(carolena) lady of sorrows (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dignity_misery) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
poly_chromatic2012-09-22 03:03 pm
dignity_misery) wrote in poly_chromatic2012-09-22 03:03 pm
Entry tags:
036 x 630 // winter is coming
[[ooc; AU Info over here and here. Network style responses are fine too.]]
[Her family has always borne Death in their name, dark-eyed and dark-haired, their lands have always been a home for dark secrets. Father had his share, hid them beneath a pleasant smile and a generous nature that could just as easily turn ruthless. Brother Donovan had never done so well to disguise his brutish needs for power and for glory. Perhaps that was why the inheritance had fallen on pretty Carla, disinterested as she was in taking up the task to rule. She had been far more interested in dark secrets, cared not for money but could be found to revel in blood.
Even if it was Donovan who ruled, it was Lady Morir who brought terror and chill everywhere she went. Only the haughty thing who wore the bones of dead at his wrists and his throat disparaged her, he felt confident in his hold on her strings. Confident, but dissatisfied. He was not content to merely hold her attention and fascinations, he needed all the rest as well: body, heart, soul.
And he extracted it, piece by piece.
It has been five years since the Lady Morir last walked in glory, the warnings and tales dried up, except for little whispers of the banshee locked into the darkness. Leave her a ghost in the stories, it was far more palatable than the old realities of her hobbies. Better if her dungeons languish without their mistress. There were no stories told, when she entered the world once more. There were no witnesses, no heralds. She crawled from the darkness out into the night and slipped her way to sanctuary. A year now it's been, a year where winter has never left though it makes its approach once more.
The temple that has housed her sorrow for all these months is a humble place, low ceilings and grim slate walls, small windows that let in only the barest slips of light. It has been quiet here, and she has kept herself hidden from eyes and ears except for those few who still attend to her; a pitiful state for a noblewoman indeed. Even still, from time to time, visitors have appeared with words for her, knives for her. They're disappointed by the reaction they find: an empty woman who would not, perhaps, object to a final rest.
Perhaps she's decided to take it out at sea. She isn't yet certain, but the cold air has reminded her of what a tomb her asylum has come to be. She can't stay here any longer to wallow in the misery. So as the leaves have begun their turn, she makes her plans. She will cross the city to the docks, and if she is not murdered along her path, she will be free.]
[Her family has always borne Death in their name, dark-eyed and dark-haired, their lands have always been a home for dark secrets. Father had his share, hid them beneath a pleasant smile and a generous nature that could just as easily turn ruthless. Brother Donovan had never done so well to disguise his brutish needs for power and for glory. Perhaps that was why the inheritance had fallen on pretty Carla, disinterested as she was in taking up the task to rule. She had been far more interested in dark secrets, cared not for money but could be found to revel in blood.
Even if it was Donovan who ruled, it was Lady Morir who brought terror and chill everywhere she went. Only the haughty thing who wore the bones of dead at his wrists and his throat disparaged her, he felt confident in his hold on her strings. Confident, but dissatisfied. He was not content to merely hold her attention and fascinations, he needed all the rest as well: body, heart, soul.
And he extracted it, piece by piece.
It has been five years since the Lady Morir last walked in glory, the warnings and tales dried up, except for little whispers of the banshee locked into the darkness. Leave her a ghost in the stories, it was far more palatable than the old realities of her hobbies. Better if her dungeons languish without their mistress. There were no stories told, when she entered the world once more. There were no witnesses, no heralds. She crawled from the darkness out into the night and slipped her way to sanctuary. A year now it's been, a year where winter has never left though it makes its approach once more.
The temple that has housed her sorrow for all these months is a humble place, low ceilings and grim slate walls, small windows that let in only the barest slips of light. It has been quiet here, and she has kept herself hidden from eyes and ears except for those few who still attend to her; a pitiful state for a noblewoman indeed. Even still, from time to time, visitors have appeared with words for her, knives for her. They're disappointed by the reaction they find: an empty woman who would not, perhaps, object to a final rest.
Perhaps she's decided to take it out at sea. She isn't yet certain, but the cold air has reminded her of what a tomb her asylum has come to be. She can't stay here any longer to wallow in the misery. So as the leaves have begun their turn, she makes her plans. She will cross the city to the docks, and if she is not murdered along her path, she will be free.]
AT THE DOOR
[ Before she goes, she feeds a number of old sketches into the fire. Unwilling to take them with her, but unwilling to entrust them to anyone left behind. Those who, perhaps, might be interested in her plans have been informed, but even they are not truly to be trusted. ]
[ It's been many years since she was last here. She wonders where her brother's men are hiding, waiting to finally clear her stake to the inheritance with a sword through her. She wonders where Barbet's wraiths are waiting to take hold of her and drag the last of her soul out of her body. It doesn't matter, does it. What comes will come. ]
[ The ship is larger than she remembers it, and she stands staring up at it for a long time, the long length of her turning in the wind as the tide rolls back and forth. There's no need to hurry, she has already been waiting this long. ]
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"You ever been on a ship like that?" He asked her instead.
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