#and nothing has killed her so far and everyone but Revaire quite likes her by W6
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
teaandinanity · 7 years ago
Photo
Tumblr media
Hating a thing doesn’t mean you have to be bad at it.
Of my seven existing 7KPP characters, four are going for Zarad, and the funniest of those is Demetria of Holt. I LOVE the way her background-specific internal monologue and external dialog mesh with the snappy repartee of the romance. 
I also feel like she makes this face a lot.
Demi’s most used emoticon would totally be :\
8 notes · View notes
malmiele · 8 years ago
Text
7kpp week Day 1 - Past
Run, run, run.
It’s late, forgive me.
The story of how my Revaire widow ended up marrying the Baron of Namaire.
“Stop it!” Paisley had coughed out in exasperation as the gaggle of serving girls laughed. She flicked Linda’s hand away as the other girl tried to poke her cheek.
The chatter died as they heard the clicking sounds of heeled shoes descend the stairway. 
It was Lady Aysel, the oldest daughter of the household, although her personality made one think she was more like the mother. And she will be one soon, Paisley thought. It was less than a moon’s turn before their Lady Aysel would wed and become the Baroness of Namaire. 
For the past few days, Lady Aysel had been clad in heavy brocades and satins that her future husband had sent over, but today was different. Paisley remembered the dress -- it had been bought for Lady Aysel a long time ago, when she was about twelve. Now the floaty ivory gossamer draped her figure snugly, and it actually fit just right, but the serving girls had been so used to seeing Lady Aysel in clothes a tad too large that this felt surreal.
“My lady!” Dahlia was the first to stand and curtsy. Then she straightened her back again, and held Lady Aysel’s delicate hands in her own. “You look so beautiful.”
A soft smile graced Lady Aysel’s features. “Thank you.” Her voice was so gentle, it could be carried away by the wind. Paisley wondered how a girl like her could possibly discipline her problematic younger brothers, but apparently she did that just fine, and the boys would fall in line when she told them to.
“Is there a special occasion today?” Winifred piped up. Linda hushed her. The serving girls had known Lady Aysel for so long, sometimes they nearly forgot she was their lady, not their peer. Thankfully, Lady Aysel was kind, forgiving and cared little for formalities directed at her. 
“Would any of you mind taking a walk with me? Just the fringes of the estate, nothing too strenuous I would believe.”
“I don’t mind,” Linda got up. “I’ll pack some water.” 
“I’ll go too,” Dahlia offered. “Would you need an umbrella?”
Lady Aysel shook her head.
Something felt off to Paisley, but she didn’t know what. “My lady, isn’t Sir Jovan coming over soon?” Sir Jovan was a boy around their age, a member of the landed gentry who lived a street away, and one of Lady Aysel’s best friends. He was smiley and likeable, and even Lady Aysel’s mother didn’t have the heart to bar him from visiting, although she had made it very clear from the start that he was neither rich enough nor prestigious enough for her daughter. 
Every week, Sir Jovan would pop by their place just to chat with Lady Aysel and play duets on the piano with her. The serving girls would all crowd around and watch them with wide-eyed wonder, while the rest of the children were off...somewhere. 
“Oh, he said he’s busy today.”
A churning in her gut compelled Paisley to follow Lady Aysel out on her walk too, although normally she wouldn’t have.
Lady Aysel was, as usual, completely happy with watching Linda and Dahlia chatter. Paisley was more withdrawn herself, but Linda always knew how to get a rise out of her, and Paisley found herself losing her composure more than once as they walked further away from civilisation. 
“How are things between you and Lord Behram?” Linda had suddenly asked.
“What do you even mean, how are things?!” Even Lady Aysel had laughed at that response, and Paisley could feel her cheeks heating. Lord Behram was the oldest of Lady Aysel’s younger brothers, a mere two days older than her, and thus they had been playmates in their infancy. But that was all -- no one would allow their heir to wed a serving girl.
Paisley, Linda, Dahlia and Winifred. All four of them had been born into the household they had worked in. Their parents and their grandparents had been working in this household too, during a time when they were prosperous and free of problems. As their funds dwindled, so did the number of servants, and only they were left. 
Paisley wished they had been born a few generations before. If they had, maybe Lady Aysel would be happily wed to Sir Jovan, but no. Lady Aysel was leaving to wed a rotund, red-faced man older than her own father. The Baron of Namaire wasn’t particularly repulsive -- in fact, he was quite genial -- but Paisley couldn’t help but feel slightly bitter. Their Lady Aysel deserved better. 
All at once, Paisley was shaken out of her thoughts by something whirring past her, so close to her face it almost took some flesh off. Before she had time to react, that something hit Lady Aysel square in the shoulder.
Dahlia shrieked. Linda tried to reach out to catch Lady Aysel. Another arrow whizzed past them and caused Linda to stumble as well, and Lady Aysel fell from her reach.
To Paisley’s horror, they had gotten far too close to the cliffsides, and Lady Aysel fell down. Down and down and down; Paisley had no clue how tall the cliffs were. 
More arrows rained down on them. Linda was crying, trying to get closer to the cliff’s edge without getting hit. Dahlia was screaming, screaming for Linda to stay back, although once the arrows stopped, she was the first to look over the edge.
She started choking up. “No, no, no,” she mumbled to herself, as Paisley inched closer as well. She could see the twisted silhouette of a girl in white lying on the ground, seemingly miles away. 
“We need help,” Paisley found herself. “We need help fast.” And then she began to run.
Run, run, run. It was the only way Paisley could stop herself from breaking down. She focused on the sound of her heaving and the trickles of sweat down her face and back and tried to push to the back of her mind that their Lady Aysel was dead. 
The day after Lady Aysel’s death, Linda left her job to become a nun. She said it was to repent for her sins, as she couldn’t save Lady Aysel. Everyone told her it wasn’t her fault, but Linda left nevertheless. 
They managed to find Lady Aysel’s body on the third day. Her face was smashed beyond recognition, but they identified her from her clothes and the bracelet on her arm. Lord Behram cried the most of all. He had always idolised his big sister. As she lay in the coffin, her youngest brother Lord Eamon covered her face with fragrant wildflowers. Lord Clyve (the second son) had attempted a laugh at that point, saying that roses and daisies would have been too cliche for Lady Aysel.
That night, Lady Aysel’s father called all the remaining children and serving girls to the dining hall. As Paisley gazed into the fireplace behind him, he stressed that Lady Aysel’s death was and must remain a secret within the family. No one outside, not even her friends like Sir Jovan was to know about it, lest it affect the family plans. And above all, the Baron of Namaire could never know.
“But he must,” Lady Noemi (the third daughter and Eamon’s twin) had said. “He was supposed to marry Big Sister, he’ll be angry if we don’t tell him.”
“Big Sister is still marrying Baron Namaire.” Their father attempted to sound reassuring.
“He’s marrying a ghost?!” Lord Eamon exclaimed, and was hushed by all his irritated older brothers.
“No, he isn’t. You see, children, we are in a most precarious position. We need the marriage to Baron Namaire, or our house will be burnt down by our creditors.”
“And who’s fault was that,” Lord Behram muttered under his breath.
“It took great efforts -- on our end and on Aysel’s end, too -- to successfully arrange such a match. And Tessaly (the second daughter) is too sickly to be considered a suitable bride, and Noemi is far too young. Thus, I need all of you to pretend that Aysel never died.”
“How?” The whole room was bewildered.
“Baron Namaire has bad eyesight. Paisley, I would like you to take Aysel’s place and wed him. He’d never be able to tell the difference.”
The dining room erupted into chaos.
If looks could kill, the glare Winifred sent would have killed Lady Aysel’s father six times over.
Lady Noemi dropped the cup of hot chocolate she was holding into Lord Eamon’s lap, but he was too in shock to realise that it even happened. 
Behram stormed up to his father. “How could you?!”
Clyve stormed off in the opposite direction, leaving the manor without a second word.
Paisley...all Paisley wanted to do was run. But she couldn’t.
The opaque veil covering her face made it particularly hard for her to walk, but it had to be done. If everything else was not considered, the wedding was actually quite enjoyable -- good clothes, good food.
Lord Behram had locked himself up in his room and refused to come out. His parents could only say he was sick.
And Lord Clyve, he had been missing ever since that night. 
Lady Tessaly gave Paisley a necklace, saying that it was a wedding gift from Sir Jovan, and that he apologised for not being able to turn up for the wedding.
It struck Paisley as odd, as surely Lady Aysel’s best friend should have known that she was allergic to silver. 
Just before the end of the wedding celebrations, Lady Noemi had approached her, half-dragging Lord Eamon. After some nudging from his twin sister, Lord Eamon produced a vial pendant containing a clear liquid from his sleeve.
“One drop every night before he goes to sleep,” he whispered.
“What exactly is this?”
“I think they call it dreamwine on the market,” Lady Noemi replied, “but that is milky while ours is homemade so you could call them health-improving drugs.”
Paisley took the vial, rolling it in her palms, wondering why she needed to drug her husband to sleep every night.
“Big Sister deserved better. So do you, Miss Paisley,” Lord Eamon said, face incredibly solemn for a 13-year-old. 
“Baron Namaire is old and rich. As long as you don’t have his children, you will get his money when he dies,” Lady Noemi pointed out.
Lord Eamon nodded. “You just have to hold out for a little while, Miss Paisley. It’ll be over soon. And when it does, you can do whatever you want.”
What do I want? It was a question Paisley had never asked herself before, but now she was Aysel, and so many things were within her reach...
Paisley would try to reach them all.
7 notes · View notes