#lizzybeth 👸🏻

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1. Favourite Proverb in your language

2. Lines from favourite song in your language

3. Funniest word!

- from Language Asks!

1. Ngl I'm not really keen into proverbs, so I don't have a favourite, but I do have a frequent one: ojo por ojo, diente por diente (an eye for an eye, a leg for a leg)

2. "Y hemos venido a bailar.

Para reir y disfrutar.

Que despues de tanto y tanto estudiar

Que a veces las mujeres necesitan

Una poquita, una poquita, una poquita libertad."

"And we've come to dance

To laugh and enjoy

That after so much, so much studying

Women need a little, a little, a little bit of freedom."

— María Isabel, Antes Muerta Que Sencilla

3. Esternocleidomastoideo aka the biggest word in Spanish language. Which means sternocleidomastoid. Idk I always laugh when I say it lol

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This is amazing as a wlw myself!! It's just wholesome and so relatable for the LGBTQ+ youth!!

It Takes A Village

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: None. Kiara with her family, and maybe a little bit of Hakim x Joëlle.

Rating: G

Summary: A young Kiara Thorne has something important to say to her parents.

Word Count: 2,234+ words

Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW.

A/N1: This fic takes place in the universe of my series featuring Hana x Kiara, Petals and Thornes, but will precede the events of that series. Because of this, the family name is written as Thorne, not Theron. Kiara is 15 years old in this fic (and is 17 by the end of it).

(Gif is from GIPHY)

"Something the matter, ma fée?"

Kiara jumps with a start at the sudden break to the silence. Guiltily, she realizes she's been picking at the same merguez sausage for the last ten minutes - the poor food item is now mutilated beyond recognition. Kiara has somehow managed to create a well in the middle of the subtly spiced couscous without eating any of it too.

Right next to her, Ezekiel raises his eyebrows. Well...you telling them today?

Kiara remembers what she'd confessed to her brother two days ago and sinks a little further in her seat.

She isn't sure why this feels so hard to do. It's not like Castelserraillan is a place that will not accept this...nor like Maman and Baba will throw a fit over it. In fact, her home has attained worldwide fame for being Cordonia's "LGBTQ+ capital" - the first place in Cordonia to publicly celebrate Pride, and the first to have an internationally known queer community and events of all kinds, year round.

Every October, her parents throw themselves headlong into organizing and supporting Pride, getting exhibitions ready, screening films, informing their friends at the press in advance so the events are covered with all the style and pizzazz they'd need for promoting. Every year, they fund more groups and organisations in the duchy, striving to ensure that the queer community in Castel lacks for nothing.

Yet somehow, telling her parents that not only does she find herself attracted to boys and girls, but that she still isn't entirely sure what she should label herself as...somehow the prospect of opening up to them about that is turning this normally-delicious sausage into dust in her mouth.

It had been easy enough with Zeke. It usually is - he accepts just about everything with the same laconic nonchalanance, the kind that makes you wonder if you were the one being melodramatic.

"You're bi?"

"Oui...non...ugh!! Je ne sais pas!" Kiara groaned, throwing her hands in frustration, "Sometimes I think I am...I mean right now I have a crush on that new artist Maman is mentoring..."

"Chantal Bachelet? The cubist?"

"Oui. Her."

"What's there to get confused about! Three months ago it was that stable-boy from the royal palace -"

"He's not a stable-boy. That was for just one summer! Drake lives there!" Kiara hissed, uncomfortable at the warmth creeping up her cheeks again. She was grateful her brother thought this one crush was recent...but it really has been going on for five months and shows no sign of subsiding. Maybe in another five...

"Fine. Whatever. I still don't see why you're so confused."

Kiara pursed her lips in annoyance, too tired and confused to explain herself any further. This isn't what she imagined being bisexual to feel like (not that she'd seriously dwelled on it before). Somewhere she'd imagined it would be a perfect split - that one would likely be attracted an equal amount to both. Yet most of her crushes since age 13 have been boys...and Chantal is the only one so far who has made her rethink things.

They're questions that keep her awake some nights, and make her feel a little bit silly on others. Would calling myself bi make me a fraud? Is it too early to tell either way?

What if I come out, and it turns out I was straight the entire time?

Kiara sighs, trying to make the best of the sausage she'd just mashed to oblivion. It had been far easier to come out to Zeke because he hardly seems to have an opinion on most things. And even if he does - he won't show you one way or the other. There are times she wonders if he deliberately strives to make himself a mere sounding board whenever she wants to hash out things.

Her parents, on the other hand...she suspects they'll follow the revelation up with a hundred questions. Questions she's not entirely sure she has the answers for, yet.

"Kiki," her father begins, his voice warm and gentle. His mouth twists a little in amusement when she frowns at the nickname. "if something is troubling you, you know you can tell us, don't you?"

"Um..." Kiara swallows. "Maman...Baba..." Damn this sudden dryness in her mouth.

Her mother takes a deep breath, trying to follow the advice she's about to give. "Prends ton temps, cherie... don't rush."

And as it always seems to happen since she's turned thirteen, Kiara does the exact opposite of what her mother says. "MamanIthinkI'mbi."

Silence. Confusion.

"Pardon?" Baba says.

Kiara tries, and fails, to clear her throat. She winces as she hears her voice, speaking its truth in the most embarrassing squeak. "I...I think I might be bi...but I'm not sure." She covers her face, cursing the Fates for making this Big, Super Important Moment into such a colossal dud.

"Not sure?" Maman echoes, a frown burrowing lines on the fine skin. Kiara can just see her mother's brain scrambling to pick the right words, her voice tentative and her words unsure. "I don't understand. You are attracted to a girl, I take it, yes?"

Kiara bites her lip, trying to gauge from Maman's face how this conversation will go. "Yes, Maman."

Maman fingers a stray ringlet of hair by her ear, as she often does when she gets a bit confused or agitated. "... shouldn't that settle it then?" She picks a piece of invisible lint on her dress. "I'm sorry - I think I don't entirely get how this works."

Kiara feels a small rush of relief at the words. " I don't know if I really get it either."

"You're young yet," Baba says, his deep voice an oasis of calm rippling around herself and her mother. In another ten minutes they will both wonder why they agonized over this so much. "No one ever knows everything at 15, not even smart young girls fluent in four languages or who can best Auvernese princesses even when they cheat at chess." He chuckles, Zeke hides his giggle behind his hand, and both Maman and Kiara can't resist a tiny smile.

Her parents think she won't notice, but she detects the slightest movement of Baba's hand, presumably covering Maman's. Maman likely places hers over his.

Kiara is half-sure this gesture might prelude a discussion. A discussion involving her. That she may not be a part of.

Yet.

Normally, she would hate that. But today - her own head too muddled and thoughts too scattered to think further without getting a headache - she feels a bit more relaxed.

It would be nice to let her parents do thinking for her once in a while.

--

By tacit agreement, Kiara's mother and father choose to skip their afternoon siesta, preferring to sit in his study and ruminate over today's revelations with a potful of mint tea.

"I don't see why you're so worried, Joli," Hakim tells his wife, his knuckles absentmindedly brushing over hers. "I mean...you're not against her caring for women, are you?"

Hakim won't lie: there were moments at the dining table today when he wondered whether his daughter's truths made his wife uncomfortable. He's heard about it before - parents and loved ones who will genuinely believe they support queer people, yet struggle when they find them in their own families. He won't deny he's still getting used to Kiara's revelation himself...but over here in Castelserraillan, they always come around. They always work on their discomforts themselves, because they know it's their loved one who needs the most support.

It's just that Joëlle - who usually moves through her life with confidence and pizazz even when she doesn't completely know what she's doing - seemed so unexpectedly unsure of herself.

Hakim steels himself against the possibility. Surely even if Joëlle did feel that way, she'd try to process it in a way that wouldn't hurt Kiki. That much he knows about his wife.

"What! No!" Joëlle bursts out. Hakim lets off a stuttering laugh, feeling ten times lighter. "It's just... I know it's silly, but I'm worried. For her."

Hakim runs a hand lightly, slowly across her hair, running a small curl through his fingers just the way she likes it. "What's there to worry about, bonbonayet albi? She has us."

Joëlle looks him straight in the eye, her own dark and wide-set on a heart-shaped face. "But will that be enough? Are we enough?

His hand stills. "What do you mean?"

"She has us today, yes," Joëlle says, covering his hands with her own. Distractedly her long fingers twist slowly over his wedding ring. "But we don't know what it's like, do we? Even when we host events, we are at best on the outside looking in. Sooner or later she's going to want guidance from those who have gone through it too, won't she, mon bijou?"

Hakim's answering smile is one of slow recognition. "You're saying what our Kiara really needs...is a community. A community of people who may have been where she's been, who might give her the answers we won't always have."

Joëlle rests her head against the crook of his neck, breathing in the spicy-sweet cinnamon scent of his cologne. Suddenly she is not only grateful for this man she married, but this place she married into. Because her mind may be a maze of doubts about a lot of things, but the one pillar of certainty she can cling to is that Castelserraillan is a safe place for children like her daughter. A safe, welcoming, accepting place. "Maybe we should start small. Baby steps."

Hakim nods. They saw Kiara's face at breakfast today - no matter how confused they were now, she had to feel twice as much. Push her into finding answers now and their daughter is bound to shut down.

"I trust you, ghazali. Absolutement."

Joëlle smiles, already feeling optimistic about her daughter's future. "And I you, cheri."

--

The gallery has never been this packed, Maman had told her just the other day. Kiara's feet feel worn and tired from standing and walking all day, but she's never felt more invigorated. It's been two years since Maman had brought her here, convincing her without much fanfare to volunteer at an art exhibition they run every year during Pride month. She and Baba never told her why, never made it a priority - just put forward the offer and let her choose.

No assumptions, no unnecessary fanfare, no pressure to figure out who she was or what she identified as. In retrospect, Kiara thinks as she approaches a newer, more nervous face, it was the best thing her parents could have done.

They knew they didn't know everything...had no ego acknowledging that fact...and eased her into a community she knew deep inside would accept her but still felt afraid to approach.

"New here?" She asks the new girl, who wraps her shawl around her thin frame tighter, struggling to look Kiara in the eye.

"Yes," the girl says, "Bethany, from Cormery Isle. I'm...here to support a friend."

The brief pause tells Kiara straightaway that Bethany may be hiding a detail or two, but that possibility only makes her own smile grow wider.

When Kiara finally came out as bisexual in public, a year after that suggestion from her mother, it had felt natural - like it was time, like she was ready and felt safe to tell the world who she was. She had agonized over the decision in the months before, wondering if her new friends would turn away from her for lying...whether they would even believe her...whether she was bisexual enough.

But no. People around her embraced that news with the same warmth that they showed when they knew of her as Duke Hakim's straight-ally daughter, not a trace of surprise in their eyes when she told them she wasn't straight after all. And not a single question about whether she really was what she claimed she was - just acceptance and whispered promises to lend an ear if she ever needed to talk. Promises that she took up, figuring out more and more about herself in the process.

She would learn from several of them, much later, that she wasn't the only one.

Kiara doesn't know what the journey of the girl standing before her - 15 just like she was, afraid just like she was - is going to be. Maybe she'll find herself here. Maybe she won't. Maybe she'll discover she's straight, or not. Maybe she'll recognize she's cis, or not. Maybe she'll realize labels were never for her. The possibilities are endless.

All Kiara knows, is that an entire community of people once enfolded her within their wings, gave her time and made her feel safe about exploring what she wanted. And the only reward they would ever ask for, is that you pay that guidance forward.

That's the way Castelserraillan is. That's the duchy her parents are so proud of running, that she and her brother are so proud to call their home.

Kiara calls Mlle Bachelet, the star artist for this year's exhibition, for an introduction (she notes with faint regret, a slight dull pang that she thinks one feels when a crush is over), and grins at how starstruck Bethany looks. I think I'll leave them to it...for now. And come see Bethany later.

Kiara walks away from the two, footsteps light as air. As she passes paintings and portraits chronicling journeys as vast and diverse as Cordonia itself, charting personal and communal histories, she can't help but remember a line she's heard from the grandmothers in both sides of her family. It takes a village to raise a child.

Smiling, she wraps her arms around herself. Safe in the arms of a community that quietly let her blossom, secure in the promise, that they trust her to do that for so, so many more people.

--

Notes:

French:

Ma fée - "my fairy" in French.

Oui...non...ugh! Je ne sais pas! - Yes...no...ugh! I don't know!

Prends ton temps - Take your time

Pardon (in this context) - Excuse me

Mon bijou - My jewel

Darija/Arabic:

Bonbonayet albi - my heart's bonbon sweet (an endearment)

Ghazali - literally means deer, can be used as an endearment for a female loved one.

A/N2: One of my earliest HCs about Castelserraillan, after TRR3, was that Castelserraillan which was a hot-seat of culture, had one of the most chill Duke and Duchess in Cordonia leading it, would have a vibrant LGBTQ community and culture. I tried to incorporate that into this fic.

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Tysm Lizzy 🥺❤✨ I loved making them and my biggest inspiration for this was you!!! I'll be exploring those dynamics in the fic I told you about 👀👀👀

Leo & Louise's Twins

Amelia Berenice Rys & Damian Constantine Rys

Amelia was named after her mother and grandmother on her mother's side and was born alongside her twin brother Damian on a spring evening of 2018. She was a smart, cunning, ambitious and witty girl, who loved living in luxury. She studied in Cordonian schools and earned two PhD's on Political Science and Law. Her uncle Liam, seeing potential in her, quickly put her in the Council. She was one of the savviest and smartest royal strategists. She's a biromantic demisexual woman and worked alongside Kiara in the embassy, and soon picked up some languages like French and Hindi, having spoken before English and Korean on her mother's side. She looks very much like her aunts Nicolette and Jessica.

Damian is his father's son. He loves surf, exploring and travelling, and since he was a boy, he always asked him to take him to his adventures and by the age of sixteen, he knew how to ride his father's multiple motorcycles. He went to university and earned a double PhD in Sports and Economics, being a math-savvy like his uncle Alexander. The country the former King Eirik offered him the crown, but he declined, loving his freedom way too much. He's a gay asexual and ended up joining the Cordonian Navy.

Eclipsa & Hana's Children

Stephanie Eleanor Regina Ice-Lee & Marcus Liam Constantine Ice-Lee

Stephanie is the crown princess and thus has grown up with a rich and privileged education. Being King Liam's protégé, she learned most European languages, especially their neighbour's languages, culture, history, customs and lifestyle. She was also given the king's love for history and sense of justice, as well as her mother's wicked sense of humour and her mama's pragmatism, elegance and poise. She earned four degrees: political science, law, history and economics. Despite not liking math, she soon discovered that she was naturally intelligent and rarely needed studying, for she memprised everything during the lesson and by taking a good look at the book's pages.

Marcus is Hana's son through and through. Being the heir to Valtoria, he learned the high society's skills, such as horseback, dances, court etiquette, languages, table manners, as well as Hana's love for music, food and books. He often volunteeted to help his grandfather Xinghai with his business and soon requested to study in the best school in China to be near his beloved grandfather, and Xinghai proved to be a terrific grandfather. He got his degree in history, as well as a PhD in Culinary Arts. He ends up building a restaurant that feeds the lower classes and sponsors several churches and cafes in exchange on giving the food that wasn't eaten today to the homeless.

Tagging @lizzybeth1986 because she inspired me to do this!!

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Thank you so much! This was mainly to explain why she didn't want to marry again and give her the well-deserved back-story. She knows that being a woman in a men's world is dangerous and was ready to earn her hatred if that meant protecting her– the kind of protection she lacked.

Many of her dreams were taken from her because of men, and she didn't have time to mourn her first child nor fully enjoy her other four children, so Girl was important for her. Getting to see them one last time was all she wanted and that wish was something I was happy to fulfill

The last paragraph was my favourite to write, for it is like Marianna is telling the story herself and how she sees herself and the life she's lived. She was thrown into a dark world, fully knowing that she could die while living in the street, but with luck and an inhumane strength, she could live long enough to leave a legacy to her children and something to stand up for.

And remember, Marianna is that kind of character that even if she's dead, doesn't mean that I am done with her 😉

The Queen of Wolves

Author’s Notes: 

English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/ grammar mistakes. 

For several reasons, this chapter is rated +16. Check the TW and tags 

This chapter and its main character has been a delight to work with! Marianna is an underrated character and she deserves some love and spotlight of her own. 

Disclaimer: I am not, by any means, romantising something as complex as prostitution, but rather humanising the prostitutes and making the reader see that, despite their job, they are human beings and have lives and problems and goals of their own and shouldn’t be seen as less for their line of work. 

Summary: Marianna’s backstory and impact on the story. 

TW: This chapter contains violence towards women and violence in general, alongside with strong language and discussions of prostitution. 

Word Count: 4.8k 

Reading Time: 25 minutes. 

May, 1798

The young Marianna Spencer danced away with her new husband, Richard Spencer, on their wedding day, laughing and smiling, not being able to take their hands off each other. The couple had met the past summer while he was visiting with Prince Ernst’s troops –he was a soldier at his service—and during that time, they had stopped at Devonshire to visit the duke. Young Marianna was at the edge of 20 years old, the perfect age to be married.

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Ty love!! This does feel like her memoir and the fear of what is to come is certainly heartbreaking. I try my best to connect the time threads so they make sense.

And Joanna was forced to grow up and own the fact that she wouldn't be happy alongside Misha and that her heart wanted Joanna. In a world where duty comes before anything else, she fighting for love is certainly a rebellion.

As for Thomas' killer... >:D

The Damned Daughter, Part Three: Wide Awake

Author’s Notes: Happy 1st of December, aka my return to publishing stuff! 

Summary: Joanna is promised to a young man at the age of 9, and has some important questions about it //Joanna’s annointing as Crown Princess makes Odessa think about her daughter’s future // The handfasting ceremony is here, but not everyone is looking forward to it… // Joanna is now twelve and now makes an important decision about her future. 

Characters: Joanna Mills (OC) Odessa ‘Mary’ Mills, King Neptune (OC), Prince Misha (OC) Thomas Coleman (OC) Queen Amalas (OC) Lydia Sinclaire 

Rating: PG 

Word Count: 3.1k 

Reading Time: 12 min. 

Joanna was only ten months old when she arrived at Grovershire. Not aware of the powers growing inside of her already. Odessa worried to show off her baby girl to the people, for her powers were fresh and highly dangerous. Firstborns always had the rawest powers of them all and could bring calamities to the places. She’d do right by her to bring her to the Circle again, but it’d only slow the inevitable. She knew she had very few options and people willing to help her. 

Odessa loved her daughter more than anything. She’d kill for her. Destroy for her. Ruin anything for her wellbeing. As she cooed happily, she mulled over what would happen to her: she was high in Dracarian society, which meant really vicious snakes would come to her. The thought of that worried her. Many assassinations attempts were made towards her, but she wouldn’t let them. She’d gladly give herself than let them touch her little girl. At least, in here they wouldn’t know who was she, and how much the world would change because of it. 

At least not yet. 

25th of May, 1803, The Circle 

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I too, love this romance and had so much fun writing them!! Their bond was very strong and, despite their ending, Ernest will always remember her fondly and soon you'll know why ;)

After being used for his money, connecting with Rosalinde was his balm and letting her go was something he wasn't ready for yet...

In Another Life

Author’s Notes: 

This one shot is a prequel to The Fall and Rising of a Rose ‘s events and is part of The Cursed Heiress’ series. 

While this isn’t very strong, some serious themes are talked in this piece. Please read under your own discretion. 

English isn’t my first language, please forgive any typos/grammar mistakes 

Summary: Ernest Sinclaire meets a dashing woman in a cold night in London. 

Rating: PG-13 

Word Count: 2507 

In another life, you and I would’ve fallen in love.

September 1812 

Ernest Sinclaire’s heart was broken once more. Days ago, he had let go of little Percival, the only good thing that ever happened to him. He missed him. Feeding him, playing with him, teasing him, talking to him just to be answered by three words and a few babbles. 

But most of all, he missed being surrounded by someone who’d listen to him while stroking his hair. A member of Parliament teased him by saying he should visit the brothel beside Westminster Bridge, that he’d find the most delightful company. 

He dismissed his teasing, mostly because he did not look for that kind of company. 

But a few days later, while taking a night-walk, his feet betrayed him and he found himself at the doors of the brothel, many women gawking at him and trying to lure him in… or to other secret places, a thing that made the esquire’s ears pink. 

“Girls, don’t be such vultures! I’m sorry for my girl’s bawdy behavior, please come in, it’s freezing outside.” Said who he assumed was the patron and owner of the brothel “You must be hungry! Michelle, dear, bring the fine gentleman some supper!” She lowered her voice and whispered something to her. While they conspired, he noticed that the young woman had a bump and couldn’t be more than nineteen. He wondered how such a pretty girl had ended up there, in such condition without a man to take care of her and the little one. “But where are my manners! I haven’t introduced myself,” She extended her hand “Madame Èponine, but my patrons call me Mrs. Shirley because of my late husband.“ 

He greeted her, ever the proper gentleman "Mr. Ernest Sinclaire, at your service, madame." 

They chatted for a bit, and she told him that she came from France after a rich patron bought her freedom, Mr. Shirley, a sickly English son of a Baron that had fallen in love with her, and they married and had four daughters, which they were all now under the care of their grandmother, the Dowager Baroness. He told her about his wife, and how she died in childbirth. He realized; he had missed being genuinely listened to. 

"Now, Mr. Sinclaire, may I introduce you to my most trusted girl, Rosalinde?" 

She gave him a small curtsy, a bit of her cleavage showing, making his ears pink. She seemed a bit older than the others he had seen: pale blonde and with blue eyes that had many years of experience behind her. He greeted her too and Madame Èponine got up "Duty calls, but dearest, tonight’s on me.” She winked at them before disappearing behind the door. 

“Come with me, sir, allow me to serve you tonight.” She smiled charmingly, the touch of her hand in his warm and welcoming, nearly bewitching. They walked through halls with doors ajar, moanings and other primal sounds Mr. Sinclaire would not rather name till the end of the corridor, where a canopy bed that seemed to be the fanciest one, a desk with a tray of food and enough beverage for the night and all the windows closed so they may not be molested by drunkards or other workers. 

“Miss Rosalinde, I am flattered, but I—,” He started but she placed a finger on his lips, a thing that made him inhale. 

Under this light, he realized that she had some remnants of the beauty she used to be, and how many young men—and not so young—must’ve fallen to her feet. He could hardly blame her. She must’ve been the eldest of the girls, therefore the most experienced. Mrs. Shirley must’ve thought that he’d fare well with a woman, not some young lass for tonight. 

“Please, sit down. We don’t have to do anything; we can talk and see where the night takes us." 

He nodded, sitting nervously on the edge of the bed as she served him some posh wine and handed it to him, a charming smile on her face, ever the experienced courtesan "Why don’t you tell me about your life here?" 

"There isn’t much to tell, and I don’t wish to bore you, miss." 

She smiled at him "You could never bore me, sir. Besides, we do more in here than bedding lonely men." 

He looked at her curiously "What is it that you do?" 

She gave her shoulders "Our newest ones are trained to talk about politics, arts and such. Many men come here to be heard when their lovers or wives won’t listen to them, or offer them a shoulder to cry, perhaps carry their secrets… there are more clients of those types than the ones who seek to try our fornication tactics. A courtesan’s job is still a job. Not for everybody, of course, but… it can be nice, and you normally set some rules." 

"Are you in charge or am I then?" 

She smiled at him coyly "What do you want?" 

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Don't worry Liz... We'll have plenty of Marianna in the main series and even after that even tho she's long gone 😉 and her relationship with Bart and Ernest is so wholesome, I love writing it 🥺💖

Joanna wanted her to sort out her stuff and have some time left to see good-bye as she arranges everything for Girl. And soon you'll find out more in the main series 😉

The Fall And Rising Of A Rose

A/N: I’m struggling to bring myself to write the current chapters of The Cursed Heiress, so I decided to write some one-shots that gives boosts to some small plots I do not have the chance to explore in the main series. I’ll start with some characters we’ve met/will meet and sometimes the characters before and after meeting Joanna. I reccomend listen to Dynasty by Miia while reading for better experience! 

Summary: A visit of Mr. Sinclaire to the house of ill repute changes a poor woman’s life…forever. 

1813

Ernest was certain that this time he was at a bed, though he could not tell which one was. There was a woman, one whose face he could not see. She was naked and giggling, such a pleasant sound that made his heart race rather rapidly. She had some scars on her chest, though he couldn’t identify them because the vision was blurry. Her hand brushed his chest as she mounted atop him, her smile the most enthralling thing he’s ever seen, her rich lips now swollen and red, probably his fault. He didn’t know what was happening. He knew he was in the dream, but the Ernest in there wasn’t quite him. It was someone more different than him, though he couldn’t tell the difference between them. The woman leaned to kiss him and he did too, meeting her partway, her lips tasting like morning breath and blueberries from his garden back at Ledford Park. It felt incredible and his version of the dream hummed in delight.

“Mmm, we should do this more oftenly, my queen.” He mused.

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Joanna's loss was a must in her character and Thomas' innocence and juvenile devotion was a touch I added to make it more painful. Mary's death is certainly something that is addressed in the main series and that has a background 👀

Joanna is as strong and resilient as she can be, but she's also human and this shows it off

The Damned Daughter, Part Two: Acts of Forgiveness

A/N: Hello, cuties! I’m sorry I haven’t posted much around, but I have been living mu youth and studies, so I have written down little. Only setting priorities, but during this No Content November, I shall write without pressure and taking small steps. There is also a new chapter of The Cursed Heiress that Sinclaire stans will absolutely love! 

Summary: Thomas’s recent death makes Joanna’s future shatter in a million pieces // Joanna and her father have a heart-to-heart about losing a beloved one // Joanna decides to honour Thomas’ death // Thomas’s death is too much to bear on young Joanna’s shoulders // On Joanna’s weakest hour, she sees someone she thought gone forever. 

Word Count: 3929 

Rating: PG-13 

December, 1814

The day of the mass for Thomas’s soul was one of the most shattering, soul-breaking things Joanna ever suffered. While the priest chanted about Heaven and Thomas’s soul, she looked at her hands, which days ago were full of blood. His blood. Her beloved’s blood.

Her mother hugged her all night, never leaving her and not moving an inch while she cried, wailed and grabbed her stomach of the big pain she was feeling. Heart-broken. Feeling like a thousand cuts were all over her body and only his presence could cure them. She held her portrait with him as she cried, all of her sorrow, sadness, depression, shallowness invaded her.

The third day, Mrs. Coleman visited her daughter-in-law and they cried, prayed and started to prepare his body. Then the priest named the price. Too much for the Colemans to afford. The beautiful, ethereal snow was now grey, like Mother Nature felt her pain. Elias was there, doing efforts to find the murderer, but no luck.

She had his favourite shirt on her hands, his essence still on it. She hugged it, hoping Thomas’s body would shape itself in it and they’d proceed with their wedding, ought to be celebrated the 3rd of June of 1815. But it would never happen.

At first she tried to blame the Elders, storming on their chamber and screaming and attacking at them, but they assured they never wanted him dead, just out of their way once she turned 20. The same age he died. A young man who started to live, now reduced to ashes.

Keep reading

[rosesnink]

I'm sooo glad you liked it! Tbh, it was a quick moodboard with pics that gave me Kiara vibes and placed them so it'd make sense qkjsjsns

And I can't wait to officially see you on my notes!! Your whole blog is a green flag and it's just a delight to see such a pretty blog!! Especially a fellow WLW 🥰

Hey look it's Kiara 🥰

So, I heard we're giving love to our local writers. You're my last stop here ✨ here are five reasons why I always admired you even from afar

You're giving Bi!Hana representation!

Your essays are just the best and so on point!!

You love Kiara!! Instant green flag

Giving the right representation of TRR and your fics are so amazingly written! I took notes of the ones I read because honestly, I was amazed

You give visibility to the WOC ladies and make many feel safe here

You're an overall green flag

I hope this last 2022 and next year we can talk more and get to know each other!! If my crippling social anxiety allows me smh

Happy writer's appreciation day cielo ✨

Omg!!! That edit is SO GORGEOUS!! I love how all the outer corner pics show aspects of her face which just adds that bit of mystery and allure to the edit, and you fill the spaces with all these classy sumptuous visuals that give you such a good idea of who she is ❤️❤️❤️ I'd so love to see something of yours next KTAW 🥰🥰🥰

Thank you so so much for this message...it truly made my day and made sure I got off my procrastinating ass so I can finish my Writers Appreciation post too!! I'm so so touched that you feel safe and truly enjoy my writing, and please feel free to let me know if anything I do write *does* make you feel uncomfortable!

Now that my appreciation weeks for this year are over, I'm SO looking forward to exploring the stories you told me about!! Ever since you filled the gaps for me on DM as to what happened in D&D Books 2 and 3 and told me about Cursed Heart, I've been wanting to do a deep dive into your fics. RL has been driving me nuts over the past week, but I can't wait to finally read them fully and at leisure!! 🥰🥰

[rosesnink]

Dear, the lenght rarely scares readers! If it's long AND interesting, I mind little of it. And the writing style was incredibly refreshing.

As for D&D lore, if you wish, I could tell you all about it!! I'm always happy to talk about my comfort book (even tho book 2 & 3 were complete clusterfucks) and always wanted to read more of Hana, but never find many people that write her. It's mostly Drake and Liam and the occasional Maxwell... And by an LGBTQ+ person!! And Kiara and Hana is a pair I never thought I'd like so much!! Do feel free to DM me your masterlist of these two wonderful women and other things 😊💙

Hindsight is 20/20

Book: The Royal Romance (with references to Desire and Decorum)

Characters: Hana Lee & Peter Foredale (OC) (platonic), Hana Lee x Kiara Theron. References to Annabelle x MC from D&D.

Rating: PG

Word Count: 5000+ words

Summary: Hana and Kiara travel to England...after recieving a letter from Hana's former fiancè. Hana explores her journey as a bi woman in a walk down memory lane.

A/N1: This takes place three years after the events of TRR3. Hana and Kiara are married and have an 8-month old child at this point. Peter Foredale in this universe is both the "Lord Peter" Hana mentioned in TRR1 (who was engaged to her then broke the match) and the current head of Countess Florence Foredale's (my D&D MC) estate, Edgewater. Faceclaims here.

Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW and @choicespride for National Coming Out Day (Thursday).

"Ready, darling?"

Hana nods mutely. She is, after all, ready in all the ways Mother wanted her to be. Face serene, back straight, gown resplendent.

You look like a vision, the dressmaker gushed a while ago when she saw the results of her handiwork, I cannot wait to see the look on Viscount Foredale's face when he sees you!

Inside the satin gloves, her hands begin to tremble.

Viscount Peter Foredale. Gentleman. Up-and-coming barrister. A regular on the magazine spreads. The most eligible bachelor in all of England. Most of all...a wonderful, kind friend.

And after tonight...her future husband.

Her stomach tightens in a sick lurch.

--

"Doing okay?" Kiara asks her wife, running a thumb gently over their daughter's left cheek. Her other hand settles at the small of Hana's back, tracing soothing circles. The child shifts her attention from the pearl button she's been chewing, to coo at Mama Kiki's touch.

"Yeah... she's fine," Hana replies, her voice grainy with fatigue. "Put her in any sort of moving vehicle, and she's the world's happiest baby."

Kiara releases a laugh from pursed lips. There is nothing their 8-month-old loves more than being carried around; if you try to sit down, even for a minute, she will bash her hands against your chest and moan for you to get up and move around again.

Her eyes, however, never leave Hana's face - not the downturned lips, not the concealer-masked dark shadows under her eyes.

"I wasn't talking about Chaima," she says quietly.

Hana closes her eyes. It's easy enough to dissemble her nervousness when Chaima is in her arms, but not when Kiara is pinning her with that piercing, knowing gaze. That gaze has always been Hana's undoing.

"Look at you, asking me all the hard questions at 11 in the morning."

Kiara sighs, and fiddles with Chaima's curls. "Your arms must be aching, ma moitié. Let me have her just a bit. Rest now; we'll be reaching Edgewater in half an hour."

Hana sighs and nods. She doesn't want to let go of Chaima yet - it would be so much easier, pushing every other thought aside when this lovely golden child is in her arms...and she suspects that's part of the reason Kiara wants to take over. Don't put off things just because you think you can't handle them perfectly, habibti.

Kiara tucks Chaima's head gently on her shoulder, crooning an old lullaby in Darija. Nīnī yā moūmoū...Hattā tjī ‘andou moū...Sleep my baby...until your Mommy arrives...

Chaima thumps her little hands against Mama Kiki's breasts in approval. Sighing, Hana takes out the letter that brought her here.

Dear Hana,

I hope you, your wife and your little one are well. It's springtime here at Edgewater, we have plenty visitors in the afternoons, touring the gardens and the lake. Mabel has been renovating the house again - she's been insisting I leave the Regency-style furniture in the Regency era and go for something more contemporary (I'm right!).

Little Alphonsa thanks you for her copy of "A Smart Cookie". I'm sure she'll love the message in a few years...but for now all she can see are the cupcakes, the croissants and the macarons. I'm quite proud of the fact; in this one area she takes after her father.

Despite her nervousness, Hana cannot resist a small smile. It's been good to hear from Peter again, truly. He has always been a serious man, whose humour slips through in the most unexpected moments, and it shows in his letters. And from his wife's rare interjections in his letter, she can tell Mabel is the more open, outgoing one.

It had all begun a year ago. They hadn't spoken at all in the years since their engagement had fallen apart, first out of bitterness and then out of shame. Somewhere in those early days, he'd resented her for those dreams left unfulfilled, and somewhere she half-hated him for leaving her to deal with aftermath, alone.

But when she'd heard the news of Earl William Foredale's death from her father, it felt odd not to give him a call. They'd known each other long enough for Hana to understand how hard Peter would have been hit - this man he'd loved and worshipped and wanted to follow on the footsteps of - and whether or not her presence was welcome she knew she needed to at least try.

You reached out after years of silence and offered only compassion, he wrote to her months later, For that, I can never thank you enough.

She looks to the final lines in the letter. Just to see if there's something she's missing, something hidden between the lines. Perhaps, an courtesy-invitation to an old friend he would much rather not see again.

You mentioned in your last letter that you'd be in London two months from now. I would like to extend an informal invitation to visit the Edgewater estate, and our family, when you are here. It would be nice to catch up.

His letters to her have been nothing but sweet. Warm. Tentative in their attempts to speak about anything but that which caused them to part. And for that, she is grateful.

Still. That prickle of fear remains.

--

The foyer of the mansion is elegant, imposing. From the parlour nearby she can faintly hear the sounds of an excited child attempting to converse with Chaima, occasionally asking Kiara if she can touch her hand. My baby, my cupcake, we'll give you lots and LOTS of milk and carrot smash!

(I think you mean mash, Kiara replies, sounding amused and more than a little charmed by the girl already)

The Persian rug is soft beneath Hana's feet, and the oak panels shine in the patch of sunlight streaming in through the windows. But that is not what catches her attention.

A portrait on the side, of a young woman in an ocean-blue gown that bears the insignia of a unicorn and an eagle, in gold and silver. An elegant shawl around her shoulders. In her face is the pride of a woman who seems to have fought for her place here, and won. Next to her, a calm, brown-haired man, hands kept behind him. Straightening his back, trying to stand tall, trying to match the stature of the lady he just married...but happy to be there.

"That's Florence Foredale," a rich, deep voice speaks from behind, "Countess of Edgewater. 1817 to 1867." The woman who approaches her walks with grace and confidence, hips swaying slightly as she walks. On her wine-coloured lips, a small smile. "Good afternoon, Your Grace."

Hana laughs, relieved that Peter's wife seems every bit as happy to see her as she sounds in his letters. "I've heard about her. She's quite famous in Cordonia...especially in my wife's province." She gives the other woman a teasing grin. "And we're not in Cordonia anymore, Your Excellency."

"Mabel," she interjects. "Not very many people call me by my name nowadays, and I rather miss the sound of it."

Hana nods, smiling. "Mabel it is," she says.

"Hana," Mabel responds, her eyes brown and speculative, but softening when their gazes meet. "Peter's in the study. He said he'll be joining us in a couple of minutes."

Hana's spine clenches in a mixture of anticipation and dread. If Mabel notices an involuntary twitch from her guest, she chooses not to tell.

--

Hana closes her eyes. Lifts her chin. Tries not to sweat under the harsh camera lights. Involuntarily tightens her fist until the photographer tells her she looks a little too tense.

She can feel Peter's hands, holding her by the waist like she is glass and he's afraid he could break her. She can feel his breath near her ear, slow and measured. She can almost hear him swallow his nervousness in his throat, and wonders if he is just as terrified as she is.

She waits for the feel of his lips on hers. The one she's read about in books, secretly watched in her cousins' favourite films. The one that's supposed to release a million butterflies in your stomach, the one that softly parts your lips like they're made of silk, smooth and sensuous. Already she can feel him growing closer...closer...

"OWWW!!!"

Peter finds her half an hour later in the kitchen, calming herself down with a few small squares of chocolate. Guiltily, she notes the still-blood-red bruising on his bottom lip. She runs her fingers over the delicate filigree earring they chose for the occasion, still unsure why his frown is one of worry, not disgust.

"Are you alright?"

She sniffles, almost hating him for being so kind. "I should be asking you that."

Surprisingly, he offers her a lopsided smile, making his swollen lip even more prominent than before.

"Well, see. At least I landed somewhere in the vicinity of your face this time," Peter says, chuckling, "Give me a little more practice. I promise it will be your cheek next."

Fresh tears spring in Hana's eyes - this time tears of laughter.

--

"How's this, Auntie Hana!" little Alphonsa chirps, enthusiastically swinging a rattle to Chaima's face, "Am I doing it right? Does Chaima like it? Do you? Do youuuuuu?"

The last two sentences are addressed to the baby bundled in Hana's lap, applesauce running down her mouth. Chaima looks away from her food to gift her slightly older companion a gummy, two-toothed smile. Shaking the rattle is typically the job of whichever mother has her hands free, but Peter's little daughter insisted on keeping her tiny guest happy and submerged in toys for the two days that they were here.

"Yes, Alphie," Kiara blows her a flying kiss, "you're a natural!"

Hana gives Alphonsa an affectionate pinch on the cheek with her free hand. "Chaima lights up every time she sees you, darling, and so do we."

Right next to Hana, Peter grins. It's the first genuine smile she has seen from him since they started talking, and Hana is struck by how alike he and his daughter look right now.

"Alphonsa loves babies," he explains, "or any child, really, they just have to be younger than her. It sets her big-sister instincts abuzz."

Hana sighs, shaking her head and remembering her own days as the only child. Her chandelier earrings swing around her neck as she laughs.

It fascinates her, really, how at ease they are with each other when they're talking about their children. Ever since she came here, their conversations have been awkward, stilted, punctuated with pregnant pauses that harbour all the words they're too afraid to say to each other. They've been trying so hard to be normal around each other, Hana realizes, and failing.

But as parents, they've never been better friends.

"Wait a minute," Peter's voice sounds a little bemused, suddenly, "is that -"

It is only when Hana follows his line of sight that she realizes exactly which earrings she's worn for this visit.

In that moment, she wants to dig a hole beneath the parlour floor and bury herself there.

"Yes," she says, sheepishly, "I'm sorry, I didn't think..."

Peter raises his eyebrows, then turns to look at Kiara and Mabel. As they both watch their wives talk animatedly, lost in their own conversation together, Peter suddenly turns back to Hana with a mischievous grin.

"Don't be," he says, "I'm just grateful we both managed to get better kissing practice. Less bloodshed that way."

Hana stares at him, then breaks into peals of silent giggles. It isn't even that funny...not to anyone else anyway...but the dry tone and the memories make it hard for her to stop laughing.

God. She isn't sure what else may happen to cast a shadow on this golden time, this lovely reunion...but if there is one thing Hana has missed up her old friend...it's this.

--

It is on their second day at Edgewater, that Countess Mabel requests Hana accompany her for a short walk.

Edgewater Lake is a tranquil, limpid little paradise, tucked away behind the estate's beautiful gardens and sprawling grounds. The aroma of bay willow and birch trees is alluring and soothing all at once, and even the ducks seem to float languidly over the water.

Mabel smiles in satisfaction at the sponge cakes in her box, kept specially for the ducks. She offers some to Hana, and together they throw the crumbs in the lake, watching in rapt attention as the ducks practically spring into life, squabbling over who gets which piece.

"I don't think I've ever felt more at peace anywhere in this estate than here," Mabel says. "I found this place quite by accident on my first week here, when I was too intimidated with the rest of the house and the estate. It's been my safe space ever since."

"It's a beautiful place," Hana smiles, remembering Sôse - the lake near the Cordonian Royal Palace. Its clear waters, its free-spirited birds, that distinctive smell of yellow crocus flowers that now reminds her of home. Where she was once told she would become a Duchess. Where Kiara had proposed to her, seven months later.

"Many tales speak of Countess Florence having picnics here."

"With her husband?" Hana says with an arched eyebrow, knowing full well the true answer.

"No. Her...companion. Miss Annabelle Parsons of Hazelvale."

"Parsons? As in the artist who painted Woman's Waltz and Rose Gold Reminiscence?"

"Yes," Mabel says, a faint smile on her lips, "I'm certain you've heard all the stories."

"Not until recently," Hana whispered, remembering just how ignorant she felt, those first few months after she realized she loved women more often than she loved men. How much there was for her to learn. It took Kiara to convince her to stop overthinking, and to feel good about learning at her own pace. She hadn't realized the queer undertones in the marriage the erstwhile Countess had made, nor what a lavender marriage was. "I wasn't really out to anyone until I started living in Cordonia."

Mabel's smile grows wider. "Me too. I'm bisexual."

Hana sucks in a breath. "Really?"

"Yes."

"When did you realize?"

Mabel's smile is swift and regretful. "I had an inkling in my early twenties...but I was deep in denial until at least two years ago."

Hana nods, placing a hand on Mabel's shoulder. "That sounds a lot like my journey. I don't think I could even articulate who I thought I was before I left Shanghai."

"Before Peter and I met, I was a young girl brought up in a very strict Goan Catholic family," she says, "You never even uttered the words gay or bisexual around our house." She sighs, heavily, seeming to remember her first year at Edgewater. "I was so scared. The timing was all so wrong. What was I going to do, now that I knew? What was I going to tell Peter?"

Hana winces. She had the same fears the night of their engagement...only now she can give those questions a name. The memory of his face is blinding in its clarity: contorted in pain, his mouth uttering questions she wasn't sure she would ever have the answers for...Is this what you want? Am I what you want??

The way the scales fell from his eyes as she fought to stop her tears.

And then he had left. Left that secluded hallway, left her house, left China. News of the broken match came from her parents.

She had become "damaged goods" overnight. Without a single hair on her head being touched.

Silently, Mabel reaches out and takes Hana's hand, squeezing it in understanding and an attempt to comfort. Hana presses her eyes closed. She doesn't want this woman's pity. Not after this long, when it's too little too late.

Hana is afraid of the answer. But she still has to ask.

"How did Peter react?"

"Afraid."

If her eyes weren't closed already, she would have done so right now, cursing herself for coming here. All this time...and she'd really convinced herself he'd changed...but if he was treating his lawfully-wedded wife this way -

"Not of me," Mabel says softly, her hand moving to touch Hana's arm now, "Of himself. He never quite forgave himself for what you had to go through after he left."

Hana sucks in a horrified breath. "He knew?"

Even before she did?? And he never once tried to talk to her about it?

"Not right away. Not that you weren't straight." Mabel says, nervously fingering a sapphire bracelet on her wrist. "It took him years to make sense of it. When the announcement of your marriage to Kiara came out...and then that magazine spread you'd made on Trend for Pride in Cordonia...several things began falling into place."

"Before or after you came out to him?"

"After," Mabel whispers, "I won't pretend it was perfect. I won't say he understood everything all at once . But he did try...and he still keeps trying."

Hana lets out a sigh of relief. It feels good, knowing that the phantom she had built in her head of him isn't entirely accurate.

"More than once when he's spoken about you," Mabel begins again, slowly, "he's told me that he thinks neither of you had a clue you loved women back then. He said you didn't seem to have enough space to ask questions about who you were or what you wanted."

"He's right," Hana says, staring unseeingly at the ripples on the lake. "When I fell in love for the first time, in Cordonia, it was hell. I had no idea what I was feeling, I couldn't get over the fact that it was a woman...and she was lost to me before I could even hope to win her."

Mabel smiles. "...and then you met Kiara."

Hana chuckles, a glow trickling down and filling every inch of her being...as it always does when she remembers their first days after they confessed their love to each other. "And then I met Kiara."

The two women walk further, looking out towards the lake rather than at each other. Hana gropes around in her mind desparately for a change in subject.

"I feel like I've seen this place before, even though this is my first time personally visiting Edgewater."

"It's possible," Mabel concedes. "Several films have been shot here. I think my favourite one so far has been that one with Cassandra Leigh in it... what's its name...?"

"A Timeless Heart," Hana replies, wonderingly. Even as she answers she finds herself awash with memories. Memories she'd kept locked away since Peter had left...yet something about this particular one demands she revisit it today.

They're at the home theatre Father and Mother had installed, just before Peter's parents agreed to their match. Peter tries - not too subtly - to place his arm around her. Hana obediently folds her hands on her lap, and hopes he doesn't realize they built this room specifically for him.

"Did you know," he inches himself a little closer to her, whispering, "this scene was shot a few years ago at a lake close to our house."

Hana does not answer. Her eyes are glued to the screen, glued to the woman with dark hair and wine-red lips, the camera almost caressing her face. The hero, who Hana is suddenly grateful she cannot see, takes a freshly-bloomed rose from his pocket, gently brushing her cheek with it. She gifts him a slow smile in invitation. Yes.

He brings the rose to his lips, and Hana fully expects him to return it to his pocket, but he does not. Instead he brings it back to Cassandra Leigh's face again.

The petals caress Cassandra's cheek like velvet on silk, moving slowly, sensuously, down the line of her jaw. The length of her hair. Her rosebud mouth. It moves across the expanse of her face, and Cassandra responds to the flower as she would the touch of a lover.

As the flower moves languidly over her silken skin...and Cassandra's expression shifts between confusion and desire and pure bliss, Hana feels a softening deep within her. It's a sensation she has never quite felt before. It moves, again, again, almost as if the petals are kissing her - not the man holding them.

It's almost as if he doesn't exist. It's almost as if no one exists, just her. And this woman.

When the projector breaks down immediately after, and Peter gets up - grumbling about missing the best part of the film - she suddenly stares at her fiancé-to-be like she can barely recognize him.

"Penny for your thoughts?" It's Mabel. Hana shifts uneasily at her piercing gaze.

"I was just thinking..." Hana murmurs, still bemused by the revelation, "sometimes all the signs can be right in front of you - staring you in the face - and you won't even realize that that weird feeling at the pit of your stomach was desire."

Mabel nods slowly, her smile one of recognition.

"Yeah...I've had a couple of crushes I didn't even realize were crushes until later."

"It's funny," Hana replies with a small laugh, "this entire time I've been thinking my love for women suddenly burst into life when I came to Cordonia and met Esther...but it's been there all along. It just took me a while to see it. To give it a name."

"Well...you know what they always say," Mabel lays a soft hand on Hana's arm, "Hindsight is 20/20."

--

"And this...this is Earl Vincent the First," Peter says, pointing to the portrait of a man in 15th century finery on the wall of his study. "Quite the character. He's said to have spied on both sides during the Wars of the Roses."

Hana smiles. "I know of at least one Duchess back home who would love to hear that story."

It's their last day in Edgewater, and Peter has summoned her to the study. Hana wills away the still-slight prickle of fear that he will rake up the past. They've spoken often enough; the topic could have easily come up if he so chose.

"and this...this is my most famous ancestor - appointed Championess of the Realm by Queen Charlotte herself - Countess -"

"- Florence," Hana whispers. The young woman in the portrait is still dressed in her house colours of blue and gold, but holds a white rose to her bosom. Her gaze seems to focus on the artist, brimming with emotions she cannot yet express. Hana is confident that if she strained her eyes long enough, she would find Parsons scribbled at the bottom-right corner of the painting.

"Yes," he says, a faint smile on his lips, "I hear that back in Castelserraillan they've made a film on her life."

"She's quite popular there."

"For good reason, I imagine," Peter says, "Most of what used to be considered 'rumour' about her is...in effect...true."

Hana's eyes widen. The stories of Countess Florence Foredale marrying Mr Chambers but pledging her vows to Miss Parsons...that she gleefully officiated her "husband's" own union to another man on their wedding night...they are fairly common knowledge. Common knowledge that you'd never expect the heir to her estate to confirm.

"Among us descendants, no one knows for sure whether her son was part of the Foredale bloodline in the way the ton of those times would have wanted it," Peter stares at the Countess' portrait, hands clasped behind his back, every inch this woman's heir. "But she left behind a legacy. A legacy I am proud of. A legacy I long to live up to."

Remembering her conversation with Mabel at the lake, Hana says, "From what I've heard, you already are."

Peter's answering smile is one of sad knowing. "You've been talking to Mabel."

Flushing, Hana nods. "I have."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "She often gives me more credit than I deserve."

Hana laughs. "I think I'll let her be the judge of that."

She can see Peter's shoulders heave in a deep, deep sigh. He walks away from the hundreds of ancestral portraits, back to his table, running a fingernail across its wooden surface. His eyes are cast downwards, almost as if he can't bring himself to look at her.

Hana freezes, anticipating the difficult conversation ahead.

"Hana," he says, his voice suddenly rough, "I wanted to hate you so badly in the beginning."

Her stomach drops to her feet. "I know."

"I kept telling myself, she could have opened up to me, anytime. I stayed at her home three while weeks; she could have let me know then. I convinced myself that I was a match you carelessly chose to sleepwalk into, that you considered me another chore to get done."

Tears spring in Hana's eyes. "I couldn't understand what was happening to me back then. I still don't."

Peter moves behind the table, running his fingers through the knob of one of the drawers. His own eyes seem clouded, she notes with a pang.

"Mabel told me once...the process to figuring out who you are isn't always going to be linear. You're never going to figure it out all in one go," he finally raises his eyes to hers, "Was it like that for you?"

Hana swallows. "It's still like that for me. There are still parts of this journey that are yet to make sense."

"I could have stayed back. Talked to you. Tried to help somehow, though god knows whether I'd have messed it all up further. I could have tried." Peter's voice is flat, almost deceptively lacking emotion. Only his eyes betray his recrimination of himself. "Instead I ran off. Leaving you to face all the questions."

"You didn't!" Hana's own voice is suddenly hoarse, roused by his self-flagellation into passionate defense. "Don't think I didn't notice, Peter. Before you left, you and your family made use of every contact you could find...to kill most of the gossip surrounding our breakup. Neither I nor my family found out until two years later."

Peter shakes his head in disbelief. "But -"

"You didn't get all of it right. I know that. People still managed to spread the word, and I kept getting raked over the coals for it, even after I married Kiara." Hana takes a deep breath, exhausted from her tirade. "You hated me then, but you were still willing to do that for me. If you really want to know how worthy you are of Florence Foredale's lineage, you can start right there."

Peter sighs. "Let me apologize for not trying to understand, at least."

She lets out a watery laugh. "Apology accepted."

He searches her eyes for affirmation, and nods, opening the drawer he had been running his fingers through mere minutes ago.

"Come here," he mumbles finally, leafing through a sheaf of papers, "I have something I've been wanting to show you. Ever since we started writing each other."

It's sketches of the same woman - in various moods, various poses...the drawings themselves in various stages of completion. These aren't formal portraits, set up over stand and easel, its subjects motionless. No - these are poetry in motion, impatiently etched, capturing their subject in all her vibrancy and fierce spirit. Here she is, head thrown back in (at least in Hana's imagination) loud raucous laughter, the wind in her hair. And here, yet again, holding a little boy up in the air, his tiny hands reaching out to caress her face.

Here is one made by the Countess - herself an accomplished artist - of her wife standing tall and proud, an eagle perched on her right arm, her left hand caressing a unicorn.

Her heart almost stops when she sees the final painting - the artist Parsons herself, arms wound around the other woman's waist, her chin tucked against the Countess' shoulder. Their fingers seem woven together, so that you cannot quite tell which ones belong to whom. The Countess herself looks to their interwoven hands with a mixture of desire, and longing, and pain.

Hana runs a hand over the couple, her touch almost reverent. Her heart twists a little at the strength of their love, the immense injustice of their loss. "No one else has seen these before."

"No one," Peter agrees, "except my wife. We unearthed these just days after Father died. And a week before you made that call." He picks the last drawing up, his eyes brimming with affection. "When you rang us so soon after that, it felt like a sign. Like I had one more chance to make things right."

Hana takes his hand, pressing it between hers. "You and Mabel have done more than that. I'll never forget."

Cautiously, tentatively, Peter gives her a hug.

"I'd like you to have this last painting," he says gruffly, passing her the one she'd touched so reverently mere moments ago. "It just feels right, you having this. There's a lot of things my ancestor didn't have...that I'm glad you and my Mabel finally get the space to explore."

"And even then, we had to navigate so much to get there," Hana responds. "All we can do really is pass it forward. Make it easier for the next generation, and the next, and the next."

Peter gifts her a rueful smile. "I promise you, Hana. I'll try my best to do just that."

--

Little Alphonsa giggles and gives Kiara a drawing of herself and Chaima, as a keepsake. Already Kiara plans to have it framed and put up in her nursery.

Mabel has a gift of her own, too. Just before Hana leaves, she slips a small package into her bag, insisting she only open it when they're closer to the airport.

The car that takes them to the airport weaves through traffic slowly, steadily, in no particular rush. In an hour's time, Chaima is asleep on Kiara's lap, and Kiara herself has dozed off, mumbling gibberish in her dreams.

Quietly, Hana takes out the package, tears open the wrapper. A letter falls out.

H -

Since you like Cassandra Leigh so much, I thought you might like The Warmest Winter. You'll know why when you watch. Thank me later.

Love,

M.

It's a CD cover for a film. Two women, gazing into each other's eyes in reverent devotion, their gazes speaking a million promises that their lips can never tell. Hana presses the CD to her chest and whispers a prayer of gratitude.

A sleeping Kiara shifts her neck ever-so-slightly in Hana's direction, murmuring her name softly. Her hand still lies - soft. protective - over Chaima's stomach.

Hana keeps the CD back in the larger bag she's carrying - the one that holds those precious paintings.

Seems like our plans are set for next date night, wife. She brushes away a strand of hair from Kiara's forehead, kissing it. I just can't wait.

--

Notes:

Ma moitié - French for "my other half"

Nīnī yā moūmoū - Moroccan lullaby (link here)

A Timeless Heart and The Warmest Winter are both Cassandra Leigh films in the Choices universe.

Inspiration for the Timeless Heart scene in the movie-watching section, came from a rather sensuous (by our standards!) Hindi film scene in Mughal-e-Azam, where the hero caresses the heroine with a feather. See:

You can watch the full song here and the scene in question is from 2.10-3.00.

[rosesnink]

This prequel is far from over... There are many tales to come!! Nene was surely a tragic figure from the beginning and her slow healing. As a SA survivor myself, this wasn't easy to write and tried to tread with it delicately and make it about Nene's trauma and what it meant for her– she felt too dirty to marry that man, despite loving him, and he could've never understood her pain and her decision to never marry.

And Uzaric is complicated at best. He's centuries old, and the progresist ideas, though there, are yet to concern him or his family. Vivienne, however, as a woman as old as her husband, had seen many beauties like her Nene go down. It is indeed every mother's fear that their little girl will suffer that.

Nya and Nene adore Joanna, and is their favourite niece. They see her as their baby and want her to become incredible.

Stay tuned, love!! There is more to come!! 😉

The Damned Daughter, Part Four: The Black Hand (+18)

Author’s Notes 

English is not my first language, so forgive any typos and/or grammar mistakes

For several reasons, this chapter is rated +18. Check the TW and tags 

This chapter has… not been easy to write, especially as a sa survivor. Nevertheless, I worked hard on it and hope to raise awareness and please feel free to exit the chapter. I will put a noticeable separator for the scene so you can skip the part. 

Summary: Nene Crochane and her family visit Tudor England to witness a very important change of course in history, but little they know, not many people are pleased with them… 

TW: While it is not explicit at all, there is a rape scene, and violence towards women. The scene will have a red separator so the reader knows when to skip the scene. Drug mention, sexism and language

Word Count: 4.6k 

Reading Time: 16 min. 

Henry Tudor’s Court, 1528 

Nene Crochane ran through the maze, giggling as she played a court game with fellow mortal socialites. The King was somewhere, though she minded little. It was her younger sister Odessa who was far better at pleasing kings. She had always said to herself she was far too free-spirited and independent to be a king’s mistress. She didn’t have the regality nor poise of that kind of woman, despite being the most beautiful of the three daughters of Uzaric Crochane, Grand Duke of Aldenburgh in Dracaria, with a beautiful dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes, the color of the northern sea, with perfectly shaped lips and the desired physique of the era. Indeed, Nene had many supernatural and mortal suitors of all kinds of races and sexes, though her father was adamant that his beautiful daughter would have the best spouse or nobody at all.

She stopped short, panting for the effort, and bent down to recover when she felt a pair of masculine hands on her waist and gasped to find the charming Duke Thomas Richards of Karlington, a smirk on his face “Come here often, Lady Crochane?“ 

She gently broke the embrace and greeted him "Your Grace. It seems like you’ve caught me." 

He stroked her cheek gallantly "I have indeed. Whatever shall we do now?" 

She frowned "Return to His Majesty’s gardens, of course." 

He came closer as he licked his lips "But I thought that we could spend some time… alone." 

He grabbed her chin and was about to kiss her when Nene’s brother, Fabian, cleared his throat enough to intimidate the duke "Ahem. Dear sister, mother requires your presence. A womanly matter, it seems.” She was sure this was his excuse to tell the duke to naff off. 

She bowed respectfully “Your Grace.” She quickly left, leaving an offended and fuming duke. 

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