Member
Neziul
wanderingwolf
PrinceAlexus
Snowdrops
Bugman
Andreyich
Lucian
shylarah
Mae
Kaithe Dame
L O C A T I O N : C A E S O N I A C A S T L E B A L L R O O M I N S O R I A N
I N T E R A C T I O N S : L A D Y T H E A S M I T H W O O D
M E N T I O N S : @Rodiak , @Tae
As the evening quieted and he left Sir Mathias with his on, Prince Felix thought other than going to his guest room. If he did, it would only be out of convenience and conviction. There were other things he could do, but for the evening, he thought it better not to force his timing. He also felt a sense of outward exhaustion. He thought to blame the little amount of wine he had but knew better. There many other things on his mind. As much as these banquets delighted in the favors of everyone attending, he felt at once very at odds with the entire event — especially after his conversation with the knight. For the present moment, now anyways, he wished to remove his mask and allow himself some sort of rest.
Prince Felix imagined his way to his guest room. He thought upon entering and feigning interest in the decor with it, he would find himself restless, once settled. There would still be much going in his thoughts. He would replay certain events of the evening. They reworked and analyzed conversations. And finally, they would most likely settle on the dance, he had had with his beloved Lady Thea. The shadows of her eyes had dared not look at his when she departed him, and something about this would cause him to re-address every angle of the dance.
There were things he could have done differently. There were things he could have said differently. There was a certain number of steps he could have taken but did not. The prince might let out a small sigh. Perhaps, even it would be quiet against the dark glow of the guest room. It would then proceed to linger in a lonely manner and without much of anything vanished into a simple, normal breath. He thought then, that he would stand from the bed after having tried to make himself comfortable, turn on a light, and make his way to the writing desk.
He would then pull a wooden chair and take his seat. His arms would rest on the ornate desk, and his eyes would concentrate forward. He would think to take a scrap of paper and scribble a few words of nothing or perhaps romantic poetry for the Lady in hopes of easing the perpetual tension. However, he would probably stop himself. There would, as he knew, be too many uncertainties floating around in her behavior, and while seeming like a good gesture, he would wonder if a thoughtfully written letter would be a more assertive and preferred.
His hand would touch the pen and loose pieces of complimentary paper, as it always did, while he would think about his opening. And then, slowly, his hand, while holding the pen, would begin to move the ink across the paper. Unfortunately, as quickly as the words would come, they would quickly disappear from his mind, and his paper would be, he continued to imagine, left with an unfinished sentence of empty romance. He would stare at the few markings, written in royal cursive and perhaps discard the entire thing entirely.
This imagined situation perturbed him, and the prince thought to go to the tavern for another drink. He hated to foresee himself to be feeling such a sense of emptiness, but he hastily understood the tavern to be an excellent place for guests to continue their camaraderie of the party’s aftermath. He had little patience for endearing such an event and made even with the fact that he would have to endure the pains of whatever nothingness lay ahead of him. Like the rain, the pain will not last. He thought to himself after finding himself at his door, alas.
His hand gently turning the doorknob, but something seemed distant upon continuing to open the door. It felt much different than he had anticipated. Something was disarray. He felt alarmed but not too alarmed. It was an out-of-place feeling, as if he was not alone. He hesitated upon entering and thought to remove himself from the situation and find a servant to handle whatever was happening. However, he thought his caution was a bit much and with his hand on his hilt, ready for whatever it was, he entered the room.
“My lady,” the prince mouthed automatically. His hand was still nestled over the hilt. Despite her being the very thing on his mind, he had a hard time relaxing his hand. The surprise was less than a savory present for him to appreciate with gratitude. He closed the door behind him with he same kind grace he has used to open it. “You ought not be here.” She looked horridly tragic and beautiful all at once.
