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The Eye of the Beholder

Nesna smiled brightly at Nathaniel’s suggestion that her introduction might have even been suitable for the Aurelian Prince. Perhaps it indeed was, but it needed a bit of work still—stammering and blubbering like a fool in front of royalty of any sort? Surely that would not stand. In some measure, Nesna’s skepticism at the notion might have flickered across her smile, though Nathaniel’s introduction dragged her out of the doubt before there was much time for it to take place.

An Aurelian, he was? And one from their capital, no less? Perhaps this place was, truthfully, more than a little place to banish stubborn princes and blightborn with the nerve to cling to life. How curious. And how inspiring! Nesna’s smile rallied over the course of Nathaniel’s introduction, even as the fact that there may well have been much greater academics than she’d ever aspired to be running the research here already dawned upon her. Was she at all necessary, or even, possibly, at all of use? Perhaps, perhaps not. But more Sages coming from Aurelia still must have been a good sign that something could yet come of all this. And maybe, just maybe, even a cure.

“What a blessing it is. And how auspicious it is that so many have come together to work to fix all of this…” she began.

Wait. He had said he was a Sage, hadn’t he?

“Excuse me for the indiscretion, but you are a Sage, are you not? I fear I’ve been presumptuous.”

Interactions
Nathaniel @Echotech71

Royal Residence, at Some Unholy Hour in the Morning

The overnight lockdown had served Ramona poorly. The routine she’d so carefully assembled was shot. When she first woke from thirst in the middle of the night, she habitually rose from her bed quickly, only to realize that she could not risk going out to do her business, for there would surely be heavy patrols around the royal residence—patrols which might uncover the terrible truth. And a blightborn in the service of a princess of Lunaris? Blightborn in Dawnhaven though there were—her deception was, as she understood, somewhere in the domain of treason. And how could a princess who’d just been attacked by a blightborn then sit idly by after learning a maid was secretly one of the same set of terrors that was rogue?

Ramona looked back to her bed. She was too thirsty not to drink anything, and yet doing so would surely force her to figure something out—something new and therefore, most likely, incredibly risky given the circumstances. With a sigh, Ramona looked at the bucket sitting near her bed. The bucket full of water, which, on a normal night, she would have guzzled half of now and half of on her return from cutting back the influences of the blight. She cupped some of the water in her hands—getting quite a portion for how the webbing was already creeping back up her fingers. It was always the first to return, and the most troublesome to fight back—for it meant she needed a steady flow of bandages to wear under gloves.

Ramona took one sip, and then allowed herself a second. She still felt parched. She descended carefully to the floor and sat cross-legged in front of the bucket. She closed her eyes, rubbed her face, and held back a groan, until it wriggled out from her in the form of a prolonged, strained wheeze. Ramona leaned forward, and splashed her face with the water, rubbing the water in carefully, trailing water to every bit of exposed skin, including that on her neck. Then, she dipped her arms into the bucket, rubbing water into them, and finally repeated the process to make an attempt at moisturizing her legs.

Ramona clasped the little necklace she always wore. The locket was heavily tarnished, as was the chain. Atop the locket sat a ring, which she’d slid along the chain before putting it around her neck after wearing it had become infeasible due to her fingers’ webbing and injuries. Lifting it closer, holding the fist she clasped the locket and ring it to her cheek, Ramona rubbed the little notches along the ring—the marks from the knife after she’d had to cut the ring free of her own hand when the webbing first grew in around it.

Ramona rubbed her other hand on her slip, until it was dry enough that it hurt. She flicked it in the air several times, and then brought the cold, dry hand to her shoulder. While she rubbed her shoulder, she sighed softly, her lips tensing into what could almost be a smile.

“I miss you too,” she murmured.

Ramona sat like that for a time, until the crackling pain of her hand’s dry skin became too much. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stopped breathing. She released her grip on the locket and let it fall back to where it rested on her chest. She plunged her dry hand into the cold water, and sat, breathless, soundless, until the sharp pain began to fade. She clenched that hand and unclenched it slowly, checking to see if it had reabsorbed enough moisture. It needed a bit longer.

Her other hand tensed, bunching up a bit of her slip in her lap. The worst thing about this whole situation was how endlessly frustrating it was. Here she was, alone for the rest of however long it took to force together a dream that was supposed to be shared, plus the time it took to make sure she was dead, and she couldn’t even tell if she was crying unless something else came with the tears that might or might not have existed.

Well, crying did have another helpful indicator. Usually, there was this ominous feeling, and then it felt like being overheated and chaotic and small and helpless all at once. No, this was something more normal—even if it still felt anything but. It was this cold grief, the kind that had crept in behind the tears over the months and replaced that warm messiness with a frigid order. Crying made her want to whimper. This malaise, whatever it specifically was, felt more like breathing was a chore she had yet to get used to it. And that she needed to remind herself to take every next breath—a feeling all the more salient now that she wouldn’t necessarily be reminded by that feeling of breathlessness that once, on the odd occasions she’d felt this way before, shook her out of it. It was like a heavy fog, now sitting in a valley which never got any real wind to clear it away.

After glancing back at her bed, Ramona took more water and rubbed it into her face, until she finally decided to just dunk her face fully in the water. As she let her face sit in the water, she increasingly became gripped by the sinking feeling that she’d gotten all the sleep she was likely to get for the night. Either she’d be thirsty or stuck sitting up for hours doing nothing as her bladder taunted her. No, that was just plain pointless. Just a waste of time, for neither coin nor comfort.

Ramona groaned as she sat back up. May as well mop…

And so, Ramona began the task of getting dressed. Her work clothes themselves weren’t, admittedly, the part made it a task. Rather, it was undergarments. Her night-slip was probably the only comfortable option she had, and yet, it wasn’t worth possibly damaging it with hard work. It wasn’t as if she could go get a new sealskin to make into a new slip. But to keep her skin moist and her clothes dry, that meant alternatives. And the alternative was spectacularly sub-pleasant.

A long-sleeved shift…made of animal intestines. It didn’t smell and was overall a decent article of clothing…to wear over an outfit as a raincoat. Wearing something made of intestine as an undergarment, though? The damned thing clung. It was just always clinging, sticking to slick skin, and for its water-retardant properties offered the rather unenviable sensation that Ramona was swimming in her sleeves. But it was either this or look like she was sweating through her clothes in less than half a day. Which very much wasn’t an option.

So on the shift went, then a second, normal shift, then her customary plain, dark, woolen dress that went to her wrists, ankles, and covered her neck. Then the apron—the only light coloured piece of her outfit. Finally, her headwear. Veil, headscarf, then shawl. Finally, shoes and gloves. Her gloves fit uncomfortably for how her webbing had already begun to creep back up her fingers. If she didn’t take care of it by the next night, it’d be at the first joints in her fingers by the next morning. How grand. Just, grand. Before she left her room, she looked back and pulled some dried ephedra from a container hidden among her things. Today, she had earned some special tea.

Once she closed the door with the plant in hand, Ramona stifled her own groan as she began to review the tasks at hand.

It then occurred to Ramona that since everyone was surely asleep, she could at least have a much easier time of washing than usual, since she could ditch her gloves rather than the awkward way she normally went about it, at least for the first task or two. It was something, anyway. So, then. The dishes were the most trouble with gloves on, so that could come first today, even though it really wouldn’t be necessary until much closer to breakfast for the other servants. In, probably four or five hours.

Once her tea had brewed, Ramona got to it.

Really, without gloves to make the whole task into a complicated affair of carefully directing water magic. And there was something almost pleasant about it, with the warm water and lovely Aurelian soap. It felt peaceful, for a moment. With her hands submerged in the warm water of the basin, rubbing the grease from each plate and piece of cutlery barehanded. Feeling the warmth creep up her arms, it felt almost like she could close her eyes, open them, and be on her way home.

Ramona let herself live the fantasy for a moment. As she fell into the fantastic trance, she quietly, creakily hummed a song to herself for a time. As the task captured more of her attention still, she began to whisper. And at last, quietly, she began to sing its lyrics.

“Come to me, my dear, tomorrow
Without your smile, I have no light
Eyes like stars, bringing me from night
Come the day, we’ll go
We’ll go far from here

All that I want, is written right on your lips
As the Goddess gave to you
To hold in my hands, this blesséd visage
All of my dreams are just of you”


Her voice, unused and unmolested by dust, was not yet so raspy as it was by evening. Perhaps it wasn’t anything to perform, but every lyric slipped from her lips all the same as she fell into the familiar tune from another lifetime.



The dishes went by fast. So too did the preparations for the morning meal. Dusting without having to conceal her cough made the entire affair so much easier—and before she knew it, she’d rid everywhere but the bedrooms of ashes from the fireplace, swept, mopped, and cleaned every piece of furniture.

How did singing make it all easier? How did simply pretending all was well make life go by so quickly? What cruel trick was it, that the easiest things went by the fastest? Ramona found herself scrambling to get her gloves back on as the other servants in the house stirred, and found herself smiling as the scullion noticed that even the kitchen was cleaned. Then, an excitement began to grip her. She lit the fires, stripped the servants’ beds, did the laundry, and though she found herself panting, out of breath as she feverishly cleaned the dishes from the servants’ breakfast, she realized she’d managed it. The royals hadn’t yet opened their door, and she was all but done with the chores of the day that could yet be done.

An inconvenience had, for once in a blue moon, become a blessing in disguise.

Quickly, Ramona left a note on the door of her quarters.

‘Woke up early & could not sleep. Began chores early, so I am visiting the Temple to light a candle.

– Ramona’


She wouldn’t have forever, as the royals would surely rise eventually, but for how hectic the day before had been, Ramona hoped she’d have time for a real, proper prayer. Maybe even a blessing.

Slipping out a side door in her heavy cloak, carrying three homemade candles and the bread and cheese she’d been given for breakfast with her in a pouch, Ramona walked with purpose towards the Seluna Temple. Silently, she observed in the distance as someone else entered the temple. Good; she wasn’t too early. Shortly after that woman entered, Ramona herself slipped past the door and closed it quietly. Then, she turned around.

Ramona froze in place as she laid eyes on Elara.

‘Fuck,’ she thought.

The unusual optimism that the morning had accumulated drained immediately as Ramona saw the Princess’ handmaiden at the temple. Her heart sank.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck’

Of course. The bodies. Everyone was probably going to be here soon. Why had she so stupidly thought she could have a quiet moment in the temple?

And why did she think she could sneak away, even just for a bit?

Mentions
Elara @Qia, Katherine @SpicyMeatball

The Eye of the Beholder

Nesna nodded softly at Nathaniel’s observation.

“I’ve only just arrived last night,” she affirmed. Her black lips formed a restrained smile as Nathaniel expressed his gratitude for her presence. It felt odd to hear such a thing. Evidently Nathaniel must have recognized it himself, for before her expression managed to change to show the mixed sentiments the thoughts had inspired in her, he moved to ask directly: Why?

Her expression settled into her rather indiscernible, vaguely melancholic resting face as she retreated inwards. She inhaled softly, her lips producing a small click as she moved to speak, only to close her mouth again, furrowing her brow, as the salience of the question quickly revealed itself to her. Why had she wanted to be a Sage, back before all of this? Magic had this fascinating, gripping mystery about it. It was powerful, and yet made such little sense. Yes, there had to be rules to it, and yet they were entirely different to the rest of the world in so many ways. Magic could change, transmute, make things that weren’t there, move things from afar, infiltrate the most sacred recesses of the mind—all sorts of things that regular tools had no capacity for. Nesna had always been entranced by rules, compelled by some desire she herself could not rightly ascertain the source of to follow even the most evidently ridiculous of them, simply because the rules were the rules. Rarely did anything feel more alien and dreadful than to breach some yet unknown rule. And the cosmos had rules—rules that could be followed effortlessly because they were not choices. And so too did magic, but in no respect did people yet understand all of the rules of the world. Rules, rules, rules—they were where things made sense, and finding a new rule made the world make just a bit more sense.

But why not go into law?

Law was the rules of men—rules whose reasons could endlessly be questioned and whose confines could be endlessly quibbled. If the world had a rule, however, that was simply the rule. That was that, and the only questions were what other rules there were.

As these thoughts ran through Nesna’s mind, she tensed her mouth, realizing how the matter might sound patently absurd. Or possibly induce a philosophical discussion in a tavern—which would just feel absurd!

“It’s…well I suppose it’s simply that I’d always imagined I’d work to become a Sage, or at least some manner of scholar,” she offered. She bobbed her head from side to side indecisively, before continuing, “It’s…a hard question, only in that it’s—well—it’s a silly thing, I suppose, but I’d for the longest time banished the very idea of being a Sage from my mind. After all, of what worth am I in such a sorry state? And Mother had already conducted my funeral by the time the thought crossed my mind once again…”

Nesna sighed and shook her head as she trailed off. Her ears perked up, and her eyes glowed a bit more brightly.

“But never mind that. It’s an old dream of mine that I’ve only recently had the notion I could ever even aspire to approach once again.”

As she prepared to speak on Nathaniel’s second point, Nesna drew her hand to her cheek slowly. Her eyes dulled in their glow, and her ears slumped.

“What else am I to do, though? All I’ve spent six years doing is hunting and cloistering myself with whatever book I could sneak from the family library that week. It—it, heh, it took the blight seeping into the home itself to oust me from my little rat-hole!” Nesna’s hand moved to her hair when she let out her small, forced laugh.

“I used to write stories about myself just to pass the time. But now…it’s here. It’s almost real…” There she was, all but talking to herself more so than to Nathaniel. She caught herself and paused, bringing her hand back down. She cleared her throat, and continued.

“But I digress. I wish to be of some use in my life, or, I suppose, whatever one might call this state I’m in. Even if I don’t end up being of much worth, I should hope I might at least make a halfway decent scribe—and I suppose, be able to tell myself that I tried whenever that final death comes. Tried to live out a shadow of what my former purpose might have been…”

Nesna tightened her lips, almost frustrated with herself.

“Pardon me. I’m what one might call a melancholic sort. And still returning to the land of the living, so to speak. I’m…heh,”—she let out a more sincere-sounding laugh than the previous one—“only on my second day of conversation in six years! I do hope I’m not that out of practice!”

Nesna closed her eyes and let out another laugh as she brought her fist to her mouth for a moment.

“And I realize once again, I’ve neglected even to introduce myself! Oh, how I really am out of practice indeed!”

Nesna offered a deep curtsey to Nathaniel, saying “Please, it is a pleasure to meet a Sage. You may call me Nesna.”

Interactions
Nathaniel @Echotech71

The Eye of the Beholder

Nesna’s ears perked up sharply as she spun on her heel to face the man who’d spoken to her.

“I—I…” she began. She wanted to offer a simple response, and yet that simple response escaped her for the moment. She squinted slightly to bring Nathaniel into focus for her four eyes, and let out a small sound.

He was so polite. How many dashing, valiant-looking men did this damned town have, and why hadn’t the Goddess had the decency to force her here earlier? Her eyes widened and their glow brightened faintly as she took a step towards him and took him in fully. Her cheeks darkened from her black blood as she blushed at her own thoughts. She nodded slowly, and finally stumbled into concluding her response.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

An odd way of putting it, but it wasn’t as if there was a way to redo the whole little show anyway. Nesna squeezed her eyes into a tight blink and then pulled herself together.

“Of course, yes—what am I saying? I’m no Sage—alas, I never had the opportunity to pursue it formally. On account of the…condition I find myself in.”

Trailing off, she pulled her mouth into a tight-lipped smile, and gestured to herself briefly, as if to attempt to reference herself being a blightborn without actually saying the word. Her ears slumped and her brow furrowed as she did so, further making clear her deep dislike for the fact.

“But I’ve always been an avid learner, so I hoped I might be of some worth in some way despite this deficiency. Whyever do you ask?”

Nesna looked at him with wide, eager eyes and cocked her head.

Interactions
Nathaniel @Echotech71

The Eye of the Beholder

“I see, I see,” Nesna replied. After a brief pause, she rose from her seat.

“If I am to become a sage, I can ill afford to timidly aspire to it. Milord, Milady, thank you for your counsel. I will not seek to consume any more of your time on this matter, and so I shall take my leave”

With a second, parting curtsey, Nesna moved to leave and determine her next course of action…

Interactions
Lord & Lady Coswain @PrinceAlexus
@Olive Fontaine

I've just tried to do the roll but can't see any options to.. well.. roll? Do you need to give permission or anything like that?


I’ve also had this same issue

The Eye of the Beholder

Nesna nodded along as the Coswains advised her. Her expression drifted from genuine interest to skepticism, and then, at last, she closed her eyes and inhaled as her lips drew into the curious, tight-lipped smile of someone who was trying to figure out how to phrase something just so.

She held her hand up to her nose for a moment, let out a restrained exhalation, and clicked her tongue.

“I realize now that some context might have been beneficial,” she responded. She sat back in her chair and looked to Persephone, all four of her eyes seemingly fixated in her direction. Nesna clasped her hands together again, inhaling sharply again.

“I am under no illusions that I could, in some hypothetical world, be of use here. Rather, I understand well the burdens of nobility, to say nothing of fears for one’s safety. I only wish to be sympathetic in my presentation so as to ease anxieties that one afflicted as myself might inspire. In another life, I would have surely pursued sagedom legitimately, but as the case may be, I am restrained to beseeching obvious betters for such a privilege rather than pursuing such…magical proficiency and wisdom as a matter of right.”

Looking to Coswain, Nesna continued, “You had mentioned, Milord, that you were Castellan. My great-grandfather, in fact, held such a title. Or, rather, holds, I believe. Of course, my great-grandmother—may she rest in peace—was Countess, which I suppose diminishes the title in some measure, but never mind that—”

Shaking her head and waving her hand quickly, as if clearing the air, Nesna looked between both Coswains.

“My point is to say that I am by birth familiar with these sorts of stresses, if only in a lesser form. I am comfortable following even the most evidently arbitrary of rules, for they serve some purpose until we declare otherwise. My only wish is to demonstrate my willingness to serve and my intention to be a boon. But if I understand your counsel correctly, this Astaros Prince—he is a man of more practical, austere disposition, then? Having spoken with Mistress Sya previously, I’ve gathered as much that this place is indeed quite…loose…in its, shall I say, pleasantries. My concern is to avoid giving any impression of entitlement and monstrosity that some, most of all the one—the beastly brute—who attacked Her Highness have suggested afflicted ones such as myself to perhaps be. One can hardly imagine that the privilege of becoming a sage and assisting in the noble pursuit of eliminating the Blight would be granted to anyone, most of all one such as myself, who could not demonstrate an acceptable disposition, obedient demeanour, and deep desire to work feverishly to help in bringing about some manner of solution.”

Nesna furrowed her brow and rubbed her neck for a moment.

“I suppose a better way of putting it is just that I really have a hard time believing that there isn’t more to it.”

Interactions
Lord & Lady Coswain @PrinceAlexus

The Eye of the Beholder

Nesna smiled brightly and clasped her hands together by her face in delight.

“Lord and Lady indeed!” she chirped, “What a relief and a joy it is indeed to happen upon nobility here!”

Nesna let her hands down in front of her chest and exhaled as she composed her thoughts. Without further ado, she took her seat at the table.

“I wish to ask for counsel on a matter which I imagine one of you might be well-equipped to offer advice upon,” she began, wasting as little time as possible, “In order that I should not take up more of your valuable time than absolutely necessary, Milord and Milady, I will…endeavour to be expeditious.”

Nesna swallowed, and then continued, speaking quickly, “Essentially, I have been given the impression that His Highness should intend to meet with all who are…”

Nesna hesitated. She bobbed her head side to side for a moment and then let out a little sigh.

Afflicted, shall one say, as I find myself. Knowing that Her Highness has recently undergone a rather stressful and unpleasant incident involving, as I gather, one such particularly abominable creature, and that there was some question for a time regarding Her Highness’ wellbeing outright—and to say nothing of the inauspicious time of my arrival here—I felt it only proper to make sure I am familiar with Aurelian customs as well. I wish to assure him of my genuine intentions, goodwill, and most of all my sincere desire to be a compliant and beneficial participant in this experiment here.”

Nesna seemed to register shortly after that she’d not necessarily succeeded in being “expeditious,” as she’d put it.

“In simpler terms, I was wondering if either of you might be able to give me some insight on any Aurelian customs or particularities of His Highness’ temperament that might be beneficial, or, failing that, direct me towards someone who might. And it is at this point that I recall that I have failed to introduce myself!”

Nesna offered a genuine little smile and a chuckle, shaking her head at herself.

“Please, you may simply call me Nesna. Please accept my most sincere apologies for my indiscretion!”

Interactions
Lord & Lady Coswain @PrinceAlexus

The Eye of the Beholder

Frankly, Nesna’s head was spinning. Laying down in her little bed in the inn, it all felt unreal—like a hallucination conjured up by a mind that had finally shrivelled away from years of being alone. To feel warm, so truly warm, that she actually needed to sleep in her shift alone again, was this unconscionable luxury compounded by the alien support of a real, genuine bed. Nesna could remember this sort of thing. She remembered her lovely bedroom setup back from back when her world made sense. And this bed, though it was neither as large nor as soft as that previous bed was, felt incomprehensibly better.

It couldn’t be this easy, could it? To speak to people again, to engage in polite conversation, and then to retire? This human comfort felt somehow as alien as her new appendages had felt when she first transformed. Every muscle and every instinct in her bones was telling Nesna that she needed to pry the window open—to be sure there was an escape—and then to curl up tightly under her wings beneath a shelter of blankets and rags. But that wasn’t possible or reasonable—no sooner had she done so than she’d found herself uncomfortably warm. To be dressed to sleep, to be in a place where one was expected to lay on a bed as a real person, to be treated—if only for a moment—like a real person—to feel like a flicker of a real person again—it was an intoxicating, yet sickening, disheartening feeling.

It felt altogether too real. For years, the world had felt like some endless haze trapped between dreams and nightmares. For years, the world had been shrouded in a silent, mind-bending irreality that let her feel like anyone but herself. Nesna—belonging to the dead—felt so believable as a being. The funeral felt so final and blessédly conclusive until…this moment. Her fingers gripped the blanket tightly as her back tensed and relaxed in a rhythm, demanding that she curl into that protective little ball again. Slowly, her stomach dragged her into submission. Nesna curled up, until her knees were against her stomach. But as she pressed her face into the pillow again, she found herself overpowered by the same thoughts again.

When did it feel so perverse to feel the fleeting glimmer of humanity in one’s heart?

It was all so overwhelming. And it felt too real. Uncomfortably real. Like life was ceasing to be a survivalist haze and mutating back into that painful beauty of the social world.

Nesna felt her heart skip a beat in horror. Where was she?!? She fumbled around in her covers for a moment as her heart started to race.

She jerked out of bed and fell to the floor on her hands and knees like a maddened beast. It was too much. Where was SHE?!? Nesna spiralled quickly from worry to panic as she tore into her bags like a starving animal. Spiking from rest to a state of nigh-hyperventilation, she ripped out half the things she’d brought with her before turning every bag but the jewellery bag upside down and shaking them. She clamoured on the floor, tossing things to the side with possessed fervour until she found it.

A soft little coo escaped her lips. She popped up onto her knees and hugged the object of her relief while gently rocking.

“Thanks be—oh thanks be to Seluna,” she murmured to herself. A black, viscous tear began to push its way past one of her eyelids. “Agnella, my sweet!”

She cradled the little lamb-blanket like it was a baby, then hugged it again. Nesna sat there for a time, freezing in place after babbling to her toy.

No, it was all real. Agnella was here—it could not be a nightmare preparing to be cruelly stolen, or a baffling dream preparing her to be disoriented upon waking. It couldn’t be anything else. Nesna began to softly fidget with the silken folds that made up the blanket-toy’s wool. As she did, she could feel—in the very moment—her heart and breathing slow. It was all real. And all would, maybe, just maybe, be fine.

In time, Nesna soothed herself more, and brought herself to fold the clothes she’d strewn about and return them to their bags, still holding her Agnella close to her as she did.

Trying again to get some sleep, she found herself caught up in the thought of the Astaros Prince. Zeph had said he wished to meet with all of the new Blightborn of the town as they arrived, and would be doing so at the earliest opportunity. Pending whatever came of the…disaster…that had happened around shortly before her arrival, that surely meant the meeting was soon.

Oh, and how she had so little to wear! So few options! Her first time properly meeting royalty—royalty who would decide her fate no less—and she had but the one dress to wear. A nice dress, kindly tailored to fit her, certainly, but how understated it was compared to something that could hope to be fitting for a royal audience! Nesna curled up tightly in the bed, petting Agnella with greater speed as the newest thought consumed her.

She was real. And she had precious little to wear about it. And she was a freak! A monstrous creature! Like one of the ones that attacked the Princess.

Nesna produced a faint whimper as the notion set in. How could the greatest honour of her life be so deeply terrifying? But it was going to be fine. It had to work out in the end. Didn’t it?



Nesna had tossed and turned, cursed and sat up, and tried all manner of positions to lay in her newfound bed. Were it not for her great fortune of needing very little sleep to begin with, she likely would have slept the day away. But of course, the movements of the other patrons who had awoken at sensible times rattled her awake. And after slowly rising, and spending some amount of time more laying on her right side, with Agnella resting on her left hip so her left hand could stroke the lamb-toy’s wool just so, Nesna finally got herself out of bed. Though wearing the same peacock-blue dress and overall outfit as the day prior, Nesna had managed the forethought of brushing and putting her hair up in a series of tight braids to produce a head full of white ringlets neatly draping about, rather than the barely-tamed white rats’ nest she’d come with. In fact, the effort of the affair was what had at last coaxed her to sleeping.

Producing her hand-mirror from her bag, if she covered her face…and ignored her skin and horns…and slumped her wings behind her back…she almost…looked like a person. A beautiful…human…person. Nesna dropped her mirror on the bed without another thought to it.

Nesna wrestled with herself for a moment, before finally deciding she couldn’t bear it. She wrapped Agnella around her tail, and then curled her tail around Agnella for good measure. Before she left the room, she grasped for a moment, and then looked back to her bag of jewellery. Earrings! A gift would make everything a bit better, wouldn’t it? Surely the royals must have been missing some of their nicest things?

Nesna returned to the bag and dug through it.

Perfect, she thought as she tucked the earrings into one of the little pouches hidden in the folds of her dress.

With a final, anxious exhalation, Nesna departed from the room.



As Nesna made her way through the inn into the main area of the tavern, her first instinct had been to enquire with Sya about the state of the curfew. But seeing as Sya was nowhere to be seen, and that the place was no longer hunkered down as it had been the night before. her question was answered anyway. At first, she had resolved to simply head out and perhaps make her way to the Aurelian temple to ask a few questions about decorum in anticipation of that meeting. But something else caught her attention, and her gaze settled back on this pair who seemed, at least as best as she could tell from a distance, quite official—surely bearing some rank superior to most of the guards. As she approached, her sense was better confirmed. The woman in particular seemed well-to-do, courtly, something in that range, anyway. Stopping a short distance from them, Nesna cleared her throat.

“Begging your pardons, My Lady and My Lord,” she began, “Could I trouble you for a moment?”

Interactions
Lord & Lady Coswain @PrinceAlexus
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