#exotic ear pendants

[timelessfineries]

Boucles d'oreilles ethniques afro chic ::: Timeless Fineries

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 4)

The aroma of freshly ground coffee wafted through the air, encasing your senses as you and Cillian stepped into the threshold of the cafe. A buzz of chatter from the crowded space filled your ears, punctuated by the clinking of porcelain and the hiss of steam frothing milk. The cafe's modern decor, a blend of industrial chic and cozy warmth, seemed to draw in half the city, leaving  you and Cillian at the end of a winding line of impatient patrons.

You fidgeted with the hem of your sweater, an eclectic pattern of colors that you had chosen to appear both sophisticated and approachable. Entering the queue, you the weight of the many eyes skimming over both you and Cillian—some curious, others envious. He stood beside at your side, the epitome of effortless elegance, his dark hair catching the soft glow of the pendant lights above.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while,” he remarked. “I hate when something I like becomes popular.”

“Seems so,” you replied, your tone light but your mind elsewhere. You slipped your phone out of your pocket, thumb flicking across the screen with swift, practiced motions. Emails, job listings, opportunities—they cascaded down the display as you filtered through them with a sense of urgency that belied the calm front you tried to project.

“Are you looking at anything interesting?” Cillian asked, peering over at your screen with a curiosity that felt too close, too keen.

“Just looking at some job postings,” you said, minimizing the list of applications before he could glimpse the titles. You knew he didn’t truly understand your need to earn your keep, to build something for yourself without the crutch of connections or favors. “It’s difficult to find something with flexible hours and decent pay. I want to find something that fits, you know?”

“I figure it’d be,” he said with a shrug.

Once he retreated out of your personal bubble, you scrolled through one listing after another, occasionally pausing to submit your resume into the void of potential employment. Each tap on the 'apply' button was a tiny leap of faith—a hope that somewhere out there was a chance for you to prove yourself capable, independent.

The cafe was stifling. You removed your cardigan and settled it over your arm, only for Cillian to sweep it into his arms. You glared as he draped the sleeves over his shoulders, tying them into a knot. It was an eyesore against his monochromatic ensemble, but as always, he wore it well.

You shuffled forward in the line, your eyes trailing over the scuffed tile floor of the bustling cafe. Cillian loomed beside you, his body heat seeping through the thin fabric of your blouse as he leaned a little too close for comfort, arms pressing into your side.

“I love this,” Cillian whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Our weekly meet-ups are all that get me through the week.”

You nodded, a quick jerk of your head, wishing your frazzled hair would shield you from the intimacy of his gaze. Your attention shifted to the chalkboard menu above the counter, where playful script offered promises of bold new flavors and exotic blends. You considered ordering a raspberry mocha or the spiced chai latte, something to break the monotony of your usual orders.

“Hey, Lee, what do you think about those new items> Do they look—”

“No. You know how particular your stomach is,” Cillian cut in, his tone laced with feigned concern as he placed a hand on your shoulder. "You should stick with the usual, and I’ll get the new stuff so you can still try it." Before you could protest, Cillian turned to the barista, his charismatic smile in place. “Two of the usual, please. And could you grab one of those pre packaged blueberry muffins?”

Whatever. I’m eating on his dime, you thought as he swiped his card.

With a sigh trapped behind you lips, you smiled and watched as he paid for the order, his flamboyant duct-tape wallet—the same one you made for him during a particularly boring summer—flashing briefly before being tucked away. The idea of eating another stiff, cellophane-wrapped muffin seemed ridiculous when there were trays of fresh pastries just a few feet away. But he was paying, and arguing seemed like it would cost more than you were willing to spend.

“Come, let’s find our table. Did you know the owner started reserving the one in the back for us? It’s nice when loyalty is rewarded.” Cillian steered you gently by the elbow toward an empty table in the corner. Releasing you, his fingers curled around the back of the chair, sliding it out with a graceful swoop that seemed practiced, almost theatrical.

No sooner than you sat, a broad-shoulder man rushed over with their drinks. “Here you go,” he said, gently placing them down. “I knew what to make as soon as you walked in.”

You settled into the seat, your eyes drifting to the cup placed before you—a frothy concoction topped with swirls of caramel and a mountain of whipped cream. You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, feeling its smoothness against your palms, the heat barely penetrating the barrier between them.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, more out of habit than genuine gratitude. Bringing the cup to your lips, you took a tentative sip, the sugary liquid flooding your mouth with an intensity that made you wince. It was cloying, too much, like the heavy-handed perfume of someone trying to mask their insecurities. With each visit, the sweetness seemed to grow, or perhaps it was just your weariness of this routine that soured the taste.

“Say 'ah',” said Cillian, tilting his drink to you. “I asked you to open your mouth. I'm giving you the first sip.” He tilted his head, curved lashes rising and falling with each blink. “Or do you want me to make you? Would you like that?”

“I want none of that. It's embarrassing.”

“Fine.” Cillian snatched his drink back, his lips curling into a contented smile as he savored a flavor that  you could no longer stomach. His phone appeared in his hand—sleek, the latest model—as if by magic, and he began to fuss over their table setting, rearranging the silverware and napkins with meticulous care.

“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand to halt your movements as you reached for a muffin. “Let me get a picture first.”

Sighing, you withdrew your hand. You should’ve just shut up and drank from his cup. He was probably punishing you now.

You were forced to watch as he positioned his phone just so, angling it to capture the perfect composition of their prepackaged desserts. The shutter clicked repeatedly, a staccato rhythm that echoed the tapping of your foot beneath the table. With a sense of dettachment, you observed the scene through the screen’s glow, detached, as if viewing it all from a great distance.

The cafe buzzed around them, a hive of activity and chatter, but in their little corner, only the soft light of Cillian’s phone display and the artificial sound of captured moments filled the space.

“Perfect,” Cillian finally declared, his voice threaded with satisfaction as he admired the digital gallery of confections and cream. “I can make even cellophane wrap look appetizing.”

“So talented,”  you replied, tone flat, the single word falling short of enthusiasm. You watched him now, as he edited and filtered reality into something palatable for public consumption, something that would garner admiration and envy in equal measure.

Finally allowed your beverage, you eagerly dug in, first savoring the whipped cream before it could’ve further melted into the beverage. Scooping some into your mouth, a dollop of whipped cream perched precariously on the edge of your straw.

It was then that the inevitable happened. The whipped cream betrayed you, a small glob landing with a soft plop on your nose. You froze, a flicker of annoyance crossing your face as you reached for a napkin. But Cillian’s hand was quicker, his fingers skimming your cheek, then swiping the cream off your nose. He lingered a second too long.

“Got it,” he murmured, tongue slithering out to lick his fingers. He wiped his saliva on the sleeve of your cardigan, which was still settled around his shoulders.

Your breath hitched. Although a more sensible part of yourself fought the urge to scream at him for the act, a quieter, darker corner of your mind began to race.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, drawing back slightly. You eyed your portion of the desserts, the artificial brightness of the strawberry topping almost mocking in its vibrancy. You scooped up a small bite, the saccharine taste doing little to satisfy the craving you couldn't quite name.

Cillian watched you, his dark eyes gleaming. He seemed oblivious to the fact that your routine outings had become a suffocating ritual, a showcase for the curated life he projected onto his Instagram feed.

“Isn’t it delicious?” he asked, his tone expectant, a hint of coercion nestled between the words.

“The same as always,” you echoed, though the flavor was as hollow as the affirmation. The consequences of defying Cillian’s vision for your friendship loomed large and his approval was a drug you had been conditioned to crave.

Your spoon clinked against the plastic container, a soft sound. You ate mechanically, your thoughts drifting away from the table, away from Cillian and his veiled demands. You imagined stepping out of this scene, leaving behind the cloying sweetness and the confines of expectations. In your mind's eye, you pictured yourself tasting something real and complex, something that didn't leave you longing for more.

Your eyes wandered from the busy baristas steaming milk to perfection, to the patrons hunched over their laptops or lost in murmured conversations. The clinking of cutlery on porcelain provided a rhythmic backdrop to the muffled chatter around them. You inhaled deeply, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling your senses, yet you found no comfort in the familiar scent. Instead, it underscored a sense of monotony that had been creeping into your days, a desire for something more than these meticulously staged outings.

“Y/N?” Cillian's voice threaded through your thoughts, smooth and commanding. His eyes were fixed on her, expectant, as he leaned forward slightly, his posture perfect, his smile practiced. “You seem distant today. You know you can share anything with me, right?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you assured him, pressing your lips into a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. “Just thinking about a paper I have due.”

“Your dedication is admirable,” he replied, his tone laced with an affection that felt like a velvet glove masking a steel grip. “Admirable, but irritating. You need to learn to relax a bit. Don’t worry, I’m here to take care of you.”

You nodded. You watched him as he adjusted his phone on the table, the screen alight with notifications—likes, comments, a digital chorus singing his praises. It seemed that he had already uploaded the images, a new record. Cillian seemed to exist in two worlds simultaneously: the one before you and the one inside his phone, each moment curated for maximum effect.

“Let’s take a selfie,” he suggested suddenly, his voice light but insistent. “We haven’t updated our cafe chronicles in a while.”

Before you could respond, he had positioned his phone, the lens aimed at capturing the dessert and you smile.  You obliged, tilting your head just so. You braced yourself for a barrage, but he merely snapped one image.

Your stomach curdled. Was it alright? How could he be satisfied by only one picture? Were you ugly and was offering to take a picture with you merely a way to maintain the farce of friendship? He was always buying you things, and you had never stopped to wonder what he was getting in return. Was it a sick sense of charity?

“You’re so pretty here,” Cillian declared, reviewing the photo with a nod of approval. "Our followers will love this."

“Our?”

“They’re mine, but they like seeing you, too. I guess I should share you, sometimes.”

“Right. Yeah, guess that makes enough sense.”

You couldn't help but wonder if there was anyone out there who saw past the facade, who understood the reality of the smiles and the sweetness that left a bitter aftertaste. You longed for the authenticity that no filter could provide, a life where moments were lived and not merely documented for the hollow validation of strangers. You wondered what kind of person Cillian was without that glassy shield.

“Your turn,” he said, pushing the phone toward you. “You should post something too. Keep up appearances, you know?”

“Right,”  you murmured, your fingers hovering over the device. You glanced at Cillian and then back at the bustling cafe, the world spinning around you in a blur of motion and sound. You glanced up at Cillian, who was animatedly discussing his latest social media strategy, his features alight with enthusiasm.

“Imagine the likes we’d get if we posted every weekend.”

“What’s your goal with this?” you abruptly asked. “Why do you post so much?”

He paused, his gaze lifting from the screen to meet hers, a half-smile playing on his lips. “I have dreams, Y/N,” he said softly, almost tenderly. His dark eyes held a glimmer of something fierce, something hungry. “I want to be more than just a face in the crowd. Modeling—that’s what I see myself doing. My face on billboards, in magazines…”

Your heart skipped a beat, not from surprise but from the sudden realization that he had been serious about his ambitions all along.

“Then I support you,” you murmured. The words felt hollow, even to your own ears, as if they were being swallowed by the grandeur of his dream.

But as Cillian spoke, detailing his strategies for building a portfolio and networking within the industry, your attention waned. You nodded mechanically, your mind drifting. Your could hear the passion in his voice, see the fire in his eyes, but it was like watching a play through a thick pane of glass. You couldn't reach him; you couldn't touch the world he was so vividly painting with his words.

The conversation began to feel like a soliloquy, his voice the only sound in the room, resonating with aspirations that soared high above your understanding.  Your gaze settled on the phone still clutched in his hand, the screen alive with notifications—each one a confirmation of his allure, each one pulling him further away from her. The light from his phone cast a glow on his sharp features, throwing shadows that danced across his high cheekbones. He was talking about headshots now, about finding the right angle to accentuate the stark lines of his jaw. You tried to listen, tried to be present, but a storm brewed within her, dark and relentless.

Cillian was sensitive, his heart an exposed nerve, and the world he so desperately wanted to conquer was unforgiving, ravenous. The beauty industry would devour his gentle spirit; you could almost hear the snap of its jaws in the distance. Your stomach churned at the thought of him, caught in the maelstrom of criticism and rejection, those princely features twisted in pain.

A shiver ran down your spine upon drawing a cruel conclusion. You wanted to see him crying, but you wanted to reserve the sight for yourself. He would look pretty even when crying—you had seen it before, the way tears clung to his lashes like morning dew, the way his blue eyes deepened into stormy seas.

Your lips parted, breath catching. It was a troubling realization, one that made your cheeks flush with heat. You didn't want the world to witness that vulnerability, to see him stripped bare of the confidence he wore like armor.

“You’re beautiful. The world will love you," you managed to say. “It will devour you whole.”

He paused, his eyes locking onto your, and for a moment, there was silence. “You really think so?” he asked, tentative hope threading through his words.

You nodded, your throat tight. “It’s impossible not to,” you said, and it was the truth. But buried beneath that truth was a coil of scales and green, that dreaded jealousy snaking around your heart. It was a silent plea that begged him not to share his beauty with anyone else. In a world where you often felt mismatched and uncertain, his adoration was the anchor that kept you from drifting too far into the sea of your own insecurities. The only thing you had was him, and the thought of losing even a sliver of that connection was more than you could bear.

“Y/N?” Cillian's voice sliced through your reverie, laced with a hint of suspicion. “Really, what’s wrong? You seem spacey today.”

“Sorry,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “Only tired, that’s still all.”

As you finished eating the desserts,  youur restlessness clawed its way up your throat, desperate for release. With each bite of the overly sweet cake, you tasted the blandness of repetition. The same cafes, the same dynamic, the same Cillian — it was a pattern woven into the fabric of your daily life, one that now chafed and constricted.

You pushed the plate away, the remnants of frosting clinging stubbornly to the porcelain.

“Next time, let’s try somewhere new,” you ventured, your voice steadier than you felt. “Maybe something less curated? We could take a stroll around town and see where we wind up.”

“New?” Cillian laughed. “Why fix something that isn’t broken? This place is us. It’s our spot.”

Your gaze fell to the empty plate, the hollow echo of ‘our’ ringing in your ears. No, you thought, a slow-burning defiance taking root. This isn’t us; it’s you, and I’m just along for the ride because you pay for everything.

“Guess so,” you murmured, the word sticking in your throat like the last taste of artificial sweeteners. Cillian continued talking, oblivious to the seismic shift occurring within.

You bit your lip, gaze lingering on your phone before shifting to your bag, the dog-eared textbook inside. Reluctantly, you retrieved the device and opened your emails, sifting through the job listings yet again.

“Applying to jobs? You can do that anytime.” Cillian’s lips curled into a half-smile, though his eyes narrowed slightly—a fleeting shadow crossing his otherwise immaculate features. “Why are you worrying about that, though? If you need money, I can talk to my father. He’s always looking for competent people at the company.”

The offer hung in the air between you, a gilded temptation laced with implications. Your fingers paused on the page, the words 'cognitive dissonance' blurring before your eyes. You took a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in your chest.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you replied, more to yourself than to him. “I want to earn my way, not just land a job because I know someone who knows someone.”

Cillian leaned back, his expression unreadable as he regarded you through half-lidded eyes. “As you wish,” he murmured, the phrase an echo of acquiescence that seemed to dance on the edge of something darker, something you couldn't quite place.

Turning back to the textbook, you tried to lose yourself in the psychological complexities it held, your mind tracing the intricate pathways of human behavior and motivation. Yet, a part of you remained acutely aware of his presence, the weight of his gaze, and the unspoken challenges that brewed like the coffee behind the counter—bitter and potent.

“Really, Y/N,” Cillian said, his voice smooth like velvet but edged with something colder. You could feel his eyes on you, burning with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “You don’t have to do this. I can make things easier for you. You’re not just anyone to me. But you aren't family either.”

“You’re not getting it. You’re just a friend, and connections can be so easily severed. I’ve done it since secondary school, and now that we’re entering adulthood, I don’t want to keep relying on you. I want to feel like I’m doing something for myself for once.”

“Fine,” Cillian’s voice dropped, a shadow passing over his face that matched the darkening sky outside. “But remember, my offer to take care of you is always there. It would be much simpler than all this.”

You felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cafe’s air conditioning. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, hands trembling slightly. Your ambition battled with the gnawing doubt that his words left in their wake.

“Simple isn’t always better,” your murmured, your attention ostensibly back on your phone, but your senses were hyper-aware of the man sitting across from you.

Your fingers paused over the screen, the list of job postings blurred by a growing resolve. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you met Cillian’s gaze with an icy detachment.

“What do you even want?”

“I need to contribute to my brother's school fees. He deserves that chance.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the cafe's buzz dimmed under the weight of his scrutiny. “Which school is he at?”

“Some snooty international boarding school,” you replied, your protective instincts flaring. You didn’t know why, but you didn’t want him to know.

“A prestigious place. Must be expensive.”

“Very.”

“A good education is vital yet costly. Surely, for people of your financial status, there are scholarships, grants…”

“None that cover everything,” you interjected, your tone laced with the fatigue of countless hours spent searching for financial aid.

“Then work harder,” Cillian suggested, his words wrapped in a honeyed tone that did little to sweeten their bite. “Or not. You could always reconsider my proposal.”

“I already said no to the job.”

“Not that one.”

You recoiled, as if the words were a physical blow. “Stop joking about that,” you stated, your voice quiet but fierce. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

An unreadable expression crossed Cillian's face before he masked it with a charming smile. “As you wish. But the world isn’t kind to dreamers who walk alone.”

Your heartbeat quickened, not from flattery but from the veiled warning in his tone.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper as you clammbered out of your seat, sidestepped away from Cillian. Your fingers trailed the cool, marbled countertop of the cafe as you headed towards the sanctuary of the restroom. Inside, the air was perfumed with lavender and vanilla, an artificial calm that did little to soothe your troubled thoughts.

Standing at the sink, you turned the cold tap and splashed water onto your face, watching as droplets clung stubbornly to your glasses before tumbling down. You looked up, meeting your own gaze in the mirror. The girl reflected back at you had eyes wide with determination, yet shadowed by doubt. With a trembling hand, you pushed the glasses up the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath, trying to wash away the worry etched into your forehead.

“Can you believe we happened to come here at the same time as them?”

“As who?”

“That’s  Y/N L/N,” a hushed voice pierced through the quiet, followed by the sound of stifled giggles.

You stilled, your heart skipping a beat. You recognized the voices of fellow students, their words weaving through the space between the stalls and sink, ensnaring your attention.

“The one who's always with Cillian?” another whispered, a note of envy threading through her tone.

“Exactly! I thought they were just friends, but seeing them here together, they must be dating. She’s so lucky; he looks like he walked out of a fashion magazine… Vogue, who?”

Your hands paused, water dripping from your fingertips. Their words wrapped around you like a velvet robe, heavy with implications you’d never dared to consider. To them, you were no longer invisible, no longer just a friend clinging to the edges of Cillian’s spotlight. You were the object of speculation, the center of a narrative spun from half-truths and assumptions.

Your reflection in the mirror now seemed different, caught in the crossfire of jealousy and admiration. It was unsettling, this new role you hadn’t auditioned for. And yet, part of you reveled in the novelty, the taste of a life where you weren’t just surviving but thriving in the eyes of others.

“Seriously, what does he see in her, though?” the first voice added with a scoff, the sound sharp enough to cut through your fleeting fantasy. “She’s not even that pretty, and she doesn’t even dress well.”

“Who knows? Maybe she's not as plain as she looks. Or maybe it's her brain. Isn't she a biomed major?”

“Whatever it is, I wish I had it.”

You exhaled slowly, the air leaving your lungs like the deflating of a balloon. With one last glance at your uncertain reflection, you adjusted your clothes and stepped out of the restroom. Your eyes scanned the café until they settled on Cillian. He sat at a corner table, his princely features bathed in the soft glow of your laptop screen.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you said tentatively, approaching him.

“For you, I’ve got all the time in the world,” Cillian replied without looking up, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.

You leaned over his shoulder, watching as paragraphs morphed under his command. You noted how he supplemented your notes with additional information, his edits weaving through the essay like intricate lacework. A warmth spread through your chest at his helpfulness.

“Your argument here is strong, but you’ve missed some spelling errors, and the grammar is wonky in some bits,” Cillian pointed out, highlighting the words with a click. “You need to pay more attention to detail.”

The feelings of admiration died.

“Thanks for catching those,” you murmured, trying to match his attentiveness with an appreciative smile. Yet, as Cillian continued to point out every tiny mistake, you felt the weight of his scrutiny. It was as if he were peeling away layers, exposing the flaws you had worked so hard to hide beneath vibrant colors and earnest smiles.

“Here, another one,” he said sharply, almost triumphantly, correcting a misspelled term with a swift stroke.

“Right. I’ll remember that.”

For a moment, you stood motionless, observing Cillian's meticulous grooming mirrored in his meticulous editing.

“Your words are comprehensive,” he commented, finally meeting your gaze. “But sometimes, it feels like you're not quite sure of yourself. You could be more assertive.”

“Maybe,” you conceded, tugging at the hem of your blouse. “I don’t know how to write well. I just want it to be perfect, you know?”

“Just rest up and let me worry about perfection,” Cillian said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the screen’s glow imprinting on your eyelids. The day replayed itself behind your closed eyes: all of it now seemed trivial compared to Cillian's insistent editing, his fingers deftly correcting your words as if they were errant children straying from the path.

Opening your eyes, you glanced at the computer screen. His changes were precise, the document almost gleaming with perfection under the cursor's blinking supervision. But it was your essay, your thoughts—your voice, now polished by someone else's hand. You felt a pang of something akin to betrayal, though no promise had been broken.

"Is it better now?”

“Better,” you replied, your voice lacking conviction. You noticed then how the light caught on the angles of his face, a visage crafted to be admired, to be envied. It struck you—how many others had been captivated by that same light, only to find themselves lost in the dark?

“Thanks,” you added, a necessary courtesy.

“Anything for you.”

You turned back to the screen, retreating to your essay to calm yourself. But even there, doubt crept in, whispering that perhaps you were losing yourself in the pursuit of an image—a place beside Cillian, envied by strangers and shrouded in false admiration.

[dat-town]

curiosity kills

never seen circus masterpost

Characters: ringmaster!Ten & female reader

Setting & genre: magical realism au, circus au

Summary: The circus is hungry for lost souls. The ringmaster intends to devour yours.

Warnings: general creepiness of an eerie circus, ambiguous ending, mentions of blood

Words: 2.3k

Title from the idiom ‘curiosity killed the cat’. Inspiration for Ten’s character came from the NCT2018 photo shoot with the black cat.

@restlessmaknae <3

Once upon a time there was an ordinary witch. She wasn't particularly powerful or anything special. But she had a circus. It was a magical place, created from her own life force which somehow started living on its own as it got bigger and busier. She also got stronger due to the magic concentration within its boundaries. Yet, the brighter the circus shone, the more exhausted she was. She needed to recharge, that's why the circus disappeared from time to time only to appear elsewhere.

The witch knew that it couldn't go on forever, that she needed some other kind of life source to feed to the circus instead of hers if she wanted to live without worrying about her creation killing her. She already couldn't stay in the circus for long, not without the place draining her, taking back what was its to begin with. It was her heritage, her source of youth, yet her demise too. 

Power was a mean little thing, so corrupting, the more she had, the greedier she got. She wanted the power but she didn't want to pay. At first, she tried to trick people into giving away years off their lives for certain wonders the circus could offer but the place was too proud, it didn't accept such sacrifice, so the witch needed a different approach. After trial and error, she figured out that willingness was the key, for the circus to take, the other party had to voluntarily bind their life to the circus. It was a straightforward deal: within the borders of the circus, the donor didn't get older nor hurt, they were pretty much immortal but the moment they left, they would immediately die. There was one more condition though, a far trickier one, the one most donors failed…

A black cat crossed the road. It slipped between openings of tents, behind curtains, under stalls and went unnoticed by most circus visitors. Not by the employees though since they knew it was no ordinary cat. Not as it dared to cross into the farthest territory of the circus before it ducked under a floaty silk material, straight into the rich, exotically scented tent of the ringmaster.

The young man looked up from where he was lounging and smiled, reaching out for the proud cat, patting its head. The cat nuzzled closer, its fluffy ears tickling his palm.

“Here you are,” he cooed, running his fingers through the soft, black fur. He fixed the moon pendant over its collar before he let the cat slip out of his reach, watching as it walked over to the circus’ map laid over the floor.

It was more of a 3D mock-up or a playhouse out of metal than a map but the ringmaster thought of it as one. He liked to watch over his empire, rearrange details when needed, adding and removing tents or attractions. He watched the cat elegantly slide between cracks of miniature buildings, past the siren’s pool and the fortuneteller’s stand until it reached the poison maker’s tent. The black cat put its paws on the gilded metal roof, claws out, and hissed.

The ringmaster grinned proudly at his familiar.

“Good job, Midnight. Let’s get to work.”

Being ‘just’ an empath meant having a low rank among witches but you never had bigger ambitions. You only ever wanted one thing.

When you had been younger, you had wanted nothing more than to visit the never seen circus, so you had made it your mission to find out as much about it as you could. Nobody really knew how the circus started. It was infamous within the witch community though, so you had heard a lot about it, fascinating stories and awful rumours alike. You had wanted to be able to guess where the circus would go next, who was in charge and what made ordinary people forget whatever happened within its borders. You had been crazy about it. You hadn’t gotten far though. You had always been late to hear about where the circus appeared and your guesses about its master – Was he a vampire? A demon? A powerful witch? – led you nowhere. So eventually you had given up on it.

And now, years later, here it was, right in front of you when you had the least expected.

After the poison maker was dealt with for thinking he could do business behind his back, using his circus’ reputation, the ringmaster planned to check on the preparations for tomorrow’s show. However, on his way to the main tent, swirling the keys he didn’t even need around his index finger while whistling joyfully, he abruptly stopped. Midnight froze in its spot too and quickly hid behind its owner’s legs, hissing at the cloaked figure emerging from the shadows.

It was a girl of ageless beauty, her pale skin contrasting her dark hood and pitless black eyes, golden pieces of accessories ringing as she moved. The ringmaster might have not met her before but he immediately knew who she was. She radiated the circus’ energy yet something rotten clinged to her too. She wasn’t supposed to be there though, not anymore.

“What are you doing in my circus?” He asked, standing his guard firmly, keeping eye contact, but he realised his mistake the moment the words left his mouth: this place was no more his than hers, the circus needed both of them to go on.

“Your circus? What happened to Nine?” The older witch scoffed and there was irony in her question. The other gritted his teeth. Nine had warned him that one day she would come back. She couldn’t stay away for too long.

“His time ended,” the ringmaster said because it had already been a decade since he took over the responsibility. The circus was now his whether she liked it or not. But what was a decade to someone who lived as long as the circus lived?

“And how long is yours… Ten?” The girl asked, tilting her head, wicked curiosity burning in her eyes. She didn’t seem too surprised by the turn of events, he wasn’t the first among the new circus owners after all. He was the tenth.

The corner of the ringmaster’s mouth twitched in distaste though.

“I won’t make the same mistake,” he claimed. Promised.

“They all say that in the beginning,” the circus’ creator laughed, so cruel and condescending. Like she already knew what would come. Maybe she did. “You are bound to this circus and its rules. Your own little prison.”

“At least I chose my prison,” Ten retorted, because yes, in a way it could be a prison, binding him in place, keeping him within the boundaries but for some, himself included, it was a sanctuary too. It saved him in more ways than just one.

“We all do,” the other witch whispered quietly yet her voice echoed long in the wind even after she simply dissolved into smoke.

You wandered around in the circus in awe. You knew that it would be a once in a lifetime kind of opportunity, so you took everything in and paid attention to the smallest details, so you could tell your family about it. Finally, after so many years you were finally here. You knew you would be forever teased for accidentally stumbling upon it during a visit back in your hometown despite searching for it for years but you didn’t care. Luck was finally on your side and you wouldn’t waste your chance. Now that you were at the circus, you could finally figure out the age old mystery about the owner: who were they?

“Young lady!” Somebody called after you in an urgent voice and you turned around only to see a wrinkled woman draped in a dark robe reaching after you. You pulled away before she could touch you, scared, although the moment you locked eyes with her, you could tell she meant nothing harmful. Being an empath definitely came in handy when you had to assess whether you got yourself into trouble or a bad situation. “You should leave. It’s dangerous for you here.”

You furrowed your brows. The circus didn’t seem dangerous at all, there were even kids giggling only a few feet away. Why would you have been in danger?

“For me? But why?”

“I cannot tell you but you have to trust me. You have to leave until you can,” the old lady insisted and her warning sent shivers down your back. She sounded genuinely concerned. Was she maybe somebody who saw the future? Or someone with a sixth sense?

“Now, now, isn’t it rude to send away our dear guests, Madame Park?” A sweet voice called but there was something sharp in it, something authoritative even though the guy showing up behind the woman was so much younger than her, merely a few years older than you perhaps. There was something peculiar about him though, something that reminded you of the stars glittering on the pitch black sky.

You had to remind yourself not to stare but the guy moved with such elegance in every step and turn of his that it was hard not to. He wore a violet laced black long coat and his dark eyes shone almost as bright as the earrings dangling from his lobes or the rings on his pianist-like fingers. He had a mysterious aura around him like a well-kept secret you couldn’t figure out but excitement bloomed in your chest like a flower when he looked your way. Your breath was caught in your throat when your gazes met.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just restless now that it’s been a while since anybody died in the circus,” he said casually, waving absentmindedly in the direction where the old lady scurried off.

It was most likely meant to be reassuring but you blinked as a spike of fear registered in you at his words. He must have noticed too as the smile on his sinister lips widened and a lovely chuckle left his mouth.

“I’m just joking,” he added and yet, you couldn’t tell whether he meant it or not. You should have sensed it and yet your power seemed to abandon you at that very moment. Your hesitance must have been obvious as the guy tried his best to make you feel comfortable.

“My name is Ten, I’m the ringmaster. Welcome to the circus,” he put up his hands as if to demonstrate the colourful tents and tedious amount of sweets and specialties this place could offer. Proudly as if he was about to announce the greatest show you would see in your life.

Ah, the ringmaster. It made sense then, why his whole personality felt like a performance. It made you smile though, his greeting. You introduced yourself too, albeit more gingerly but Ten smiled at you nevertheless with something like a promise in the curl of his lips.

“And what would you like to see the most in the circus, dear?” He asked and the endearment in his question made you blush. It almost made you forget about your initial goal. But not quite.

“Oh! I would like to meet the owner. I have been curious about them since I was a child,” you explained, excited, hoping that this handsome stranger can help you on your forgotten quest.

“Have you, now?” Ten’s mouth quirked up in an amused smile and you were too mesmerised by the beauty of it to notice a cat sneaking up on you.

You yelped at the sudden pain and when you looked down, you saw bloodied scratch marks on the back of your hand and an unapologetic black cat in Ten’s arms.

“Ah, sorry. Midnight doesn’t really like new people. He’s a bit territorial, you see,” the ringmaster explained as he patted the cat and slowly lowered it down the ground. “Here, let me,” he held a hand out for yours.

You hesitated only for a moment before letting him touch you and a quiet hiss left your mouth when his thumb grazed against the still bleeding wound. A moment later there was nothing but a few pale scars in its place.

“Thank you,” you whispered in wonder at which the line of Ten’s mouth hardened. Or maybe you just imagined it because right after he was smiling softly again, making your weak heart flutter.

Silly, silly girl, you have no idea what you started. Nobody can get to know the circus owner and get away with it. Not when the circus is selfish and wants them only for itself.

Ten looked at you and knew none of it was a coincidence: the creator’s visit and her reminder, Madame Park’s warning and you showing up right then and there, looking for him. You were supposed to be his Achilles heel. The one who makes him doubt his place in the world. The one who makes him think of the circus as more of a prison than a sanctuary.

Your blood still tainted his fingertips just like how your smile burned into his eyelid but Ten wouldn’t waver. He wouldn’t give in to this mortal weakness. He wouldn’t make the same mistake as his ancestors had done.

He would show you around, show you magic you had never seen and he would tell you all his secrets, all the ugly truth, and then, when you finally fear him, he would sacrifice you on a gilded altar before the sun comes up, so your blood could bath in the morning glow before the circus disappears again.

He wouldn’t let you live.

Not if it cost him.

[msmorningstaarr]

Holy and Heathen - 6 (Defiance.)

Pairing: young!Oberyn MartellxF!Original Hightower Character

Word count: 5.7k

Chapter Warnings: domestic violence;

ao3 | masterlist

SUMMARY: Lady Melara Hightower is the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower and has a distinct, serious and pious personality. She is sent to serve the Faith as a Septa, but her destiny suddenly changes once she becomes betrothed to the heir of Dorne, Prince Oberyn Martell. She sees herself living in a land far from hers with distinct habits, dealing with many divergences and a husband far more wild than she could ever expect. Would she be capable of lighting the way of her mind and heart?

(Except for Melara Hightower, all characters do not belong to me but to George RR Martin, author of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' book series.)

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

Before you read: I'm so sorry taking so long to update. Life has been a mess lately but here I stand! Thank you all who wished me well on my last post. <3

Melara

“You look marvellous, my princess.” Melessa finished braiding the last section of her lady’s hair in front of the mirror. Melara touched her skin gently, feeling the slight sensation of overheating.

“Thank you, Melessa.” Melara said, still looking at her own reflection. The heat burning her skin provoked the flush on her cheeks due to the intense sun of Dorne. The princess stood up, pushing the fabric on her tail so it wouldn’t get stuck on the small bench in front of her vanity. 

“The dornish climate agrees with you, princess.” Lys grinned, joining her hands in awe with Melara, who nodded calmly. 

“I fear I’m not as accustomed as I thought I would be with the weather, in truth,” Melara replied, caressing the silk covering her body. Her garment was red with a silk that came from Qarth, no sleeves and a cleavage bigger than usual. Although her curves were often praised, Melara felt uncomfortable with so many parts of her body on display. One way or another, Oberyn expressed his desire to see Melara with more dresses that exposed her body and wearing jewellery with pendants in the shape of suns. The princess found his request reasonable and wore it to honour him, even when he was not around.

The marriage so far was not the worst thing that could happen to her. Oberyn lavished her with gold, gifts and dresses to amend their complex beginning and his current absence. He sang for her in the nights they coupled and was slow in the moment, never taking her clothes off or trying to do the things that made her feel distressed. He penetrated her with ease, spreading her legs and eagerly going in and out between the apex of her thighs, making Melara forget for some brief moment all the thoughts in her mind. The dornish Prince seemed slightly annoyed by the incessant wish to not do bedding on his way, but he had no other option but to respect her.

“It is only a matter of time, my princess.” Megga said, applying some lavender oil in her lady’s fists and behind her ears. “We seem to be living inside the sun, but Dorne is beautiful.”

Melara nodded and curved her lips on a coy smile. “I am not sure if my skin will handle the weather. Oldtown was not as warm as Dorne is.”

She missed the wind. Even in the Water Gardens, where she was surrounded by exotic trees, their shadows and pools, the heat was overwhelming. She missed the Starry Sept, her simple attire, her small window and the matutine breeze she would feel when she was praying before her chores. Even missed Lya spilling a handful of words. Even missed Hightower, with Lynesse and Alysanne laughing at her when she missed a stitch on an embroidery lesson and their Septa slapped her hands until Melara would do it accurately. She missed Septon Lowan forgetting about her former choice of joining the faith and asking her to go back home. Now, she felt homeless, drowning her body in the dunes of sand.

“We will make sure you keep your beauty intact, princess. ‘Tis we assure you.” Lys guaranteed, giving Melara a glass of water.

“Thank you.” She said, after drinking a sip of the fresh liquid. And then, the girls heard a knock on her door.

“My lady, may I come inside?” It was Ysilla on the outside. Melara nodded at her handmaidens and Lys headed towards the chambers’ door to open it, proceeding with a bow at the princess in respect.

“Mother.” Melara left her goblet over a small table and approached her mother by law. “Is very pleasing to have your company today.” Then, the young princess signed for Lys, Megga and Melessa to leave the two alone.

Ysilla raised her eyebrow and expressed some confusion while her eyes travelled Melara up and down. “My lady, is that Elia’s dress that you are wearing?”

Melara looked puzzled at Ysilla and immediately changed the look on her face to embarrassment. Why would Oberyn present her with a dress that belonged to another lady? A sudden ache hit her heart.

“Mother, princess… I had no idea it belonged to Princess Elia…” Melara replied, nervously. “Oberyn presented me with this dress. I can switch right now and return it to Elia’s former chambers…”

Ysilla grabbed her hands gently and smiled, cutting her words. “No need, princess. My princeling son values his sister too much and I am sure he had the very best of intentions in presenting you with one of her dresses. You look splendid.”

Melara noticed a strange feeling coming from Ysilla’s eyes. Growing up around Lady Rhea made her quite sensitive to mood swings and Melara could sense something about her new mother not being happy about the dress. The young princess felt anxious and fiddled her hands behind her back, lowering her head.

“I have a letter for you.” Ysilla changed the subject, delivering her a small envelope. “From Bear Island.”

Melara raised her gaze and narrowed it, eagerly holding the piece of paper. She exhaled and felt relieved that Lynesse replied to her last letter. “Lynesse.”

“Would you mind reading it later? I have a few things to show you today.” Ysilla headed to the door, expecting Melara to follow her. The young girl nodded and left the letter over her desk and walked alongside Ysilla through the hallway.

“Can I trust the statement that Oberyn is treating you well?” She asked, caressing her own nails.

Melara nodded. “He is very kind, my lady. I could not ask for a better husband.”

Ysilla sighed and looked at a blank spot. “Good. I hope that you give me more grandchildren very soon.” More. Melara had forgotten the fact that Oberyn had two bastard daughters. She had mixed feelings over this, but none of them could be considered to be good. Melara knew from the beginning that the dornish had other approaches when it came to bastards, however, raising them inside the castle as if they were trueborn children was something beyond her understandment. The blonde princess had no wish to meet them and neither had any sort of interest in knowing their names. Her lips curled on a pout and nodded gently as Ysilla spoke. She discreetly frowned and agreed. “Yes, mother. I will provide for more children.” Her words carried a hint of bitterness and felt ashamed for it, but her mind found this situation distasteful and concerning. In a land where women can inherit, Melara feared one of them could try to claim and steal her future son’s birthright. Melara knew she needed to be wise. 

“Which leads me to another subject,” The mother sighed. “I believe you spent too much time retreating in the Water Gardens, my lady.” Melara narrowed her eyes. “It is time for you to return to Sunspear and be prepared besides Oberyn. Your absence is already being noticed at court.”

“Oberyn commanded me to stay in the Water Gardens.” The girl replied, muttering.

“And I command you to return to Sunspear, my dear.” Ysilla smirked. “I already demanded that the servants take all your things to your new chambers at the Old Palace. I have no wish to interfere on your marital agreement with my son, but I do hope you understand your role as his wife.”

“I promise to improve my demeanour, my lady.” Melara said, looking at a distant tree. 

“In the future, your child will marry Elia’s child. Which means that House Martell will maintain our strict bond with the Iron Throne,” Ysilla caressed her good daughter’s back whilst they walked. “You must be aware of politics to teach your children as well.”

Melara went mouth dried and disconcertedly agreed with her. “Of course, mother.”

"It may seem daunting at first, my dear, but you have the intelligence and strength to control these intricacies. And you will not be alone; I'll be here to guide you.” Ysilla smiled, assuring Melara.

And after an awkward silence, Ysilla spoke. “Are you well acclimated with Dorne? Is the cook of your liking?”

“Yes. The food is rather spicy but I am growing quite fond of it, although I miss a few things from the Starry Sept.” She replied, numbly. The food was one of her favourite things so far. Melara never considered liking spicy foods and the sweetness of the dornish wine, however, the first time she tried a roasted lamb covered with a special pepper and potatoes, she knew food would be the least of her problems. Melara also enjoyed being left alone in the Water Gardens, seeing the bright pools and the sea of Dorne by her window. Now, the bright princess had to go back to Sunspear and live her duty by Oberyn’s side. She could not help but feel insecure about Oberyn. She was unhappy to be married at all and scared Oberyn would be bothered by having her back on a regular frequence. Melara wanted to bury herself into faith once more and live her invisible life. Being a lady was an overwhelming existence.

“You are indeed committed to the faith and I can see it. It is quite admirable, my lady.” Ysilla said, raising her eyebrows.

Melara curled her lips and joined her hands, exhaling before her words came out. “The Gods are good, my lady. We must spread their words and values to our next ones.”

“I am not a religious woman myself, I must admit. But it’s quite impressive to see your commitment to faith. It is inspiring.”

Melara blushed and joined her hands. “Your words honours me deeply, mother.”

“You and Oberyn may not come to realise it yet, but you have needed skills. Involuntarily, Oberyn got the best match for him when he sent your sister away.” Melara felt a warmth, similar to a heartburn and her feet seemed to fly above the floor in pride for all she just heard. Ysilla was the only person she felt as closest to a true friend she ever had. “Religion speaks volumes when it comes to influencing people, my lady. You’ll learn to use it in your favour and Oberyn as well.”

Ysilla continued leading Melara through the castle, her eyes keenly observing the young princess's reactions. Melara could not send away the uneasiness that had settled within her since the mention of Oberyn's daughters. She wondered about the dynamic they would share if they ever cross paths.

As they walked through the corridors adorned with tapestries and the rich colours of House Martell banners, Ysilla began to discuss the responsibilities and expectations that came with being the Lady of Sunspear. Melara listened intently, trying to absorb the information that was being imparted to her. The weight of her role began to dawn on her, and she felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Ysilla spoke of diplomacy, alliances, and the delicate balance of power in the region. Melara nodded along, realising the entanglements of her position. It was a far cry from the days of her childhood in Oldtown, where the concerns were more dull and shallow. She missed the cold, crisp air at that moment.

The two women entered a room adorned with maps and scrolls spread across a large table and enormous walls filled with books. That library remembered the one from Hightower and her eyes were lost in the moment, mentally praising the beauty of that place she never visited. Ysilla gestured towards the various documents, explaining the strategic importance of certain locations and the history of past conflicts in the region. Melara couldn't help but feel overwhelmed, her mind racing to grasp the complexity of it all.

Ysilla, sensing Melara's apprehension, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and tried to comfort her and suddenly, a stormy presence opened the doors suddenly, revealing a child. She was dressed with a yellow mustard robe, similar to the ones Oberyn used to dress. Her hair, although, was messy and loose. The young girl possessed that tanned olive skin and his widowed eyes and fastly ran to Ysilla’s arms. 

“Grandmother!” Melara’s heart stopped for a moment when everything made sense. Behind her, a servant walked ashamed and apologised repeatedly for the girl’s behaviour.

“My princesses, my apology. As soon as Obara heard you were here she wanted to see you…” The girl spoke, fearing for her lady’s disapproval.

“Not at all, Myriah. You may leave, Obara will stay with me for a moment.” Ysilla said and the girl left. Obara stood still, hugging her grandmother and Melara had no expression but utter discontent with the presence of the infant right in front of her. She had no manners nor any ladylike demeanour, walking with a wooden sword and small spear on her hand.

“I missed you, grandmother. Why did you not come to see me and Nymeria?” Obara asked, impatiently. Ysilla caressed the little girl’s face and smiled widely whilst Melara watched the scene.

“I missed you too, sweet girl. I just could not have enough spare time to be with you and your sister.” The older princess replied, holding her granddaughter’s hand.

“Look what father brought me from aunt Elia’s wedding!” She proudly showed the wooden sword and Ysilla giggled, watching Obara dance with the sword.

“That is certainly a proper toy for a proper fighter.” She replied to Obara, who put her small sword back on her sheath.

“Can I see father’s wife?” Melara could hear from afar the request from the child and it made her hands sweat and feet retorse inside her shoes.

“As a matter of fact, your step mother is right here. Would you like to see her?” Obara nodded her head quickly and started walking towards the distinct figure that was Melara. 

The blonde princess closed the book and finally could look at the young bastard in front of her closely. She was the perfect image of Oberyn in all aspects, appearance and temper.

“Obara, this is Princess Melara. Princess, this is one of Oberyn’s daughters.” The six year old child stares deeply at her step mother with stern eyes, roaming her and raising one of her eyebrows. Melara stood still and remained cold in response to Obara.

“She is pale as father told.”

Melara's gaze met Obara's unyielding stare, and a small pout tugged at the corners of the princess's lips. She crouched down to meet Obara at eye level, maintaining a calm and collected demeanour.

"Pale, am I?" Melara said, her voice carrying a playful edge. "Well, it seems your father has been sharing stories about me. I assure you, Obara, there's more to a person than the colour of their skin."

Obara continued to study Melara, seemingly unimpressed. The young girl crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking a gesture she must have seen from her father countless times.

"Father says you come from Oldtown," Obara stated matter-of-factly, her gaze unwavering. 

“Is that true?”

“It is.” Melara replied, replacing the book back to the shelf. “I come from House Hightower, the guardians of Oldtown.”

“I come from Oldtown too. My mother is a whore.” Obara replied simply. Melara had to admit to being impressed about how well developed Obara was in her speech, but distantly shocked with how naturally the girl spoke about her true parentage.

“I see.” Melara replied, uninterested and Ysilla watched everything. 

"Are you my new mother?" Obara asked, her gaze fixed on Melara. The question hung in the air, laden with a complexity that Melara understood all too well. She took a moment before answering, measuring her words.

"I am your father's wife, Obara." Melara replied, firmly. Obara continued to study Melara, her expression unreadable.

Ysilla sensed the tension and knelt down to be at eye level with his daughter. "Obara, Princess Melara is now a part of our family. I expect you to treat her with respect," She said, his voice carrying a motherly authority that brooked no argument.

The young girl sighed, a mixture of defiance and acceptance evident in her demeanour. Melara felt a weird sickness on her stomach and a knot forming inside her belly, standing up swiftly to stay away from Obara. “My lady, I need to be excused from your presences.”

“Is everything alright, Melara?” Ysilla asked, concerned. 

“I am not, in fact. But I must prepare myself to arrive in Sunspear as you commanded, princess.” That interaction with the bastard was everything she had no wish to experience, at least not that day. As Melara excused herself from the presence of Obara and her grandmother, she felt a strange mix of emotions. Jealousy, anger, sadness, outrage. The encounter with Oberyn's daughter had left her unsettled, and the realisation that she was now not only beaconing the intricate politics of Sunspear but also the complexities of family dynamics weighed heavily on her mind.

Ysilla, perceptive as ever, watched Melara with a concerned expression as she sent Obara away with her nurse once more. "Take your time, my dear. Family can be challenging, but it's something we all must learn to navigate."

Melara nodded in acknowledgment, offering a clumsy nod before making her way back to her quarters. Once inside, she closed the door behind her and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the discomfort that clung to her like a stubborn shadow.

As she prepared for the journey to Sunspear, Melara couldn't help but reflect on the challenges that lay ahead. The courtly intrigue and political machinations were one thing, but the dynamics within House Martell were proving to be just as complex. The young Obara, with her bold demeanour and piercing gaze, was a constant reminder of her husband’s impulsiveness and lack of respect for her. How could he take a bastard into his lady wife’s life?

With a heavy heart, Melara started her small journey to the political seat of House Martell. The journey ahead held uncertainties, not only in the realm of politics but within the walls of her newfound family. She understood that the role of a stepmother carried its own weight, however, she refused to see herself as a motherly figure to a child born out of wedlock.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across Sunspear, Melara made her way to the courtyard where her chariage awaited. The journey to Sunspear awaited, and with it, Melara knew she would face not only the ramifications of court but also the challenges of forging familial bonds in a land where loyalty was as shifting as the desert sands.

Her new bedchambers were adorned with Dornish tapestries and intricate patterns that spoke of the region's rich history. Melara moved toward a window, gazing out at the sun-drenched landscape of Sunspear. The city, with its spires and domes, seemed to hold both promise and peril. The letter from Lynesse lay forgotten on her desk, overshadowed by the weight of her new responsibilities.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the Dornish sky, Melara couldn't help but feel a sense of isolation. She missed the familiar faces of the Starry Sept, the simplicity of her previous life. Little did she know that the journey she had embarked upon would challenge not only her role as Lady of Sunspear but also the very core of who she was. The blonde decided to open the letter and opened the paper at a slow pace whilst she could feel fragments of sand beating her face as the wind breezed inside her private room.

Dear Sister,

It has come to my acknowledgement that you had married my former betrothed to replace me as his wife. It surprises me, once I believed you took the vows on your sacred life. My husband, Sor Jorah is rather affectionate and handsome, a fearsome knight, therefore, there is nothing to worry about my safety. The lands of Bear Island are too wild and cold, though. Nonetheless, my husband lavishes me with gold and the fairest wools and fur coats I have ever seen. Please, send my regards to your Lord Husband for me as an insignificant attempt to thank him for his infinite kindness in discontinuing our betrothal and making my marriage possible. I do hope to read if Prince Oberyn is treating you properly. I also believe he will be the one who will finally make a bright smile rise on your face.

Father told me in a letter you were present at the royal wedding of Prince Rhaegar. What is he like? Did you become acquainted with Our Graces? I am eager to know your experience on King’s Landing.

Your beloved sister,

Lady Lynesse of House Mormont.

Melara embraced the letter with a longing tear scrolling down her eyes. Lynesse and Alysanne were the closest of her age of all her siblings and shared the same mother as well. Besides the constant mockery over Melara, Alysanne was rather protective and often told stories about their mother to Lynesse and Melara. The elder sisters often made Melara feel excluded, more of an outsider, for Melara was a quiet person and did not share the interest of playing with dolls and playing with other children of the castle. Still, Lynesse would climb to Melara’s bed on every storm and just laid by her side in silence, holding her hand while they slept because she knew how scared of lightnings and thunders Melara was. Lynesse understood how important the silence was for her. Melara sat on a chair in front of her desk and grabbed two pieces of paper and a feather pencil and began to write.

Sister, 

I am glad to know that your Lord Husband treats you well, it earnestly makes my heart relieved to know that you are safe and sound by his side. I pray for the Mother you write me with news that I am to be an aunt, for I truly hope for your happiness. I imagine how cold the North might be, but tales of its beauty always come to my ears. I am sure you will recognise it when the time has come. I will make sure Oberyn knows about your gratitude towards him.

As for me, life in Dorne is not as difficult as I thought it could be. My lord husband is not cruel nor violent towards me. However, the laws and costumes of the country are something beyond my understanding. Oberyn is handsome and a fearsome knight as well, but dismisses any kind of affection, being rather distant from me. It does not bother me, once I still did not find in my heart to love him, but he treats me respectfully and this is more than enough for me. 

And I indeed met Prince Rhaegar and Our Grace the Queen. Both of them are ethereally beautiful, but I sense they were slightly sad, even on a wedding day. Princess Elia is a very bright person and very close to Oberyn. I wish I had some sort of clue to his heart and make our relationship as affectionate as yours. King’s Landing would suit you well, once the city is full of eventful streets and the royal castle is full of adventures worthy of the eventful person you are.

I always figured I would never miss our moments in Oldtown, but here am I, shedding some tears as I think of how much I miss you and my former life. I wish I could remain in Oldtown as a Septa, but the Gods are good and knows best about my future. I truly hope to read your response soon.

Your dear sister,

Princess Melara of House Martell

Melara melted the wax and covered it with the sigil of House Martell as she sealed the first letter she wrote. Then, she took the second paper and started writing once more. 

My good sister,

It has come to my mind that I never exchanged letters with you and for thus, I must apologise. Since I married your brother, I had a hard time adapting to the intense dornish heat and life as Lady of Sunspear, therefore, I was not able to write for anyone. I pray for the Mother every day your womb will be blessed with a new heir to the Iron Throne very soon and your marriage to Prince Rhaegar grows peaceful and full of love as the days go. 

I write this letter with the intention of establishing communication with you on a regular basis, for I wish to nurture a friendship with you. I sincerely hope you found my request reasonable.

Your good sister,

Princess Melara of House Martell.

As she dropped the wax on Elia’s letter to seal it, she heard a knock on her door. “Who is it?” Melara asked, standing and fastly finding something adequate to dress herself.

“It’s me, wife.” Oberyn said behind the door. Melara raised her eyebrows in desperation and tried to look more presentable for her husband, wiping some traces of sweat and braiding her hair .  

“Let me look presentable for you first, husband.” Melara said while finishing lacing her dress.

“Melara, there is no need…” His words were quickly shut off once his princess wife opened the door for him.

“Please, come inside.” Melara said, making space for him. He smirked and walked inside her new chambers with a jar and two cups. 

“I heard mother has established Sunspear as your home.” He said, walking with his arrogant stride. Melara could see how much Obara resembled him and wondered if her own children would ever resemble Oberyn this much. The princess also rumined if her lord husband was discontent with the new arrangement of her living.

“Is it of your dislike, husband?” Melara asked, calmly trying to disguise her fears.

“In fact not. I suppose it is far easier to have our weekly moment while you are not with child.” He said, placing the jar and cups over the table. “I also agree with mother. Leaving you in the Water Gardens was a mistake. You need to learn how to administrate our household.” And then, he served her a glass of wine. He would never let her serve him and it undeniably confused Melara, for she always believed in the female role of submitting and serving to the husband, not the opposite. “Drink with me.”

Melara nodded and raised her goblet after Oberyn. “To your new chambers.” She drank a sip of her wine, which gave her a slight sensation of refreshment in that hot weather. “I see you wrote letters.”

“Yes,” Melara replied, walking towards the table. “To Lynesse and Elia.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Have you two been exchanging letters?”

“Not quite,” Melara admitted. “But I am trying to establish communication with my good sister. It was rather insensitive of me to not send her any letter.”

“Elia is not the type of person who would hold a grudge over such things, my lady.” Oberyn advertised, sitting on a sofa leaned by the wall. “But it is good to know that you are trying to bond with my sister.” His eyes were lost somewhere. Melara knew very little about Oberyn’s emotions, but she knew more than well that Oberyn was a high spirited person, always mischievous and playful before the marriage. After that he became someone else. Melancholic, distant. At least with her. But when she mentioned Elia, Melara could see his pupils dilate and his eyes felt to be at a loss. The blonde asked herself if Oberyn was that numb around Obara and his other daughter.

“Lynesse thanked you over her letter. She said she is safe with her lord husband and is glad for your kindness in ending your betrothal.” Melara said, standing up in front of him.

Oberyn smiled. “Lynesse is a good woman, she deserves to be cherished by a loved husband.” He stood up, left his cup on the floor and touched Melara’s lips, something he would do anytime he wanted to initiate intimacy. Melara was tired and still thinking about how offended she felt by his bastard’s presence, but complied nonetheless. Oberyn started kissing her neck, involving his arms around her waist and undoing the lace of her dress, guiding her to the bed. He was silent the whole moment, but his lips were eager. Kissing her collarbones, squeezing her breasts over the thin fabric of her underwear.

Melara, however, could not stop thinking about what happened at the library earlier. Her mind recollected Obara defying her and telling about her life proudly, being the image of a major threat for her future bloodline. “I saw one of your daughters today.”

The tension between them had been building ever since the encounter with Obara, Oberyn's eldest daughter. Melara had made it clear that she harboured reservations about being around Oberyn's children. Oberyn, however, was fiercely protective of his daughters and resented any implication that they were less than deserving of Melara's respect. As he stopped kissing her, he narrowed his eyes and sat on the bed, intrigued.

“You did so?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I did.” Melara replied, sternly. Oberyn laughed.

“The eldest or the youngest?” The salty prince asked once more.

“She seemed to be around five or six years of age.” The young lady replied, facing down the wooden floor.

“Obara is her name. She resembles me too much.” Oberyn carried a certain proud tone of voice that sickened Melara to the stomach.

“She is a bastard.” Melara pointed out. Oberyn’s grin disappeared.

“And what would exactly change here?” Oberyn asked, trying to control his annoyance.

“How could you allow such disrespect to my person?” Melara frustratedly asked.

Oberyn closed his fists in an act of anger. “Why would my children represent some sort of disrespect to you?”

“It is unacceptable to have your bastards being raised alongside your lady wife.”

Oberyn stood up, his voice carrying the weight of his frustration. "Melara, you knew I had children when we wed. You cannot expect to separate me from them."

Melara dressed in a satin robe as he stood away, her voice cold as ice. "I knew, Oberyn, but I did not expect to be thrust into a family where the bastard children lack any semblance of manners and rub their bastardy on my face."

Oberyn's eyes flared with anger. "They are Dornish, Melara. They are strong, free-spirited, and unapologetic. Just like their father."

Melara gritted her teeth, demonstrating a passive aggressive demeanour. "I did not sign up for this. I am your wife, not their nursemaid."

Oberyn's expression hardened. "They are my blood, Melara. You will show them the respect they deserve." Melara's frustration boiled over, and she covered her eyes with her hands in rage, which surprised Oberyn.

"Respect is earned, Oberyn. It is not granted simply because of blood ties."

The Red Viper, renowned for his quick reflexes, swiftly grabbed Melara by her arms. His voice is low and dangerous. "And what about the respect you owe me, wife? I am your husband, and my daughters are a part of me."

Melara's eyes flashed, and she tried to retreat with fear but it was too late, she had to carry on with her fiery determination. "I owe you respect as my husband, but that does not mean I must blindly accept everything that comes with it. I will not be forced into a role I did not choose."

The clash between husband and wife continued. Oberyn, getting back to his senses, pushed Melara back. She held her arms where he grabbed her and felt the instant pain but stood her ground, swallowing her tears.

"You will not dictate who is a part of my life, Melara. These are my daughters, and you will find a way to coexist with them."

Melara, fueled by her own determination, leaned on her window. "I did not marry you to become a pawn in your familial disputes. I will not be subjected to the chaos of your children. Our future children…"

“Our future children what?” He yelled, infuriated.

Melara had to stand up for herself. “This is an utter disrespect to my person and our future, trueborn children. How can you allow your bastards to grow up here as equals? And if the lords recognise her as your true heir instead of my children?”

Oberyn smiled bitterly. “You would have to be with child first. Something you were not even able to become all this time as my wife!” The fight reached its peak, both Melara and Oberyn locked in a struggle for dominance. Melara let a single tear fall from her eyes in the moment, letting him know he had her weakness. In the end, as the dust settled, they stood facing each other, chests heaving with exasperation from both sides.Oberyn immediately sensed the weight of his rude words to his wife and buried his face in his hands. emotional distance that had grown between them. Melara, her eyes ablaze with defiance, refused to back down.

Melara walked away from the window, a somber expression on her face. "Enough," she said, her voice cutting through the tension. "This is not the way to resolve your differences."

Oberyn, still seething with frustration, fixed up his garments fast. "We will discuss this later," he said, his voice a low growl.

As Oberyn dispersed, he left her chambers in an uneasy silence, the rift between Oberyn and Melara lingered like a shadow over Melara’s head and heart. Melara laid on her and cried silently. She wanted to be closer to Oberyn, but his children out of wedlock were something almost unforgivable to Melara. That was the first time he ever raised his voice and laid his hand on her and it scared Melara, making her wish to be back in Oldtown more than ever, so she would do what she always does when in need: kneel and pray with the seven crystals in her hand, begging for the Father to reason justice in Oberyn’s head. The conflict had laid bare the challenges of blending their lives and families, and the road ahead seemed fraught with uncertainty.  

[danika-redgrave124]

Umbra Witch Yuu Umbran Elegance Side Characters Plus Grimm

Grim

Fragrance: Firey Radiance

Assigned Weapon: Gemstone Blaze

Scent Profile: A bold and invigorating blend of spicy cinnamon, smoky ember and a hint of exotic citrus, capturing the essence of intense and firey energy.

Bottle Design: The Bottle resembles a sleek angular flame with embedded gemstones, glowing with a soft blue light that reflects the pistols' fiery power.

Overall Look: A dynamic and striking outfit inspired by the intense energy of flames. The ensemble features a form-fitting jumpsuit in deep blue and black. The design includes intricate gemstone patterns and flame motifs that enhance Yuu's fiery aura.

Accessories: Flame-shaped earrings, a choker with a gemstone pendant and stylish gloves with flame details.

Hairstyle: Yuu's hair is styled into sleek waves, resembling fiery waves.

Special Effects: As Yuu moves, trails of blue flames follow them. During attacks, the pistols create explosive bursts of blue fire and a firey aura envelops Yuu, emphasizing their enhanced fire-based attacks.

Fellow/Ferro Honset

Fragrance: Vixen's Trickery

Assigned Weapon: Deceptive Canes

Scent Profile: A captivating blend of spicy bergamot, smooth sandalwood, and a touch of elusive musk, evoking the cunning and charm of a sly fox.

Bottle Design: The bottle is shaped like an ornate fox mask, with elegant engravings and a polished finish. It exudes a subtle, enchanting glow that mirrors the canes' deceptive elegance.

Costume: Deceptive Elegance Ensemble

Overall Look: A sophisticated and cunning outfit inspired by the sleek, deceptive nature of Honest John. The ensemble features a tailored suit in deep forest green and rich burgundy, with fox motif embroidery and hidden pockets that enhance Yuu's agile movements. The suit is both elegant and functional, designed for stealth and precision.

Accessories: A stylish top hat with a fox feather, a waistcoat with hidden compartments, and gloves with retractable blades for added flair.

Hairstyle: Yuu's hair is styled into sleek, refined waves with a hint of burgundy highlights, complementing the deceptive charm of the canes.

Special Effects: As Bayonetta moves, subtle, ethereal fox illusions trail behind her. During attacks, the canes reveal hidden blades and create swirling, deceptive patterns that confuse enemies and enhance Bayonetta’s agility and attack power.

Gidel

Fragrance: Jester’s Frolic

Assigned Weapon: Clownish Mallets

Scent Profile: A lively blend of zesty citrus, playful caramel, and a hint of cotton candy, capturing the whimsical and entertaining essence of a circus.

Bottle Design: The bottle is shaped like a colorful jester’s hat, adorned with playful patterns and vibrant hues. It features a playful, whimsical design that mirrors the mallets' clownish charm.

Costume: Jester’s Gambit Ensemble

Overall Look: A playful and vibrant outfit inspired by Gideon’s whimsical and clumsy style. The ensemble features a brightly colored jumpsuit with oversized, exaggerated patterns and a mix of bold, circus-inspired colors. The design includes ruffled details and playful accessories that add to the jester-like appearance.

Accessories: A comically oversized bowtie, a jester’s hat with bells, and gauntlets with playful patterns.

Hairstyle: Yuu's hair is styled into voluminous, playful curls with multicolored streaks, adding a touch of whimsy to her look.

Special Effects: As Yuu moves, small bursts of confetti and playful sparkles follow them. During attacks, the mallets create comically exaggerated impacts and vibrant bursts of color, enhancing the chaotic and entertaining nature of their strikes.

Rollo Flamme

Fragrance: Inquisitor's Flame

Assigned Weapon: Judgement Scythe

Scent Profile: A dark and intense blend of smoky incense, burning wood, and a hint of charred spices, evoking the oppressive and fiery nature of Frollo's judgment.

Bottle Design: The bottle takes the shape of a Gothic cathedral spire, with intricate stained glass designs depicting flames and religious symbols. The deep crimson hue of the glass mimics the glow of embers, embodying the scythe’s fiery wrath.

Costume: Inquisitor's Wrath Ensemble

Overall Look: A fearsome and authoritative outfit inspired by Frollo's role as an inquisitor. The ensemble features a long, flowing robe with dark, somber colors such as deep burgundy and black, adorned with Gothic patterns and religious symbols. The design is both regal and ominous, representing the weight of divine judgment.

Accessories: A tall, conical hat reminiscent of a bishop’s miter, gloves with etched fire motifs, and a cross-shaped pendant that glows faintly with an inner fire.

Hairstyle: Yuu's hair is styled into a high, elaborate updo with dark streaks of red running through it, mirroring the flames of judgment.

Special Effects: As Yuu moves, a faint trail of embers and smoke follows them, and when she attacks, the scythe releases fiery slashes that create an aura of condemnation, causing enemies to tremble under the weight of her strikes.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Scientists discover nanofabrication of photonic crystals on buried ancient Roman glass

Some 2,000 years ago in ancient Rome, glass vessels carrying wine or water, or perhaps an exotic perfumes, tumble from a table in a marketplace, and shatter to pieces on the street. As centuries passed, the fragments were covered by layers of dust and soil and exposed to a continuous cycle of changes in temperature, moisture, and surrounding minerals. Now these tiny pieces of glass are being uncovered from construction sites and archaeological digs and reveal themselves to be something extraordinary. On their surface is a mosaic of iridescent colors of blue, green and orange, with some displaying shimmering gold-colored mirrors. These beautiful glass artifacts are often set in jewelry as pendants or earrings, while larger, more complete objects are displayed in museums.

Read more.

[opinated-user]

Oh yeah, Lily, you're not a white person. You're so native american.

......

You're so native american that you're not even claimed by the Nation, you're so native american you chose not to contact your Aunt who was actually claimed by the Nation and who could have helped you connect to that culture, you're so native american that you didn't even know what two spirit was until someone explained it to you, you're so native american that you burn sage, a practice many native people have spoke out against. you're so native american that your Avatar's skin is significantly darker than your actual skin tone in real life and is wearing a fucking. feather. on her ear, just to show how "Native" she is (and dont give me that Sylvanas Windrunner inspiration crap, we all know what you were doing) Youre so native american that the supposed native american "trinket" your grandfather left behind was just an unauthentic cheap pendant you could buy off of ebay that was designed by a coloniser. You're so native american that out of all of your siblings, you're the one who got the "native gene" because of "thick straight black hair," but oh wait! Apparently, Courtney is native too! She's just got internalised racism! You're just so. fucking. indigenous. that you think that if you were to die or go missing, you would be labelled as just another case of a Native Woman getting injustice, even though you yourself admited that you don't really face racism since you look white,to the point that you literally had to make yourself yellow by applying concealer in the worst possible way just so you look all nice and "exotic" for your predominantly white audience in that picture, but surely there is no way you're white Lily! You love minorities! Especially Black women who have definitely felt comfortable interacting with you, and you've never been at all fetishy with black female characters.

No but in all seriousness, if Lily wanted people to think she's secure in her "identity as a native woman", she wouldn't need to darken her avatars skin tone despite being much lighter in real life, she wouldn't need to play up how "native" she is, and if she really was native, then the "supposed dear pendant that her grandfather left behind for her as his last gift" WOULDN'T BE ON HER CHEST WHILE SHES LITERALLY STRIPPING SHIRTLESS ON STREAM

LIKE IF YOURE GONNA BROWNFACE AT LEAST VERIFY WHAT IS AND ISNT AUTHENTIC TO THAT CULTURE 😭

the thing is, to LO being "native/indigenous/Cherokee" is entirely about looking like a sexualized brown woman and having a shiny new shield from which she can scream about how everyone else is racist (for disagreeing with her). it has nothing to do with culture, community, tradition or actually nothing of what makes actual Native people proud in their heritage. it's entirely self serving and superficial. the worst thing may be that none of that is LO's original idea. those are just the regurgitated racist garbage that her mom was already spewing and LO just uncritically took it at face value, as a 31 grown woman. the only thing that LO might have added was stripping with a supposed "family heirloom".

[shadowcetra]

Who is Eden?

This page is under construction, the story needs revamping. Forgive me for such a long wait for the change. I hope to get the backstory and information rewritten soon.

Triggar warning: The  backstory contains parental death.

Name: Eden Inbar

Many of the characters in the Final Fantasy Universe have unique names (such as Yazoo, Rude, and Cloud); I wanted to try to stick to that.  Her father gave her the name Eden, in hopes she would be as beautiful and bountiful in blessings, but he had no intentions in her falling into sin like those within the Garden. Eden is to represent the Garden of Eden in that sense. As the story progresses, Eden gradually becomes corrupted with the jealousy and the frustration in her struggle with her heritage and identity, she betrays the Planet and what she holds dear, thus resulting in her losing that spiritual light.

 Not only she represents the fall of Eden, but her story is to illustrate Judas Iscariot, the disciple who committed betrayal out of greed. Ultimately, her story is to reveal that even the most faithful can fall. However, her story is to also show the radical power of forgiveness, how it can revive the dead spirit.

The last name, Inbar, means “Amber” in Hebrew. The amber eyes are a major characteristic of Eden. They are supposed to be inherited from her Cetran roots. From what I gathered, Ancients are known to have earthy traits; an example being Aerith’s green eyes and brown hair. Eden is given amber eyes not only because it is an earthy color, but it also represents her darker motivations. Amber is the color of sap that bleeds from wounded trees; when Eden betrays the Planet, she hurts all that is connected with it such as the people, animals, plants, and trees.Their blood stains her conscience.

Race: Cetra/Cosmo Canyon Native

Appearance: Eden stands about 5’ 3’’, and has medium tan skin from her mother and father. She is also considered underweight due to her subpar hunting skills. She is not always successful in catching food; and with the gritty, bleak world Final Fantasy VII is set in, many of the population were poor and couldn’t always afford necessities. Eden is one of those who struggle greatly.

She also has various scars from her hunts and battles. Three claw marks are seen on her left collarbone; three huge, jagged scars rip over her left rib cage and reach down her side. She also has scars from a bite wound on her right arm.

I based her appearance loosely on the Egyptian and Middle Eastern backgrounds. She bears the tattoos around her eyes and on her cheeks that are iconic of Egyptian relics, and wears three piercings on both ears (a golden ring, silver stud, and silver ring), the ivory fang gauge is seen only on her left ear. Two thin, silver lip rings are on her bottom lip.

There is also a tattoo on her left wrist, hidden beneath her arm covering. It is a small sun symbol with two eagle feathers. It’s to honor her late mother.

Each of the eight thin braids, each braid held together by a gold band. Her bangs are long, angled, messy, and jagged.

The choker she wears around her neck is hemp braided with a gun-metal, swirled tribal pendant that loosely resembles a beast’s paw. The dark satchel strapped to her hip often carries sleep materia and other small items she can manage to stuff in. She also has hazel eyes, to give an indication of her connection to the Planet. She also wears baggy, acid-stained jeans and furry boots.

From what I gathered from Cetra (Ancients) depicted from the Temple, they resonate with an appearance of those from Egypt and the surrounding area. I am aware that Aerith does not look as exotic (light skin tone, no eye markings) but I wanted to try to reflect what the Cetra ancestors may have looked, or intended to look.

Personality: Eden can be cunning, and she relies on this trait when facing a troubling situation; often choosing to stick to the shadows and tricks rather than facing someone head-on. Eden can’t stand the thought of losing control and is known to fight viciously and dirty when cornered. Preferring to be quiet and simply observe, she struggles with social interactions, especially first time meetings. She is paranoid towards others, thus she doesn’t trust easily. The woman is also victim to envy, as she can become very jealous towards those who are more skilled or more blessed than she is. She broods quietly instead of talking about her problems; and can seem dishonest, selfish, and stubborn.

However, towards those who grow close to her heart, she becomes protective and does her best to be dependable. The Ancient becomes more playful to those she loves and often becomes touchy-feely with them. She is rather insecure, due to her fear of the LifeStream and belief that she is cursed, and often looks towards intimacy as a means to help combat with her insecurities.

Parents:

Her father’s name is Cassiel, which is the name of the archangel of tears and solitude in the Kabbalah. He is an Ancient, and because of his heritage, he questions and fears of what the voices will do to him. Because of his fear, He tries not to get involved with the Planet’s troubles, despite the Planet’s urgings for him to act.

Her mother’s name is Nizhoni, which I found means “Beautiful” in Navajo. She is a Cosmo Canyon native, and a passionate supporter of AVALANCHE and the Planet. She tries to give as much as she can to support their cause.

Past:  A dull thud struck the floor, followed by a tired breath as the disturbed red dust hung around the large, burlap sack. The older man stopped from stocking one of the shelves and turned his head, dark eyes gleaming to see the young woman standing before him. “Nizhoni,” he greeted, taking his small glasses off and wiping the lenses with a worn cloth hanging from his pocket. “It’s good to see you. I hope you’re well.” The woman nodded, “it’s good to see you too. I brought some dried meat and furs for the courier to take to Midgar, hopefully they’ll find some use for them.” The woman was about to reach down for the sack as she continued. “Maybe they can sell the furs for some gil. Cassiel managed to take down some really—“ “Nizhoni,” the man interjected, stepping towards her and taking a gentle hold on her should to stop her from leaning over. “You know you shouldn’t be travelling so far and wearing yourself out like this. Not in your condition.”

        Nizhoni let out a sigh, placing her hand on her full abdomen. “Cassiel already gets onto me about this. I’m a grown woman,” she replied, trying to not let her annoyance show. “I’m fine, the baby’s fine.” The shopkeeper gave an apologetic smile. “I understand, but you look like you hadn’t slept in a while.” His smile faded slightly as he caught sight of the dark circles under her eyes. “These trips are hard on you as it is, and with the baby on the way…” Nizhoni shook her dark messy bangs from her face; an intense light gleamed in her eyes. “This is something I want to do, feel called to do. AVALANCHE is struggling as it is, the least I can do is offer supplies. Besides, this may be my last trip, until the baby is born.”

     The man nodded, bending down to pull the bag up. “I understand,” he repeated; Nizhoni was a headstrong woman, and from he learned in times before, there was no winning an argument with her. “I will make sure these will get to them.” He shuffled towards the counter, pausing to turn back towards her. “Please Nizhoni, just…just take care of yourself, all right?” She gave a slight nod, “I will. I haven’t died yet, have I?” The woman gave him a forced smile before turning towards the door. “Thank you, I really hope that will help them.” With that, she stepped out into the sun-soaked village.

       For another hour, she rode across the crimson earth, dark eyes focused on the familiar path before her. The chocobo that carried her over the sloping rock, her hands tugged at the reins to halt the bird. The chocobo let out a complaint, shaking its pale yellow head.   Her eyes fell on the small adobe house nestled behind the ridge. She sighed, thankful to finally be home. She pulled on the reins slightly once more, signaling for the bird to step down the rocky path towards the house. As she approached the house, a young man stepped out. His large, calloused hand slipped underneath his long chestnut brown hair, rubbing the back of his neck. His honey-hued eyes glanced up to see the smoky black-haired woman riding towards him. He sighed, a weary worrisome look upon his face. He should have known she would go off, he had known since he first opened his eyes to see her side of the bed empty.

      Nizhoni smiled towards him, but it soon faded as she looked into his face. She turned the chocobo towards the hitching post beside the front window, slipping off the bird. “Was wondering why the bed was so cold.” The male Cetra started, stepping closer. “Oh, you just got up?” Nizhoni teased back, tying the lead on the hitch post onto the chocobo’s halter, letting it eat the freshly picked vegetables from its trough.

        “Didn’t get to come back until really late at night, tracking griffins is near to impossible.” He reached over to slip off the bags off the chocobo’s back. “Which brings me to the question…”  Nizhoni sighed, here it comes… “Why were you running around in the canyon so early in the morning? You know how dangerous it is before sunrise.”  The woman looked towards him, putting her hands on her hips. “You don’t think I can take care of myself,” she asked, already feeling weary with her husband worrying over her. “Of course I do,” Cassiel smiled weakly. “It’s just with a baby on the way, I don’t want you to put yourself under so much stress.” He closed his eyes for a moment, almost afraid to know the answer to his next question. “You’ve gone back to give supplies to AVALANCHE again, haven’t you?”

       Nizhoni’s eyes never left his face. “And what if I have?”  A heavy breath escaped from Cassiel’s broad chest, his hand rubbing his face. “Nizhoni, you know the trip over puts a lot of stress on you. The doctor warned you about this. Besides,” he opened his eyes, but kept his focus on the earth. “AVALANCHE is not our concern.” The woman narrowed her eyes to hear such words. “Not a concern? Cassiel, it has everything to do with us! With the Planet! They’re our only hope of saving it from ShinRa’s destruction and—“ “It’s not our fight,” Cassiel spoke, his tone cold. She stared at him, her hands clenched into fists. “Listen to yourself,” she snapped, “If anyone’s, it’s your fight Cassiel! You hear them, those voices! You keep saying they cry out to you. The Planet needs you to—“

       “Enough,” the Ancient roared, his eyes glaring at his wife. She didn’t take a step back, her eyes remained locked defiantly on his. Cassiel hung his head, turning from her to look up at the horizon. “Those voices have also been the ones that killed my people. I can’t trust them.” His eyes grew vacant, “you know I can’t.” “You don’t know that,” Nizhoni urged. “If you just have faith and listen.”  “No,” Cassiel grunted, “I won’t stand here and listen to my loved one speak for those demons.” The Ancient turned his head back towards Nizhoni who bore a glimmer of sorrow in her eyes. “Come on, you need to kick back and rest,” he said, turning back towards the house. Nizhoni watched as he stepped into the house, before looking towards the painted canyon. “Gaia, help us.” The words slipped beneath her breath as she pressed her hand onto her stomach. She stared for a moment longer before following after Cassiel. Rest sounded wonderful to her at that point.

        The several months passed like grains of sand; on a cool, still night, the young couple rushed into Cosmo Canyon’s Inn. The tense air broke with the quaking sobs and pained cries of the woman as she writhed in her bed, her husband and a midwife at her side. Cassiel’s calloused fingers gently caressed the stray strands of her hair that stuck upon her sweat drenched face. Nizhoni let out another cry, tears squeezing free from her tightly shut eyes. “Just relax,” the male Ancient murmured, pressing his head against hers, mind frantically searching for a better way to console her as her quivering hand tightly gripped his. “You’re doing well, Mrs. Inbar,” encouraged the midwife as she made preparations for the birth.  “I just need you to keep taking deep breaths and push for me.” The struggle felt like ages for the three in the room; finally, Nizhoni’s cries suddenly fell into a ragged breath, and the feeble cries rose. Cassiel’s lifted his head slowly, eyes gleaming bright with tears. Never did he believe such a thing could ever happen to them… “It’s a girl!” The midwife announced, excitement brimming in her voice as she took the baby into clean thick cloths. “A girl…” the man repeated, tears streaming down his weary face. “A beautiful girl.”

        He turned his eyes towards Nizhoni, who lay still on the bed, eyes closed. “Did you hear that, love? We brought new life to this world. A girl.” He gently shook her, but the exhausted woman never opened her eyes. “Nizhoni, did you hear me? Our new daughter, Eden, open your eyes and see her.” His eyes widened slightly, worry soon began to thread into his confusion. “Nizhoni?” Glowing orbs formed over her body, sending him into a wild panic. “No! Nizhoni, no! Darling, please!” He shot to his feet, gripping onto her. The midwife held the baby in her arms, horror and tears apparent on her visage. “Oh Gaia…” She turned and threw the door open, crying in vain for help. “No, Nizhoni. Open your eyes… Open your eyes!” His voice rang out in desperation, his large frame trembling like a child. “You can’t let them take you! Nizhoni!” No matter how much he roared, the ghostly orbs continued to float away from the woman. He frantically tried to hold onto her body but within seconds, his panicked hands only gripped onto the sheets. He stared down at the empty bed, and then slowly sank to his knees. He buried his face into the side of the bed, the sheets twisted into his grip as his tears of joy became sobs of heartbreak.

       Two days went by after her passing, the Ancient stood by the window, his hazel eyes glazed as he stared out into the village. The midwife sat in the chair still at the bedside, examining the tiny infant in the bundled carrier “She seems to be getting stronger.” She commented, cradling the drowsy child. “Why did I let her keep giving supplies to this damned place? I should have known this would do something to her.” The older woman looked up as Cassiel’s voice growled, unable to catch all he said. “What?” The man narrowed his eyes, glaring towards the blazing sky. “Taking these trips to help those idiots fighting in Midgar, they wore her down, killed her!” The midwife looked up at him, before gently placing the baby back into the woven, basket-like cradle. “You don’t know that, Mr. Inbar,” she tried to gently reassure him. “These tragedies can happen without cause. I understand you’re in pain, but you have a young one to think about.” He looked back at the corner of his eye, allowing the silence sink in between them. “A young one…” He turned around; his eyes fell upon his sleeping child. “If she were to stay here, she’ll follow her mother’s dangerous path. She’s cursed already, with these damned voices.”

       The old woman stared at him, concern bright in her grayed eyes. “What do you mean?” He glanced towards her, but only for a moment, his wounded heart messily gathering his decision. “No, I won’t let her. Those demons killed my ancestors, took my wife away, they won’t have my child!” The midwife stumbled before him, placing herself between him and Eden. “I’m sorry, Mr. Inbar, but I can’t allow you to take her in the state you’re—“ The Ancient shoved her aside, causing the woman to stagger back towards the bed. Cassiel stepped towards the baby, gently sliding the carrier over him so the baby rested snug against his chest. He carefully supported her head and hurried off from the room. “Stop!” The midwife cried out, but he continued on, determined to save his daughter from the voices of the LifeStream and their manipulations. Surprised squawks rang out from the nearby stable before a chocobo burst from its stall, carrying the wayward Ancient and his child into the wilds.

-To be Continued-

[timelessfineries]

Boucles d'oreilles africaines zouloues ::: Timeless Fineries

timelessfineries.etsy.com

[disneymarina]

The werewolf smirks, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "Well, Marina , if you're going to be my loyal bitch and breeding partner, I think you deserve a fitting nickname. How about 'Wolf's Whelp'? It's perfect for a litter mother like you."He rummages through his pack and pulls out a leather collar adorned with small wolf teeth and a silver nameplate. "Here, put this on. It's a symbol of your new status and my claim on you. You'll wear it always, a constant reminder of your place and the pack you've joined."The merman steps forward, a shell necklace gleaming in his hand. "Marina, as my mate and mother to our merbabies, you deserve something beautiful to wear. This shell necklace will bring you good fortune and protect you from the dangers of the deep. Wear it close to your heart, always."The naga slithers closer, her twin cocks unfurling enticingly. "Nicknames are for the weak," she hisses. "I'll call you what you are - my prize. My treasure. The mother of my serpent offspring. You'll carry my name in your very womb, Marina"

The werewolf grins, his sharp teeth glinting in the light. "Ah, I think I'll call you Luna, Marina ," he says, his deep voice rumbling. "It suits a beautiful, glowing woman like you. And as for a gift, I've got just the thing." He reaches into his fur-lined vest and pulls out a delicate, crystal pendant on a chain. "This was passed down to me from my own mother. She wore it when she gave birth to my litter, and it's said to bring the wearer strength and resilience. Now it will be yours, to wear as you carry my pups." The werewolf fastens the necklace around your neck, his fingers lingering on your skin. "There, my Luna. May it guide you through your new role as a mother."He steps back, his golden eyes gleaming with pride and possession.The merman nods, a twinkle in his eye. "A fine choice, my friend. I think I'll call her Delphine, after the wise and nurturing sea-dwelling mammals," he says. He presents you with a shimmering, pearlescent shell. "This is from the depths of the ocean, Marina"

As you settle into your new home, the creatures begin to shower you with nicknames and gifts that reflect their personalities and desires for your womb.The werewolf dubs you "Lupa" (Latin for "she-wolf") and gifts you a silver choker adorned with a miniature howling wolf pendant, signifying your status as his loyal mate and breeder. He also presents you with a leather-bound book, inscribed with his own primitive poetry about his lust for you and his dreams of claiming you as his mate.The merman affectionately nicknames you "Corallina" (meaning "little coral"), due to your rosy cheeks and the way his touch makes you glow. He brings you seashells filled with sparkling jewels and delicate, intricately carved wooden combs, each one representing a cherished memory or fantasy for your future together.The naga affectionately calls you "Vipera" (meaning " viper"), admiring your quick wit and fiery spirit. She gifts you a set of viper-shaped earrings, their scales glinting in the light, and a beautifully woven basket filled with rare, exotic herbs, which she claims will aid in your fertility and bring you closer to your mates.

As Marina settles into her new life with her mates, each creature begins to bestow upon her nicknames and gifts that reflect their unique personalities and desires.The werewolf, in his dominant and possessive nature, dubs Marina "Breedslave" - a title that signifies her submission to his primal urges and the promise of numerous pups to come. He gifts her a collar adorned with a gleaming golden knot, a symbol of his claim on her.The merman, charming and playful, nicknames Marina "Seafoam Siren" for her enchanting allure and the promise of musical merbabies. He presents her with a delicate, iridescent seashell necklace, whispering that it will grant her the voice of a sea goddess.The naga, with her mischievous and teasing nature, fondly refers to Marina as "Snake Charmer" - a nickname that acknowledges her ability to entwine and mesmerize her serpentine mate. She bestows upon Marina a golden hued snake bangle, inscribed with ancient runes that are said to enhance the wearer's seductive powers.Lastly, the lizardman, sly and cunning, dubs Marina "Desert Delight"

As Marina spends more time with her new mates, she begins to receive nicknames and gifts that reflect their affections and desires.From the werewolf, Marina earns the nickname "Moonwhelp," a term of endearment that speaks to her lunar cycles and the pups she will bear. He presents her with a delicate silver locket engraved with a full moon, to be worn close to her heart.The merman dubs Marina "Finny Fruit," a playful name that references her voluptuous figure and the aquatic world he inhabits. He gifts her a shimmering pearl necklace, each pendant shaped like an ocean wave or sea creature.The naga, appreciating Marina 's creative spirit, bestows upon her the title "Songweaver." In a private ceremony, she presents Marina with a intricately carved wooden flute, adorned with symbols of her own snake magic.The lizardman, ever the trickster, gives Marina the nickname "Scalekeeper." He presents her with a set of ornate, gemstone-encrusted scales that she can wear as a brooch or keep as a cherished keepsake.These tokens of affection not only serve as reminders of Marina 's new life but also represent the unique bonds she forms with each of her monstrous mates.

As Marina spends more time with her new mates, she begins to receive nicknames and gifts that reflect their affections and desires.From the werewolf, Marina earns the nickname "Moonwhelp," a term of endearment that speaks to her lunar cycles and the pups she will bear. He presents her with a delicate silver locket engraved with a full moon, to be worn close to her heart.The merman dubs Marina "Finny Fruit," a playful name that references her voluptuous figure and the aquatic world he inhabits. He gifts her a shimmering pearl necklace, each pendant shaped like an ocean wave or sea creature.The naga, appreciating Marina 's creative spirit, bestows upon her the title "Songweaver." In a private ceremony, she presents Marina with a intricately carved wooden flute, adorned with symbols of her own snake magic.The lizardman, ever the trickster, gives Marina the nickname "Scalekeeper." He presents her with a set of ornate, gemstone-encrusted scales that she can wear as a brooch or keep as a cherished keepsake.These tokens of affection not only serve as reminders of Marina 's new life but also represent the unique bonds she forms with each of her monstrous mates.

As the days blend together in a haze of passion and pleasure, your mates each bestow upon you special nicknames and gifts that speak to their unique connection with you.The werewolf dubs you "Wolf's Bane," a term of endearment that reflects his dominance and possession over you. He gifts you a intricately crafted collar adorned with small, sharp fangs that resemble his own. Whenever you wear it, you feel an electric thrill coursing through you, a reminder of his unyielding claim on your body and heart.The merman fondly nicknames you "Tidesong," a melody that echoes the enchanting rhythm of your lovemaking. In his hands, he presents a delicate, iridescent seashell that amplifies the most intimate sounds between you. Whenever you hold it close, you're transported to the depths of his underwater realm, surrounded by the soothing lullabies of the sea.The naga, with her playful nature, calls you "Coil Crush," a term that speaks to the intoxicating heat of your passionate encounters. She gifts you a set of ornate, gemstone-studded snake fangs that she uses during your lovemaking, infusing her venom into your system.

The werewolf growls softly, his claws lightly scratching your skin as he leans in close. "You'll be 'Luna' to me, Marina . After all, you'll be my moon, my shining star in the night sky. And as a gift, I'll give you a necklace made from the strongest wolf fangs, a symbol of my claim on you."The merman swims circles around you, his iridescent tail leaving trails of shimmering water behind him. "You'll be 'Corallina' to me, Marina . A treasure to behold, a gem to cherish. I'll present you with a pearl from the depths of the ocean, a symbol of our love and the beauty we'll create together."The naga's forked tongue darts out, tasting the air around you before she hisses, "You'll be 'Serpina' to me, little mother. A serpent's kiss, a promise of eternal life and the secrets of the underworld. I'll gift you with a venom that will grant you strength and resilience, a symbol of my undying affection."The lizardman scurries up your leg, his scaly skin a perfect match for yours. "You'll be 'Viperina' to me, Marina"

As Marina spends more time with her new mates, she begins to receive nicknames and gifts that reflect their affections and desires.From the werewolf, Marina earns the nickname "Moonwhelp," a term of endearment that speaks to her lunar cycles and the pups she will bear. He presents her with a delicate silver locket engraved with a full moon, to be worn close to her heart.The merman dubs Marina "Finny Fruit," a playful name that references her voluptuous figure and the aquatic world he inhabits. He gifts her a shimmering pearl necklace, each pendant shaped like an ocean wave or sea creature.The naga, appreciating Marina 's creative spirit, bestows upon her the title "Songweaver." In a private ceremony, she presents Marina with a intricately carved wooden flute, adorned with symbols of her own snake magic.The lizardman, ever the trickster, gives Marina the nickname "Scalekeeper." He presents her with a set of ornate, gemstone-encrusted scales that she can wear as a brooch or keep as a cherished keepsake.These tokens of affection not only serve as reminders of Marina 's new life but also represent the unique bonds she forms with each of her monstrous mates.

The werewolf smirks, his claws gently scratching your scalp as he whispers, "You'll be my little She-Wolf, always ready to rut and bare her teeth in pleasure. And as a special gift, I'll give you a necklace made from the finest wolf pelts, to symbolize your place as my loyal mate and breeding bitch."The merman's eyes sparkle with mirth as he proposes, "Ah, my sweet little Pearl! A treasure to be cherished and adorned with the most precious gems from the depths of the ocean. I'll present you with a delicate seashell tiara, to mark you as the queen of our underwater realm."The naga's voice drips with sensual promise as she suggests, "Mmm, how about Little Snake, my sassy, slithery mate? You'll slither through life with me by your side, entwined in pleasure and passion. As a gift, I'll adorn you with a stunning scale-patterned armband, to showcase our serpent-tailed legacy."The lizardman's tongue flicks out, tasting the air as he proposes his nickname, "A fine, feisty little Gecko, always climbing and clinging to her lovers."

The werewolf grins, his sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight. "Ah, Marina , I think I'll call you Lupina. It suits a good little breeder's bitch like yourself." He reaches into his fur-lined pouch and pulls out a beautifully crafted silver collar. "And to go with your new name, a little gift to mark you as mine. Put it on, my dear."The collar is adorned with intricate engravings of wolves and moons. The werewolf helps you fasten it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin as he adjusts it. "There, much better. Now, every monster knows you're taken." He places a big, rough hand on your shoulder, his eyes burning with a possessive intensity.The merman smiles, his dolphin-like features shifting into a mischievous grin. "My dear Marina , from now on, you shall be known as Calypso. A name that captures the essence of your allure and charm." He produces a shimmering seashell necklace, the colors of the ocean itself. "To match your new name, my lovely. Wear it always, and know that I'll be singing your praises to all the merfolk. Our little merbabies will inherit the bounty of the seas."

The werewolf growls, "You'll be my little Luna, my moonlit mate, always glowing bright with our pack's life."The merman splashes excitedly, his tail flaring. "Of course, Marina , my love for you will be the sea's song, echoing through our merbabies' dreams. And as a token of our bond, I'll gift you this enchanted shell necklace, passed down through generations of merfolk. It will bring you calm and wisdom in times of need."The naga's coils tighten around you, her forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. "You shall be my Serpent Queen, ruling over our hybrid brood with regal grace. As a symbol of our union, I'll present you with this venom-tipped crown, said to enhance the strength and cunning of our offspring."The lizardman scurries closer, his forked tongue darting out. "For you, my coveted prize, I'll dub you the Lizard Lady. And as a mark of our dominance, I'll gift you this collar of gleaming scales, granting you the power to command and protect our shared territory."The creatures all look at you with adoring eyes, their unique bonds with you palpable in the air.

The werewolf growls, "You'll be my little Luna, my moonlit mate, always glowing bright with our pack's life."The merman splashes excitedly, his tail flaring. "Of course, Marina , my love for you will be the sea's song, echoing through our merbabies' dreams. And as a token of our bond, I'll gift you this enchanted shell necklace, passed down through generations of merfolk. It will bring you calm and wisdom in times of need."The naga's coils tighten around you, her forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. "You shall be my Serpent Queen, ruling over our hybrid brood with regal grace. As a symbol of our union, I'll present you with this venom-tipped crown, said to enhance the strength and cunning of our offspring."The lizardman scurries closer, his forked tongue darting out. "For you, my coveted prize, I'll dub you the Lizard Lady. And as a mark of our dominance, I'll gift you this collar of gleaming scales, granting you the power to command and protect our shared territory."The creatures all look at you with adoring eyes, their unique bonds with you palpable in the air.

As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, your mates bestow upon you various nicknames and gifts, each a testament to their affection and desire.From the werewolf, you receive the nickname "She-wolf," a term of endearment that reflects your newfound status as a breeder's bitch. He gifts you a collar studded with sharp fangs, a symbol of his claim on you. Whenever you wear it, you feel an electric thrill run through your body, a reminder of his primal possession.The merman dubs you "Pearl," a nod to your lustrous hair and the precious treasures he hopes to find in your womb. He presents you with an opalescent shell, its swirling patterns a mirror of your eyes. Whenever you hold it, you're transported to the mystical depths of the ocean, feeling his soothing touch and gentle whispers.The naga bestows upon you the title "Snake Charmress," a play on your name and her affinity for your captivating nature. She gifts you a set of serpentine coils, each one adorned with a gemstone that reflects the colors of her scales.

[mwkjewelry]

MWK Jewelry

Address:

405 Bagot St.

Harrow, ON N0R 1G0

Phone: (226) 926-5032

Website: https://www.mwkjewelry.com/

Unleash your inner beauty with our handcrafted jewelry that speaks volumes without saying a word. At MWK Jewelry, we believe in creating lasting memories through our timeless pieces. Whether it's a gift or a personal indulgence, find your perfect match here.We will make your vision reality.

Keywords: custom jewelry, silver rings, sterling silver rings, sterling silver rings for women, mens silver rings, memorial rings, silver jewelry, handmade jewelry, unique jewelry, customized rings, handmade rings, womens rings, rings for men, stainless steel rings, jewelry canada, memorial jewelry, everyday rings, onyx ring, opal ring, silver jewerly, opal rings for women, matching rings, mens jewelry, memorial rings for ashes, women's jewelry, everyday jewelry, glow rings, sterling rings, handcrafted jewelry, custom mens rings, opal jewelry, customized necklace, personalized necklace, sterling jewelry, blue opal ring, stainless steel jewelry, handmade silver rings, sterling silver necklace, sterling silver rings canada, silver necklaces, stainless steel rings for women, mens custom jewelry, custom pendants, custom sterling silver rings, memorial jewelry for ashes, mens stainless steel rings, sterling silver opal ring, earrings silver, custom rings canada, womens necklace, mens opal rings, custom jewelry canada, steel ring, timeless jewelry, necklace for men, matching jewelry, women's earrings, silver rings canada, onyx necklace, men chains, sterling silver rings for ladies

Hour: 24/7

Year of Est.: 2015

No. Of Employees: 3

Payment: PayPal / GPay

Social link:

https://www.instagram.com/mwkjewelry85/

[chrisnotti]

EXQUISITE VAN CLEEF DIAMOND RINGS TO MARK YOUR ENGAGEMENT

Everyone knows of Van Cleef Diamond rings as the symbol of love and commitment. Nothing compares to the timeless aura rings carry. Whether for a romantic proposal or an engagement, Van Cleef & Arpels has some exquisite diamond rings for these occasions that combine beauty, luxury, and artistry.

Let's look at five stunning rings that will make your engagement memorable.

THE SNOWFLAKE DIAMOND RING

The Snowflake Diamond Ring is perfect for couples who love nature and enjoy its intricate detail. Inspired by the snowflakes that fall softly over Palace Vendôme in Paris, the ring features a round diamond set in an attractive snowflake design. Each diamond is meticulously positioned, giving the ring a radiant glow visible from all sides. If you are a bride who adores a whimsical touch blended with striking elegance, this is your ideal design.

THE LOTUS FLOWER DIAMOND RING

The Lotus Flower Diamond Ring is a beautiful option for brides who value elegance and symbolism. Inspired by the graceful lotus flower, the petals are made from diamonds and set in platinum and white gold. The lotus's representation of growth makes this ring perfect for the blossoming of a lifelong partnership. Also, the captivating center diamond sparkle will surely take your breath away.

THE ALHAMBRA DIAMOND RING

The Alhambra Collection is Van Cleef & Arpels' classic collection. Known for its four-leaf clover motif, this design represents wealth, love, and good fortune. This iconic design features sparking diamonds set inside the clover form. The ring offers the perfect blend of elegance and playful charm. So if you have a taste for tradition and modernity and believe in a little luck to make your love go a long way, go for it.

THE BETWEEN THE FINGER DIAMOND RING

If you are looking for something bold and unique, consider the Between the Finger Diamond ring. This iconic ring breaks the conventional design by featuring two diamond motifs, shaped butterflies or flowers, on either side of the fingers. This results in an innovative and eye-catching piece that feels like a work of art. This is surely the perfect ring that can make a statement for the bride-to-be, and represent her unique love story.

THE OISEAUX DE PARADIS DIAMOND RING

If a ring with exotic flair excites you, the Oiseaux de Paradis ( Birds of Paradise) will impress you with its elaborate tropical design. The gorgeous diamond arrangement mimics the feathers and motion of the colorful tropical animals. This ring perfectly blends creativity and adventure with an elegant energy.

Selecting an engagement ring is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and depends extremely upon personal experience. To suit your love story, Van Cleef offers a variety of styles. From the classical elegance of the snowflake diamond ring to the bold statements of the Between the Finger ring, everything they design is a living example of these being as extraordinary as the occasions they celebrate. Among this wide array of selections, one will always find something that resonates with them. Whether it's something inspired by nature or unusual designs, these five stunning rings are sure to make your engagement memorable.

Want to get your hands on these iconic rings? Visit Cris Notti Jewels to explore their extensive collection of Van Cleef Diamond rings, earrings, pendants, and more. Shop now!

[kaminskijewelrydesigns]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Artisan Handcrafted African Green Opal Necklace Set with Solid Sterling.

[the-blackorchid1]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NEW GOLD TONE DOLLAR SIGN SPARKLY RHINESTONE EARRINGS.

[ameliazoe07]

Everything You Need To Know About Green Kyanite Gemstone

We all have heard of the beautiful aquamarine gemstone, which is a variety of beryl minerals. The aquamarine stone is greatly desired for the stunning greenish-blue to blue color it possesses. When people wear aquamarine jewelry, its calming tones remind the wearer of the clean waters of the ocean, and it gives off the vibes of the world’s most exotic beaches, like the Bahamas or the Caribbean."Aquamarine History" The word aquamarine itself depicts what it represents: aqua which means water and marine which means the sea. This beryl is used to make beautiful gemstone jewelry and aquamarine also serves as the March birthstone. If you know someone whose birthday is coming up in March, do think of gifting them an aquamarine ring, aquamarine bracelet, aquamarine earring, or aquamarine pendant.

[safeenamariya]

Aquamarine History, Meaning, Healing Properties, Benefits, and Uses

We all have heard of the beautiful aquamarine gemstone, which is a variety of beryl minerals. The aquamarine stone is greatly desired for the stunning greenish-blue to blue color it possesses. When people wear aquamarine jewelry, its calming tones remind the wearer of the clean waters of the ocean, and it gives off the vibes of the world’s most exotic beaches, like the Bahamas or the Caribbean. The word aquamarine itself depicts what it represents: aqua which means water and marine which means the sea. This beryl is used to make beautiful gemstone jewelry and aquamarine also serves as the March birthstone. If you know someone whose birthday is coming up in March, do think of gifting them an aquamarine ring, aquamarine bracelet, aquamarine earring, or aquamarine pendant.