#the lost {aria hall}

[ivory-forged-steel]

TWDU character tag drop 🎉

[koiiiji]

HYPERFIXATION

sangho in old style drawing>>>

tw ; ; possessive, jealousy, egoism (tell me when sanghon don't), yandere.

warnings ; mentions of death (not main char.), mention of depressive episode, suggestive.

please no spam likes, ageless/empty blogs DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU!!

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Sangho have a perverted concept of love.

for sure, he love his siblings, he love Hwangyeon in his own way, always approaching him to train, study, not to rely always on him, fucking his brains about army and work, because Hwang already was old enough to take responsibility for his own life, but this brat always was too relaxed and reliable on Sangho's money and wealth.

for Aria things was quite more easy, since she didn't brought any harm and extra work to do as Hwangyeon, who was the master in bringing extra pain in the ass to his older brother. Sangho just provided Aria with all essentials and nowadays popular stuff and he thought that would be enough. his younger sister go to nice school, wear nice clothes and always have money on her bank account, so she doesn't need to go through what her brother went, she can have above the normal school life - Sangho totally understand concept that she just a teenage girl.

but with you… oh dear, his love for you is whole different level. just start from the point that you was with him from beginning, this is the point why he appreciates you in the first place.

he happened to met you in training center where he went to train for his earliest competitions, even before he was in national team. but hold on. you was with them. with him and Maheyon. yeah, that too optimistic and windy guy who thought that in this world you can just enjoy bike ride...that bitch.

unfortunately, you didn’t make it to the national team with them, and the women’s team was not formed yet, so you were allowed to train with them and be part of the team as an analyst and technical assistant. so you three always met in the hall of training center and went homes together.

many things changed from that times, but Sangho always remember your smile. oh, dear, he never forget you had different types — gentle smile when you even close your eyes slowly, as you greet them each meeting, exiting one when your eyes shines and you run towards them for a tight hug, congratulating them with another win on completion. and his personal favorite - that comfort, soft smile you have when you look at something you like and it seems that even atmosphere around you is shining.

and Sangho hated that he needed to share any of your smiles with Maheyon.

he knew what kind of feelings that bastard had for you, and it makes his blood boil. every time he saw how your naive eyes blink at another Maheyon's attempt to flirt with you, Sangho was thankful for his stoic face and self control for not slamming that brat face right in the wall. but you, such a pretty, little thing were naive enough not to catch Maheyon's romantic feelings for you, but still the fact that you took him as a really close friend irritated Sangho. he never liked to share.

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as the news of Maheyon's tragic death spread, a somber cloud descended upon whole team. the accusations of doping tarnished his legacy, leaving behind a shattered reputation and unanswered questions. the loss of your friend hit each of you differently, but none felt it as profoundly as you, who regarded Maheyon almost as a brother.

tears flowed freely as you stood by his graveside, the weight of grief heavy in your heart. memories of shared laughter and cherished moments flooded your mind, each one a painful reminder of what was now lost. your sobs mixed and echoed with all other people who came to honor Maheyon's memory in the quiet cemetery, a haunting melody of sorrow that pierced through the silence.

Sangho, standing nearby, observed your anguish with a conflicted heart. while outwardly offering you comfort and support, inwardly he was faced with a strange feeling of joy and elation. with each tear you shed for Maheyon, a small part of Sangho couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction that now, finally, all your attention would be directed solely towards him. he will make sure of it.

in the following days and weeks, as you grappled with the overwhelming grief of losing Maheyon, Sangho found himself basking in the newfound attention that came his way. sport sponsors and managers seemed like beasts, not having time to properly mourn one athlete, they quickly found a replacement for him in the form of Sangho, once hesitant to invest in him, now saw an opportunity in his rising star. offers poured in, promising lucrative endorsements and opportunities for financial growth. the whispers of his business ventures grew louder and louder, drawing more and more attention of investors and entrepreneurs alike. Sangho seized the opportunity to establish himself outside of the shadow of Maheyon, determined to prove his worth and carve out his own path to success.

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the rain hadn’t let up in days. it was as if the entire world had become soaked in gray, the heavy, endless downpour matching the numbness that had settled over your heart. every day felt the same. long, quiet hours alone in the apartment, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of your grief press down on you like a constant, invisible force.

if it weren’t for Sangho, you weren’t sure how you would have survived these past weeks. he was the only one who visited, the only one who still checked in. your friends had gradually disappeared, maybe busy with their own lives, or maybe they just didn’t know how to deal with your constant sadness. and your parents, living too far away to visit regularly, could only call. but Sangho… he had stayed. every night, he brought food, sat with you in the quiet, and listened when you had the energy to talk.

you were grateful. grateful for his steady presence, for the fact that he hadn’t abandoned you like everyone else seemed to.

you heard the familiar knock at the door just as the rain grew heavier outside, the dull thud of raindrops on the windows now a constant, almost hypnotic sound. you stood up slowly, wiping your face, though you hadn’t realized you’d been crying again. Sangho was here.

opening the door, you were greeted by his familiar, calm face. his expression softened when he saw you, concern filling his eyes. “you haven’t been sleeping, have you?” he asked quietly, stepping inside and setting down a plastic bag of food. scent of warm takeout filled the room, a welcome distraction from the cold, lifeless atmosphere that seemed to cling to everything.

“i guess not,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. you felt like a shell of yourself, too tired even to fight the exhaustion. “thanks for coming again, Sangho. i don’t know what i’d do without you…”

his lips curved into a small smile, though there was something darker behind it that you were too weary to notice. “you don’t have to thank me. i’m glad to be here.”

he moved into the kitchen, unpacking the food with practiced ease, like this was routine now. and in a way, it was. time to time, he’d show up, bringing food, keeping you company while the world outside your window seemed to disappear under the heavy rain.

as you sat on the couch, staring at the steaming containers of food, you realized how much you’d come to rely on him. his presence was the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing that felt real in the haze of your grief. you didn’t have the energy to reach out to anyone else anymore, and they didn’t seem to be trying either.

“Sangho,” you started, your voice soft and hesitant. “you’ve been coming here almost every day. i just… i feel like i’m leaning on you too much.”

he looked up, a gentle smile on his lips, but his eyes flashed with something unreadable. “you’re not. you need someone, and i’m ready to be that person for you. after everything, it’s the least i can do.”

you smiled weakly, your heart twisting with both gratitude and guilt. “i don’t know how to repay you…”

he walked over to you, sitting down beside you on the couch, close enough that you could feel his warmth. “you don’t need to repay me,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “i’m doing this because i care about you. and Maheyon wouldn’t want you to be alone.”

Maheyon. his name still hurt, still brought the sting of tears to your eyes. you nodded, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “i miss him,” you whispered. Sangho’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his voice remained calm. “i know. but i’m here too. you don’t need to keep thinking about him.”

you blinked, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. “what do you mean?”

he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “i mean that you’re not alone. you have me. you don’t need to keep clinging to someone who’s gone when i’m right here.”

his words sent a ripple of unease through you, but you dismissed it, telling yourself that he was just trying to help. after all, he was right. Maheyon was gone, and you were still here, trying to piece together the shattered remains of your life. Sangho was the one who had stayed. the only one who had stayed.

“i’m not trying to forget him,” you said softly, lowering your gaze. “it’s just hard to let go.”

“you don’t have to let go all at once,” Sangho replied, his voice suddenly gentle again, as if sensing your discomfort. he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “just let me help you through this. you’ll feel better if you stop thinking about him so much.”

the way he said it made it sound so simple, so reasonable. and you wanted to believe him. you were so tired of feeling this way, so tired of the pain, the loneliness. maybe Sangho was right. maybe if you just stopped thinking about Maheyon so much, you could finally move on...

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hours passed as the rain drummed on, and your head eventually fell against his shoulder, exhaustion finally overtaking you. good, he thought. you needed rest, needed to stop thinking so much. thinking about him.

when your tear-stained eyes finally closed and your breathing deepened into the soft rhythm of sleep, Sangho stayed still for a moment, just watching you. you were so fragile, so beautiful, clinging weakly to the fabric of his shirt as if he were your anchor. his ego boosted with pride at the thought — you didn’t even realize how much you needed him now, how completely you depended on him.

but there was still one problem. Maheyon. ghost that haunted your every thought. every time you cried, it was for him. every time you seemed lost, it was because of him.

carefully, Sangho shifted you from his lap, laying you gently against the couch cushions. his eyes lingered on your sleeping form for a moment, the soft rise and fall of your chest, your lips slightly parted as you breathed. he almost wanted to kiss you right then, to claim you in a way Mahyeon never could. but no. not yet. he had to be patient.

Sangho stood, his gaze shifting around your apartment. it was truly your place, lived-in, but to him, it was polluted. everywhere he looked, there were reminders of Maheyon — photographs of the three of you from past competitions, souvenirs from trips abroad when you were all together, little things that held too much meaning, things that kept you tethered to a memory that should have been long dead.

a photo on the shelf caught his eye. you, Maheyon, and Sangho standing together, smiling after a big win at a cycling competition in Japan. Sangho remembered that day well, but not for the same reason you did. back then, you had admired Maheyon, looked at him like he was some kind of hero. and Maheyon had basked in it, clueless, while Sangho watched from the sidelines.

Sangho's jaw clenched, a cold rage building beneath the surface.

without a second thought, he picked up the photo frame, turning it over in his hands. his fingers traced the edges of the glass, his heart pounding with anger as he stared at Maheyon’s face. slowly, deliberately, he placed the frame back on the shelf — face down. it wouldn’t be there the next time he visited. one piece at a time. one memory at a time. he would erase Maheyon from your life, remove every trace of him until you forgot he ever existed.

satisfied, Sangho moved to the small table near the couch. there was a little trinket — a souvenir from that same trip, a gift from Maheyon. it had been with you for years, something you always kept close. but not anymore.

with practiced ease, Sangho slipped the small souvenir into his pocket. it wasn’t the first thing he’d taken. over the past few weeks, he had been quietly removing pieces of Maheyon from your apartment, exchanging them for little gifts of his own. new vase here, a framed photo of just the two of you there. you never noticed. how could you? you were too lost in your grief, too dependent on him now to care about such small changes. but those small changes added up.

he reached into his bag and pulled out a new gift — a delicate necklace, simple but elegant. he placed it carefully on the table where the souvenir had been, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. every time you looked at it, you’d think of him. not Maheyon. Sangho been patient. he knew it was only a matter of time before you realized how much better your life was with him in it. and when that time came, you would be his. completely.

as he returned to the couch, he sat down beside you again, watching you sleep. his fingers brushed against your hair, tenderly, lovingly. you belonged to him. you just didn’t know it yet.

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you woke to the sound of the rain, the world around you still dark, still gray. your head felt heavy, your thoughts sluggish as you tried to remember when you fall asleep. then you felt it — Sangho’s presence beside you, his hand resting gently on your arm.

“hey,” he said softly, smiling down at you. “you fell asleep. i didn’t want to wake you.”

you blinked, rubbing your eyes as you sat up. your body ached with the weight of your exhaustion, but Sangho’s presence, as always, made you feel just a little lighter. “thanks for staying,” you softly murmured, grateful for the comfort of having him there. “i don’t know what i’d do without you...”

his smile widened, but something flickered behind his eyes, something dark. “you don’t have to worry about that. i’m not going anywhere.”

you smiled weakly, still too tired to notice the subtle shift in the room, the way something felt... different. you glanced at the table where something familiar small had once sat, but your eyes landed on a new necklace instead — a gift from Sangho, no doubt. you didn’t remember moving the old trinket, but it didn’t matter. you didn’t have the energy to question it.

Sangho watched as you stare at the table, your still groggy from the nap eyes blinking up, reaching for his gift. he couldn’t help but smile. you looked so unaware like this. so vulnarable.

you tried to sit up, your body still heavy with sleep, and as you moved, your hand brushed against his thigh. the innocent touch sent a jolt through Sangho, a thrill he hadn’t expected. he froze, his eyes darkening as his mind raced. the thought came unbidden. you were so close, so fragile, and the way you unconsciously leaned into him, trusting him — it made his blood run hot.

he couldn’t take it anymore. weeks of patience, weeks of restraint. late-night visits, the careful words, the slow dismantling of everything that tied you to Maheyon and past life. he’d been so good, so careful. but seeing you like this, vulnerable and unaware, stirred something primal in him.

before he could stop himself, Sangho leaned in. his hand slipped behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he gently tilted your face up toward him. his gaze locked onto your lips, and for a second, his breath caught. he needed you.

and then he kissed you.

it wasn’t a soft kiss — not the way he had planned. no, this was desperate, hungry. his lips pressed hard against yours, and his hand tightened in your hair, pulling you closer, almost as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. he could taste the salt of your tears from earlier, could feel your soft gasp of surprise as your lips parted beneath his. but you didn’t pull away, not immediately.

for a brief, dizzying moment, he thought you would give in. that you would melt into him, let him consume you the way he had always wanted. his free hand moved to your waist, fingers grazing the soft skin just above your hips, feeling the warmth of you through the thin fabric of your shirt and you felt a shiver of something unfamiliar — something that made your skin tingle with a strange mix of heat and fear. his grip tightened, his fingers possessive as they pulled you closer, towering over your figure, and his kiss deepened, more forceful, more demanding than anything you had ever imagined coming from him.

your heart pounded in your ears, panic rising as you realized what was happening.

finally, you pulled back, breaking the kiss with a soft gasp, your hands coming up instinctively to push against his chest. look in his eyes was wild, dark — something you had never seen before. for a moment, you were frozen, your mind racing, trying to piece together what had just happened.

and then, he felt it too — a tremor in your body, a hesitation. and reality crashed back in. Sangho blinked, his breath shallow, heart racing as he realized what he’d done. his lips still tingled from the kiss, the taste of you lingering in his mouth, but something cold settled in his chest. he wasn’t supposed to do this — not like this.

“i-i…” you stammered, your voice trembling, unsure of what to say. your mind was spinning. this was Sangho. your friend. the one person who had been by your side past all this hard time. but the way he had kissed you — it didn’t feel like friendship. it felt like something much more intense, something you didn’t know how to process.

and the way he was looking at you now… it scared you.

he looked at you, saw the confusion and — was that fear? — in your eyes. his stomach twisted. too soon. he’d lost control.

“i’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice softer now, trying to keep the panic from showing. he reached out to touch your arm, but you flinched. the movement was small, barely noticeable, but Sangho felt it like a punch to the gut. no, no, no. don’t be scared of me.

“I didn’t mean to… it just… i got caught up in the moment,” he lied, forcing a smile that he hoped looked apologetic. inside, his mind was racing. you weren’t ready yet. he had been so careful, so patient, and now he had almost ruined it. but he could still fix this. he just had to pull back, make you trust him again.

“i-i just wasn’t expecting that,” you said softly, your voice trembling with embarrassment. your cheeks were flushed, and you couldn’t meet his gaze for more than a few seconds. “Sangho… we’re friends... you’ve always been my friend. i didn’t think…”

“Of course, it's okay” Sangho said quickly, swallowing down the dark frustration bubbling up inside him. your hands fidgeted in your lap, and you gave a small, awkward nod.

Sangho forced another smile, though his insides churned with impatience. it wasn’t okay. none of this was okay. but he held back, telling himself this was a minor setback. he could still play the long game. you were still dependent on him, still clinging to him for support. he just had to be more careful, more patient.

not for much longer, though.

“let’s just forget about it,” Sangho said, his tone gentle. “we can go back to the way things were. i don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

you smiled weakly, still embarrassed, and nodded. “yeah… thanks...”

as you leaned back against the couch, closing eyes to calm your nerves, you couldn't notice how Sangho's lips curled a little.

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author's note ; I FINALLY FINISHED IT!!! I THINK THIS FIC WAS IN DRAFTS FOR 5(??) MONTH!! BUT I FINALLY DID IT OMGG🥸

MASTERLIST

[resident-rats]

perhaps… 39? for chreon? 👀👀

Here you go 👀👀

Prompt: “What the fuck. Do that again. I liked it.”

Word count: 1212

[18+ under the cut]

Originally all Leon had meant to do was return some gloves. Nothing exciting. Chris had left them at his after a rather… intense night, and Leon just wanted to return the item. And maybe see the man again. But mostly the former - if he continued to believe his own lies.

It had escalated quick though, going to the BSAA headquarters, seeing the man in person, remembering that night they had shared. Seemed like they were both on the same page anyway, because before Leon knew it Chris had him pressed up against one of the gym’s walls - where luckily they were alone - already having slid hands under Leon’s top, pulling him closer by the hips. Gloves on the floor somewhere forgotten.

Leon moaned into Chris’ mouth, only encouraging the manhandling. His own fist clenched in Chris’ hair, once again feeling how soft it was, barely long enough to poke through the crevice of his fingers. Lightly nipping the man’s bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to sink in further. Oblivious to the outside world.

Fuck he needed it. After Arias everything had been a whirlwind. Chris constantly checking in, leading to him staying the night more than once, which then lead to…

It was so easy to get caught up in it all. Never thinking for a second that anything would ever be reciprocated. But alas there he was, Chris’ hands inquiring further as his lips parted, teeth knocking together every so often, feeling the desperate exhale of breath.

Perhaps though they were a bit caught up. Voices in the hall growing louder. It was Chris to pull away, glancing over his shoulder to the door.

“Shit,” Muttered to himself mostly. Then his head snapped around, looking for any other solution. Maybe they could have played it off, but realistically anyone with eyes would have immediately clocked them. Not exactly a good look for Captain Redfield. “Quick, in here.”

And just like that Leon found himself being shoved backwards into a closet. Fantastic. The thing barely big enough to hold one of them.

“What the hell?” Spoken in a sharp whisper.

“Got a better idea?” Chris matching it.

No, not really. But hiding away in a closet after making out like some stupid teenagers wasn’t exactly high on Leon’s to-do list.

Before he could reply though, that door opened. The conversation close and more than legible.

Though… perhaps it wasn’t all that bad. Chest to chest, practically feeling how the man’s heart raced. Hands brushing. Neither daring to move.

Whoever was there started using the equipment. Obviously. Why else would they have gone to the gym? Well, Leon had gone there with other things on his mind, but he wasn’t exactly the norm.

“How long-”

A finger instantly placed to his lips, stopping the sentence mid flow. He was going to protest, bat the hand away, but then he was quick to notice. The people outside sounded close. Maybe enough to discover them.

Chris body was tense. Breath almost still. But then there was a sort of miracle. Music. Playing through the gyms sound system. Not particularly loud, but loud enough to cover them.

“What’s the plan now, huh? Think that far ahead?” Still whispering.

“Didn’t see you coming up with anything better.” Chris quipped back.

“Wasn’t exactly thinking.” Earning Leon a huff of amusement.

They stood for a few more seconds.

“What, so we just wait until they’re gone?”

“Pretty much.”

“See why you’re the Captain, with your bright thinking.”

“Hey, watch it Kennedy.” The grin obvious even in the dark. Chris moving forward just an inch or two, probably without realising. But Leon did. All to aware of the knee pushing further into his groin. Applying perhaps a bit too much friction to his already riled up cock.

Biting back a soft moan, Leon lost his footing a bit. Lucky to be caught by Chris’ arms. And unfortunately doing nothing for the whole semi erect situation stirring in his pants.

“What the fuck, do that again.” Words brushing the shell of Chris’ ear, no longer caring about the people outside. “I liked it.”

“You really have no shame do you?” Though it didn’t matter, because Chris’ knee rocked upwards, thigh rubbing against the sensitive area.

Looked like perhaps they were picking up where they had left off.

“Hardly a saint yourself.” Leon’s head nestling it’s way into Chris’ neck. Basking in the sensation the leg brought. Rolling his hips against it.

One strong arm secured it’s way around his torso, a silent encouragement.

By then Leon was fully hard, not that it took much. Angling himself tactically, ensuring attention was applied to all the important bits. Straining into the denim.

Again, Leon caught himself before another moan slipped. Not quite forgetting where he was.

“Shh, gotta be quiet.”

“Think I don’t know that?”

In that position he could feel Chris’ erection as well, clearly enjoying it just as much as he was.

If Leon wasn’t careful he’d be walking from that building with a wet stain on the front of his jeans. And god save his underwear, which was more than ruined.

“You really can’t resist, can you?” Chris taunting low.

“Fucking-” Interrupted by his own gasp. “Fucking says you. All I wanted was to give back those gloves.” A half lie.

“Oh right yeah, because that’s why you came here, instead of just waiting until you next saw me like a normal person.” That knee. That fucking knee. It was sturdy, holding Leon’s weight. Moving just right.

“I think you’ll find,” Taking a moment to catch his breath. “This is when I next saw you.”

Not that Chris could particularly argue with that.

Though the priories shifted, Chris clearly focused on making Leon cum. Aiding the thrusts. Wanting him to fall apart in his hands. And like fuck was Leon complaining about that.

“Just take what you need, don’t think about me.” The instruction purred to him, feeling how those words moved through his body. “That’s it, just like that. That’s my good boy.”

Leon found himself having to bite Chris’ shirt to keep quiet, stifling anything that came out.

“Weren’t lying when you said you liked this.”

“Shut up.” Just about audible, spoken into the man’s shoulder.

“Come on, I’ve got you.” Grinding Leon further into him. “Just let go.”

And how could he argue with that? Cumming hard into his underwear, Chris being the only thing keeping him upright. Legs shaking, threatening to buckle from beneath. The twitch of his cock evident as more spilled out. Glad that Chris’ body continued to mask the fucked out gasps.

Afterwards felt hazy. Still feeling rather limp. Ignoring the sticky situation between his thighs

“Can’t say I saw this coming when I arrived.” Said as he attempted to regain himself.

“No but I saw you cumming.” Chris laughing a bit. Even Leon finding it entertaining.

“Shut it Redfield.” Giving him a playful smack across the upper arm before shuffling backwards.

And that was when the music stopped. Both froze. Briefly having forgotten the situation themselves. Perhaps they were okay. Could scamper as soon as the coast was clear.

Though that was when they heard it, unmistakeable.

“Looks like someone left equipment out, maybe we should put it away?”

Oh no.

For this ask game!

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Ten

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Teasing.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.9k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You haven’t been allowed to help with cleanup after dinner; Lucky promptly shooes you out of the kitchen and gives Gab the task of distracting you so you don’t sneak back in to help. You like to think that you know the men pretty well at this point, and they know you too. They know the first chance you get, you’ll put yourself to work. So Gab drags you to Shanks’ room to play a hand or two of cards, however many it takes for the dirty dishes to be done.

Gin rummy is one of the first games the men teach you to whittle away time at sea. You... are not very good at the game. It’s a skill-based card game, and since you are still new to it, you really don’t have any skill at all! You let out a soft growl and nearly throw down your cards in frustration.

“This is pointless,” you complain, dipping your head back and glaring at the ceiling of Shanks’ cabin. It seems that no matter who you play against, you always end up losing! “Who even invented this game?”

“No idea, but you’ll get better with practice,” Gab states, laying out yet another winning hand. You groan and slump in place. “And the point is money, Aria. Gambling. Earning a quick Berry.”

“Or losing a quick Berry,” you huff, knowing that gambling is a treacherous game that many men and women lose themselves in. You’ve seen it from the shadows of Bonn Manor after your mother held a ball. Card games and drinking are popular events post-dancing, and you hadn’t understood the passing of Berry at the time, but you do now. Seeing your expression move to one that’s far away, Gab prompts you.

“Aria?” he calls, pausing in shuffling the cards. You blink and force yourself away from the memories of Bonn Manor.

“Sorry, what were we saying?” you question, your eyes fluttering and fingers drumming on the table. Gab squints at you.

“I lost you for a moment. What is it? What were you thinking about?” He pushes, not liking how you seem to relapse into your shell for a few brief moments. You press your lips together. “Aria?”

“I was just—” you cut yourself off and take a deep breath. “My mother liked to hold monthly balls in Bonn Manor. Card games were a popular activity after dancing. I never understood why they passed Berry around. At least not until now. It seems so frivolous and wasteful, gambling Berry like it was mere pocket change.”

Gab goes back to shuffling the cards, listening to your words and pleased that you are opening up more. He and the rest of the crew know the basics of your situation and what kind of personality you have, but no one has heard much about your past. This is the first time you’re openly offering to speak about it.

“Did she ever let you participate?” Gab asks, having a feeling the answer will be no since you had no idea how Gin rummy worked when they first introduced it to you. You softly snort, remembering the strict timeline your mother enforced.

“No, once the dancing was finished, she always declared that I was in need of retiring to my rooms early. She liked to boast that I spent most of my time practicing how to be a lady. Practicing stitching, etiquette, history. I was a dutiful daughter that strived to be the perfect offspring.” There’s a bitter note in your voice, and the corner of your mouth twitches. “I only know what went on behind the sitting room doors because I snuck through the servants’ halls once.”

“Once?”

“I got caught,” you reply, remembering the week you spent recovering after your mother had beaten you to what felt like one lash away from death. You’ve never tried anything like that again. The flashbacks of the welts and bruises haunt you even to this day. You’ve never seen your mother so angry. You reach for the stack of cards, taking them from Gab. “It’s my turn to deal.”

Dinner has passed, and the dishes are washed, so the men are all laying low for the night. Either nursing a beer, sharpening a blade, or practicing some fancy trick, they have cleared out from the main deck. You have been sitting in one of the lounge chairs reading a book Benn lent you when Shanks approaches. Your gaze lifts from the words in front of you, and you smile pleasantly.

“I thought you would have retired yourself to whatever it is that you do at night,” you speak, observing the red-haired man. You’re fairly sure that he mentioned needing to talk to Building Snake about the Red Force’s current course. “Or at least be busy speaking to Snake about our current course.”

“I did talk to Snake,” Shanks replies, leaning against the railing of the ship. “It turned out to be a simple adjustment with the log pose, weather ahead we want to avoid. As for why I am not returning to my latest book, I’m making good on my promise.” Your eyebrow arches at his mention of a promise, and Shanks offers you his hand. “You are going to want to change into something easy to move in for this.”

Wracking your brain for the promise Shanks supposedly made to you, you close your book and take his hand. Shanks effortlessly pulls you to your feet and directs you to his cabin.

“What promise are you talking about exactly, and why do I need to change clothes?” Shanks glances back at you, lips twitching at the puzzlement on your face.

“You wanted to learn how to use a sword, did you not?” Shanks raises his own eyebrow. “Now’s a good time, full moon with lots of light, and the men are settling down for the night, so you won’t have an audience. You are going to want to wear something that lets you move around. Your pants are a good option. Also, you won’t want a loose shirt. The fabric might get in the way.”

Stopping in front of the door to the cabin, you stare at Shanks with raised eyebrows. He sure gets bossy on occasion. Not that you mind. You find it a rather attractive trait of his. Stop it, Aria. Clearing your throat, you reach for the door and look back at Shanks.

“Pants and a non-loose shirt. I think Anna picked out some clothing items that match that description. Mentioned it was good for working out, but I have no idea how to work out, so…”

“We’ll get there eventually,” Shanks replies before leaving you to change. You watch him disappear before entering the cabin and shutting the door behind you. You haven’t been able to try out the clothes Anna said were good for working out yet, and you’re excited to try something new again. Trotting over to your trunk of clothing, you carefully pull out folded stacks of clothes until you find what you’re looking for: a tank top, sports bra, and comfortable cloth pants.

Stripping yourself out of your day clothes, you wrestle yourself into the sports bra and are surprised to find that while it feels constricting, it doesn’t make you feel like you’re being suffocated. Further pleased with your new clothes, you pull on the soft pants and admire the fact that the cloth hugs your skin close. You have never seen your legs like this before and feel a sliver of shyness. But you’ve seen many women out and about wearing pants like this and even more revealing clothing, so nothing about your outfit is unfit to be worn.

“Stop being such a prude,” you mutter to yourself, putting your arms through the armholes of the tank and dragging it over your head. The tank is loose but not too loose. It’s just airy enough that you’re sure you won’t overheat doing whatever vigorous activities working out constitutes. Knowing Shanks, he isn’t going to overwork you (he certainly still thinks you could do with more meat on your bones), but you still like the idea of dressing for the occasion. Some things never change. Since you’re going to be learning how to use a sword, you figure it’s probably in your best interest to put on your shoes, sneakers rather than your sandals. It would be doubtful Shanks would even humor you wielding a blade with your feet vulnerable, kitchen knives aside.

Reaching for a hair band, you pull back your shoulder-length lavender hair to keep it out of the way and to stop it from blowing in your eyes. After you cut it, you realize that without tying it off, the strands have a habit of flying into your face. Humming to yourself, you slip out of the main cabin and go in search of Shanks. It’s dark out now, but the hanging lanterns on the ship give off plenty of light. Looking around, you search for Shanks but can’t find him anywhere on the main deck. Perhaps he has migrated to the weather deck?

Walking over to the stairs leading to the upper-level deck, you climb them to see Shanks standing in the middle of the deck, sword in hand. The lights from the lanterns highlight his red hair as he swings his sword around methodically and with acute precision. You’re fascinated with the way it looks like the sword is attached to his hand and the way his body moves… He has probably been practicing his whole life! Shanks flicks his wrist over his head while turning and immediately halts in place.

“Aria,” he calls, automatically lowering the sword from your direction and promptly sheathing it at his side. “I can say you finally managed to sneak up on me.” He speaks while drinking in what you’re wearing. It’s by far the most revealing of clothes you’ve worn to date: trousers that hug your legs, a tank top that clearly shows your shoulders, and he’d better stop staring at your body. He looks back into your eyes. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, though it’s hard to be ready for something I have no knowledge of,” you answer, your brows scrunching as you try to imagine exactly what goes into learning how to wield a sword.

“The fact that you’re thinking about it makes you ready.” Shanks says before walking over to the cutlass he’s picked out for you. He picks it up, once again checking its weight and balance, before turning around and offering the handle to you. Your eyes flutter at the man just handing you a sword before telling you about them, then you gingerly reach for the hilt and grasp it in an awkward pinch of your fingers.

“This sword isn’t nearly as heavy as I thought it would be,” you comment, moving the blade around to get a better look at the sharpened edge.

“First things first,” Shanks begins, “Terminology. This is a cutlass. It’s a short sword that is good for quick movements, typically slashing. Not intended for thrusting or stabbing, but slashing. Quick and easy, makes for an easy getaway.” You narrow your eyes.

“Are you insinuating that I will be looking for fights, Captain?” you half-heartedly accuse. Shanks snorts at you and moves to stand next to you.

“Perhaps not looking for them, but they might go looking for you,” he corrects you, reaching over with his hand to show you the correct way to hold the cutlass. “You are slight in stature still, and it would be in your best interest to use that to your advantage. Being large isn’t always an advantage.”

“And here I was under the assumption that men were of the belief that bigger is better,” you say smoothly, blinking innocently. Shanks is half convinced you know exactly what you’re speaking of, and it isn’t size. Don’t open that can of worms, Shanks. He clears his throat and continues.

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘the bigger you are, the harder you fall’? Use your size to your advantage. Big doesn’t always equate strength, but big doesn’t equate slowness either…” A dismal point he is making.

“So I should simply be faster?” you offer, thinking about size and speed. A light-weight sword would move quickly, unhindered by weight. Shanks smiles, already knowing that your mind will keep you out of trouble if you ever get into trouble.

“Precisely,” he says, his smile turning into a grin. “You are smart and fast. Having a blade to match will be far more fitting than a heavy broadsword. Now you want to hold it like this and not grip it too tight. You’ll get cramps up your arm if you do.” From there, Shanks’ fingers direct your own to wrap around the hilt of the cutlass, showing you how to properly hold it and how to treat it while wielding it.

He stands behind you and reaches out with his arm to show you the motions he wants you to practice, not intentionally swinging the cutlass but moving your entire arm. He makes a point that you should never fight with your wrist because you could injure yourself and that the golden rule of learning how to wield a sword is that it’s an extension of your arm. It’s getting to the point where your arm is beginning to ache from all the repetitive swings you’ve been doing, so Shanks decides to switch you to some footwork. He brings out a broom and begins poking at you. You clearly don’t appreciate the sudden prodding and swiftly move out of range every time he jabs at you.

“This is entirely unfair!” you exclaim, dodging another poke from the broom handle while Shanks grins at you. You are adorably angry and, of course, still holding the cutlass in your hand. But you refuse to swing back at him in revenge and just continue to dodge!

“Wouldn’t be if you swung that sword at me,” he teases, swiping at your side. You growl when the broom taps you and glare at the pirate clearly trying to egg you into swiping the cutlass at his body. “You’re not going to hurt me,”

“Shanks!” you hiss at him when he catches your arm with a tap. Your legs are starting to feel heavy from all the prancing around you’ve been doing, and since you aren’t used to this much exercise, your stamina is running on empty. “If I was the one with that broom, I swear I would—” You trip over your own feet dodging the broom and mid-twist, you begin falling backward with a yelp. Shanks is reacting before you even have a chance to register that he’s moved.

The broom droops from his grasp as his arm shoots to your falling body. He swings you around to brace your body against his, but in a twist of legs, you both end up falling backward. Shanks, at the very least, is glad that he’s going down first and can cushion your fall. So hitting the deck, he makes sure that you land on him rather than the hard wood. You do with a slight ‘oof,’ but thankfully no sounds of pain.

“… I think I’ve reached my limit for the night, lest I stumble overboard,” you speak after a few moments of silence. Shanks chuckles and gives your waist a light squeeze.

“And you think that I wouldn’t immediately go right after you?” he replies, only antagonizing the pitter-patter of your heart further. Oh, when you say things like that, Shanks… You bite your lip and go to roll to the right so you aren’t still lying on top of the red-haired man. He stops you the moment he gets a glimpse of your lower back from your tank riding up. You feel his fingers trace your skin where you once had mottled marks from your mother’s lashing. All that remains are slight echoes of trauma. Marks that will fade in time. Time he wishes you didn’t have to wait on.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” you reassure him, rolling back onto your back next to him and twisting your head to look into his eyes. You’re still tucked against his side and have a brief thought that it feels nice to be there. Only in your deepest of dreams, Linaria. “They stopped hurting two weeks ago.”

“You should never have been hurt in the first place, Aria,” Shanks softly answers, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions. He still can’t understand how a mother could beat her child to the point of blotched bruises that took weeks to heal. How could any mother beat her child?

“No,” you agree, “But what happened is in the past, and I only wish to look to the future. You gave me that.” Your words are only partially comforting because the longer you stay on the Red Force, the more he doesn’t want to see you go, and the more he wants to continue to protect you. But he puts those thoughts aside for tonight and simply enjoys the time spent with you during your first lesson.

“As you wish, madam,” he finally speaks up, making you roll your eyes once more before looking straight up at the stars.

“They seem especially bright tonight,” you comment, making no motion to move away from his side. Shanks turns his head to admire the stars along with you, enjoying your chosen closeness and comfort. It isn’t until Shanks’ arm begins to fall asleep from your head resting on his bicep that he realizes you’ve dozed off.

Date Published: 2/2/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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[cl0udy-wolf]

This Day Aria

Inspired by this post by @rodion87g ! And inspired by the My Little Pony song by the same name.

tw: canon typical violence, goofiness

og link here (from my ao3)

"This day is going to be perfect."

Under his breath, Raiden sang to himself as he admired a bouquet of assorted flowers on his vanity, feeling the delicately soft petals with his fingertips, his musings accompanied by a gentle smile upon his face.

"The kind of day of which I've dreamed since I was small."

He slowly plucked a flower from the vase and twirled it in his fingers, watching the light from the windows play off it. 

"Everybody with gather 'round, say I look lovely in my gown."

His hand balled into a tense fist, crushing the flower, and he watched the petals become enveloped in green flames and disintegrate as they drifted down to the tile.

"But what they don't know is that I have fooled them all!"

Green magic shining off his form, Raiden let his mask slip, and revealed his true form.

Shang Tsung, had taken his place.

-

Luckily, Kung Jin had noticed his cousin and his cousin's soon to be husband were acting...off. Kung Lao was tired, irritable, and had even snapped at him. Raiden on the other hand...a whole issue in itself.

But the moment he and Takeda found out about Shang Tsung's plans, they were sent to the sorcerer's laboratory- banished along with the real Raiden.

And so, they listened to him lament over his would-be wedding.

"This day was going to be perfect, the kind of day of which I dreamed since I was small."

All hope seemed to be lost for him. Having been stuck here for days- weeks, even, without finding a way to escape...

"But instead of having cake with all my friends to celebrate, my wedding bells, they may not ring for me at all."

-

Shang Tsung threw the bouquet off the vanity, his magic making it turn into mere ashes as it fell and sent pieces of glass flying across the floor.

"I could care less about the dress, I won't partake in any cake. Vows, I'll be lying when I say..."

Leaning against a mannequin, Shang Tsung walked his fingers up its plush arm, feigning adoration. "That through any kind of weather I want us to be together."

One moment, he gently carressed the doll, and the next, he had shoved it to the ground and stomped on the hat it once wore.

"The truth is I don't care for him at all! No, I do not love the groom, in my heart, there is no room!"

His magic shining against his body, Shang Tsung returned to his mask- the Champion, and Kung Lao's finance, Raiden.

His plan to infiltrate Lord Liu Kang's defenses and earn everyone's trust was working out perfectly.

"But I still want him to be all mine!"

-

After wrangling with the lock on their cell, Raiden and the boys ran through the halls of Shang Tsung's laboratory and evaded as many of the demented experiments as they could.

"We must escape before it's too late, find a way to save the day."

There was no time to waste.

"Hope, I'll be lying if I say"

In an attempt that would be considered in vain, perhaps due to Raiden's pure fatigue, he shot a bolt of thunder at the locked door separating them from their escape.

"I don't fear that I may lose him"

But instead he collasped, taking a knee, peering up at the door weakly.

"To one who wants to use him"

Kung Jin and Takeda assured him, and with their combined efforts were able to break down the heavy wooden door. Raiden had certainly weakened it.

"Not care for love and cherish him each day"

Jin threw the doors open as Takeda rushed to Raiden's side, throwing his arm over his own shoulder and taking the man's weight. 

"For I, oh, so love the groom, all my thoughts he does consume."

Jin took Raiden's other arm and the boys supported him as they made their way out, staggering yet forcing themselves to push on.

"Oh, my Kung Lao,"

"I'll be there very soon."

They could finally see light.

-

The grand hall of the Edenian palace was completely decorated with only the finest for friends of the royal family. Sunlight shone through stained glass windows, casting a multicolored hue on the aisle. And on either side, their mutual friends watched as who they thought was Raiden walked down the aisle.

"Finally the moment is in bloom, for me to be one lucky groom."

-

"Oh, the wedding we won't make."

The trio was moving as fast as they could- but would they make it?

"He'll end up marrying a fake!"

Raiden couldn't stop his mind from racing. If they went on with the wedding, there might've been no way to get his Kung Lao back.

Despite his debilitating pain, he was determined. 

And so he began to run, with Jin and Takeda behind him.

"Kung Lao will be!-"

-

"Mine, all mine!"

Shang Tsung erupted in laughter. After getting a few stares, he simply played it off as a giggle from an excited groom.

-

second chapter here

[forgottenalaric]

Sunlight | Alaric & Eilionora

It had been days since the riots, but still the palace had been on lockdown. Guards were posted at nearly every door and even Alaric himself had taken some shifts at their posts to ensure that no one was overtired when assuming the responsibility of guarding those within.

As for the Staffords, between the riots and the announcement his brother had made regarding the manner of their birth, they had both been moved to smaller quarters "temporarily" for "their own protection", but it seemed to Alaric that they had been placed there to be both out of sight and out of mind.

They had been kept there nearly since the ball and had not been allowed to leave. While Alaric had noticed that Arthur had managed to take Aria for a walk this afternoon, the same courtesy had not been extended to Eilionora who had been summoned by his brother. Whatever Roderick's plan, Alaric did not think that declaring the Eilionora to be baseborn would further his cause either in endearing him to the Astairan peoples or in convincing Eilionora to be his wife.

He did not think that whatever he said to her today, would change Eilionora's mind.

When the former queen had been returned to her quarters, Alaric suddenly found himself at her door. There was a part of him that wondered if there had been a formal engagement arranged, after all, and, if it were true, he wanted it to be known to him immediately.

Perhaps if he knew that she was truly lost to him forever, then perhaps he could learn to forget her.

He stormed in, without so much of a courtesy of a knock -- eager to see if there was any change that had come over her, as though he might have been able to tell with only a look. But her face was unreadable to him, aside from the same sadness he saw written upon it everyday.

Sunlight streamed through the tiny window, reflecting upon her hair and lightening up her eyes. He realized then, how she must be craving it -- a desire for the fresh air; for the sun to warm her skin. The day was particularly beautiful out -- the sun melting away the last snow from the storm that had, days ago, rendered the palace impossible to leave.

It was in this moment that he realized that he had not yet spoken. "Come. You aren't to be here," He announced gruffly, "The Queen wishes to use these rooms to receive her guests and she would not appreciate your presence."

Alaric knew that this wasn't the room Queen Marian had requested to use, but it was the one at the other end of the hall, so he would be able to disguise this as a simple mistake.

"I shall give you a moment to dress warmly. You shall wait in the courtyard until she is finished."

[asimperingswannsong]

Abject Devotion

Part 3

Lady Dimitrescu (RE8)/Hetaera Hofer (OFC)

Warnings/Notes/Summary: Smut, NSFW 18+ Only Don't let the ridiculous amount of fluff in this installment mislead you, Hetaera is just as deranged as the Lady of the castle. I'm trying to get there. I'm just a wordy ass bitch. What is a one shot?

--------------------

Alcina carried Hetaera through the halls of her castle turning at the end of a long corridor. She unlocked and opened a door carved with a family crest inlaid with gold leaf. She bent down and carried her inside.

The sight that met her was breathtaking. They entered a large rotunda with a domed glass ceiling in the center. The room's walls stood twenty feet in height and were lined with books from top to bottom. Wheeled ladders were dotted about the shelves allowing access to out of reach volumes. Glass topped displays featuring rare first editions were located between each of the six pillars surrounding the domed center.

Several overstuffed loveseats and sofas littered the room with most gathered around the two fireplaces anchoring opposite sides. An adjoining sitting room contained a daybed and more plush seating with views of the castle grounds. Each new area of House Dimitrescu was more enthralling than the last.

Alcina placed her on one of the sofas in front of the fire and knelt before her bending forward and gently caressing her face. As she pulled away the girl grabbed her wrist holding her hand in place and maintaining the contact. Alcina smiled at her, "Sweetling, I must apologize to you."

"I have an urgent prior obligation to attend. I'm in the process of reestablishing my winery and have a meeting with an important merchant. I'm afraid I will have to leave you for a while."

"If you need anything, food, water, or anything else, just ring this bell and Katya will tend to you while I'm away. I will have Aria stop by later. She's something of a prodigy in the arts. Perhaps you would enjoy a watercolor or a piano lesson from her to help pass the time."

She stopped and smiled at the girl again before continuing, "I am sorry, draga. I will make every effort to join you for dinner this evening." She leaned in intending to place a chaste kiss on the girl's cheek, but Hetaera placed her fingers gently on her jaw and turned capturing her lips in a brief but passionate kiss.

When they parted the girl was staring at her with wide eyes as though surprised by her own actions. "I'm so sorry, Alcina, I don't know..." Alcina kissed her a second time.

Breaking the kiss she said, "I'm not sorry, my pet." The girl blushed and smiled at her. "Will you be alright here, little mouse?" She nodded suddenly bashful. Alcina moved to stand but the girl stopped her cupping either side of her face and pulling her back in for a third kiss.

When they parted there was a softness in her gaze that made Alcina wish to cancel her plans and forget her business dealings. "Daca continui sa fii dulce, nu voi putea pleca niciodata?" The girl smiled at her and traced her fingertips along her lips.

"Sorry," she whispered. Alcina captured her small hand in her own and placed a kiss to her fingertips. "I will see you soon sweetling." She stood and reluctantly left. Hetaera settled into the sofa cushions and stared at the fire considering the frisson of electricity she'd felt in her veins when they kissed. She became happily lost in thought.

----------

When she roused herself from her thoughts of the lady, she found a volume of Millay open on the side table and nestled herself beneath blankets enjoying the verses. "I think our heart-strings were like warp and woof, in some firm fabric, woven in and out." Eventually, she nodded off to sleep and was awakened by Katya arriving with a lunch tray.

She ate and continued reading.

Katya returned to remove the tray and brought along a second maid. This one was much younger, maybe fourteen or fifteen. She reminded Hetaera of her younger sisters. "This is Aria, mistress." "Good afternoon, mistress," the girl said. "Hello." "I came to see if you'd like to paint or have a piano or a violin lesson with me? Lady Dimitrescu said you might enjoy a diversion."

Aria held watercolor paints and sheet music in her hands. "Painting sounds fun." They sat up their easels in the sitting room in front of the windows with a view of the vineyards. Alcina was correct, she enjoyed the process very much, and the young girl was an excellent teacher. Afterward, Aria played the violin for her.

She departed promising to give Hetaera a music lesson next time, and Katya returned soon after to lead her back to her rooms to prepare for dinner and Alcina's return.

She arrived at the dining hall to find Alcina returned from her journey. She smiled gesturing for Hetaera to join her. "How was your day my pet?" She related her watercolor lesson and the rest of her afternoon.

"I imagine it's lovely. You must show me, draga." "Well, it was a first attempt, but I enjoyed the process, and Aria was an enjoyable companion. How was your meeting?" "Productive, I hope. Tiring."

Hetaera reached out and placed her hand on the back of Alcina's giving it a comforting squeeze. She smiled at the girl's concern before the moment was cut short by the arrival of the first course.

After dinner she swept Hetaera up into her arms, placing a kiss to her cheek and nuzzling her affectionately. "I've looked forward to returning to you all day little mouse." Hetaera wrapped her arms around her neck and placed a kiss to her lips.

When they arrived back to their quarters, Alcina let her down and rang the bell for Katya. "Dear, can you show my little pet to her dressing area and her bath?" "Of course, my lady." She led her down a small corridor to a plush walk in with a seating area in the center.

Katya opened the doors to the first set of wardrobes to reveal dozens of day dresses. The next set of doors revealed evening gowns. Then robes and sleep wear. "Your new dressing area my lady." "Is all of this mine?" she asked astonished.

She cupped her mouth and nose and sat down as her eyes filled with tears. She struggled to comprehend that she now owned a full wardrobe of new clothes which she hadn't needed to sew for herself. "Everything is yours my lady," Katya said taking down a robe and a silk nightgown. "Follow me, and I'll lead you to your bath." She followed behind speechless.

She returned from her bath to find the lady of the castle sitting at her vanity brushing out her hair. "May I?" she asked approaching. Alcina smiled, handing her the brush. She closed her eyes as Hetaera enjoyed brushing out the silky raven tresses. Hetaera stopped several times to massage her scalp gently with her fingertips. Alcina hummed appreciatively.

When she finished Alcina turned to the side and scooped her up into her lap, cradling her. She kissed her on the top of her head and the girl laid her head on her bosom. The lady picked up a volume of Dorothy Parker and began reading aloud as though it were a bedtime story.

They chuckled together at the sharpness of Parker's wit before Hetaera slowly drifted off to sleep. Alcina took a while to enjoy holding the maiden and watching her sleep before she stood, blew out the candles around her vanity, and carried the girl to bed. She tucked her in before joining her there.

Hetaera woke to a loud clap of thunder and the bright dance of lightening across the walls of the room. The wind howled outside their windows and the rain pelted the glass and the balcony beyond. She sat up and peered over Alcina's sleeping form at the raging storm outside.

Another clap of thunder caused her to cringe. Alcina opened her eyes to find the girl staring out over her. "Are you frightened of the storm my little mouse?" "It's louder than any I've ever heard before." Alcina smiled and reached out to her. The girl happily moved over to her and laid her head down on her shoulder.

Alcina wrapped her up in her arms holding her tightly as Hetaera snuggled into her neck. She felt the girl relax into her and thought she would drift back to sleep but instead the girl pressed her nose and mouth to the skin of Alcina's neck and stopped there. Alcina waited to see what would happen next.

She felt the girl breathe in deeply against her skin and then she began moving along her neck to her pulse point. She stopped there with her warm lips hovering over the sensitive spot.

Alcina held her breath until she felt the pair of warm soft lips move against the sensitive skin of her neck placing a gentle kiss. Alcina's eyes glowed gold in the dark. She felt the girl continue to kiss at her pulse point. She cupped the back of the girl's head gently in her palm, "Be careful little one."

"Of what my lady?" she asked innocently and to her surprise she sucked a love mark onto her neck. In the next instant, she found herself rolled over onto her back with a hungry looking Lady Dimitrescu hovering over her.

Her eyes glowed beautifully in the dark and Hetaera was mesmerized by them. She ran her finger along her lower lip before moving forward to kiss her. Alcina ran her hand back behind the girl's head cradling it again and the girl turned in her hand exposing the length of her neck to her.

Alcina pressed her face down against her and inhaled deeply. Once again, the innocence and lack of fear created a beautiful scent that deeply affected her. The addition of the sweet smell of desire blooming within her veins had an even stronger intoxicating effect on her. "My God, draga." She felt her head spin and her eyes begin to glaze over as she started to nibble at her neck. "The hold you have on me."

Hetaera could feel Alcina's attentions becoming more and more needy, almost frantic, as she continued to breathe in her scent and kiss and nibble along her neck. Realizing the way, the lady was affected caused warmth to spread through her core. She wiggled beneath Alcina pressing her hips up.

Alcina raised her head and Hetaera saw that her eyes were completely glazed over in a red haze and her mouth hung open. She looked like an animal scenting the air. The primal way she responded to her made Hetaera even wetter. She placed a hand to the back of her head and gently pulled her back down to her exposed neck.

"Feed from me my lady if you please. I am wholly yours." Alcina gripped the headboard hard, and Hetaera heard it crack beneath her strength. She pressed her face down into the sheets beside the girl's head and groaned loudly into the bed. The girl's submissive behavior was making her ravenous.

She turned back into her neck, kissing greedily along it, before reaching out with the tip of her finger and using her slightly extended claw to nick the skin there. She licked and sucked hungrily at the red nectar that spilled from the wound.

The girl whimpered softly beneath her placing her hands on the muscles of Alcina's arms and holding on as she adjusted to the pain of the wound and the pressure she was placing on it. She could feel a damp spot forming in the front of her panties.

"Please my lady." Alcina could taste her need and she ran her free hand down between them cupping her mound. They moaned together as she felt how wet the girl was beneath her. She extended a claw slightly and sliced the panties open in one quick motion.

The girl rolled her hips up pressing herself into Alcina's palm while wrapping her arms tightly around her neck and pressing her lips to her ear, "Please claim me as your own my lady."

Alcina ran a finger into the girl's slit and gently began to press into her. She moved slowly giving her time to adjust. The girl whimpered softly in her ear as she brushed against her hymen. Alcina stopped and waited. She tasted the pain that bloomed briefly cutting through the current of desire that laced her blood.

The girl began to press down on her finger. She kissed the shell of her ear and whispered, "More. Please, my lady." Alcina happily complied pressing fully into her. She tasted the second wave of pain that washed over before it was subsumed by the girl's pleasure.

Alcina was suddenly excited to taste the girl's essence as she reached her climax. She began to thrust inside her. When it felt as though the girl had fully adjusted, Alcina pressed a second finger inside her stretching her further and continuing to fuck her.

The girl gripped her shoulders as Alcina felt her begin to contract around her. "Yes, more. I'm so close my lady." Alcina felt her fall over the edge and the taste of her pleasure as it exploded in her veins and poured onto Alcina's tongue caused her to follow after her into the abyss. They shook together until Alcina managed to pull away.

She realized she'd taken far more from the girl than she'd first intended but she had become so engrossed in the different flavors that blossomed on her tongue as the girl experienced desire, pain, and pleasure beneath her. The concern that the girl may be harmed brought Alcina out of the drunken like stupor she'd experienced.

She withdrew her hand gently from behind the girl's head and grabbed a silk handkerchief from the nightstand to press to her wound staunching the flow of the blood. She pulled back to examine the girl and found her looking sleepy and sated beneath her. The girl placed her fingers weakly to her lips and Alcina pressed a gentle kiss to her. "Are you alright little mouse?" "Mmm."

She slowly removed her fingers from inside the girl and sat up pulling her up into her lap and cradling her close as she continued to apply pressure to her wound. She placed kisses to her hair, neck, cheeks, and nose. "Rest sweetling. I may have gotten a little carried away. I'm sorry draga." "Mmmno my lady was perfect," she mumbled sleepily.

Alcina continued to cradle her and slowly rocked her to sleep. She sat for a long while regarding the beautiful little creature that was so oddly devoted to her. She could feel the girl wrapping warm little tendrils around her heart.

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

Lottery Winners: Mingling - Jayden & Aria [Plus Jamil & Najma]

[Pyroxene - The Gala Hall]

Jamil: What do you mean you lost sight of them? I asked you to watch them for a few minutes.

Najma (Sitting at a table): Jamil, you're overreacting. Jay and Aria are gonna be fine.

Jamil: Najma, you don't know...

Najma (Looks in a direction): Don't I?

Jamil: *Looks in that direction*

[Jayden & Aria were dancing a slow waltz - gazing into each other's eyes with smiles on their faces. In their own world.]

Jamil: ....

Najma, looks at Jamil: Have you ever thought of getting someone?

Jamil: At this point, they'd probably only be with me for the money and the fame.

Najma: That's sad that you'd reject love that easily.

Jamil, sits down: Mmh.

Najma: There's someone for everyone.

[sakurarisen]

εїз

Unimplemented HCs!

Back when Sera was in her original life and known as Aria, she was taught how to use a sword by one of the knights in her temple - Particularly her head knight, who often lost track of her in her attempts to dodge her role as a leader and flee from the Frostlight Temple. Being pretty young himself, he was still learning how to wield a sword on his own, and with her frequently trying his patience, the choice was made: Everything he learned, he'd come back to the temple and teach her, too. Given Aria couldn't hide who she was in full no matter how hard she tried, he'd figured she needed a secondary way to protect herself aside from her skills with a bow, and claimed it made him 'feel better' about losing track of her whenever she vanished from the temple's frozen, crystalline halls.

Those memorized skills have followed her through each and every lifetime, and Sera herself still retains the muscle memory and ability required to use a sword, but, just as she had as Aria, she vastly prefers her bow over a blade, and tends to leave any sword usage to Zack and the others in her life who're better trained with them, like Cloud and Sephiroth, and Childe, Kaeya, and Diluc in GI verses. After gaining her bow, she even largely retired the knife she traveled with prior to that; blades feel far too personal to her for her liking, and being a close-range weapon, she very much dislikes having to see the damage they cause so up close and personal. Their weight and the fact she has to put so much more effort into using them is... Unsettling, personally, though she will never judge anyone else for their preference for a sword.

if she has to, Sera could still use one, for sure! A short sword was what she was taught to use as Aria, but a combination of not using one for actual millennia, along with memories of those techniques and skills being sealed away along with her history as Aria means that muscle memory or no, Sera's going to be incredibly clumsy with one, and probably more of an issue if handed one to use in a fight than if she were completely unarmed and hiding behind someone's back with a strong grip on the back of their shirt. Her former tutor would be ashamed. XD

A big part of why this is unimplemented is largely due to the fact it's heavily rooted in Sera's more distant backstory, and pertains to parts of her that have been sealed up for the time being. Aria is currently asleep and hiding, and Sera was never taught to use a sword, even personally disliking them for herself, so it's hard to really implement swordsmanship skills for someone who's mainly a bow and magic user, y'know? Twice as much when it's linked to a side of her she legitimately can't access and doesn't know exists. Even if she wanted to access these skills, a lot of them aren't available to her, and she'd have to learn them all over again - Which would come naturally to her, but take a lot of time, work, and overcoming that dislike of using them for herself, and they would never be as good as they were in the past, just the same as her magical abilities are now limited for the same reason.

It's not impossible of a thing to implement, just... Difficult. <3

[forgottenbrigit]

Meetings in the Dark | Brigit & Aria

The tables had been piled high with food. There had been delicacies from all over the world -- most of the dishes Brigit had never seen before. And, almost if by magic, they never seemed to to dwindle - even as the guests refilled their plates two and three times over. She had never seen so much food in one place in her entire life, and it surprised her all the more to find that a selection of fruit and bread and cheeses had been left in their rooms that evening: as though any of them could have eaten another bite.

Brigit could not remember the last time she had laid down upon a soft feather bed, while having a full belly and a roaring fire to keep her warm. She had been sure that she would fall asleep straightaway, but although her body was tired and comfortable, her mind was restless.

The palace was crawling with Varmont soldiers and she feared for the guardians who were meant to protect this place. She had not seen them since her arrival and it left her wondering: Were there any of them left here at all? Was there even anyone brave enough to leave them an offering upon the hearth? And could they access it, even if they had wanted to?

When the room had grown quiet -- the only sounds were of her sister's soft breathes and the crackling of the fire, Brigit got up from her bed. She took as much of the food as she could easily carry and bundled it up in a cloth. Draping a blanket round her own shoulders, she lit a candle and decided to brave the dark halls of the palace.

Brigit planned to say she had gotten lost, if any guards spotted her wandering about (surely they would easily believe that -- she was, after all, nothing but a silly girl!), but she was determined to make it to the great hall. It had been the one place she had ever seen the guardians who lived here: even though that was years ago now.

Her memory served her well, even in the dark, and she managed to find her way with only one wrong turn.

The great hall was cold and dark: the great fires and torches that had illuminated and warmed it during the festivities had long been extinguished. For a moment, everything was still and then she saw a shadow move in the darkness.

Someone else was here.

Brigit had come too far now, to loose her nerve, and holding the candle higher she moved forward until the shadows fell away and she recognized the familiar face.

"Your Highness." They may have been alone in the middle of the night, but Brigit was determined to still show the Staffords the respect they deserved. Whatever Roderick Varmont had declared that evening, was nothing to her.

Brigit's eyes fell upon the hearth where Aria had already left an offering of her own. "You haven't forgotten them," Brigit managed. Whether Aria was here because she was deeply religious -- or deeply defiant given the Varmont determination to wipe their religion and traditions from existence -- Brigit could not tell, but she was overwhelmed to see her there.

It gave her hope.

[final-girl96]

Broken World: Chapter Forty-five

Yn

I lost him. I lost Larson. This prospect had so many twists and turns it wasn't hard to get lost if you don't know where you're going. It's also easy for someone to hide especially if they know where to hide. I had my gun drawn as I did a sweep of every cell and door I came by. I could hear a taunting whistle echoing off the walls. That's what he did when he would hunt down the terrified women he let loose only to chase them down again. He would whistle the first part of Motzarts’ Queen of the Night Aria.

It has been stuck in my head for years. I still have nightmares once in a while of him chasing me down in the woods. It was definitely the most horrific case I had been assigned to. I was young, but I was the type he would typically go after. But he did. He honed in on me, latching himself to me like a leech. There were countless times that I've seen him standing across the street from my apartment. He would stand under the streetlight and stare up at me. It felt like I was in some old classic horror movie or something.

“Come on, detective, I want to play. Come and find me!”

A chill ran down my spine. I would honestly rather be dealing with a herd of walkers right now. This man was a certified psychopath. The corridors were dark, and some of them had a few walkers shuffling around. I would take them out as quietly as I could; I'd push my knife up through the bottom of their skulls and gently bring them down to the floor.

“You're getting warmer, detective.”

I was in a hall that was lined with cells on either side. It was almost pitch black, the only light coming from the small windows high on the walls every few feet. He could easily be in any of these cells. I made sure to have both my gun and knife out. I didn't want to fire the gun in here. The sound would echo through the whole prison and bring walkers right to me. But I also didn't want to fight this mother fucker hand to hand.

“You know, detective, I've missed you. You're the one that got away. We could have had a lot of fun together. You were different; special. So young and pretty. I would have treated you differently.”

I could feel my heart rate pick up with how close his voice was. He had to be in one of the cells. He would jump out at me, catch me off guard, and take me down. He was much bigger than me. Six-foot-six man who worked out on the regular was not something I wanted to deal with. He could literally pick me up and throw me. “Why don't you just come out so we can end this. I didn't want to play your game back then and I still fucking don't!”

A shadow darted across to the other side where there was a staircase. The creak of the door opened and then clicked shut. “Fuck.”

Daryl

Daryl was frustrated and furious about yn going after that crazy mother fucker. He wanted to go after her, but stayed behind to help T-Dog keep an eye on the last two inmates. Rick had run off after the short one and he didn't want to leave T-Dog alone. When Rick returned they helped get the last two inmates to a cell block that was clear.

The only thing they needed to do was take the bodies that laid on the ground in front of some of the cells. They had their hands zipped tied behind their backs and then were executed.

“I suggest you take those bodies outside and burn ‘em,” T-Dog told them before they all walked away.

“I'm gonna go find yn,” Daryl told Rick and started walking the opposite way. “Hold up, Daryl! I don't think that's such a good idea. According to what she said about this guy he's dangerous. We need to plan this out before we go any deeper into this prison. There could be a hell of a lot more walkers deep in.”

Daryl saw nothing but red, his anger boiled up and over, making him snap at Rick. “She fucking told you! You didn't listen and now she's somewhere in this fucking prison with a fucking serial killer! I ain't stayin’ here and waitin’!” Daryl didn't give a fly fick how loud he was being. He'll kill anything and anyone that gets in his way.

Yn

I waited a while before moving towards the staircase. When I opened the door the stairs only led down. I stepped back and looked around for anything I could use that would tell someone which way I went, if anyone comes looking for me at all that is. I was hoping they would come after me and not just leave me alone.

I made an arrow on the floor with junk I found on the floor and made my way down the stairs. The staircase was dark and cold. With my gun pointed out and my knife was held in my hand like I would a flashlight. My right rested, with my gun in hand, atop my left arm. If I needed to stab someone or something I would be able to do so, well, if it happens to be on my left side, that would be easier than if I got attached on my right side.

When I finally made it to the last step there was another door. I looked through the window to see the office spaces where the visitors would come in and where the staff would be. He could be in any of those offices. Hell, he could be pressed against the door waiting for me. I took a deep breath and swung the door open, quickly looking on either side to make sure it was clear. When I saw it was, I stepped out of the stairs well.

“I know you're in here, Larson! You know you're gonna die so just come out!”

I checked each office I passed until I got to the last one. It was the reception area where visitors would signin. I looked through the glass but didn't see anyone. My hands were shaking, heart pounding out of my chest.

“I think I want to start where we left off, Detective.”

A chill ran down my spine when his hot breath fanned against the side of my neck. He was right behind me. How'd he sneak up on me? The grip on my knife tightened and I spun around sinking it into his left right. “Ah!! Fucking bitch!” I ran for the stairwell door and flung it open. “You know I love a chase, Detective! It's just like old times between us! Just this time the dead are walking!”

[merrychristmasfaith]

TV Shows Watchlist

TV Shows:

Tom Jones

(Adaptation of the classic novel by Henry Fielding.)

Downton Abbey

(Maggie Smith, Hugh Bonneville & Elizabeth McGovern star in Julian Fellowes’ hit series, a glittering period drama following the lives of the aristocratic Crawley family.)

Lost

(After Oceanic Airlines Flight 815 crashes down, the survivors are on what seems to be a deserted tropical island. Their survival is threatened by a number of mysterious entities, including polar bears, an unseen creature that roams the jungle, and the island's malevolent inhabitants.)

The Forsyte Saga

(Damian Lewis & Gina McKee lead this sexy & powerful period drama about three generations of the upwardly mobile Forsyte family at the turn of the 20th century. Based on the novels.)

Death Comes to Pemberley

(Adaptation of PD James's bestselling homage to Pride and Prejudice. Elizabeth and Darcy, now six years married, are preparing for their annual ball when festivities are brought to an abrupt halt.)

The Lost Flowers

(After losing her parents to a mysterious fire, nine-year-old Alice Hart is raised by her grandmother June on a flower farm where she learns there are secrets within secrets. But years on, an unearthed betrayal sees Alice forced to face her past.)

The Miniaturist

(THE MINIATURIST, the debut novel by Jessie Burton, has become a publishing phenomenon. Selling in over 35 countries, it stormed to the top of the bestseller lists in both hardback and paperback. Winner of the New Writer of the Year, overall Book of the Year in the National Book Awards and Waterstones Book of the Year, it has now reached an audience of almost a million readers.)

Little Dorrit

(Andrew Davies's adaptation of the classic Charles Dickens tale of hardship and struggle in 1820s London. The Dorrit family has spent years in a debtors' prison due to the financial mess in which father William (Tom Courtenay) managed to land himself as a youth.)

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

(Powerful, haunting and disturbing, Anne Bronte's classic story is as unforgettable as those of her more famous sisters. In a remote village on the Yorkshire moors, a beautiful widow and her son move into the near-derelict Wildfell Hall. Befriended by a handsome young farmer, she remains mysteriously silent about her past and why she is afraid - until she becomes the focus of village gossip.)

Black Work (i'm not sure this has the best reviews but i think Sheridan Smith is a really good actress so thought i'd try it? it's a murder mystery)

(Sheridan Smith is a grieving cop in this fast-moving police thriller. When there are unanswered questions around the death of her husband, can PC Gillespie hold it together?)

The Suspect (again idk how good the reviews are but i love Aidan Turner lol)

(Tense thriller starring Aidan Turner as a psychologist with a secret. Does his glowing career, media profile & family mask a different story? Five-part series airing now.)

Truly Madly Deeply (idk why this is listed under TV shows i'm 99% sure it's a movie)

(A love story and a quirky ghost story starring Juliet Stevenson and Alan Rickman.)

Cilla

(Sheridan Smith stars as the hit singer in this lively biopic. Chart "our Cilla's" rapid ascent, from hanging out with the Beatles in Liverpool, to new-found stage stardom.)

Big Little Lies

(Based on Liane Moriarty's bestseller, this subversive, darkly comedic drama series tells the tale of three mothers of first-graders whose seemingly perfect lives unravel to the point of murder. Reese Witherspoon, Nicole Kidman and Shailene Woodley star.)

Pretty Little Liars

(Set one year after the disappearance of Alison, the manipulative queen bee, the one-hour drama revolves around four 16-year-old girlfriends — Aria, Spencer, Hanna and Emily — who each receive taunting messages suggesting Alison is watching them. Linked by their former bond and the panic and confusion the messages cause, the estranged friends are reunited, though each girl has her own secrets.)

Leonardo

(A compelling look at one of the most restlessly brilliant men of all time, Leonardo gets inside the mind of the genius, showing the drama behind his art and exploring a tantalizing murder-mystery.)

Desperate Romantics

(All six episodes of the BBC period drama series depicting the turbulent lives of four young artists in mid-19th century London: William Holman Hunt (Rafe Spall), John Millais (Samuel Barnett), Dante Gabriel Rossetti (Aidan Turner) and Fred Walters (Sam Crane).)

Sharp Objects

(Based on the bestselling novel by Gillian Flynn ("Gone Girl") and directed by Jean-Marc Vallee ("Big Little Lies"), this limited series stars Amy Adams as a journalist who returns to her hometown to cover the apparent murders of two preteen girls.)

Howards End

(The Schlegel sisters are two independent and unconventional sisters seeking love and meaning as they navigate an ever-changing world.)

Gentleman Jack

(Sally Wainwright adapts the extraordinary life of Yorkshire landowner Anne Lister.)

The Undoing

(In this HBO limited series based on the book You Should Have Known by Jean Hanff Korelitz, a successful therapist, wife and mother tries to survive in the wake of a spreading and very public disaster.)

Thirteen

(Tense psychological drama about a woman freed from a cellar after 13 years in captivity.)

Sanditon

(First-class fictional retelling of an unfinished novel by Jane Austen. A spirited young woman moves to a sleepy seaside town, and it's not what she expected.)

Tipping the Velvet

(Nan journeys from a simple provincial life by the sea to the margins of society in 1890s London, where she finds she is a wanted, and wanton, woman… When Nan, a young innocent oyster-girl from Whitstable, goes to a music hall for the first time, she embarks on the journey of her life.)

War and Peace

(Leo Tolstoy's epic story of life, love and loss in nineteenth-century Russia.)

Vanity Fair

(A period drama series adapted from William Makepeace Thackeray's classic novel. Olivia Cooke is heroine Becky Sharp, who attempts to claw her way out of poverty and scale the heights of English society; against the backdrop of the Napoleonic Wars.)

Bridgerton

(As a new crop of debutantes yearns to become brightest of the ball, a wallflower with a double life finds her light amid secrets and surprises. )

Miss Julie

(Daughter of the manor Julie breaks off her engagement only to fall for one of her staff. A romance that begins innocently ends in a tragedy.)

My Lady Jane

(Are you ready for an epic tale of true love, high adventure, regicidal maniacs, deadpan heroism, devious intrigues, swashbuckling swordfights, a soupçon of magical realism and oodles of yearning, banter and undeniable chemistry? Of course you are. Welcome to My Lady Jane.)

The Woman in White

(When Walter Hartright, a young drawing master, encounters a spectral woman dressed all in white on a moonlit road on Hampstead Heath, he is drawn into a web of intrigue that will transform his life forever.)

Deceit

(Niamh Algar shines in this gripping true crime drama about a controversial honeytrap. In 90s London, a mother's murder sparks a police investigation that spins out of control.)

The Fall

(Gillian Anderson stars in this dark & twisty thriller about a London police officer who is sent to Northern Ireland to review an unsolved murder case. When Stella Gibson arrives, she realises that this case might only just be getting started.)

Kidnapped: The Chloe Ayling Story

(The victim no-one believed. Held captive on a modelling job in Milan, Chloe's nightmare didn't end with her release - the media frenzy was just beginning.)

Deadwater Fell

(When a devastating house fire rocks a close-knit community - was it a tragic accident or something more sinister?)

Paranoid

(The sleepy town of Woodmere is devastated when a local doctor is murdered in a children's playground in broad daylight.)

Midsomer Murders

(World-renowned murder mystery series set in the idyllic Midsomer county. Inspector Barnaby and his young sergeant probe an alarming number of suspicious deaths in the community.)

Killing Eve

(Being recruited by an intelligence agency puts Eve in the direct path of Villanelle, an assassin. Though the mission is to kill her, the two women find themselves strangely drawn to each other.)

[beatrice-otter]

Fic: The Green Lady

fandom5k 2023 has revealed the authors, and here's what I wrote! Greenygal was an excellent beta, and helped both with canon details which I had mixed up with fanon and also helped me to articulate and bring out the thematic elements. My original thought with the ghost story idea was something at least mildly spooky, but it didn't turn out that way, alas. But I do like the way it did! My one regret is that I don't think anybody has picked up the dual reference in the title. Alas. Title: The Green Lady Author: Beatrice_Otter Fandom: Vorkosigan Saga Characters: Delia/Duv Written For: desertvixen in Fandom 5k 2023 Rating: G Length: 11,879 words Betaed by: Greenygal, who was deeply helpful with both canon and thematic elements. Thank you so much! Summary: The first time Delia saw the woman, it was after a party at the Residence and she assumed that the woman had gotten lost. But then it turned out nobody else had seen her and she did not appear on the Residence security logs ....             On AO3. On Squidgeworld. On Pillowfort. On tumblr. On Dreamwidth..

The first time Delia saw the woman, it was after a party at the Residence and she assumed that the woman had gotten lost.

The woman was at the other end of the hall, so Delia didn't get a good look at her face, but she was either one of those elderly women who refused to adapt to changing fashion, or playing dress-up. And she was wearing a day dress, not a gown suitable for a Residence event. All this Delia took in at a glance, years of experience with Tante Alys having trained her eye.

Regardless, she shouldn't be here, in the North Wing, which was mostly offices and infrastructure, and not somewhere party guests should wander freely. "Can I help you?" Delia called.

The woman glanced back at Delia and glided silently around a corner. Delia followed quickly, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. She'd probably stepped into one of the offices that lined the hall; some of them were still open, as this was the hall that housed the Social Secretary's office (which in the off-season was Delia's domain; since Gregor's wedding, Tante Alys was no longer needed as hostess, and that meant she could take extended vacations, leaving the day-to-day work to Delia to manage). On nights when there was a ball or formal dinner or other event at the Residence, it was all hands on deck for the Secretaries. Most such work took place at the event, of course, but there were frequently details that were easier to handle in the quiet of their offices.

Sure enough, Dowager Countess Vorlakial's office door was open, and the lights were on; as the Secretary with the highest social rank, she had a suite instead of a single office. Delia peeked inside, but the mystery lady wasn't there.

Delia glanced around. Madam Stasia Vorreedi, Dowager Countess Vorlakial's eldest granddaughter, was coming down the hall, presumably to collect her grandmother.

"Madam Vorreedi, what a pleasure to see you," Delia said. "I hope you enjoyed this evening?" It had been a dinner and concert put on as a benefit for the Lady Vorbohn's Children's Hospital, and the only issues Delia's team had had to deal with had been minor and (hopefully) invisible to the Imperial Family and their guests.

"Of course," Madam Vorreedi said, reserved as always. "I congratulate you on your entertainment; that soprano gave the best performance of the Lady of the Lake's aria I've heard in a long time. Where did you find her?" Madam Vorreedi was a snob, and Delia didn't much care for her, but even when Delia had been a young prole just starting to attend Residence events on the strength of her parents' careers and the other woman had been a Count's daughter hoping to become Empress, Madam Vorreedi had been perfectly polite. It was better than a lot of her peers and friends had been.

"Thank you," Delia said. "One of my husband's men heard her performing in the Kithera Regional Opera, in Vorbretten's District. He passed the recommendation along." She glanced around. "Did you see a woman in the hall just now, in a day dress thirty years out of date? She was wearing an olive green dress made of structured and pleated silks in the Ezarian style, with leg-of-mutton sleeves on the bolero jacket; it was very fine, though I only caught a glimpse of it. She had dark hair styled in a tall, elaborate bouffant."

Madam Vorreedi shook her head. "I'm sorry, I haven't seen anyone of that description tonight."

"Thank you anyway," Delia said, and took her leave with a curtsey that was much shallower than it had been back when Delia was a girl. Madam Vorreedi still out-ranked her, technically, but Delia's post as Lady Alys' right-hand woman gave her a prestige and power that even a Count's daughter could not equal.

As she walked away, Delia pulled out a commlink and reported the encounter to Colonel Vingradov, who was in charge of security this evening. It was probably nothing; this floor of the North Wing had relatively low security, because the social secretary did business with a wide variety of people, and the Imperial family seldom came here. When Gregor or Laisa needed to be involved in planning an event, Alys and Delia went to them, not the other way around. (Gregor's office was in this wing, but on a different floor and just off the main block of the Palace, and there was much tighter security there.) It wasn't uncommon for people related to the staff to drop by for a visit, either.

Still. It was the Residence, and it was better safe than sorry.

That done, Delia collected the items from her office that she'd come to get, and headed out to the side entrance where Duv was waiting for her. The event was over, the servants were handling the cleanup, and anything else could wait until the next day.

***

Delia was woken up the next morning by her husband kissing her cheek. "What time is it?" she said sleepily.

"Still early," Duv said, "but not all of us get time off work because we attended a party last night." He smiled and straightened his collar in the mirror.

"The party was work, not play, for me," Delia said. "Excellent soprano notwithstanding. So I get time off to compensate. Thank Lieutenant Galnis for me." That was the nice thing about working at the Residence. Tante Cordelia had long since insisted on sensible and fair rules on pay and time off for everyone from the lowest scullery maid to the top staff. Even now, thirty years later, you still got Vor complaining that it gave proles 'ideas,' to have such a standard in the Palace, but few of them did it where Delia could hear.

"I'll pass on your compliments," Duv said. He gave her another kiss and headed off to work.

***

When she got to the office that afternoon, after a luxurious lie-in, there was a note from ImpSec on her comconsole. No woman matching that description had entered or exited the Residence that night, or appeared in any of the public areas that had security cameras, and they assumed she had changed into the dress once here. They were doing an extra-thorough post-event sweep of the whole Residence, just in case, but didn't expect to find anything. Things were quiet, at the moment. The Council of Counts was in its summer recess, and neither the dissident Komarrans nor the anarchist proles were stirring up more trouble than usual.

Delia sat back. Changing the dress was certainly possible, and they did get people wanting to play out fantasies in the Residence every so often; usually, such people tried to break into the older section of the Palace, which had a more romantic history and also rooms more interesting than the offices of the North Wing. Maybe this had merely been a thrill-seeker smart enough to figure out she was less likely to get caught (and the penalties would be less severe) in a part of the Palace the Imperial Family spent little time in.

But that hair—that hair couldn't go unnoticed, and it took a long time to style. There was a reason it had mostly been confined to High Vor ladies before it went out of fashion. (Tante Cordelia liked to take credit for its demise, as she had refused to wear it, given how hard it was to maintain and how long it took to style every morning. Delia thought it was more likely the seasonal change of fashions combined with the growing use of galactic hair products among the common proles to achieve the same look in less time.) Still, it could have been a wig; but that plus the dress would make a very large suitcase or bag to carry, and ImpSec allowed few people to bring such things in, and searched them when they did.

Delia sent a note of her own pointing that out; competent as ImpSec was, they probably wouldn't know how long it would have taken to produce the woman's hairstyle, or how large the wig would have to have been if it were a wig.

Then she turned back to all the myriad details that had been neglected over the last few days in favor of finalizing plans for the concert.

***

Delia had mostly forgotten about the mystery lady in the three-decade-old fashions when she saw her again. It was an ordinary day in the Residence; it was the summer, which was traditionally a slow season for social events in Vorbarr Sultana. Now that few Counts were involved directly in the agricultural workings of their districts, that was changing; but it was an excellent excuse to lighten the schedule. And, given that Empress Laisa was only slightly more enthusiastic about entertaining than Emperor Gregor was, it was one the social staff took full advantage of. Tante Alys, for example, was currently at a resort on the South Continent.

“I’m wondering if we shouldn’t add a garden party to the schedule,” Dowager Countess Vorlakial said. “We haven’t done one in a few years, and it would add a nice variety.” They'd worked together for a few years, now, and had a good working relationship, but the Dowager Countess was not one to offer her first name to a prole woman so many decades her junior.

“The schedule for the remainder of the season is fairly set,” Delia said. Dowager Countess Vorlakial was very good at her job, and Delia had learned almost as much from her as from Lady Alys. But she did have a tendency to suggest changes at the last minute that were usually more disruptive than helpful. “You never mentioned it during our planning sessions, is there any particular reason you bring it up now?”

“Stasia asked why we haven’t done any lately,” she said. “The gardens at the palace are exquisite, and they’re only open to the public when there’s an event in them.”

“True,” Delia said. “We do get school tours through sometimes, but that’s not the same thing. We could look into opening up part of them when the Imperial Family is not in residence.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” the Dowager Countess said. “Of course the first step is asking ImpSec if it’s possible without compromising security, but it would be nice to bring my grandchildren here to see Empress Dimya’s roses. Stasia, in particular, has always loved them. She's noted for her roses, Stasia, I mean. And opening up the gardens would give access without needing to rearrange the schedule at this late date.”

“Probably,” Delia said. And also, most of the work would be done by ImpSec and the Visitor’s Office, not by the social secretaries. Tante Alys was not the only key member of the social staff on vacation. They had sufficient people for the few, small events on the schedule already. They did not have enough to whip up a new event at short notice. "You could talk to Lady Alys about putting a garden party on next summer's schedule."

“Provided I don't forget in the meantime," the Dowager Countess said. She looked up and brightened. "Ah, Stasia!” she said as her granddaughter entered. “What excellent timing! We were just discussing your suggestion of a garden party. Perhaps we’ll have one next year, but for this year, we shall see if we can open up the gardens a bit more for people to enjoy.”

“I do hope the omission of such an event is mere oversight,” Madam Vorreedi said, “and not a reflection of any … preferences or fears on the part of the Empress.”

Laisa did have a touch of the agoraphobia that Komarrans were prone to, but not very strongly. “Not at all,” Delia said with a smile. “She finds outdoor events quite charming. Which is part of the reason she and the Emperor will be attending the whole week of events around the Lorimel Derby Races. If there’s any one reason why there isn’t a garden party at the Residence this year, it’s that—between the Races and the Emperor’s personal retreat and the partial tour of the Vorbarra District he’s doing, there won’t be much time where the Emperor and Empress are actually in residence.”

“So she’s travelling with him, then?” Madam Vorreedi said. “Very devoted of her, of course; quite admirable. But if she’d stayed home, well, I’ve noticed she doesn’t really host many of her own events, does she? I’d hoped that having an Empress again would mean a return to the scale of entertaining Princess Kareen was known for.”

Madam Vorreedi had lost some of her subtlety since her marriage, Delia noted. She’d never have been that direct before. On the other hand, once she’d lost her chance at marrying the Emperor—or a Count, or Count’s heir, or into one of the handful of titled non-Count families—there was less reason to be circumspect.

“You were three years old when Princess Kareen died, Stasia,” said Dowager Countess Vorlakial with a laugh.

“But I’ve heard the stories,” Madam Vorreedi said. “And if Empress Laisa isn’t careful, Countess Vormorin will be known as the greatest hostess in Vorbarr Sultana, when it should rightfully be the Empress.”

“Hm,” said Delia. She wasn’t wrong, but Empress Laisa had far more projects in the works than Princess Kareen had been permitted. Hosting parties and soirees and balls and the like—and choosing who to honor, who to snub, and who to introduce to whom—had been the only sort of power or influence Kareen had been permitted. Laisa was free to work more directly, and often chose to do so.

“But I suppose you are here to tell me that I am running late,” the Dowager Countess said. “As usual.”

“Not yet, Grandmama,” Madam Vorreedi said with a smile. “But coming to collect you myself will save both of us no end of aggravation—and the children the disappointment of missing the first bit of the concert. Besides, you know I don't mind coming to visit you.”

And also, Delia noted silently, it was a good excuse for Madam Vorreedi to come to the Residence. She might not have the true prize—nor any title beyond Madam—but she had access to the Residence through her grandmother, and that was almost as good. There were Countesses who didn't have as much access as Madam Vorreedi did, and she used it.

“We’re going to a Children’s Theater event this evening,” the Dowager Countess told Delia. She gathered up her work items, realized something was missing, and began looking around for it.

“Don’t let me keep you from it,” Delia said. She picked up the stylus the Dowager Countess was probably looking for and handed it to her. “I hope you all have a lovely evening.”

“Thank you,” Madam Vorreedi said with a nod.

Delia stood to give them a proper curtsey, which they returned, before walking out of her office, arm-in-arm.

As they turned down the hall, the woman in unfashionable silk and an enormous bouffant hairstyle glided into view through the door, watching in the direction they had gone.

Delia sat frozen. This close, she could recognize the woman from her portrait.

The woman glanced at her, frowned, and turned back to follow the Dowager Countess and Madam Vorreedi.

This time, Delia didn’t bother reporting her.

What, after all, could ImpSec possibly do about a ghost?

***

“Not going to work this morning?" Duv asked when Delia joined him for toast and a piece of fruit the next morning.

“I’m taking a few hours off to go to the doctor,” Delia said. She was still in her bathrobe, and usually by this point in the morning she’d be out the door without eating. (She liked to breakfast in the Residence; they always had good food available for the staff, and it was much easier than preparing something herself this early in the morning.)

“Nothing serious, I hope?” Duv said, doing up his collar.

“It’s probably nothing,” Delia said. “But I thought I saw a ghost, yesterday, and I want to make sure there’s nothing neurological going on.”

“A ghost?” Duv frowned. “Here?”

They lived in a three-hundred-year-old building that had been converted into luxury flats a decade ago, so it was a logical assumption. “No,” Delia said. “At the Residence.”

“But you work in the wing that Cordelia burnt down,” Duv said. “And the Imperial Family aren’t in residence this week—why would you be in the old part of the Residence?”

“I was in my own office,” Delia said.

“Nobody’s died there since it was rebuilt, how would it get a ghost?” Duv asked.

“It was someone who died before it burned,” Delia said. “Just before.” In the very moments before it was set aflame, to hear Mama tell the story. “You believe in ghosts, Duv?”

“Of course I do,” Duv said. “They’re fairly common on Komarr. And I know Barrayarans believe in ghosts. That’s why you have so many ancestor veneration rituals.” He nodded to the shrine in the corner of the living room which you could just see from the dining room.

“Well, yes,” Delia said, feeling vaguely embarrassed. “And I do, sort of; at least, I don’t dis-believe. But I have very vivid memories of the time Tante Cordelia caught us girls telling ghost stories and gave us a talking-to about how there was no empirical evidence for the supernatural despite centuries of people trying to get it, and also, never to tell those stories where Gregor could hear. Or any galactic, if we didn’t want them to think we were stupid and provincial.”

Duv shrugged. “Betans. But of course, if science could analyze something, it wouldn’t be super-natural in the first place. Not all galactics are so relentlessly dismissive of anything that can’t be proved, you know.” He frowned. “Why was she worried about Gregor in particular?”

“The stories were about his mother, Princess Kareen,” Delia said. “Kareen—my sister—claimed she’d seen her a couple of times, mostly in the new wing. Olivia did, too, and we told ourselves she was looking for Vordarian to kill him, not realizing he was already dead. But we stopped telling those stories after that lecture.”

“I can see why she wouldn’t want you telling those stories around Gregor,” Duv said. “The last thing he needed was to worry about his mother being an unquiet spirit, or feel uncomfortable in his own home. It’s not like they could move him out of the Residence if he got scared.”

“No, not really,” Delia said. “Though that didn’t occur to us at the time; he was just enough older—and more serious—that I don’t think I would have believed he could be scared. I was only about nine or ten when we were telling those stories, you know.”

Duv nodded and hummed understanding through the bite he was chewing on. “So, do you know who the ghost is? Or at least what era? If they’re willing or able to talk, I’ve got a whole shipload of questions.”

“I know who it is,” Delia said, smiling. She could always tell he was relaxed and in a good mood when his passion for history came to the fore.

“Who?” Duv asked.

“Princess Kareen.”

***

As Delia had expected, the doctor found nothing; she was in perfect physical health. And the Residence's filtration systems were second only to ImpSec's filters in their thoroughness. The chances of environmental contamination causing hallucinations were practically non-existent.

So. The ghost of Princess Kareen probably was wandering around the Palace, or at least the wing she'd died in. Delia wondered if Gregor had ever seen her.

She found herself thinking back to the childhood ghost stories she and her sisters had told, and keeping an eye out for the Princess. But there was nothing. A few flickers in the corner of her eye that might have been something or just her imagination.

***

That night, she burned a lock of hair for Princess Kareen in the family shrine. Her mother had always included the Princess in the Koudelka family ancestor shrine, and Delia had continued that when she made one of her own. She had nothing to say to the older woman, no assurances to give or requests to make, so she simply watched the lock of hair burn and cleaned everything up.

***

"Any more ghost sightings?" Duv asked as they folded laundry together.

"No," Delia said. Duv was doing the folding; Delia was doing the fiddly bits of starching and ironing her dresses. If she didn't work in the Residence, she wouldn't bother with this level of precision, but given her job she had to look perfectly put together and correct any time she was out in public. "I've been keeping an eye out for her, but the only things I've seen have been things I might have imagined. You know how it is."

"When you're looking for something so hard that you're half convinced anything vaguely close might be it?" Duv said. "I do indeed."

"I've been remembering the stories we used to tell about her," Delia said. "We made up some pretty gruesome ones. Olivia was the best at it—not just with the ghost of Princess Kareen, but in general. One time she made the neighbor boy cry. I remember we told one of the stories to our parents, and Da was pretty shocked that his pretty, sweet girls were telling stories about beheadings and mutilations and unquiet ghosts dragging the unwary down to hell. Mama thought it was all in good fun."

"Do you remember any of the details of those stories?"

"No, not really, just the feeling of being scared and shocked in the fun way," Delia said. "Olivia might. Perhaps we should see if she remembers any of those old stories, and would share them at a family gathering."

Duv grinned. "I confess, I'm curious about the differences between Komarran ghost stories and Barrayaran ones."

"Maybe you should tell a few," Delia said.

"Maybe," Duv said. They worked in a companionable silence for a while. "I wonder two things, mainly. Well," he tilted his head, "three. But the two big ones are, why did she stop appearing to you when you were children, and why is she appearing again to you now?"

Delia shrugged. "I don't know. It might be that after Tante Cordelia told us off, we stopped looking."

"That doesn't sound like any of you," Duv said. "After hearing the stories your mother tells about you all, I'd expect being forbidden would be more an encouragement than discouragement."

Delia snorted. "We weren't half as bad as Miles was."

"That's not saying much," Duv said dryly.

"True. On the other hand, it might simply be that we started spending less time at the Residence. Gregor was getting older, and people were starting to notice us hanging around—I think there was a bit of gossip about our parents trying to 'ensnare' Gregor so he'd marry one of us instead of a Vor. And anyway, we were too much younger to be good playmates for him."

"And if you weren't around much, you couldn't see the ghost."

Delia didn't respond, dealing with a fiddly bit on a collar. She could take her laundry to a shop to be professionally handled, and then she wouldn't have to worry about things like this, and occasionally she was tempted. But then she and Duv wouldn't have the quiet time to talk, as they did now when doing the laundry.

"It might also be that I just decided it couldn't be real if Tante Cordelia didn't believe in it," Delia said once she was done with the collar. "I idolized her at that age."

"Did you ever see the Princess's ghost?"

"I don't remember, for sure," Delia said thoughtfully. "It was so long ago. I know Kareen saw her; we spooked her for a while, telling her that Princess Kareen was going to try to steal the body of her namesake so she could live again."

Duv snickered.

"I have vivid memories of some of the stories Olivia told," Delia said. "I don't know. I might have seen her? But I might also simply have been imagining things from the stories."

Duv hummed an understanding sound. As an ImpSec officer, he knew better than most how unreliable memory and eyewitness accounts could be, especially of things from a person's childhood. "It still doesn't answer why she's appearing to you now; you've been working in the Residence for a few years, and I would have thought you'd have seen any ghosts long before this."

"I wonder if anyone else has seen her," Delia said. "Or if I'm the only one. And I wonder if I have seen her before, and just didn't recognize her? But the hairstyle and the dress are so distinctive, surely I'd remember."

"I'd expect so," Duv said. "Given your sharp eye for fashion, and how observant you are in general." He finished the last of the folding and stood up to put the piles of clothes away.

"What was your third question?" Delia asked.

"Hm?"

"Your third question," Delia said. "You wanted to know why she stopped appearing to us kids, and why she's appearing to me now. What was the third one?"

"If there's any way to interview her," Duv said. "I'd bet her perspective on Ezar and Serg and Vordarian and the general socio-political milieu she lived in would be fascinating."

Delia laughed and turned back to her work as Duv started putting clothes away.

***

The third time Delia saw the ghost of Princess Kareen was at a party. It was at the Residence, but it was a small affair—a reception in honor of some minor accomplishment on the part of some Vorbarr Sultana civic group that was mainly an excuse for those High Vor who remained in the capital over the summer to gather and glitter to each other. The Imperial Family was still in the District, so Lady Alys was presiding, which made things much easier on Delia and her staff. The lowered security alone was a boon.

There wasn't any dancing this evening—that would be too large an event to be held in the Emperor's absence—merely dinner and speeches followed by chamber music and conversation in an interconnected set of salon rooms on the east side of the main block of the Residence. It was a little-used set of rooms gaudily decorated in the extravagant style of the first few years after the end of the Time of Isolation, when galactic materials had started coming in and the price of gemstones had fallen and people had gone a little wild with possibility. They'd chosen it mainly because they liked to rotate events through the public spaces of the Residence and neither Gregor nor Laisa particularly cared for it, which made it perfect for use in their absence.

Delia hadn't been looking for the ghost, that night; so far, Kareen had only appeared in the wing that she had died in, and that was on the other side of the main bulk of the building, with a few small courtyards in between here and there to boot.

But Delia placed her wine glass on a passing servant's tray, turned around, and there she was—the Princess. Not three feet away, staring at Delia, eyes wide, mouth open as if she were screaming.

The sound of the chamber quartet felt like it was coming from a long ways away.

Kareen reached out to her. Delia lifted a hand in response, but fell short.

She glanced around to see if anyone else was reacting to the ghost. Nothing. The people she could barely hear were talking and drinking as usual.

When she glanced back, the Princess was gone, and the sounds of the party came rushing back.

Delia looked around, to see if Kareen was still there. This was different than the other appearances. Then, she had been tranquil; now, something was wrong. She caught a flash of green out of the corner of her eye and turned to follow it.

And crashed straight into Madam Vorreedi.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry, madam," Delia said as she stepped back and disentangled herself, glad at least that neither had been holding wine glasses.

"You should be, Madam Galeni," Madam Vorreedi said crossly, adjusting her dress. It was new, and slightly more formal than Delia would have worn to an event like this; not quite a ballgown, but verging on it, with voluminous skirts that would sweep the floor gloriously in a waltz but mostly just got in the way of standing around talking. She stalked off to talk to someone else, and Delia scanned the room again for any sign of the ghost.

Nothing.

***

"I saw the ghost again, today," Delia told Duv as they got ready for bed. She stripped off her stockings and tossed them in the hamper, wriggling her toes on the carpet. "At the party. It was a lot more dramatic, this time. She was upset, and for just a moment it felt like the world fell away and it was only the two of us. Then she was gone."

"Did anyone else see her?" Duv asked, watching as she hung up her gown in the bag that would go to the cleaners.

"Not that I know of," Delia said. "Nobody else seemed to be looking at her. But then, I haven't told anyone at the Residence about her, either, so someone else may have and I don't know about it. Perhaps I'll ask around."

Duv nodded. "At the party—that means she's not confined to the North Wing where she died."

"She was wearing the same outfit, though," Delia said. "Same hairstyle. Which is not the outfit and style she died in—she'd come from Vordarian's bed."

"I didn't know that," Duv said, intrigued.

"What, Mama's never told you the story of rescuing baby Miles and killing the Pretender?" Delia asked, surprised. "Ask her—or Da—next time we see them. They both tell their parts of the story well. They were both on that raid, you know, though Da had to escort Lady Alys and baby Ivan to safety and wasn't there for the end parts."

"I will definitely do that," Duv said, and Delia smiled. She always appreciated when Duv-the-historian poked out from the focused ImpSec analyst; he was cute, and a little softer than normal. "Back to the ghost, though, I wonder what she wants. If this were a Komarran ghost story, she'd be looking for someone to possess, to try and regain her life."

"If this were a Barrayaran ghost story, she'd be looking for some way to take her revenge on the traitor who wronged her," Delia said.

"She's too late for that," Duv pointed out. "Vordarian and his top men either died fighting or were executed. Nobody left to take vengeance on."

"In Mama's stories, she doesn't seem to me the type of person who'd lay in wait for bloody revenge, either," Delia said. "Too practical. Too focused on surviving and protecting Gregor."

Duv hummed and nodded, still halfway in his history professor mindset. "Have you noticed any similarities between the encounters?"

"I've been thinking about that," Delia said. "Other than her clothing and the first two happening in the North Wing where she died, the only commonality is the presence of Madam Vorreedi."

"Vorreedi?" Duv said. "I don't know her."

"She's Dowager Countess Vorlakial's favorite granddaughter," Delia said, "and the only one who lives in the capital, so she's in our offices fairly regularly—her grandmother is an excellent hostess, but not always as organized or timely as one might wish. Stasia Vorlakial was one of the top candidates for Gregor's hand, when Lady Alys first started seriously pushing him to marry; her father's District is wealthy and populous, she's pretty, and marrying her would have given Gregor a bit more influence to keep her father in line. He never gave her any serious attention, though, and eventually she turned her attention to other potential husbands. She was ambitious, but not terribly so; she turned down Lord Vormorin when he asked her to marry him."

"Smart woman," Duv said.

"It doesn't matter how large and glittering your parties are if you're miserable and mistreated whenever you're not in public," Delia agreed. Lord—now Count—Vormorin's temper and vices were well known. "Anyway, he responded by spreading rumors about her that caused at least two prospective suitors to back off. She eventually married slightly beneath her—an untitled high Vor who'd used his allowance and the family influence to go into business, and done quite well for himself. From what her grandmother tells me, it's a stable relationship, and she's already plotting her oldest daughter's entrance to the social scene in a few years. Her bloodline plus her husband's money should make for quite a splash on the marriage market."

"What's Madam Vorreedi like as a person?" Duv asked.

Delia shrugged. "I don't know her well; we've been at a lot of the same parties, and she comes to visit her grandmother any excuse she gets, but we were never part of the same set and she's a few years older than I am. Her friends are all snobs; she probably is too, because these days even a High Vor can't maintain a Vor-only social circle by accident. But she never made any of the cutting remarks or open snubs that her friends did."

"All in all, she sounds like a fairly ordinary Vor lady," Duv said.

"She is," Delia said. "If she is a common factor, I've no idea what would draw Princess Kareen's ghost to her." If Madam Vorreedi were being abused, or harassed, or was having to trade on her looks and body to survive, that might be one thing; Delia knew enough of the truth about Princess Kareen's life to know the woman her mother had served would probably want to look out for someone suffering the same way she had. But as far as Delia knew, Madam Vorreedi had a perfectly ordinary and satisfying life, albeit a rung or two down the social ladder from where she might have expected to end up. And Delia was quite certain that if there was abuse or other serious problems in Madam Vorreedi's marriage, Dowager Countess Vorlakial would have at least hinted at it.

"Does she look like anyone Princess Kareen might have known or cared about?"

"Not that I know," Delia said. "I don't think the Princess had many friends, by the end; no sisters, not close with her brothers, and Serg's jealousy kept her from getting close to people after she married him." Delia considered, and remembered her earlier comment about revenge. "Madam Vorreedi is the Pretender's cousin once removed, and she does have the Vordarian profile."

Duv waived a hand. "That could also describe at least ten percent of the people at the party tonight, given Vor inbreeding."

"True," Delia said.

"On the subject of looking like people, you look a lot like your mother did at your age," Duv pointed out. "Maybe that's why the ghost is showing up to you now. Your mother rarely attends events at the Residence these days … but you do."

"Why would a ghost need a bodyguard?" Delia asked. She turned back the covers and climbed into bed.

"I have no idea," Duv said, climbing in the other side of the bed.

Delia settled in and closed her eyes. She was drifting off to sleep when she realized. "What if it's not the ghost that needs a bodyguard?" she asked. "What if there's some danger to Gregor? Mama was his bodyguard, too."

"He wasn't even in the same town as the ghost tonight, though," Duv said. "But I'll ask them to bump up the alert level on his security, temporarily."

***

The next day, Delia called her mother.

"Princess Kareen's ghost?" Mama said, in some surprise. "I know you girls used to try to scare yourselves with stories about her, but nobody else ever saw her." There was a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

"Did you want to see her?" Delia asked.

"I'd prefer her rest was undisturbed of course," Mama said. "But I wouldn't mind seeing her one last time, to say good-bye. Everything was so frantic, the morning she died. It was so sudden."

"You're welcome to come visit me at the Residence, of course," Delia said. Mama had a better right to be there, as the Emperor's former bodyguard, than any of the guests the rest of the social secretaries invited in. "I can't guarantee she'll show up while you're there, but you can try."

"I may do that," Mama said.

"What do you think she wants?" Delia asked. "There's nobody left to take revenge on."

"No," Mama said. "Between Emperor Ezar and your Tante Cordelia and her own actions, nobody who did her serious wrong outlived her. As to any other motivation to leave her grave …" Mama sighed. "It's hard to say. By the time I knew her, she had pared herself down to the essentials. Of the things she wanted and needed, she was permitted so little. Her entire focus, when I knew her, was to protect Gregor and herself, in that order, as much as she was able to. Everything else was … only on the surface."

What a sad life it must have been. Mama had been careful, when they were little, not to say too much about Kareen's life that didn't fit with what was publicly known. In particular, Delia didn't know that she'd ever heard her mother mention the late Prince Serg more than in passing. Which, when you added that to all the little hints Delia had put together as an adult, was telling.

"I'll let you know if I think of anything," Mama said.

"Thank you," Delia said.

***

Delia started asking discreetly around, and found that while other people had, on occasion, seen something out of the corner of their eye that might have been the ghost of Princess Kareen, she was the only one who had seen her fully and recognized her for who she was.

"Hardly surprising that she'd haunt this wing, new though it is," Dowager Countess Vorlakial said. "Poor dear. Though at least she's not in the private portions where the Emperor might have to deal with the unquiet ghost of his mother roaming the halls when he's trying to sleep."

"We should probably burn an offering," Delia said. "And I'll have to tell the Emperor," she realized. "He'll probably want to burn an offering, too." Gregor had been raised by Tante Cordelia, and her cool Betan logic had been even more of an influence on him than on Delia and her sisters; she didn't know if he believed in ghosts or not. Still, he should know and have the chance to make the decision to burn an offering himself. For the first time, she realized she should have asked him what he wanted before mentioning his mother's ghost to others. Now that a few people knew, it would spread; and if he didn't burn an offering, there would be talk.

"Your mother was quite close to her," the Dowager Countess said. "So was Lady Alys. They should know, so that they can burn an offering; and either would know if there is anyone else who should be notified." She sighed. "It's been so long, and I was never of the Princess's set; I can't think who else should be notified besides her brother, Count Vorinnis. Lady Alys would probably be best for that, as a friend of the Princess." After the dinner party, Lady Alys had gone to attend a house party given by Count Vorpatril in his District. Several of the leading lights of the Conservative Party were also in attendance, and while Lady Alys would make little headway on political matters, her presence would nevertheless serve as a conduit for unofficial contact between the factions, providing a bit of the social glue that kept the Council of Counts as functional as it ever was.

"I'll ask her," Delia said.

***

"This is news that should be broken in person," Lady Alys said over the comconsole. "He'll be back in a few days—do you want me to come and tell him?"

"No," Delia said. "I'm the one who's seen her, so he'll probably want to talk to me anyways. You should stay with your cousin." For all that Tante Alys liked to talk about stepping back and handing responsibility to Laisa and her staff, she had a hard time actually doing it. Delia knew from experience that if Alys came back now, she would dive back into work beyond just notifying Gregor of the ghost, never mind that she was supposed to be on vacation. On more than one occasion, it had taken Uncle Simon to extract Tante Alys from the Residence when she was supposed to be on vacation.

"Very well," Lady Alys said. "I'll give you a list of Kareen's close friends—though I warn you, it isn't long. Kareen kept most people at arms' length until they had proven themselves trustworthy; she had many allies, and many hangers-on, but few true friends. Nobody she would regret losing if their husbands joined factions opposed to Ezar."

In other words, Delia noted to herself, nobody whose husbands might support Serg. Delia enjoyed the social whirl of the capital, loved the dresses and the music and the parties, and above all she loved the exercise of soft power, influencing Barrayar's upper classes through social levers. But her life didn't depend on it, and if she'd wanted to do something else she could have done almost anything she wanted. Kareen had played the same game with less freedom and higher stakes. "Well," Delia said. "It's just as well—Gregor will probably want something small and intimate."

***

People walked around the North Wing a bit more cautiously as they waited for Gregor to come and burn his offering, though nobody saw Princess Kareen in the meantime, not even Delia.

***

"Usually, when people ask to see me, they don't get an appointment without telling my secretary at least the general gist of what they want," Gregor observed neutrally. He and Laisa were seated on one of the two couches in his office; Delia was sitting in the other, directly across from them. "If this were a matter of social planning, you would not have been this coy with Kevi."

"It's a personal matter, Sire," Delia said. "I've seen a ghost in the North Wing and some salons in the East Block. Nobody else has got a good look at it, but others have seen little bits of it."

"A ghost," Gregor said. He glanced at Laisa, then back to Delia. "Whose ghost?"

"Your mother, Sire," Delia said. "It was unmistakably Princess Kareen."

Gregor turned his head and looked at a landscape painting on the wall, reaching out blindly to grasp Laisa's hand. "Have you burned an offering yet?"

"Not in the Residence," Delia said. "By the time I realized what was going on, you were going to be back soon, and we thought we should wait."

"Very considerate of you," he said, quietly, the way he had when they were children and he was tired or hurting and didn't want to show it. With his face turned away, she couldn't tell any more than that.

"I've read about offerings, of course," Laisa said, and Delia blessed her silently for speaking and allowing her husband time to compose himself, "but I've never seen one. Should I come? Should I burn something, too? In this context, what is it for?"

"It's for a number of things," Delia said, when Gregor didn't answer. "Respect, remembrance, appeasement—a loved one might burn an offering to provide comfort to the spirit; an enemy might burn an offering to try and convince the ghost to leave them alone. You could burn something if you wanted; as her daughter-in-law it's your responsibility to see that a proper offering is made, but not necessarily to do it yourself. And to help your children with it until they're old enough to make an offering themselves."

Laisa nodded.

"Have you plotted out exactly where she died, or as close as we can get to it?" Gregor asked, still looking at the painting.

"Yes, sire," Delia said. "It's a conference room, now."

Gregor nodded.

"Would you like a private ceremony, or will you allow the staff to be present?" Delia turned to Laisa. "None of us knew her, but as people who work in the places where her ghost has been, many of the staff would like to pay our respects."

"I'd like it to be private," Gregor said. "Just the family, and Count Vorinnis and Lady Alys and Drou if they want to come. The staff can make their own offerings at another time."

"Of course, Sire," Delia said.

***

"Is the staff scared of the ghost?" Laisa asked, afterwards, when she and Delia had retreated to Laisa's office.

"Many are," Delia said. "Either about what the ghost might do, or about the bad luck ghosts often bring with them."

"You're not afraid, though," Laisa said, looking her up and down.

"No," Delia said. "My mother was her bodyguard, and probably her closest confidant. She's an ancestor in my family shrine. I doubt she'd do anything to hurt me, and ghosts are only bad luck when they're other peoples' ghosts. Or when you don't light proper offerings."

"Gregor didn't look afraid, to me," Laisa said. "He looked sad."

"She was his mother," Delia said. "Nobody wants to think of someone they loved being driven or called out of their grave."

"Of course," Laisa said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not much besides burning offerings for her," Delia said.

The conversation turned to upcoming social events, where they were in the planning for them, and what Laisa's specific hostessing duties would be at each of them.

"And we might want to have a garden party next summer," Delia said towards the end. "It's too late to get one onto the schedule for this year, but it's been noted that we haven't done one in some time."

"You have a specific type of party for gardens?" Laisa asked, delighted as she often was by some minutia of etiquette that was different from Komarr's. "Of course you do. The idea is charming. Tell me more about what they're like—or, no, we don't have time today," she said, checking her chrono. "And next summer is a ways off, yet."

"Of course," Delia said, gathering her materials.

"I'm sorry to cut this short," Laisa said. "I've only got two hours to read a whole briefing book, before my meeting with the Minister of Galactic Trade. I think I'm finally making some headway with him, but every time I don't have even the smallest fact perfectly to hand in the moment, I can just see him start to doubt."

"Good luck," Delia said.

"Oh, I don't need luck," Laisa said. "Preparation and a solid strategy beat luck every time—especially now that I'm Empress and he can't just dismiss my ideas even when he wants to."

***

Delia wasn't invited to the Emperor's offering, and Lady Alys handled the arrangements; Count Vorinnis and her mother and Lady Alys joined the Emperor the next day in the conference room that was now where the hall Kareen had died in used to be.

Empress Laisa wasn't present; the Crown Prince had been deemed too young to make an offering himself, although a lock of his hair would be burned along with his father's and a gene scan of the younger brother who was currently gestating in a uterine replicator. Laisa would be with him, instead of making an offering herself. Not that she was needed for childcare, but it was an acceptable excuse for her not to be present. Count Vorinnis was currently a vocal opponent of one of Laisa's policy proposals, and nobody wanted politics to intrude.

After they were done, the room was left available for anyone who worked in that wing to make an offering of their own; another brazier was set up in the gardens outside for the rest of the staff.

Delia made another offering, of course; actually, she made two, one in the conference room and one at home.

***

The offering in the conference room was merely the standard lock of hair; perfectly unexceptionable, perfectly correct in etiquette.

The offering in the ancestor shrine at home was different. "You didn't die in vain, Princess Kareen," Delia murmured, watching the flimsies burn. "Your son's rule is stable, he's happy and healthy, and his wife is a wonderful woman who's not trapped as you were."

"Can I ask what you burned?" Duv asked when she was done. "Or is that private?"

"It can be," Delia said. "What the offerings mean is private, but not always the objects themselves. But I don't mind. This time, I burned an ImpSec security bulletin for the Residence with a low threat level, and a copy of the upcoming social schedule, and one of Laisa's policy proposals."

Duv thought about that for a minute. "The security bulletin, to show that her son is safe and his throne secure," he said slowly. "The social schedule, because she was a noted hostess?"

Delia nodded.

"I don't understand the policy proposal, though," Duv admitted.

"Princess Kareen's live was very … circumscribed," Delia said. "I wanted her to see that her daughter-in-law isn't restricted, the way Kareen was. I think she'd like to know things are better now. I would, if I were her."

***

Nobody saw the ghost again for another week or so after that, and people started to relax. Madam Vorreedi had visited a few times and there had been no apparitions following her around. Delia still kept an eye out, but then, it was her job to be observant and alert for anything out of place.

It was good that people were settling down; the fall session of the Council of Counts was starting in less than a month and the High Vor were trickling back into the capital. And of course Tante Alys was back, and she would never permit superstition to interfere in the running of their office, especially not at such a crucial time. The number and variety of social events at the Residence was beginning to pick back up, although they wouldn't be into the full whirl of things until the Council Opening Ball marked the opening of the social calendar. Which meant things were very busy in the offices of the social secretaries.

Not only with the official business of organizing everything, but with the social lives of the staff. Most of them had a daughter or sister or niece or cousin or friend or someone who was looking for a husband, and the connections and information that came with their work were definite advantages in the marriage market. As long as it didn't affect their work or the Emperor's political moves, Lady Alys didn't care.

"I've lost track," Delia admitted to Dowager Countess Vorlakial as they chatted before a meeting. "Do you have a granddaughter coming out this year?"

"Yes, my youngest," the Dowager Countess said with a smile. "Lysl. Her first ball will be the Council Opening Ball. Stasia has taken her under her wing, and is being such a help."

Delia almost asked why she wasn't attending the ball that Countess Vormorin had just announced she would be hosting three days before the Council Opening Ball. It had surprised everyone, and there were all sorts of rumors flying about the musicians and the decorations and the refreshments—there was supposed to be some sort of surprise, which Delia was deeply curious about. It was an obvious attempt to undermine the primacy of the Council Opening Ball as the start of the social season, and it seemed to be working; it was currently the most sought-after invitation in Vorbarr Sultana. But of course no Vorlakial had gone to a social event hosted by now-Count Vormorin since the disastrous end to his courtship of Stasia Vorlakial.

"Madam Vorreedi has excellent taste, and I'm sure she'll be quite a help."

"I'm so lucky to have her," Dowager Countess Vorlakial said. "I'm getting too old to both work here and chaperone a girl around town during the season; and Lysl's mother … well."

Lysl Vorlakial's mother had been born a prole, the daughter of a wealthy industrialist, and a good match for a younger son who would not be inheriting and had no particular martial aptitudes. But she had never quite mastered the nuances of the High Vor social scene. "If you're thinking about retiring, do let us know ahead of time," Delia said. "You would be difficult to replace." It wasn't just her skills and connections that would be missed; anyone of similar rank they brought in might think that she would be the one to take over from Tante Alys when she retired, with prole Delia stuck as a permanent assistant. Dowager Countess Vorlakial had no such ambitions and was content that, when the time came, she would pass seamlessly from being Lady Alys's deputy to Delia's.

"That's kind of you to say, dear, and I will try not to blind-side you when the time comes," she said. "But I'm not planning on stepping down any time soon."

The meeting started; it was a simple run-down of where they were in the arrangements for the Council Opening Ball. Everything was right on schedule, and the only issues so far were minor ones.

"Should we consider expanding the event in some way?" one of the junior members of the team said hesitantly once the reports were done. "Countess Vormorin is … sort of stealing the Emperor's thunder."

"And that should by all means be avoided, if possible," Tante Alys said briskly. "Does anyone have suggestions?"

"It would have to be something extravagant," Delia said. "There's no point in upending our schedule at this late date for something mediocre."

Unsurprisingly, several people had interesting suggestions; Lady Alys's staff was very good. A list of possibilities was created, and once they'd run out of ideas they evaluated each one. None had the right mix of being both impressive enough and something they could pull off in time, though several got noted down as ideas for future events.

"It's better to save the impressiveness for a future event than risk something going wrong at the Council Opening Ball," Lady Alys said at last. "We shall keep our existing plans for the Ball, and focus on making Winterfair an event that no mere Countess could upstage." The meeting broke up soon after, although a number of people stayed to chat.

Delia didn't leave immediately; it was close to the end of the work day, and everything left in her inbox could wait a day or two, which made it a perfect time for informal chats and touching bases with people. She was in the middle of a conversation with one of the under-secretaries when Princess Kareen appeared in the doorway, eyes wide and full of tears, staring at Delia.

"Madam Galeni?" the under-secretary said.

"Sorry," Delia said, tearing her eyes away from the ghost. She answered the under-secretary's question and the woman thanked her and left.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost," Dowager Countess Vorlakial said, voice filled with foreboding.

"I have," Delia said quietly. "She was just here. In the doorway." And Madam Vorreedi wasn't. Which eliminated that common thread of the encounters.

"And from the look of her, young Velana did as well," Vorlakial said, nodding at someone over Delia's shoulder.

Delia looked, and sure enough, Velana Vorbretten—one of the many junior secretaries—was pale and staring at the doorway. Delia and Vorlakial went over to her.

"You saw her?" Velana said.

"Yes," Delia said. "You needn't be scared. I don't think she's out for revenge; everyone she might have wanted revenge on has been dead for three decades, at this point. And all the times I've seen her, she's never seemed violent."

"It's not that," Velana said. "It's just … she was so sad."

"Well, this is near where she died," Delia pointed out. It was next door to the room they'd done the offerings in.

"One wonders why she appeared now, though," Dowager Countess Vorlakial said. "Princess Kareen was a great hostess, but I would expect her to haunt parties, not planning sessions."

"Maybe she's upset that her son's ball is being upstaged?" Velana said.

"I doubt that even such a noted hostess as the Princess would find that a tragedy worth coming out of her grave for," Delia said.

"And Princess Kareen's response to someone challenging her place as head of the social scene was not to grieve, but to demolish the opposition and put them in their place," the Dowager Countess said. "Well! It is something to consider."

As Delia and Vorlakial left the conference room, they found Madam Vorreedi and her cousin Lysl waiting.

"Grandmama!" Lysl said, practically bouncing on her toes. "I do hope we're not intruding—Stasia said it would be fine to visit you here—I couldn't wait to show you what the gowns are going to look like!"

"Of course, dear," the Dowager Countess said indulgently.

So, Delia thought to herself. Kareen is connected to Madam Vorreedi in some way.

***

"I still have no idea what the connection might be," Delia said that night to Duv.

"Neither do I," Duv said. "I pulled her file." ImpSec had files on every girl who'd been considered as a match for Gregor. "Nothing out of the ordinary, no connection to the Princess that I could see, no disaffection or connection to any groups on our watchlist. She serves as her husband's hostess, she has no job of her own but sits on the board of several charities, and her major hobby is gardening—she's a member of the Vorbarr Sultana Horticultural Guild. Her file hasn't been updated in some time, beyond the ordinary sort of biographical detail we keep track of in all High Vor."

Delia shrugged. "I don't see that there's anything to be done besides keep making offerings for Kareen and keep my eyes open."

Duv nodded.

"Any Komarran words of wisdom for dealing with a ghost?"

"Not really," Duv said. "Or, there might be some, but I don't know it. I was too busy as a kid to spend much time listening to ghost stories and folk tales."

Delia knew what he had been doing, and changed the subject.

***

The day of Countess Vormorin's ball was a busy one for Delia; there was a presentation of awards to a selection of students who had done noteworthy projects in the morning, and tea in the afternoon in honor of the Vordrozda Center for the Performing Arts. Since Madam Vorreedi was on the board of Vordrozda Center, Delia was on alert.

Gregor had done the awards in the morning, and Laisa was doing the tea; they sometimes split the minor events up like that, so that both could maximize their time doing more important work.

The tea went smoothly. The food was good, the speeches went well, the conversation flowed easily. Once the programmed aspect of the event was done and all that was left was the socializing, Delia circulated among the ladies, nurturing the connections that her work required.

She was in the middle of a conversation on the latest fashions—gloves seemed to be coming back in style—when a flash of green caught her eye, and she excused herself to look around.

Princess Kareen's ghost was looking in through the windows, face contorted with emotion, mouth working as if she were trying to speak. The hum of conversation and the clink of teacups and saucers faded from Delia's ears, and she turned to follow where the ghost was looking.

She seemed to be looking at Madam Vorreedi and Laisa, who were speaking together. Delia stared, trying to see what was agitating Princess Kareen.

There! Almost without thinking, Delia took three long steps and grabbed Madam Vorreedi's gloved wrist.

"Madam Galeni, what are you doing?" Madam Vorreedi said. "Let go of me."

Laisa, eyes wide, had backed up a few steps, and the crowd was beginning to turn to watch the altercation.

"Of course," Delia said quietly. "After you drop whatever's in your hand. You don't want to make a scene, do you? Your grandmother would be so disappointed."

"I—it's only a leaf," Madam Vorreedi said.

"Then you won't mind if ImpSec scans it," Delia said. "Show it to me."

Madam Vorreedi turned her hand over and opened it. Delia sucked in a breath. That was Rosy Corpseweed. It was a native Barrayaran plant, and it was deadly. It was also rare, and native to the South Continent; if Delia hadn't had to undergo basic security training to work in the Residence, she'd never have known what it was. There was no way for it to have gotten here, to Vorbarr Sultana, by accident.

Delia looked up at the armsman who had come to see what the trouble was, and angled Madam Vorreedi's hand so he could see what was in it.

His eyes went wide and his hand fell to the stunner on his hip. At a hand signal, an ImpSec guard approached. "Madam, you will come with us now."

Delia relinquished Madam Vorreedi's hand and let the two security men take her away. She looked up to see if Kareen was still there. She was; there were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling. She nodded, and Delia nodded back. Then Princess Kareen turned and vanished. There were a few gasps throughout the room.

That ought to be good for a public-relations boost for Laisa, Delia thought to herself. People seeing Princess Kareen's ghost working to protect her Komarran daughter-in-law. She wondered if she should wash her hands; she couldn't remember how deadly the poison was, or how much contact you needed for an effect. And there was no way to know how much residue might have been on Madam Vorreedi's gloves.

"Thank you, Madam Galeni," Laisa said. "That leaf she had, it was poisonous?"

"Yes," Delia said.

Another Vorbarra armsman was at Laisa's side now. "Ma'am, we should take you to a secure location." ImpSec officers were flooding into the room and Delia sighed at the thought of the hours of paperwork and reports she'd have to make.

"Of course," Laisa said.

***

"I haven't seen the report, yet," Duv said that evening. Being head of Komarran Affairs, a purely home-grown assassination attempt was outside his field. "Have they figured out why she targeted Laisa? Was she jealous that she didn't get to be Empress?"

"Not really," Delia said. She considered. "Sort of. Actually, it mostly seems to be resentment of Countess Vormorin."

"But she turned down the chance to be Countess Vormorin, and she hates Count Vormorin," Duv said, baffled.

"She's not jealous, she just thinks the entire Vormorin family should be humbled and humiliated after the way they spoiled her chances," Delia said. "Apparently, she's been quietly furious that Countess Vormorin is the rising star in the Vorbarr Sultana social scene, and that Laisa hasn't been entertaining on a scale to leave Vormorin in the dust. By killing her, she'd cast a pall over any entertainment Countess Vormorin tried to hold, and also open up the field so that Gregor might marry someone else—someone who might put Countess Vormorin in her place. And Count Vormorin with her."

Duv shook his head. "Why didn't she try to poison Countess Vormorin? Or the Count himself? That would solve the problem more directly."

"Couldn't get close enough," Delia said. "Everyone in town knows about the Vorlakial/Vormorin feud, and what caused it. If Stasia Vorlakial Vorreedi showed up to an event that Count and Countess Vormorin were at, everyone would be watching. Not that anybody would have suspected assassination, but it would be the hottest gossip in town. What I don't understand is why she was willing to hurt her family this way—she has to know what it will do to their standing, and especially her cousin Lysl who is supposed to make her debut this year."

"She probably thought nobody would have connected it with her," Duv said. "Rosy Corpseweed is deadly, but doesn't act quickly, and it's not on the standard tox screens because it's so rare. If she managed to smuggle the leaf out with her the same way she smuggled it in, nobody would have known when and how Laisa was exposed to it, even after we'd figured out she was poisoned."

"It's such a flimsy plan," Delia said. "And even with her explanation I'm not sure why she fixated on the Empress."

"People do crazy things, sometimes," Duv said. "It's what makes security work so difficult—if only everyone committed treason sensibly, my job would be a lot easier."

"I'm glad I don't have your job," she said. "Mine is quite enough for me."

"Oh, I don't know, you did a good enough job today," Duv said. "Your mother will be proud."

"And probably sorry she wasn't there to see the Princess," Delia said. "They were very close." She paused. "I wonder if we'll see the ghost again, or if Princess Kareen will rest easier now her daughter-in-law is out of danger."

"It'll be interesting to see," Duv said. "But I guarantee you that if she does show up again, ImpSec and the Vorbarra armsmen will be on high alert."

"Listened to in death the way she wasn't in life," Delia said with a sigh.

***

The next day came a painful interview with Dowager Countess Vorlakial. Tante Alys hosted the three of them in her apartments, not in the Residence. The Dowager Countess had been cleared with fast-penta and had known nothing about her granddaughter's plans, but if they met in their usual offices in the Residence, there would be gossip.

Dowager Countess Vorlakial looked as if she had aged five years overnight. Her toilette was impeccable as always, but her face was gray and drawn.

"I'm so very sorry, Lady Alys," she said, eyes fixed on the teacup in her hands. "I should have known. We've always been close, and I dine with her family at least once a week."

"She herself said she knew you would not approve her plans, and also that she did not want you to be implicated if she were caught," Tante Alys said.

"I thought I knew her," the Dowager Countess said. "I thought … I knew she was restless, and a bit bored; her husband doesn't entertain on the scale she would like, you know. They could afford more, but he only cares for the sort of parties that will make connections for his company. When their children are of an age to be launched in society that will change, but in the meantime, I encouraged her to be more active in her charity work and come to events at the Residence. All of the fun and none of the work. And I knew she'd never let go of her hatred of Vormorin, and honestly I don't blame her after what he said about her. But I still don't see—none of that was the Emperor's fault, and it certainly wasn't Empress Laisa's!" She shook her head. "I just can't believe she'd do such a thing."

Delia thought that Stasia Vorreedi might have been better off with some occupation other than being a Vor Lady. Something to do with her time besides run a household and work the social scene and coo over her children when the nanny brought them in for inspection. Take classes, get a job, something that would have given her more to do than fret over a decade-old slander and drawn her out into the larger world where nobody cared about it. But Delia didn't say anything; what was the point, at this late date? The Vorlakials were conservative, but even if they'd been willing to support their daughter in some novel endeavor, she doubted Stasia herself would ever have chosen it. She was too much a woman of her class, too conscious of her heritage. Kareen had been trapped by her position and her husband and the time she had lived in. Stasia Vorreedi had been trapped mostly by her own pride.

"The question is, what now?" Tante Alys said, not unkindly.

"My son has already disowned her," the Dowager Countess said. "And Vorreedi has begun divorce proceedings. I may be given custody of her daughters—nobody else in the family wants them, and it's not their fault, poor dears. Lysl will postpone her debut, to give things time to settle down." She drew herself up and met Lady Alys's eyes for the first time since sitting down. "And of course I shall be resigning my post. I am so sorry, Lady Alys, for the scandal I have inadvertently brought to your office."

"We shall miss you, dear Lady Genevie," Tante Alys said.

"It wasn't your fault," Delia said. "Nobody could have predicted that her curdled hate and jealousy of the Vormarins would result in treason against the Empress. And yes, we'll miss you; you'll be very hard to replace."

"That's very kind of you to say," the Dowager Countess said bleakly. "But whether it's true or not won't stop people saying otherwise."

"I wish you well in all your endeavors," Lady Alys said. "If you should need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Your granddaughter's treason does not outweigh your loyal service."

***

Once the Dowager Countess had left, Delia turned to Tante Alys. "How do you think Princess Kareen knew, when no one else did?"

"Princess Kareen was a very astute woman," Tante Alys said. "She always did know better than anybody else what was happening in the Residence; it was how she was as effective as she was, despite everything. And of course she loved her son very much."

"Of course," Delia said. "Let's hope she alerts us again, if there's another threat nobody notices."

"Let's hope that isn't necessary," Tante Alys said tartly.

"I'm not quite that naïve," Delia said. "ImpSec does its best, but nobody—and no intelligence service—is perfect." She changed the subject. "How do you think this will affect the Council Opening Ball tomorrow?"

Tante Alys grimaced. "Besides the gossip and Lady Genevie's departure leaving us shorthanded, it will affect several of the political alliances in the Council of Counts," she said.

Delia grimaced and began thinking through the likely chain of reactions, and she and Tante Alys began working up a plan to mitigate—and take advantage of—the fractures. She wondered if Princess Kareen, the legendary hostess, was watching over this, too, and hoped she was happy with their efforts.

[lyutenw]

ACOD| Chapter XVII

Tw: sa

"I wouldn't want to miss the departure of the princess." Ellian said as he stood next to Aria. He had come back that very morning, 5 days before he was supposed to be back. Aria had been surprised that he had done a trip back all that way just to say goodbye to Zaya. Aria wondered whether he believed that she would find a way to leave with her sister.

"As if I could..." Aria muttered under her breath, lost in her thoughts. Going back to Celenial would be a suicide mission for her as she had nowhere to hide from her cruel father. At that point Aria didn't know which fate was crueler; escaping to Celenial and being found by her father or going to the far away village trying to escape Ellian. She decided she was screwed either way, but at least in Oceana she had a fighting chance with Raven by her side.

"What?" Ellian asked and Aria realized she had thought out loud. She smiled forcefully and looked at Zaya who was walking down the large corridor to where they were. Her maids were walking behind her, each with a solemn face.

Zaya was fighting back tears as she run up to her sister and hugged her, not caring about the proper etiquette of a princess greeting a queen. They were sisters above all.

Aria hugged her back tightly and softly stroked her long brown hair, just as Zaya had done the previous night for her.

"It's going to be okay." Aria whispered in Zaya's ear and tightened her hug. Zaya's tears escaped her eyes as she nodded. They both knew that nothing would be okay for either of them. They had hope, but Zaya knew her fate.

After what seemed like minutes but was only seconds, Zaya let go of Aria and wiped her tears with the back of her palms, smearing her makeup on her cheeks. Aria softly cupped her sisters face and wiped the smears with her thumbs, trying to force a smile for her sister.

"I'll come to visit you again, sis." Zaya murmured so only Aria could hear and then turned away from her and walked to Ellian who was standing a feet away. He bowed before him, a deep bow as a sign of respect for the king of Oceana, despite a rotten one.

"Have a safe trip princess." Ellian said and half-bowed his head for her.

"Thank you, my king." Zaya answered and after her all the maids followed after bowing collectively before the king and queen.

As soon as Zaya was out of sight and the palace hall was empty apart for the servants and Ellian, Aria ran to her room. She didn't want Ellian to see her cry, despite it being a grief separate from him. Showing weakness once was enough, she didn't want him to take advantage of her ever again.

Aria realized that since Zaya was now gone, her hatred for Ellian had taken the first stage once again. It had been pushed back by the love for her sister and was now resurfacing again by seeing his face. What she truly hated was his eyes, those twisted pits of darkness. He was otherwise handsome, someone seeing him for the first time would definitely be charmed; just as Zaya was. That was until they learned what kind of monster he was, if they ever did, as it seemed he was only treating Aria like that.

Unbeknownst to her, Ellian had followed suit behind her.

"Not even a word to me, little doe?" Ellian asked as he locked the door behind him, Aria not noticing it.

"Why are you here?" Her words were as cold as her gaze to him; she had been able to quickly wipe away her tears, so he didn't see her crying.

"Is that a way to greet me, now?" Ellian's voice got deeper, and Aria ignored the chills that ran down her spine. She took a step back as he took a step forward, not wanting to decrease the distance between them. He was an unpredictable bastard, and she didn't want to deal with his sick and twisted games.

"You didn't answer my question." Aria raised her head proudly, standing her ground, despite the red alarm going off inside her head. Ellian quickly closed the distance between them and grabbed her by her neck, squeezing his hand tighter as the seconds went by.

"Don't get an attitude with me, little doe, or you won't like what happens next." He leaned closer to her face so that they were just a breath away.

"I won't be so nice as last time." He whispered but stressed every word, making Aria avert her gaze from his in embarrassment. She had tried to forget that night, her subconscious had shoved it into a dark place she rarely revisited unless she was asleep; and when she did it made her want to scream and break everything.

Despite her better judgement, and in a fit of rage and stupid bravery, she looked back into his eyes, her own gold eyes darkening to a liquid honey.

"How worse can it get?" She spat out and furrowed her eyebrows. Ellian chuckled, a heavy gurgle of his throat and leaned even closer, now dangerously close to her lips.

"I can break you like a doll, little doe." He leaned into her ear, his breath brushing against her neck, making the little hairs stand up, alert.

"I can fuck you so hard you will scream and beg, but no one will come to save you. I can choke the life out of you and only let you breathe a second before you pass out." As Ellian was talking, the momentary bravery of Aria was escaping. Now, she was utterly terrified.

"And don't get me started on knives, little doe. I don't think you know that about me." Ellian chuckled and let Aria's neck go. She gasped for air and brought her fingers up to her now tender neck. Ellian had a sadistic smirk plastered on his face as he took a step forward, then circled around her slowly like a vulture ready to tear her to pieces.

"I really love how a knife slices someone's skin. And, oh, the blood that comes out..." He stopped behind her, and Aria didn't dare to turn and face him; she was frozen in place.

"It's so delicious and gets me so hard." He whispered and took a step back. Every hair in Aria's body was standing up and repeated chills were running down her back. Once again, she had been rendered useless, paralyzed by the fear this man had instilled in her. In a deep part of her mind, she wondered how a young man like that could be so fucked up.

Aria stayed silent and frozen in place. Ellian was also not moving behind her, but she didn't want to turn and face him. Her breaths were slow and shallow, and she was sure that Ellian would do something to her; the atmosphere was heavy and sticking to her like a shadow.

"My meeting didn't go as planned..." Ellian trailed off and walked slowly back and forth. Aria let out a breath she hadn't known she had been keeping and her muscles relaxed a tiny bit.

"So, what are you going to do about it, little doe?" Ellian's smirk was apparent in his voice and Aria closed her eyes shut. She cursed under her breath, of course she wouldn't get off so easily.

"What do you want me to do?" Aria asked defeated, her voice a meek, lifeless, whisper.

"Get on your knees. Now." Ellian instructed as he untied his pants and let them fall to his ankles, then with a swift move shoved them away. Aria took a step towards him and slowly lowered herself to her knees, her eyes shut tightly. She didn't want to see more of him than necessary.

"Your eyes here, little doe, look at me." Ellian said as she also took off his underwear, revealing his hard dick to Aria. Aria despite not wanting to go against him, couldn't open her eyes. She heard Ellian sigh, and then she was quickly swept up from the floor by a tight grab on her neck. Ellian threw her on the bed like a ragdoll and paced to the dresser.

"Fail to do as I say, bear the consequences." Ellian raised his voice and grabbed a knife from the drawer. Aria noticed that that was her knife that her father had given to her by the jewels reflecting the light on her.

Ellian quickly got on top of her and sliced off her dress, revealing her naked body to him. Her body was paler than before and skinnier; her ribs were showing, and she had no more curves. Her breasts that were plump before, now were smaller.

Ellian hesitated as he truly saw how his wife had changed. The first time fucking her, she had been a woman torturing his dreams with her sexual body, now she was just a shadow of her past self.

One tear trickled down Aria's cheek and she breathed deeply. She knew the sudden sting of a blade slicing open her skin; she had been through it for so many years she had grown numb to it. But that had been years ago, she had almost forgotten how it felt, until Ellian reminded her.

Ellian slowly slid the cold metal blade down her skin, starting from the pit at her neck to her stomach and stopping just before her clitoris. Aria shivered from the coldness of the blade and flinched lightly.

"This is what happens when you refuse to do as I say." Ellian smirked and applied the slightest pressure on the well-sharpened blade, drawing a drop of blood right down her neck. He then dragged the blade down again, leaving a bloody trail along her whole body. Aria could see him enjoying it more as the seconds ticked forward. She lay immobile, not being able to do anything, not wanting to do anything.

"One slight move and you die, little doe." Ellian said as he brought the blade right up to her neck, close enough to her skin to feel the coldness, but not close enough to draw blood. Ellian grabbed her chest with his free hand and entered her quickly.

Aria bit her lip down so she didn't scream and tried to fall back into the pillow, so the blade of the knife is not so close to her. The feeling of Ellian penetrating her was painful and she could tell that he enjoyed it; he enjoyed making her feel as much pain as possible.

"You feel really tight today little doe... Maybe I haven't fucked you enough these days." Ellian said in between his moans and Aria didn't answer, just turned her head to the side. She didn't want to see him; she didn't want to see the face of pure joy and fun on his face as he was fucking her.

After a few seconds his moans grew louder and her pain greater, then she felt his warm semen in between her legs as he exited her. He took the knife away from her neck to reveal a cut that wasn't too deep and without saying anything he dropped the knife to the floor and stepped down from the bed.

He quickly left just as he had appeared and left Aria alone once again, but this time with no one to console her, or hug her. It was back to normal again.

------------------

Tag List: @angie-j-kay @mysticstarlightduck @boundedsea @pheonix-thefirebird @quillinhand @lottierae1 @puckpuckett @aalinaaaaaa

[atypicalacademic]

Writerly Thumbprint Tag

Rules: look back on your work, both past and present, finished and unfinished. what are five (or more!) narrative elements, themes, topics or tropes that continuously pop up in your work?

Thank you @dirty-bosmer​ so much for this tag!! I needed some time to go over my stuff and the WIP Hall of Shame. Tagging @cumbiazevran​ @greyvvardenfell​ @ollifree​ @aria-i-adagio​ @cleverblackcat just to see. This is a super interesting one and I’m really happy I had the chance to do this.

Also I’d add South Asian cultural elements as a Thing in my writing but I feel like that goes without saying, honestly. But let’s see what else:

Living Past Your Legend/The Tale Itself Is A Bittersweet Epilogue

A lot of my “protagonists” grapple with the fact of an After. Where your personhood is buried beneath the weight of your legend, and you can no longer afford to make human (or divine) mistakes, to be a hero is sometimes a kind of death. Literal, in some cases, when you are what’s left of a hero who is gone. Or figurative, when you are the hero that survives the final battle, and realize there is no such thing as a final battle. You’re adored and reviled, you’re expected to do the impossible again and again and again, and all the things you’ve done on the path to “victory” will come back to haunt you. I have protagonists who fade away into obscurity, overshadowed by someone else, but I also like to torment my more powerful protagonists by having them crumble time and again under the weight of what they’ve become. It’s fun. Everything has a cost, after all. Which leads me to-

Actions and Consequences

It is pretty obvious, but I do like leaning into this once again with my more “glorious”, strong, heroic protagonists. If everything has a cost and you choose it anyway, you are beholden to bear the burden of it. There are lost friends or cycles of vengeance or terrible, irreversible mistakes in their path. So too are there places of love and adoration and kindness and courage. As there are hurts and griefs and things you’ll leave behind because you chose something else. As there are limits, inadequacies, blind spots that are insurmountable. I usually don’t let my characters get away with much. They’re not always enough, and they’re never, ever always right.

Legacy and Memory

I put a lot of interspersed memories into a lot of my stories; often from formative experiences of my character’s youth or childhood. Several of my characters are concerned to obsessed with their legacy, with what they’ll leave behind, and how they will be remembered. Or they give everything to preserve the legacy of someone else; a parent they’ve lost, a People, a loved one, or a time or a world that is beyond them now. To that end, a lot of my characters, indeed most of them, have complicated families. Not always devoid of love, (though sometimes that’s the case) but always imperfect, always a resistance and an acceptance at once, always something of a journey. It often hurts to hold this endless project so close, especially since legacy is contentious, complicated, and you fall short or exceed it, or you’re only mortal and can only remember so much. But I don’t think you can escape what you’re made of, only build something good with it.

Freedom

It could be political freedom, or being stifled by the lack of it. It could be the freedom of and from resistance, it could be the terror and trauma of having freedom taken away. It could be the freedom of self-determination and self-affirmation, of finding your way past fear and violence and the trespass of others to know the intrinsic value of your own life, your own personhood. It’s the freedom to begin again, and the freedom to let go of what once was. To some of my characters, it’s also the freedom from the weight of a single narrative, from inevitabilities imposed upon them, from a quest they took upon themselves when they did not need to, from the shadow of everyone else. A lot of my “good” romances have freedom as central to it; whether they’re endgame or not, love is something that sets them free.

This World Is Worth Saving

My heroes are never too reluctant. (Even the ones that are.) I like thinking joy is central to the journeys of a lot of my characters; finding it, recognizing it, sometimes realizing it is enough. And with it, is an understanding that a world which, even in the best of times and the worst of times, can still contain joy, is still worth the fight to protect it. Even if you may not be enough. Even if you may be fleeting. Even if you’re only one of many. Even if no one saved you to begin with. Whenever I do write characters who don’t love the world and never come to love the world, they’re hollowed and empty in many ways, and both me and the narrative are convinced that they’re wrong, and the tragedy is that they came so close to seeing the world is vast and worthy of care, and chose to ignore it. In such cases, no matter how many victories they may have, I always give them a tinge of defeat.

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

🔁 (for an updated version 😅🥺)

Under the cut bc it is absurdly long, also let's please ignore the fact that I'm supposed to be studying for a midterm rn!

(I'm sure I'm still missing a million and I left out the ones we've talked about for ages, but also for the ocs that already had sections, I italicized the new ones so they wouldn't get lost 🥺 but also there's so many ocs and crossovers that if I missed any, lmk!)

(RWRB is a completely new section, other new ocs include Juni, Rose, Andrew, Vance, and Hana, plus the descendants section has been added to so extensively that it feels like it's basically new?)

DC

Cassandra

Angelina Winters

Dani Merlyn

Diana Queen

Kelsey Doyle

Mercy Bowen

Mia Queen

Fraya

Annika Webster

Imogen Allen

Kelsey Doyle

Mia Queen

Parker Allen & Noah Altman

Gillien

Ophelia Wayne

Isolde Kean

Lorena Falcone

Gwen

Annika Webster

Dani Merlyn

Kelsey Doyle

Mia Queen

Lillian & Max

Annika Webster

Dani Merlyn

Imogen Allen

Kelsey Doyle

Mia Queen

Nia West

Parker Allen & Noah Altman

Descendants

Andrew

Addie

Anissa Radcliffe (& all of her siblings there are 10 of them)

Roisin Sprigging

Winona Sykes

Aria

Chiara Potts

Chryseis

Finley Rider

Harmony Of Atlantis

Kate Turner

Keto Jones

Lani Of Atlantis

Mae

Fortune

Beatrice

Eliane

Evander Grimhilde

Finley Rider

Gloria Gothel

Hannah Westergaard

Harley Hook

Princess Isabelle

Raina Gold

Rosabelle Legume

Juni

Chessy

Chiara Potts

Elise Charming

Robin & Rylan Fitzherbert

Taryn Porter

Violet Kingsleigh

Winnie Pan

Mystery OC 

Blossom

Finley Rider

Isadora Darling

Nerissa

Violet Kingsleigh

Winnie Pan

Rose

Addie

Beatrice

Blossom

Isabelle

Gilmore Girls

Addie

Avery Stiles

Blythe Langford

Brady Mariano

Brielle & Austin

Elle Hearst

Emmeline Forbes

Freya Morgan

Nellie McCrae

Paige Huntzberger

Sienna Elliot

Callum

Kirsty & the dance squad

Willow & the squad

Sam Gleason

Holland Bass

Sage Hall

Daisy

Allie St James

Annabel Gilmore

Antoinette Kensington

Ashley Nardini

Avery Stiles

Blythe Langford & Charles Gilmore

Brady Mariano

Brielle Livingston & Austin Geller

Charlotte Howard-Danes

Dani Gilmore-Danes

Eliya Rygalski

Evan Mariano

Gabi Mariano

Holland Bass

Ilsa Gilmore-Danes

Jane Forester

Jocelyn Gilmore

Kaylee Hayden

Lili Gilmore

Lucas Gilmore (ft the Willow Squad)

Lorrie Gilmore-Danes

Marley Tinsdale

Preston Gilmore

Sam Gleason

Evie

Antoinette Kensington

Avery Stiles

Blythe Langford

Brielle Livingston & Austin Geller

Chelsea Geller

Dani Gilmore-Danes

Sienna Elliot

Grace

Adalia Kim

Allie St James

Brady Mariano

Catie Gleason

Eleanor Doose

Evan Mariano

Gabi Mariano

Holland Bass

Ilsa Gilmore Danes

Jacqueline Grant

Jane Forester

Lucas Gilmore & Natalie Lister (ft the entire Willow Squad)

Paige Huntzberger

Sage Hall

Sam Gleason

Vicki St James

The Band

Hana

Allie St James

Bex Harding

Cecilia Ackerman

Eleanor Doose

Evan Mariano

Jane Forester

Vicki St James

Imogen

Avery Stiles

Blythe Langford

Brady Mariano

Emmeline Forbes

Jacqueline Grant

Kaylee Hayden

Lydia

Lexi Danes

Jocelyn Gilmore

Preston Gilmore

Mercy

Antoinette Kensington

Avery Stiles

Blythe Langford & Charles Gilmore

Brielle Livingston & Austin Geller

Chelsea Geller

Dani Gilmore-Danes

Elle Hearst

Lili Gilmore

Sienna Elliot

Sophie Dugray

Millie

Avery Stiles

Blythe Langford

Brielle Livingston & Austin Geller & Brooks Livingston

Chelsea Geller

Dani Gilmore-Danes

Nellie McCrae

Paige Huntzberger

Sienna Elliot

Regina

Annabel Gilmore

Antoinette Kensington

Avery Stiles

Blythe Langford

Brielle Livingston & Austin Geller

Dani Gilmore-Danes

Elle Hearst

Jocelyn Gilmore

Lili Gilmore

Lucas Gilmore

Nellie McCrae

Preston Gilmore

Sienna Elliot

Richie

Allie St James

Annabel Gilmore

Antoinette Kensington

Avery Stiles

Bex Harding

Blythe Langford (& Charles Gilmore & Kaito Lauder but also Blythe x Richie)

Brielle Livingston & Austin Geller

Carlie Hayden

Catie Gleason

Chelsea Gellrr

Cosette Gerard

Dani Gilmore Danes

Eleanor Doose

Elle Hearst

Eliya Rygalski

Evan Mariano

Gabi Mariano

Harry Bechtel

Holland Bass

Hyacinth Nelson (???)

Ilsa Gilmore-Danes

Jacqueline Grant

Jane Forester

Jocelyn Gilmore

Kaylee Hayden

Lili Gilmore

Lucas Gilmore

Lorrie Gilmore-Danes

Marley Tinsdale

McKenna Hayden

Natalie Lister (ft the whole willow gang)

Nellie McCrae

Paige Huntzberger

Preston Gilmore & Lexi Danes

Sage Hall

Sam Gleason

Sara Topaz (??)

Sienna Elliot

Vicki St James

Viviana Lozano

The Band

Vance

Avery Stiles

Blythe Langford

Chelsea Geller

Emmeline Forbes

Lili Gilmore

Sienna Elliot

Glee:

Andrew

Abbie Hudson

Betty Fabray

Bobby Seurat

Cece & Colton Cartwright

Charlie Sylvester

Dolly Corcoran

Hillary Holliday

Jo Berry

Josie St James

Joy Schuester

Roxie Flores

May Taylor & June Harris

Savannah Evans

Valeria Ramirez

Aro

Betty Fabray

Jaci Jones

Kendall Pierce

Lilibeth Anderson

Sadie Berry

Savannah Evans

Brax

Betty Fabray

Jaci Jones

Kendall Pierce

Lilibeth Anderson

Sadie Berry

Savannah Evans

Elliot

Betty Fabray

Dolly Corcoran

Jaci Jones

Johanna Berry

Kendall Pierce

Lilibeth Anderson

Sadie Berry

Savannah Evans

Faith

Betty Fabray

Christina Hummel

Faye Anderson

Jaci Jones

Kendall Pierce

Lilibeth Anderson

Sadie Berry

Savannah Evans

May Taylor & June Harris

Mona

Betty Fabray

Jaci Jones

Kendall Pierce

Lilibeth Anderson

Savannah Evans

Harry Potter

Castor

Ara Black

Adhara Black

Carina Goldberg

Danica Lestrange

Lyarra Vance

Venus Malfoy

Violetta Greengrass

Seraphini

Adhara Black

Ara Black

Carina Goldberg

Venus Malfoy

Violetta Greengrass

Misc

Ariana Pendragon

Elsine Pendragon

Allyria Pendragon

Lynette Starfall

Princess Aelia

Beatrix Shellstrop

Bridget Atkins

Tatum Shellstrop

Amber Cain

Beth Jasper

Deborah Winchester

Elle Winchester

Esther Colt

Genesis

Isla George

Jude Winchester

Nevaeh Murphy

Phoebe Winchester

Trix Stilinski

Bridget Bridgerton

Augusta Beauchamp

Dorothea Bridgerton

Eliza Huntington

Emmeline Bridgerton

Georgina Pemberton

Harriet Warwick

Clara Gale

Andrea Hagreeves

Andromeda Hargreeves

Audrey Hargreeves

Cleo Sullivan

Dahlia Mort

Gemma Hargreeves

Helena Hargreeves

June McLaughlin

Lorelai Hargreeves

Max Carmichael

Sierra Nearing

Sunny Talbot

Tiffany Katz

Tori Hargreeves

Virginia West

Wilhelmina Hargreeves

Genesis Jones

Calleigh Sheridan

Odelia Kowroski

Josie Spencer

Calleigh Sheridan

Odelia Kowroski

PJO

Cordelia

Blake Castellan ( & Jasper Gabriel )

Cressida Brantley

Crystal Solace

Elaine & Felicity Castellan

Liz Castellan

Melody Weiss

Penelope Grace

Stella Beauregard

Victoria Blofis

Viola Di Angelo

Kendra

Carissa Grace

Cassandra Aelius

Melody Weiss

Penelope Grace

RWRB

Anneliese

Cate

Eileen

Margaret

Betsy

Abi

London

Lucy

Madi

Nina

Isabel

Madi

Whoverse

The Healer

Abbey Baker

Carys Harkness-Jones

Cassiopeia Harkness

Celeste Nichols

Ceridwen Lewis

Estella Tyler

Mina Ambrosia / The Scribe

Rose Harkness

Rusalia / The Oracle

Theia Wolfe

Matilda Fairbanks

Abbey Baker

Carys Harkness-Jones

Cassiopeia Harkness

Celeste Nichols

Ceridwen Lewis

Estella Tyler

Mina Ambrosia / The Scribe

Rose Harkness

Rusalia / The Oracle

Theia Wolfe