…hopeful.

“She doesn’t know how to do the voices,” Dagmar says curtly.

Draco frowns at you. “Do you know how to do the voices, Mam?”

“No,” you confess quietly. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry. But I could try to learn.”

“Maybe next time,” Dagmar says. She flips a page and resumes reading aloud. Then Draco is swept back up into the story, and you are forgotten, and you wait there for a while to see if he’ll notice you again before giving up and retreating back to your staterooms, a kicked dog, an unopened letter.

In the sitting room, Fern is bustling around straightening up and dusting. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” she says when you walk in, peering over one shoulder. “You look cold. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please, whenever you have a moment.” You drop down onto the sofa, distracted and low. Your gaze drifts to the taxidermied tiger head above the fireplace, dusk-colored gemstones glinting in its eye sockets. Why can’t I make Daemon love me? Why did he give Rhaenyra a black opal ring?

You can hear Fern heating water for tea. Abruptly and vividly, you remember how she wept when Rush dragged you away from Draco and Daemon summoned you to your bedroom to be punished.

“That must have frightened you last night,” you say, still looking at the dead tiger’s head. “I’m sorry you had to witness it.”

An uncomfortable pause. “It’s no trouble at all, ma’am.”

“I bet you wish you were somewhere else. Just like I do.”

“No, ma’am,” Fern says, startled. “Please don’t send me away. Not ever.”

You turn to look at her. She stares back wide-eyed from where she is pouring steaming water into bone china teacups patterned with blue flowers. “You want to work for Daemon? Despite everything?”

“Lord Targaryen is the best boss I’ve ever had,” Fern answers, and she appears to be genuine.

“Is he really?”

“He pays me what he said he would. Doesn’t yell too much. Doesn’t try to touch me. And besides…” Fern is smiling a little now as she brings you your tea. “I spend more time with you than anyone else.”

You are heartbroken for her—where must she have been for Daemon to be a sanctuary?—then move over to make room for her on the sofa. “Pour yourself a cup too, and sit down with me.”

“Oh no, ma’am, I couldn’t possibly. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I’m your boss when Daemon is gone. And I want someone to keep me company.”

“Well, alright,” Fern agrees bashfully, trying not to show how delighted she is. “I suppose five or ten minutes won’t hurt.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At dinner—sweet ham and fatty ribs of beef, green peas and mashed potatoes—Laenor is joined once again by his new Parisian friend Hugo. You ask Laenor the way to the Turkish Baths in case you decide to visit them tomorrow, and he heartily recommends the facilities, sharing a puckish simper with Hugo. You think of Rhaenyra’s three boys and their dark hair, and their pug-like noses, and the whispers that forever swirl around them in the shape of Harwin Strong, and despite all of this Rhaenyra will suffer no consequences: beloved by her father, emboldened by her uncle, cherished by her sons, enabled by a husband who does not crave her attention anyway. She has broken the rules, and you have done everything right, and yet Rhaenyra is the one glowing tonight as she laughs along to Daemon’s stories, her new black opal ring flashing on her hand, and you are all but forgotten as you drink too many glasses of champagne.

Your guests tonight are Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress Léontine Aubart, a French singer to entertain him while his wife is at home in New York City with their three daughters. Ben’s father made his fortune in mining and smelting, and so like Daemon he understands that one can rule the earth by pillaging what lies beneath it.

You swim up into the conversation from under a warm, numbing sea of amber champagne. Now Daemon is quoting English novelist George Eliot: “These gems have life in them: their colors speak, say what words fail of.”

“Hear hear!” Ben Guggenheim agrees, holding his drink aloft, not champagne but brandy. “Daemon, how old is your son now?”

“He’s four,” your husband replies with obvious fondness, and Rhaenyra seems to bristle. “And a complete terror, a tiny blonde Napoleon, he’ll take over the world someday…”

Beneath the table, you twist your own black opal ring on your wedding finger. You think of the night Daemon asked you to marry him—in the garden of Lough Cutra Castle, bats flapping in the twilight and long-eared owls hooting, not down on one knee but standing taller than you were, his green eyes glinting like the Connemara marble in your father’s quarry—and you wish you could go back and say no.

“Dagmar is a splendid governess, we are so fortunate to have her,” Daemon is telling his audience, and he always seems to have one. “She looked after me and Viserys when we were boys…I was her favorite, of course.” There is a dutiful chorus of chuckles. “She can be bit prickly with adults, but she is entirely devoted to children. She treats Draco like her own. I always wondered about her own family when I was young…I was petrified that one day she would take me aside and tell me that she had to go away and be with her own children now. Surely she had a life of her own out there somewhere. As it turns out, she had a drove of sons with her husband, four or five of them, and then the whole household was wiped out by scarlet fever. Everyone except Dagmar.”

“Oh, how dreadful,” Ben’s French mistress sighs, pressing a hand to her chest that glitters with a massive necklace of bruise-colored Tanzanite, worth a fortune. “But what a blessing for her to have found purpose again with the Targaryens, a lifeboat for her, I’m certain…”

A lifeboat indeed, you think dizzily. Dagmar climbs in and I am tossed out, sinking down into the cold, crushing, miles-deep darkness.

Ben Guggenheim is saying: “I spoke to Captain Smith today as I was taking the air on the Promenade Deck, and he informed me that the last of the boilers have been lit and we are full steam ahead towards New York Harbor. We might even arrive a day early! On the 16th instead of the 17th! Think of the headlines.”

This alarms you. One day less with the viola player? And you realize all at once how attached you’ve grown to him, and perhaps you are learning what it feels like to have a lifeboat too.

As Daemon’s party exits the First-Class Dining Saloon, chatting away carelessly, you tell your husband that you’ve been invited to the Reading and Writing Room to socialize with the other well-bred women of Titanic, and that you probably won’t return to your staterooms before midnight.

“Yes, yes, that’s fine, dear,” Daemon says, barely listening as he escorts Rhaenyra up the Grand Staircase. You linger for a while in the reception area—exchanging bland gossip with the Countess of Rothes and Madeleine Astor, so childlike and yet older than you were when you married Daemon—and then depart, not up the steps towards the Reading and Writing Room on A-Deck but down into the depths of the ship and through the Turkish Baths, closed for the evening and unattended.

You hear the Third-Class Dining Saloon long before you find the entrance and step inside, lively music and raucous laughter that echoes down white corridors. Through the doorway you find low ceilings, exposed support beams, and tables and chairs that have been pushed against the walls to make room for dancing. Men are toasting pints and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, women are giggling at their jokes and thieving sips of the men’s dark frothy Guinness. Standing on top of one of the tables is a quartet of strings and a man singing, not dressed in fussy black suits but in corduroy trousers and plain half-unbuttoned shirts, the air hot and painted with yellow-gold artificial light. The viola player is with them. He sees you and smiles, but he doesn’t set down his viola. He has to finish the song, of course. They are performing Whiskey In The Jar.

“I went into my chamber for to take a slumber

I dreamt of golden jewels and sure it was no wonder

For Jenny took my charges and filled them up with water

And sent for Captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter…”

You find a seat in a corner of the room and wait for the viola player to join you. You purposefully wore something rather plain to dinner—a pale pink gown, matching wool coat, and morganite jewelry—but still you are overdressed. The third-class passengers sitting nearby gape and ogle at you. You wave shyly as you shrug off your coat and hang it over the back of your chair. They bring you a pint of Guinness and, when you take it out of your rose-colored handbag, a burly middle-aged man lights your cigarette with a match. You fiddle with your cigarette holder for a moment, then put it away and smoke like the women here do: bare fingers, no niceties.

The viola player has abandoned his fellow musicians and plops down into the chair across from you, laying his instrument on the table. He grins, boyish and sly, like he has won a bet. You puff on your cigarette and act like you are here by pure coincidence. Oh, festivities down on F-Deck? Well of course everyone knows about that. Thought I’d swing by for a half hour or so, had nothing better to do.

“How are you?” the viola player asks, still smiling.

“Impatiently waiting for the orgy to start.”

He laughs and leans across the table, settling in. “Have you picked out a conquest yet?”

“Maybe one.” You exhale smoke and he watches you, intrigued, perhaps a little nervous to say the wrong thing. “How long have you been running from your family?”

“Five years.”

“That’s the same amount of time I’ve been married.”

“I know, I remember,” he says. “Enormous wedding at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin. Royalty were invited.”

You furrow your brow at him. “How do you know that?”

He shrugs, evasive. “I must have read about it in a newspaper or something.”

“And this is what you do now,” you say, drawing a circle of smoke in the air with your cigarette, meaning the Third-Class Dining Saloon, meaning the sort of people he’s chosen to spend his life with. “You make pennies by playing viola and selling your oil paintings.”

“Doesn’t take much to live on.”

“No?”

“Not the way I live. As long as I have something to eat and a bed to collapse into at night, I’m content.”

“You never get lonely?”

“Well I didn’t say the bed was empty.”

It was a joke, but you don’t laugh. You remember how Daemon pushed you away this morning, how ashamed he has made you of your lust, animal yearning smothered and ignored, an able body gone to waste.

The viola player realizes he’s made a mistake. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, are you…are you alright…?”

“What line of work is your family in?” you say instead.

“Uh…” He hesitates. “Land ownership.”

This is interesting. “Really? Do they have titles?”

“Um, no, nothing like that.” He shakes his head, his eyes darting around the room. “What about the distinguished Lord Targaryen?” the viola player asks, contempt in his voice. “There must be hereditary defects run amok in his lineage.”

“His older brother is a duke, as you know.” You put out your cigarette in a plain porcelain ash tray and take a slurp of your Guinness. It joins the champagne in your bloodstream, sloshing around until your thoughts are blurry and harmless. “But Viserys is…” You try to decide on the right words. “Daemon thinks he’s weak and indecisive. Maybe he’s right, I’m not sure, I’ve only met Viserys a few times.”

“Viserys stays in England,” the viola player says, sounding more like a statement than a question.

“Yes, with Rhaenyra and her family. They’re very close.”

“And what of Viserys’ other children?”

You cackle. “What other children?” Another joke; this time it’s the viola player who isn’t amused. “After many, many years of neglect in cold dreary England, Alicent Hightower removed herself to Manhattan and lives there in opulence with her father Otto, her loyal bodyguard Sir Criston Cole, and her four Targaryen-blonde offspring, the eldest of whom is poised to inherit the Dukedom of Beaufort, much to his uncle’s displeasure.”

“Aegon,” the viola player says softly.

“Daemon hates him.” Your voice is hushed like a conspiracy. “Idle, useless, cowardly, effortlessly receiving fame and riches that Daemon believes he has rightfully earned.”

“Hm.” The viola player is smiling faintly.

“So now Daemon will gust into New York City like a storm, and capture the fascination of the elites there, and—with his orderly, intact family and jewel-mining dynasty built by his own hands—he will humiliate Viserys in the most brutal way possible. He will prove that he was the more worthy brother, that he should have been born first.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think that he shouldn’t have been born at all.”

You both laugh, sad and cynical. He looks down at your hands where they rest on the table, perhaps at your black opal wedding ring. Then he motions to the room at large. “How does it compare to your usual dining accommodations?”

“Far less caviar and duchesses,” you say. “What do the third-class cabins look like?”

The viola player raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking to see my room?”

That’s not how you meant it; but now that he is teasing you with flushed cheeks and one of his crooked, toothy smiles, you aren’t sure you want to decline. No, no. You definitely don’t want to.

“It’s unoccupied at the moment.” The viola player nods to a group of men dancing on the other side of the rowdy dining saloon. “My roommates are presently trying to convince those lovely Russian girls to get pregnant with their bastard children.”

“What a tempting prospect! Who could resist?”

He waits for you to say more. You stall, fiddling with your rings, gazing nervously down at them. “Hey. Petra.”

You look up at the viola player. “Yeah?”

“Don’t fear. That is not my design. There are no bastard children in your immediate future.”

You chuckle and then stand, smoothing out the skirt of your gown with your fingertips and putting on your pink wool coat. “Alright, show me your cabin. As my only poor friend, it is your obligation to enlighten me.”

“Gladly,” he agrees; and as the two of you are weaving through the crowd of dancing passengers—Italian, Polish, Greek, Syrian, Russian, Chinese, Irish—the viola player takes your hand so you are not separated, and it feels so natural you don’t even think to resist him.

It is a long walk to the third-class cabins, located deep in the stern of the ship. You must pass through hallways reserved for other passengers, first-class, second-class, more worthy breeds of people. The viola player drops your hand as soon as he sees stewards flitting about with armfuls of linens and cups of tea, casting you puzzled looks.

“Ma’am?” some of them ask you. “Do you require any assistance? Can I escort you somewhere?”

But no, no, you politely demur, and follow after the man in green corduroy trousers and a half-unbuttoned white shirt, handknit green vest, messy blonde hair, no coat, no hat, a viola and its horsehair bow in his grasp. At last you reach stark corridors in which no stewards are darting around to ensure the passengers are comfortable, and he opens a door to reveal a tiny space, smaller than your bedroom: white-painted pine wood and pink linoleum floors, two bunkbeds, a single sink with a mirror mounted above it. You can hear the reverberation of the ship’s engines and feel their tremors through the walls.

This is awful. This is unendurable.

“Impressive, huh?” the viola player asks, perhaps a bit anxiously. He hopes he hasn’t horrified you.

“It would be just fine for rats. Humans, I’m not so sure.” You sit down on one of the bottom bunks to test the mattress. “What on earth is this full of? Straw?”

“Yes ma’am.” He’s standing by the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest, not displeased but not relaxed either.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “You can come over. I won’t scream and have you arrested or anything.”

He laughs. “What a relief.” He walks over to the bed—very slowly, as if expecting you to change your mind and tell him to stop—then sits down beside you as you peer around the cabin. His portfolio and easel are lying underneath the opposite bunk. On the paper clipped to the easel you can see a new painting: a woman too beautiful to be you smoking on the Boat Deck, wearing the same choker necklace of pearls, diamonds, and white gold that was clasped around your throat this afternoon. In the bottom right corner is the name he’s given you: Petra.

You turn to the viola player, bewildered. “Why do you keep painting me?”

He does not answer; instead, he tilts your head to the side to inspect the shadow of a gash on the side of your neck, a shallow gift from Daemon’s dagger, obscured by layers of powder but not erased. His murky blue eyes are haunted, his voice desperate. “I want to help you.”

“You can’t.”

He is watching you, his fingertips still resting weightlessly on the curve of your jaw. You imagine him painting your skin until all of you is covered: brushstrokes down your throat and over the bumps of your collarbones, lines tracing your spine and swirls on your belly, dabbing gingerly at the inside of your thigh.

“I wish you could,” you whisper; and then he kisses you, the roughness of his short beard, the softness of his lips, and you hope he doesn’t mind the bite of alcohol you’ve tainted yourself with to dull all the blades that have ever cut you: disappointment, terror, pain, despair. Now the ship is punctured and the water is rushing in, not freezing and a bottomless inky blue but warm, golden, effervescent like champagne in a crystalline flute, and Daemon has never touched you this way, gentle but burning, wanting you, needing you. Your palms are on his chest; your muscles and tendons and ligaments are opening for him; you are imagining being known by him, this stranger who sees you, this unremarkable man who is somehow so exceptional, who has dug you up from the gloomy depths of the earth and given you a once-in-a-millennium glimpse of the sun.

And then, with sudden torturous clarity: Daemon unable to get hard for you, Daemon shoving you away.

“No,” you gasp, breaking the kiss and shrinking from the viola player. Your voice is so quiet, so weak. “You won’t like me.”

He shakes his head. You’ve hurt him worse than dagger, you’ve aimed for the heart. “Who were you before all of this?”

Seventeen, in the garden with my books, drinking tea with my parents, daydreaming of legends and love. “I don’t even remember.”

“You can’t stay with him. It’s killing you.”

“You don’t understand,” you whimper, thinking of Draco.

“Look, I have to tell you something.”

You rise from the bed, headed for the door. “I can’t stay, I’m sorry—”

He leaps up and grabs your hand, not to bruise you or to scare you but to beg you to listen. He bursts out: “I’m a Targaryen.”

You stare blankly at him. “You play viola.”

“Yes,” he says. “And I’m also a Targaryen.”

“That’s not possible—”

“I’m Aegon,” he insists, pounding on his own chest. “I left my family in New York but I’m one of them, Alicent is my mother, Helaena is my sister, Aemond and Daeron are my brothers, I’m a Targaryen and I know what it’s like to run away and I can help you.”

“No, you can’t be—”

And then he rips his lighter from the pocket of his green corduroy pants and he presses it into your palm and you see what is etched into the side: the three-headed dragon, the crest of the Targaryens. You abruptly remember what Daemon said to him back in Galway: You look a bit familiar, boy. Have we met before? You study his hair and realize it is almost the same shade as Rhaenyra’s.

“You have to stay away from me,” you say, petrified, clutching his lighter. “Daemon hates you. He’ll kill you.”

“I’m not leaving you with him.”

“Aegon, I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

“When we dock in New York, I can help you escape.”

“No,” you sob, a miserable choked wail. “I can’t abandon Draco, and Daemon would never stop hunting me if I took him away.”

“Maybe you can’t save Draco, but you can still save yourself,” Aegon pleads, his eyes huge and glistening. “Maybe he’s a lost cause.”

“He’s four years old!” You tear your hand out of Aegon’s grasp and yank open the cabin door. He goes after you.

“Wait—”

“Do not follow me,” you command him, low and seething as you stand together in the doorway. “You endanger us both.”

“Let me help you,” he says; and they are the last words you hear before you vanish into the maze of hallways, running up the Grand Staircase, ignoring the stewards who offer you assistance, fleeing from the man who makes you want things you didn’t believe were possible.

Aegon, you think, still in disbelief, still clasping his lighter in your palm with such force your hand aches. His name is Aegon Targaryen.

You fly into your staterooms, through the sitting room, towards your bedroom where you can be alone with your longing and your horror, your tears and your treason. You don’t see anyone else. You don’t hear anything over your own ragged breathing and strangled sobs. You are at your bedroom door. Your fingers close around the knob.

The door leading out to the private promenade deck opens and Rush appears with a half-finished cigar in hand, looking shocked to see you. “No!” he shouts, but it’s too late, you’ve already opened the bedroom door. The blood that crashes into your face is scalding and a deep gory red like rubies. The bile rising in your throat is green like Connemara marble.

There on the same bed where this morning he shoved you away from him—revulsion, coldness, impotence you could not cure—Daemon is twisted up with Rhaenyra, passionate helpless moans, deep savage thrusts, her long citrine hair spilling over the sheets and his eyes turning murderous when they catch on you.

[themakeupbrush]

Chanel “Tweed Royal” Necklace and “Tweed Pastel” Bracelet, both part of the “Tweed de Chanel” collection

The necklace features 37 oval-cut rubies totalling 41.42 carats. The lion in the center is detachable and can be worn as a broach, and the 10.17-carats pear-cut DFL Type IIA central diamond can also be removed and set in a ring.

[tiarascrowns]

Ruby and Diamond Parure

ruby, diamond, gold

Comprising: a necklace set with oval and circular-cut rubies and brilliant-cut and baguette diamonds, length approximately 430mm; a similarly set bracelet, length approximately 170mm, may be worn as a tiara on an accompanying frame; a pair of pendent earrings, post and hinged back fittings, pendants detachable; and a ring, size 531/2.

Sotheby's Magnificent Jewels

[lamaisongaga]

LADY GAGA IN CELINE COUTURE FOR “JOKER: FOLIE À DEUX” UK PREMIERE

Lady Gaga turned heads at the "Joker: Folie à Deux" UK premiere at Cineworld Leicester Square, proving once again that no one does high fashion drama quite like her.

Styling by Tom Eerebout and Sandra Amador, respectively.

Dressed in a custom Celine by Hedi Slimane couture creation, she delivered a masterclass in theatrical elegance. The eye-catching ensemble featured a fierce red double satin faille bolero jacket with exaggerated, puffed shoulders—a bold nod to vintage power dressing—while the striking asymmetrical mermaid gown that cascaded into sculptural folds exuded pure red-carpet grandeur.

Every detail of this look was meticulously chosen to command attention, from the razor-sharp tailoring to the luxurious silk fabric that practically glistened under the flashing lights. The vibrant red palette perfectly echoed the intensity of Joker, setting the tone for the evening with a nod to the film’s audacious spirit.

Let's get to the jewelry!

Of course, she was decked in diamonds provided by Tiffany & Co.

Taken from their 2024 Blue Book titled "Céleste", these Flames platinum and yellow-gold earrings feature citrine diamonds in a brilliant cut.

Gaga elevated her already show-stopping jacket with a stunning Jean Schlumberger for Bird on a Rock brooch. Known for its intricate design and whimsical charm, the brooch featured a glimmering bird perched atop a deep red spessartine of 20-plus carats, symbolizing both elegance and playfulness.

The bird itself, set in diamonds and accented with gold detailing, perches lightly yet confidently on the large, oval-cut ruby, making this piece a masterpiece of both artistry and craftsmanship. Schlumberger, famed for his fantastical designs, created the brooch in the 1950s, and it has since become a signature piece in the High Jewelry collection.

Also from from the 2024 "Céleste" Blue Book — this uuuuultra insane Apollo platinum, yellow-gold, pavé diamonds and yellow diamonds bangle inspired by original Schlumberger designs.

The last Tiffany item, apart from her engagement ring, is this Schlumberger Vigne 18k gold and platinum with marquise diamonds ring ($34,300).

The Pleaser Xtreme-1020 black faux leather platform booties completed the look.

For the short and black nails, Miho used the Aprés Gel Couleur in "Birnam Wood". Both the base and top coats are by Presto.

[diamondsinthelibrary]

Early 20th century three stone Burma ruby and diamond 'vertical' cluster ring, c.1905, centred by a oval cut Burma ruby with pear shaped diamond above and below, framed by a pierced diamond cluster scroll border of curved lozenge outline, with calibre cut ruby and diamond collet accents, millegrain set, accompanied by AGL report no. CS71044 giving the Burma origin opinion for the principal ruby and that the stone shows no evidence of heat treatment.

At SJ Phillips.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

In London during the late spring of 1953, preparations for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II’s Coronation were reaching their denouement.

Couturier Norman Hartnell was completing a dress to outshine any other.

Tucked away at the back of Hartnell’s lavish Mayfair townhouse, a team of embroiderers were finishing stitching a floral garland on the ivory silk bodice and crinoline.

Pastel thread, jewels, sequins, beads and 10,000 seed pearls were sewn as Commonwealth emblems and British flora around an English Tudor rose scattered with diamond dewdrops.

Six young, aristocratic maids of honour, including 19-year-old Lady Anne Coke – best-selling author Anne Glenconner – were being drilled like guardsmen by The Duke of Norfolk, responsible for organising the coronation, as they rehearsed the walk to the Abbey altar, with his wife, the Duchess, standing in for The Queen.

“If the Bishops don’t learn to walk in step,” he remonstrated, “we’ll be here all night.”

The photographer Cecil Beaton, well-versed in photographing crowned heads and aristocrats in the Vogue studios, was prepping a vantage point in Westminster Abbey, high up by the organ pipes, as the best location from which to capture the ceremony.

It would be a long day; he’d fill his top hat with sandwiches to sustain him.

Nearby, at Garrard, the Crown Jeweller and his team of master craftsmen were hunched over workbenches altering the Imperial State Crown to fit the young Queen’s head.

Garrard had made the Crown in 1937 for King George VI – a replica of the crown designed and crafted for Queen Victoria, which contained virtually all the same stones symbolic of centuries of Royal history, fitted around a purple velvet cap and ermine band.

Clusters of diamond-set crosses and fleurs-de-lis linked by swags of diamonds, supported by sapphires, emeralds and pearls in the form of oak leaves and acorns, dazzled around the massive 317.40 carat Cullinan II diamond, the Second Star of Africa, cut from the largest diamond ever discovered.

Above it sat the Black Prince’s Ruby – in fact, a spinel, worn by Henry V at Agincourt – while the 104 carat oval Stuart sapphire gleamed at the rear of the band, with the cross atop the orb set with the sapphire from Edward the Confessor’s ring.

King George VI requested Garrard create an inner “hammock” style fitting, like a guard’s officer’s bearskin, to distribute the nearly three pounds of weight evenly on his head.

Reshaping the circlet for Queen Elizabeth II involved remounting the stones and motifs of which it is composed, as well as repositioning and lowering the arches, all of which required craftsmanship of the highest skill. 

The aim was to improve the strength of the crown with lightness of weight, which isn’t easy with large stones, and those which were cut nearly 300 years ago.

They were working against the clock. The new Queen required time before the ceremony to become accustomed to the crown’s feel and weight.

“There are some disadvantages to crowns, but otherwise they are very important things,” said Her Majesty, recalling its heaviness on the 65th anniversary of the coronation.

“Fortunately, my father and I have roughly the same shaped head, so once you put it on, it stays.”

The media demanded constant updates on Garrard’s work, with the coronation making broadcasting history as the first service to be televised, adding to the sense of pressure.

In addition, two gold Armill bracelets of sincerity and wisdom, symbolic of the monarch’s bond with the people needed to be finished, which were replacing the 17th-century enamel bracelets dating from the coronation of King Charles II.

In previous ceremonies, the Armills had been carried, but these were made for the Queen to wear, decorated with two rows of engraving and Tudor rose clasps with red velvet linings.

Garrard was also inundated with cleaning requests.

“No one had worn their jewellery or tiaras during the war,” explains Lady Anne.

“People were queuing to have their tiaras, which were like great fenders of diamonds, stomachers and necklaces cleaned.”

On the day, 2 June 1953, it poured with rain.

Lady Anne remembers arriving at the Abbey:

“It was pretty dark and cold. Our dresses weren’t lined, there were clothing coupons after the war you see.

A tiny thread of blue cotton had been placed on the floor in the Abbey, so the Queen knew where to stand.

When the procession began, we walked past row upon row of tiaras, as well as people in their National dress.

The Queen walked a bit faster than the Duchess had in rehearsals, so we had to adjust our steps.”

The ceremony ended at 2 o’clock in the afternoon.

Hartnell left after watching his historic dress sweep down the aisle followed by the procession of royal pages, maids of honour, peers and peeresses sparkling with diamonds, looking, he remarked:

“Like a lovely hunk of fruitcake, the damson jam of velvet bordered with clotted cream of ermine and sprinkled with the sugar of diamonds.”

Beaton rushed to Buckingham Palace to photograph the Queen theatrically against a painted backdrop, holding the orb and sceptre and wearing the Imperial State Crown.

The Crown Jeweller Garrard remained until The Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh had taken lunch in the Abbey annex, in case any last-minute adjustments to the diamond-encrusted Crown were needed.

“Cecil was waiting when we all returned from the Abbey,” Lady Anne continues.

“He had everything set up for the photographs, and that’s when I really noticed the Crown and jewels glittering under the bright lights and took note of it all.

The Queen looked so young, beautiful and vulnerable, so the contrast of seeing her crowned with all the regalia was extraordinary.

She was weighted down a bit, but I remember thinking it was terribly poignant.”

A tense moment followed.

“The Duke of Edinburgh was fussing around, and Cecil got irritated, put his camera down and said, ‘Oh Sir, would you prefer to take the photographs?’” Lady Anne laughs.

“The Queen looked a bit horrified, and The Duke wandered off. You see, The Duke would have liked the photographer Baron, but it was The Queen Mother who adored Cecil.”

Later, it was still rainy and dark outside.

When the gleaming, crowned figure of The Queen appeared on the Buckingham Palace balcony, she shone with a sense of tradition and permanence.

With the Imperial State Crown, she wore the Coronation necklace and earrings, made in 1858 by Garrard and worn by Queen Alexandra and Queen Mary, including 25 brilliants suspending the Lahore diamond drop.

Time will tell if the Armills will return to being carried at the Coronation of HRH The Prince of Wales, and if he has inherited the Windsor head shape, but should substantial adjustments be required, the crown will appear once more unchanged.

The historical continuity of the regalia, and the fact the crown is still in constant use, makes these jewels created in the Garrard workshop the most potent in the world.

[butterlaneantiques]

The Beautiful and Rare: The Burma Ruby

Burma, also known as Myanmar, has been the source of some of the world's finest rubies for centuries. Burmese rubies are famed for their strong and vibrant colour, making them the most desired of all!

Every mine produces a wide range of quality. The fact that a ruby comes from a famous mine doesn’t mean it is good quality... But fine-quality rubies that have Myanmar (Burmese) origin definitely are.

This for example: Edwardian Burma Ruby Cabochon & Diamond Cluster Ring

This beautiful oval shaped Burma ruby cabochon takes centre stage of this amazing cluster ring. The ruby weighs 3.3 carats and looks amazing in both daylight and iridescent light, with a rich and intense colour. The stone is complemented by a cluster of sparkly old cut diamonds, set in a way that creates great movement and placing the ruby to centre stage.

[ozwriterchick]

Pursue your happiness

Epilogue - The Party

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes; OFC (Ruby); All their family and friends, including the Avengers

Content warnings: None. Just fluff and dancing and love.

Summary: The day of the party arrives

Masterlist

**********

Ruby

A month later, I was putting on my fancy, expensive dress to head to the lavish party that Bucky, Sam, Steve & Nat had all arranged.

I wore a glittery deep red a-line, with a floor length tulle skirt, sweetheart neckline and off the shoulder sleeves.  It fit me like it was made for me and I felt so beautiful. Bucky was wearing a black suit with a deep maroon jacket & tie to match my dress.  

Walking into the restaurant that Bucky had chosen, seeing all the decorations in place and all of our friends and family there, it felt more like an engagement or birthday party rather than a 3rd anniversary party.

Everyone we knew was there - I guess a 3rd anniversary is a big deal.  I had thought it was going to be an intimate little party with just our families and close friends, but Bucky had outdone himself on this occasion.

After a magnificently delicious dinner, a DJ started playing some tunes and everyone got up to dance.  I walked around, holding Bucky’s hand so tightly and spoke with as many people as I could.

All of a sudden the people on the dance floor parted and the song “All of me” by John Legend came on.  Bucky held his hand out to me and tugged me onto the dance floor.  We held each other tight and swayed in time with the music.  I was too emotional to say anything so I just kissed him occasionally and let him hold me close.

About 2/3 of the way through he stepped back, but kept hold of my hand.  I thought the music paused, then I saw someone hand Bucky a microphone.  I was quite confused, was he going to sing the rest of the song?

“Ruby Jane Masters.  Happy 30th birthday my beautiful girl.  I have gathered our family and friends around tonight to show you how much you mean to all of us, but especially me.  

Just over 3 years ago you walked in to my life like a ray of sunshine, then 3 years ago today you agreed to be mine and every day since then has just gotten better and better.

We’ve had our ups and downs - even as recently as a month ago when I was trying to plan all of this and you thought something else was going one, but the one constant in our relationship is that we’ve been able to work through any downs we have had and come out stronger on the other side.  And I don’t think this most recent situation is any different.

When you thought you had ruined the surprise party, I told you that you only ruined the party part of the surprise, but there is one surprise I managed to keep from you.”

With that I saw him reach into his jacket pocket and get down on one knee and I couldn’t help but start to cry.  This amazing man who I thought was done with me and cheated on me, had been planning this proposal at this surprise party all along.

“Ruby, I love you with all my heart and being.  Would you do me the most incredible honour of agreeing to be Mrs Barnes?”

“Oh My God, Yes, James.. Bucky of course, I’d love to be Mrs Barnes.”

He stood up and kissed me and then opened the box and I saw the most gorgeous oval cut diamond with 2 smaller diamonds along the white gold band on either side of the main diamond.  It was exactly the ring I would have chosen myself.

The music started up again and everyone crowded around us to congratulate us and it seemed like the whole party was on the dance floor swaying to the music.

And from all the heartache of a month earlier, when I thought my relationship was over, it had been renewed and strengthened.

Little did Bucky know that I had my own surprise for him that night..

**********

AN: That's it folks, the last part. Thanks to everyone who has read, liked, reblogged and commented.

If you have any questions about Bucky & Ruby, let me know, maybe we can do some, what's happening with them now or answering questions about what happened in the story in future.

As usual, don't forget to like, re-blog and comment here to tell me your favourite part

**********

Taglist:@cjand10@angstysebfan@psychictazzy76@lovely-geek@samanthaneedsanap@kentokaze@void-imaginations@iheartsebastianstanstuff@yourmumsluke

**********

[yellowsapphirestone]

Facts Of Yellow Sapphire Gemstone

Yellow sapphire, also known as Pukhraj, is a radiant gemstone that has captivated human fascination for centuries. It belongs to the corundum family and is renowned for its mesmerizing yellow hues. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the facts, care tips, and effects of yellow sapphire.

Facts of Yellow Sapphire:

1. Composition and color: Yellow sapphire (Pukhraj gemstone) is a variety of corundum, the same mineral that forms rubies. Its vibrant yellow color is attributed to the presence of iron and titanium impurities. The intensity of the yellow can vary, ranging from pale yellow to deep golden hues.

2. Origin: Major deposits of Yellow Sapphire can be found in countries like Sri Lanka, India, Australia, and Thailand the origin of the gemstone can impact its quality and value. The best Yellow Sapphire comes from Sri Lanka.

3.  Astrological Significance: Yellow sapphire holds a special place in Vedic astrology. It is associated with the planet Jupiter, symbolizing wisdom, prosperity, and fortune. Wearing a yellow sapphire is believed to bring financial success and enhance one’s spiritual journey.

4. Durability: Yellow sapphire is very durable having a hardness of 9 on the Mohs scale next to the diamond which makes it best suited for everyday wear. This makes it an idle choice for various types of jewelry, including rings, earrings, and pendants.

5. Cut and Clarity: The cut of a yellow sapphire is crucial in bringing out its brilliance and color. Clarity is also essential, and gemstones with fewer inclusions are considered more valuable. Before buying yellow sapphire choose the gemstone with less inclusion and without any flaws like black spots or red spots. More the clarity more the results.

Faceting and shape: The cut of a yellow sapphire refers to how well the gemstone has been shaped and faceted. The goal is to maximize the stone’s brilliance and enhance its natural color. The most common cut for yellow sapphires is the oval cut.

Proportions: The proportions of the gemstone, including the arrangement and size of its facets, impact its ability to reflect and refract light. A well-cut yellow sapphire will display a pleasing balance of brightness and fire.

Inclusions: Clarity in gemstones refers to the presence of internal flaws or inclusions. Inclusions are natural imperfections that can affect the gemstone’s transparency and overall appearance. Inclusions in yellow sapphires can include tiny crystals, gas bubbles, or other minerals.

6. Healing Properties: Yellow sapphire is a gemstone that is not only cherished for its aesthetic beauty but also valued for its believed healing properties in various alternative healing practices.

Stress Relief: Yellow sapphire has calm energies that can help to release stress and anxiety. By wearing this gemstone, it promotes a sense of equality and emotional well-being.

Enhanced Creativity: Yellow sapphire is associated with the planet Jupiter which is linked to creativity and inspiration. Yellow sapphire is believed to stimulate the creative side of individuals, encouraging them to express themselves more freely.

Enhanced Focus and Concentration: The gemstone is said to improve mental clarity and concentration. It is believed to enhance intellectual abilities and support individuals in making informed decisions.

Spiritual Growth: Yellow sapphire is considered a spiritually uplifting stone. It is believed to aid in the development of higher consciousness, connecting the wearer with their spiritual self and promoting spiritual growth.

Protection from Negative Energies: Yellow sapphire is said to act as a protective shield against negative energies. It is believed to create a barrier that prevents negative influences from affecting the wearer.

How to Take Care of Yellow Sapphire

Avoid Harsh Chemicals: Yellow sapphire should be protected from harsh chemicals that can damage its surface. Remove your jewelry before using cleaning agents or engaging in activities that involve exposure to chemicals.

Regular Cleaning: Clean your yellow sapphire jewelry regularly using a soft brush, mild soap, and warm water. This helps remove accumulated dirt and oils, preserving the gemstone’s luster.

Professional Cleaning and Inspection: Periodically, take your yellow sapphire jewelry to a professional jeweler for cleaning and inspection. They can identify and address any issues such as loose settings or scratches.

Effects of Yellow Sapphire

1. Astrological Benefits: Yellow sapphire ( Pukhraj ) holds a significant place in Vedic astrology and is associated with the planet  Jupiter also known as Guru. According to Vedic astrology, the yellow sapphire gemstone is believed to have numerous astrological benefits when worn by individuals as per their birth charts.

Jupiter Blessings: Yellow sapphire is associated with the planet Jupiter. Wearing yellow sapphire attracts the positive energies of Jupiter.

Financial Prosperity: Yellow Sapphire Gemstone brings wealth, prosperity, and financial opportunities to the wearer. It is often recommended for individuals seeking success in business or financial stability.

2. Mental and emotional Effects: 

Wisdom and Clarity: Yellow sapphire enhances wisdom, clarity of thought, and decision-making abilities. It is often recommended for individuals seeking intellectual growth.

Positive Energy: Wearing Yellow Sapphire promotes positive thinking and reduces feelings of anxiety and stress. It brings joy and happiness to the wearer.

3. Spiritual and Religious Growth:

Spiritual Growth: Yellow sapphire is associated with spiritual growth and is often used in meditation practices. It enhances spiritual consciousness and awareness.

Protection: In some cultures, yellow sapphire is considered a protective talisman that guards against negative energies and psychic attacks.

4. Improvement in Relationships:

Marital Bliss: The gemstone is believed to strengthen marital relationships and bring harmony and understanding between couples.

Friendship: Some traditions suggest that wearing yellow sapphire can enhance friendships and social connections.

5. Career and Education:

Success in Education: Yellow sapphire is recommended for students, as it is believed to enhance concentration, focus, and intellectual capabilities.

Career Advancement: It is said to bring opportunities for career growth and success, especially in fields related to teaching, law, and finance.

It’s important to approach these claims with a balanced perspective, and individuals interested in using gemstones for their potential benefits should consult with qualified astrologers or experts.

[binenbaumaj]

Diamond Ruby 18k Cluster Ring 14889-8395

A vintage cluster ring that showcases a natural ruby of about 0.80ct in an oval shape, surrounded by a halo of brilliant-cut diamonds of around 0.60ct (F-G VS1). The ring is crafted in yellow and white 18k gold and comes with a lab certificate. This ring is a stunning example of classic elegance and quality.

Details: ±0.80ct. natural Ruby, ±0.60ct (F-G VS1) Brilliant-cut diamonds, 18k Ring.

Size: 15.9 NL / 50 FR / 5¼ US / K UK, sizeable (Within reason. Contact seller for information).

Dimensions: H 0.5 x L 1 x W 1.3 cm.

Weight in grams: 7.2.

Condition: Very good condition - slightly used with small signs of wear.

This magnificent piece ships from our store in the center of Amsterdam, The Netherlands.

We offer both registered shipping and local pickup at our store, with any applicable shipping costs refunded in the case of local pickup.

Add some sparkle to your style with Binenbaum.com. We offer a stunning selection of antique and vintage jewelry that you won't find anywhere else. Whether you're looking for a timeless ring, a dazzling necklace, or a unique brooch, we have something for every taste and occasion. Visit our website today and treat yourself to a piece of history.

https://www.binenbaum.com/product/diamond-ruby-18k-cluster-ring-14889-8395/

[bunbunmaru-shimbun]

.... This is one heck of a detailed crown that this dwarf has... though how in the heck did they keep it "coated with water"?

[Alt text, due to the length of screenshots: A screenshot from Dwarf Fortress of a gold crown item that is a masterwork: It is worn by a commoner by the name of Minkot Erithkalur, a planter by occupation. Its value is 15,067 dwarf bucks, its mass is 19. The description is as follows:

"This is an exceptional gold crown. It is encrusted with superior quality pear cut brown zircons, masterfully worked rectangular tiger iron cabochons by Ushrir Ezumrith, masterfully worked oval blue diamond cabochons by, Ushrir Ezumrith exception worked cush cut moonstones, superior quality worked marquis cut star sapphiers, well-crafted pear cut emeralds, exceptionally worked trillion cut rock crystals, masterfully worked oval sunstone cabochons by Ushrir Ezumrith, and exceptionally worked table cut red spinels and encircled with bands of exceptionally worked radiant cut aventurines, exceptionally worked cushion citrine cabochons, and exceptionally worked oval fortification agate cabochons. This object is adorned with hanging rings of masterfully worked tube agate by Ushrir Ezumrith and menaces with spikes of exceptionally worked chrysoprase, superior quality clear diamond and superior quality indigo tourmaline. On the itme is an exceptionally designed image of Nish Bridgeforest the dwarf and dwarves in yellow diamond by Ushrir Ezumrith. Nish Bridgeforest is surrounded by the dwarves. The artwork relates to the appointment of the dwarf Nish Bridgeforest to the position of hammerer of The Immortal Board in the early summer of 104. On the item is an exceptionally designed image of a bitter orange tree in star ruby by Ushrir Ezumrith. On the item is a well-designed image of Zulban Notchmined the dwarf and dwarves in milk quartz by Ushrir Ezumrith. Zulban Notchmined is surrounded by the dwarves. The artwork relates to the appointment of the dwarf Zulban Notchmined to the position of broker of The Immortal Board in early autumn of 109. It is coated with water."]

[ostensiblynone]

Burma No Heat Ruby Diamond Ring

Date: Circa 1900 for the top cluster, modern for the yellow gold areas.

Condition: Excellent, top cluster was removed from a brooch and nearly invisibly, a modern shank was added.

Take in that divine luscious hue…and the fact that this is an unheated, natural Burmese ruby…for it is truly pigeon's blood red in color.

Oval in shaped and faceted to perfection, the gemstone ranks as one of the most desirable in the world. Nothing is considered finer in the ruby world, than those from Burma.

Even throughout in color, saturated in hue, its depth and richness are also matched by its fiery highlights deep within its interior.

To set it off, ten old mine-cut diamonds form a contoured frame of scintillation.

The top cluster was formerly an antique brooch, then nearly invisibly removed and converted to a ring with a modern, but antique-style under-gallery and shank. Beautiful leaf-like shoulders punctuate the central cluster.

Details:

One oval-faceted ruby

Burma / Burmese origin

Unheated

6.12 x 4.82 x 3.05 mm

.70 carats

GIA certificate no. 1226166028

Ten old European cut diamonds

Total weight of 1.0 carats

Color G-J, clarity VS2-SI2

Estimated weights by measurement

Top is 18k yellow gold

Also, silver over gold to the diamond prongs

Shank is 15k yellow gold

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Ruby Engagement Rings: A Timeless Symbol of Love and Passion

When it comes to expressing eternal love, few gemstones rival the fiery allure of rubies. Ruby engagement rings have long been cherished for their vivid red hue, symbolizing passion, devotion, and romance. If you’re considering a ring that stands out with elegance and meaning, here’s why a ruby engagement ring from GemBleu.com is the perfect choice.

The Allure of Ruby Engagement Rings

A Symbol of Everlasting Love Known as the "King of Gemstones," rubies have been treasured throughout history for their bold, fiery color and symbolism of strength and commitment. The deep red hue represents a love that burns brightly for eternity.

Unique and Timeless Beauty While diamonds are classic, rubies offer a unique alternative that blends vintage charm with modern elegance. Their vibrant color contrasts beautifully with various metal settings, from traditional yellow gold to contemporary white gold and platinum.

Durability for Everyday Wear Rubies rank 9 on the Mohs scale of hardness, making them an excellent choice for an engagement ring that endures daily wear while maintaining its brilliance.

Choosing the Perfect Ruby Engagement Ring

When selecting a ruby engagement ring, consider the following aspects to ensure you choose a piece as unique as your love story:

Color: The most valuable rubies feature a deep, vivid red, often referred to as “pigeon’s blood red.”

Cut and Setting: Opt for cuts that maximize the ruby's brilliance, such as oval, cushion, or round. Pair it with diamond accents for added sparkle.

Metal Choice: Rubies pair beautifully with a variety of metals, including rose gold for a romantic touch or platinum for a modern feel.

Why Choose GemBleu.com for Ruby Engagement Rings?

At GemBleu.com, we offer an exquisite selection of ruby engagement rings designed to suit every style and budget. Each piece is crafted with precision and care, ensuring a perfect blend of quality and beauty. Whether you prefer a classic solitaire ruby or a ring adorned with diamond accents, our collection showcases timeless designs that celebrate your love story.

Tips for Caring for Your Ruby Engagement Ring

To keep your ruby engagement ring shining bright for years to come, follow these simple care tips:

Clean your ring regularly with warm, soapy water and a soft brush.

Avoid exposing it to harsh chemicals or extreme temperatures.

Store your ring separately to prevent scratches.

Conclusion

Ruby engagement rings offer a bold, romantic alternative to traditional diamond rings, making them an ideal choice for couples seeking something extraordinary. Explore GemBleu.com's stunning collection of ruby engagement rings today and find the perfect symbol of your love story.

Shop now at GemBleu.com and make your engagement unforgettable with the timeless allure of rubies!

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Certified 10ct. t.w. Moissanite Diamond Solitaire Luxury Engagement Ring NEW.