[center][color=33d6c2][h3][i]Saisri “Sisi” Tyalanthe[/i][/h3]
[sub]Bride of Exon Xe’Jah [@Ellion], sister-bride to Nadia Parnel [@Vesuvius00][/sub][/color][/center]

Saisri bit her lip as the needle dug into her flesh repeatedly, etching some design into her skin, causing a stinging burning to radiate outwards from the left shoulder. For a while she tried to follow the shape of the design, imagining the curves and bends in it, but as the design progressed it soon became impossible to track.

All of a sudden the woman had taken the needle away, cleaning it, applying a cool salve to the raw skin, then a bandage to protect it. Then Exon beckoned her over, and she obediently went to him, trying to hide the sudden tremors that came into her hands. She obediently went to him, letting him pull her down onto the bed and knowing better than to try to conceal herself as her dress (which had still been somewhat clinging to her hips) slipped off entirely, landing in a gem-encrusted heap on the floor.

The girl found that she almost liked being pressed against Exon, the heat and strength that he radiated being comforting and grounding. Like the sun-warmed rocks that she always used to lie on, beside the lake in the summer. Between fishing and swimming and canoeing, when she’d sprawled out on the rocks to relax, next to her brothers wrestling in the sand.

From her husband’s warmth and the rumble of his voice in his chest, Saisri almost felt herself drifting to sleep. It was easier to drift, afloat on sunwarmed waters, than it was to watch her sister bride in pain. She supposed the small, seemingly fragile fire gem next to her would be less able to withstand pain, after all, and if there was one thing Saisri hated, it was seeing others suffering and not being able to help.

But soon enough the girl was tattooed, and she was pulled down to Exon’s other side. The large Drakken reassured them that he would not be… “taking” them that night. Saisri couldn’t help but wonder what the other brides must have been going through; this seemed like a very odd decision for a Drakken to make.

She noted that it seemed like a good time to make a response, and opened her mouth to say something, but then quickly closed it as she realized she had nothing to say. Instead her sapphire eyes lighted on Nadia, hoping the other gem might have some way to break the awkward moment.

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[center][color=a2d39c][h3][i]Sorici Amberra[/i][/h3]
[sub](Not my character. Taking over indefinitely for [@SevenStormStyle] during their absence.)
Bride of Cuwarr Naxremis [@Cubix], sister-bride to Kalani Solle [@karamonnom][/sub][/color][/center]

Sorici was quite relieved when she realized the elaborate act had just been an act. The stands were for canvases; they were supposed to paint.

Well, that raised another problem. She’d hardly had a chance to learn any sort of art form, save for combat. Though she supposed that combat was as good of an art form as any…

The girl snapped herself out of her thoughts, looking up at Kalani and Cuwarr, both of whom had started to paint. She shook her head, looking at the array of brushes and paints laid out before her. “Paint this as though it is the last time you will see your homeland, for it is.”

The girl listened to the conversation for a moment, idle conversation about beauty. She had to suppress the urge to snort: Beauty was such a fragile, idealistic thing. The kind of thing that was broken by cruel Drakken, raped and tortured and tossed aside once it ceased to exist, the kind of thing that was met with fear in the Gemminite realms, that was suppressed and dulled until it was a brittle, easily broken creature. Not honed and sharpened and polished like a fine blade, not gleaming like burnished steal armor. That was what beauty was: the swift, purposeful motions of a hunter, without all the purposeless ornamentation of a dancer; the elegant, refined shape of a well-crafted suit of armor, devoid of the frills of lace and jewels of court wear. Simultaneously a sword, a banner, a shield, that’s what beauty should have been. Resilience, unyielding grace. To talk of flowers, easily broken, easily torn flowers, as “beautiful”. What absurdity.

Nonetheless, she’d try her best to do as she was bid. Try her best to do what was expected of her, rather.

Taking a rather small brush she went to dip it into the gray paint, not exactly knowing what she was doing. She picked up far too much pigment on her brush, of course, and made a mess in trying to wipe some of the excess off. Finally she gave up on wiping it clean and brought it to the canvas, intending to draw a straight line resembling the edge of the windowsill. But the line was shaky and jerking, not all the same thickness, bending outwards in the middle. Frowning, the girl tried again with a second stroke, but only succeeded in making an awkward horizontal stripe.

Well, clearly representing what she was seeing wasn’t working… so… representing how she was feeling?

She dipped a different brush in a dark red color, pulling another streak across the canvas, not caring as it wobbled and jerked. Finally she flicked back to the conversation, just in time to hear… Kalani was… apologizing?

Sorici flicked back over the previous conversation for a moment, then quickly replied, [color=a2d39c]“No, no, it’s quite alright, Kalani. I am not much of one for conversation myself… it’s all been so overwhelming that I can’t imagine asking questions, not right now at least.”[/color] She inclined her head to the slightly taller girl, then turned her gaze back to her painting, which was now beginning to bloom in shades of sad blue and green and angry red and orange. The streaks were still shaky, sure, but it now looked, well, almost intentional. The mess that had become her art supplies and her shaking hands indicated that it was at best a happy accident, though.

She tensed up, somewhat belatedly, as she finally realized that Kalani had been talking about sharing the past, and quietly scrambled to come up with a believable lie. She had no idea how much Cuwarr would know about her, but… she felt as though she had to keep the cult a secret.

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[center][color=f0a446][h3][b]Siadamkiru “Sia” Beneni[/b][/h3]
[sub]Wife of Sorrin Lucielle [@WeepingLiberty][/sub][/color][/center]

Sia hesitated for a moment, looking back to the small, distraught girl that was her bride. A split-second decision resulted in the Drakken woman stepping back, away from Zakroti for a moment, to wrap her arms around the crying Sorrin tightly. Sia pressed her lips to the top of Sorrin’s head, rather in the way an older sister or a mother would. [color=f0a446]“Because they’re bad, vicious people, Sorrin. Some of them are like this. I’ve killed many that are like this, but I would never, never harm you, nor any of your sisters. Trust me, Sorrin. Please. I will keep you safe. I will try to keep the people of Gemminia safe.”[/color]

Then she released her bride, with a faint smile on her face, and turned back to Zakroti, following him down the darkened hall a ways. She did her best to look at Zak evenly, seemingly pretending not to notice that he was rather shorter than her.

She weighed her next words carefully. [color=f0a446]“Sometimes, those who are lacking in brute strength are not content with their station in life—You and I are both living proof of this. But the underdog cannot outright challenge the alpha, not without losing his head in the process. No, the underdog must rely on trickery. Must flirt with trespass and treason. It takes the highest risk for the greatest reward, after all.”[/color]

Sia smirked faintly, her eyes never leaving Zakroti’s face, trying to gauge his reaction to what she next said. [color=f0a446]“I’ve arranged for a little meeting with some… people of interest. They had a proposition of sorts; if they mean what I think they do, they’ll be glad for extra numbers. And I will be glad to have an ally at my back, should things not work so neatly as they are supposed to. I wish I could tell you more, but… the halls have ears. And I would rather we manage to survive the night.”[/color]

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[center][color=fda5e7][h3][i]Aerienna “Aery” Cassiel[/i][/h3]
[sub]Bride of Lugft Huron [@agentmanatee], sister-bride to Atallia Faeron [@NarcissisticPotato][/sub][/color][/center]

Aery was expecting plenty of things. She was not expecting Tal to pull her close into a kiss, and certainly not expecting to then be flipped onto her back, looking up into Tal’s smoldering golden eyes. She whispered something about debts being repaid, and sweet dreams, but her hand at the back of Aery’s head heated. First gently warm, then meltingly hot, soon approaching painful.

Aery shook her head slightly, just a slight tilt from side to side, as her hands wrapped around Tal’s back, one hand’s fingers digging into the girl’s back and one hand’s digging into her hair. Her body arched, seemingly pressing against the other girl’s in a most suggestive, needy way.

Internally, the girl’s heart was racing. She knew it was just an act, of course, but all the same… Hot (both in form and in temperature) girl straddling her, kissing her, whispering in her ear? It was like the stuff out of dreams. Ever since she’d been a little girl, always sharing a bed with Miry, often wrapped around her twin in suggestive ways, she’d had dreams of things that could happen—of course, ones that she’d suppressed in shame. It didn’t seem like Miry had ever really, well… developed, at least not normally. She seemed still like a child, not talking about, or seemingly even thinking about such things, instead always worried about her flute and keeping Liiren happy—Aery stopped her internally tumbling thoughts before they could get out of hand.

[color=fda5e7]“If only there was time for this without watching eyes.”[/color] she snapped out of her head and mumbled the words out loud, loud enough for Lugft to hear. With the one hand that was mostly masked in Talli’s hair, she twisted the air currents to shape the words into, [i][color=fda5e7]“No, I won’t leave you to suffer with this monster.”[/color][/i]

She sensed things were heating up (literally), so she pulled a curtain of air between her head and Talli’s palm, hardening it into a shield of sorts, and then proceeded to kiss the other girl again, in the process trying to suck the air from her lungs with her magic.

Sacrifice was a beautiful thing, after all, and having the power and strength to go through with it was an even more beautiful one.

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[center][color=c2a5fd][h3][i]Aymiria “Miry” Cassiel[/i][/h3]
[sub]Bride of Zakroti Unalim [@darkwolf687], sister-bride to Kasari Liesma [@WeepingLiberty][/sub][/color][/center]

Miry choked as Vain yanked her to her feet, sending the piece of the flute flying onto the table, and probably cracking it again. The guard all but threw her onto the bed and stood over her, staring down at her, causing her to make an odd squeaking sound and look away, scrambling to sit up again, be in control of herself. She definitely hated it when people threw and pushed her around, made her feel like all her control went out the window.

The guard counseled her on how she should be acting, reprimanding her for acting like a twelve year old. Of course she knew he was right, rationally speaking, but… Rational thought refused to flow at that moment. The girl wiped her eyes, trying her best to meet Vain’s gaze evenly, with minimal success. She sniffled, trying to calm her breathing, trying to will the words to form. [i][color=c2a5fd]“It’s a shock, that’s all.”[/color][/i] Trying to rationalize it. But as before, no words happened, and she weakly groaned, flopping her face into her hands, the tears starting anew. 

She’d heard about this before, they’d called it “death-shock” or some-such thing. Often afflicted gentle people, the first time they’d seen something violent and gruesome. Sometimes they went blind, sometimes deaf, sometimes mute. Sometimes all three. Sometimes stopped functioning entirely. Usually it resolved spontaneously. Sometimes, it was permanent. Not anything the afflicted one could do about it except make peace with what happened and try to stay calm. Panic makes it last longer. Panic induces other symptoms.

Miry wiped her eyes again. Now that she had a name for it, it was better, now that she knew what needed to happen. She stood up and walked to the desk, reaching for the inkwell and a piece of paper. She was short enough that she could stand and still use the desk properly, so she started writing while leaning over the table.

Her letters were small and neat when she finally held up the paper for Vain to see.
[color=c2a5fd][i]And tell me, what am I supposed to do as a Lord’s wife? Besides be a little pretty fragile thing attached to his arm wherever he goes? Little pretty fragile things are supposed to be weak and soft and delicate. Are supposed to be the kind to cry about little fragile broken flutes and little fragile broken necks, devoid of thought other than how SAD it is. I’m not supposed to cry because I’m angry and ashamed of myself, am I? Not supposed to worry about that poor dead girl who was my friend-- I’m not supposed to worry about her family, not those eight little orphan girls that she somehow fed from her wages as a kitchen maid and sometimes-violist, am I?... I’m not supposed to try to make sure my sister doesn’t get herself killed, am I? That my brother and father won’t have to die for my own stupid, stupid actions? I’m supposed to be a pretty little thing, like a doll— a plaything to warm a Lord’s bed and rub his feet and cook his dinners and do whatever I’m told and not think, and not worry, and certainly not act? Excuse me for not fulfilling these OH-SO-PERFECT demands![/i][/color]

Once she was sure the guard had read the paper, she pulled it back, her tears shining with anger, and scribbled another three words, then sighed, scratched that out, and wrote again, her letters more carefully formed.

[color=c2a5fd][i][s]Someday, you’ll see.[/s]

Forgive me for being a breakable, stupid, naïve little child. But don’t ask me to be a Lord’s “perfect bride” again. Have you even looked at me? There is NOTHING that I can offer a lord in terms of the usual demands. A painfully plain, tiny, underdeveloped excuse for a young woman. But if my lord had wanted a girl for her looks, for her more conventional… skills. He would have let me be carried off over the shoulder of the Karstagg heir. 

Do not speak to me of being perfect, do not speak to me of acting like a “proper” lady. 

One of my friends, maybe one of my only friends, has been dead for less than an hour, and she is going to be buried out here, far from her family and her gods, left to rot like some animal, not brought to rest against the Great Mother’s heart as she should be. Her soul left to wander on this side of the spine, cut off from the rest of her people. No one to know what happened to her. And I am not allowed to grieve? Am I not allowed to cry? Crying solves nothing, just makes you remember—well, I don’t intend to let the world forget Astrae Rosalin Silverheart.[/i][/color]

She put the paper down again, weariness in her face. Put the quill back in the inkwell. Curtsied slightly to Vain, then resumed her seat on the bed, looking away from him, resting her head on her knees, more tears periodically leaking out of her eyes. But it was under control now, moreso than it had been before, at least. Writing, like speaking it, had made it better. But had maybe been even more satisfying, because the evidence of her words was still there.

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[hider=summary]
[color=33d6c2][b]Saisri:[/b] thinky-thinky-thinky, flashback to the past. In some pain from her tattoo, admiring Nadia’s courage, kind of sleepy.[/color]
[color=a2d39c][b]Sorici:[/b] Painty-painty-painty, being distant and internal monologue-y. slightly internally panicking because she’s not confident in her ability to lie.[/color]
[color=f0a446][b]Siadamkiru:[/b] Plotty-plotty-plotty, irrelevant to almost everyone else.[/color]
[color=fda5e7][b]Aerienna:[/b] Sexy-sexy-sexy, making things look awfully steamy between her and Talli. Bit of backstory (She’s the perverted twin, for sure.) Not letting anyone fade to black just yet! Trying to pull the air from Talli’s lungs to knock her out, instead of knocking herself out, to try and save her from some of the pain.[/color]
[color=c2a5fd][b]Aymiria:[/b] sniffly-sniffly-sniffly, trying to rationalize things. Again with the mute thing (coughcoughconversiondisorder). Gets a little angry at Vain.[/color]
[b]General:[/b] Just gonna note that, looking at my post headers, I have a veritable rainbow of characters. xD
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