[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/jHL17eH.png[/img][hr][hr][/center] [sub]Location: Royal Cabin[/sub] Snow was a familiar blanket that coated the land – full and white, glittering where the candlelight danced across it through the window of Amaya’s room. The storm had passed. Amaya had spent the majority of it locked away in her room. She needed – she needed to [i]scream[/i], but that wasn’t an option. She needed to rage. To mourn. But that felt frustratingly pointless. She wasn’t a [i]child[/i], and she was sick of feeling helpless and ineffectual. She’d spent the last two months feeling like she had been swallowed up by a furious riptide, only to finally be drowned by the death of her mother. No more. The fury was [i]hers[/i] now, icy and sharp, and she refused to let the tide command her. And so, her week of solitude had been spent systematically taking stock of her situation. The first, most immediate concern: her magic. She had come unacceptably close to losing control of it in public – she [i]had[/i] lost control in front of Flynn. Shame stung at the memory. She’d been arrogant to believe that she could keep it all contained as she had before. Her growing magic simply didn’t fit within her body anymore. It needed constant release, else it leaked out of her without her knowledge or consent, or worse, built into a growing storm fighting for escape. Amaya often woke to find long, glistening icicles hanging from the ceiling of her room, a chill clinging to her body so sharply that she couldn’t bring herself to crawl out from her bedding as she shivered. She spent hours at a time sitting cross-legged on her bed, a shallow bowl of water in front of her, going over basic exercises she’d first learned and mastered as a child. But now, what should’ve been a ripple across the water’s surface became a sloshing wave that spilled and froze in her sheets. A single ice crystal she tried to form became snow that fell in her room, her own contained blizzard. Amaya’s frustration with her magic only grew as the week went on. She couldn’t reliably cast if she created an avalanche when she wanted a snowflake, and if she didn’t cast [i]at all[/i], the avalanche would come regardless. The second concern: her mother’s death. Hate and rage threatened to consume her when she thought of old King Jericho – the man who’d only ever treated her with disdain, who was likely pleased, if not outright [i]culpable[/i] for the death of her mother. Amaya didn’t care how it happened, but her father needed to [i]pay[/i]. Whatever plans he’d laid in motion, whatever legacy he thought he’d leave, whatever [i]shred of satisfaction[/i] he had in this life, Amaya intended to tear it all down. She needed to learn the truth of her mother’s death, who this new woman was that he’d married and named Queen (whether she was just another pawn manipulated and forced into place, or another person Amaya needed to shatter), and what else he had planned – because he [i]always[/i] had something planned. There were a number of obstacles standing between her and her father, though. For one, she was miles away in Dawnhaven, and her father’s court had already written her off as dead the moment the prophecy was announced. She was a charming little doll to the other nobles, and while the way they underestimated her was useful when she was in the palace, sweet talking information out of them and subtly influencing their opinions, Amaya knew that the game had changed drastically. She was across the continent, they were all too easily cowed by King Jericho to risk his ire by entertaining [i]her[/i], and any affection they had for her was likely severed with the death of Queen Anjali. Not to mention, the ticking clock that the prophecy had placed on her life. Even if she [i]were[/i] back in the capital, the best outcome that everyone agreed upon involved her imminent death. She likely didn’t have [i]time[/i] to avenge her mother and dismantle her father piece by piece. Which led Amaya to her third concern: the blight. There were so many levels of horror to it that Amaya didn’t know how to wrap her head around. The wreckage of death and destruction it did to the land – to her people. The way it twisted the living into something new and incomprehensible. The way that it roared towards an inevitable end, either consuming the entire continent or defeated at last – either way, it ended with Amaya dead. She didn’t know how her father had managed to keep the reality of it from her – from the entire [i]capital[/i]. Worst yet, she had no idea what to do about any of it. Because she had to do something, didn’t she? Wasn’t it her responsibility? She was the Crown Princess of Lunaris, until this all finally managed to kill her. Was she selfless enough to [i]let[/i] it kill her? Brave enough? When she stopped and allowed herself to truly contemplate the reality of it all, she thought maybe she understood the frantic desperation that seeped out of Flynn like ice, out of her. She thought of his hand, warm as it melted her frozen magic. She thought of his patient eyes, as deep as the sea. And then she remembered his voice when he told her about his plan for the town assembly – how he’d decided [i]without her[/i] that her time for private grief was over and that she was to piece herself back together and put herself on display to announce the death of her mother to the town. Amaya didn’t know why it hurt so much. It had been upsetting, certainly. Insulting. Enraging. Why had it been disappointing? She didn’t let herself dwell on it. She was done [i]dwelling[/i], and it was time for action. Her problems were many, and her options very few. But she was used to men in charge limiting her power. She’d simply have to start reclaiming it. She would need to start gathering information on available resources – namely, [i]people[/i]. She needed to know who was in Dawnhaven, and what made them tick. She’d managed to survive in the palace because she understood the people buzzing through it like pompous bees. Amaya looked back on the past two months with embarrassment at her own behavior – moping and hiding away like a petulant girl when there was work to be done. She had been informed – not consulted, or included, but [i]informed[/i], just as she had been with every other decision her husband made regarding Dawnhaven – that there was to be a feast today. The lack of agency she was expected to hold was unsurprising. Familiar, even. It still stung. When Amaya emerged from her room, perfectly put together with her head held high, she was only slightly surprised to find Flynn still in the cabin. He looked every bit the Prince of Aurelia, dashing and golden. His presence had become familiar over the past week, confined as they were. She’d barely spoken to him, but she’d been… cordial, at least. Distant, certainly. But for whatever reason, Amaya could no longer find that sustained anger that she’d drawn on whenever she needed to steel herself to interact with him before. Perhaps she simply didn’t have enough in her to hate both Flynn and her father at once. She descended the stairs, pointedly ignoring the crack in the banister. Her magic hummed under her skin. Amaya hesitated for a moment, before steeling herself and opening her mouth. [color=lightpink]“If there is time before the festivities,”[/color] she said in a clear, light voice, [color=lightpink]“Elara will have matters to discuss with me.”[/color] Elara would have nothing to discuss with her — nothing regarding any royal or official matters, at least. But Amaya was [i]not[/i] looking forward to the feast. Something about being surrounded by strangers, the energy, the noise, made her uncomfortable in a way she didn’t want to examine. All she wanted to do was to finally see her handmaiden, to catch her breath and be herself for a moment before parading in front of Dawnhaven like some sparkling jewel. She finally cast her blue eyes towards Flynn. [color=lightpink]“I shouldn’t be long.”[/color] The festival was likely going to overwhelm her, but if she could just have a moment with her friend… remember what it was to be free of her mask and come up for a breath of air… Perhaps then she could bear to swim with this raging current that threatened to pull her under again. [hr] [sub]Interactions: Flynn [@The Muse][/sub]