princess

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 12 noon
Location: The Edin Theater
Interactions: @JJ Doe Fritz and Morrigan @CitrusArms Stratya @Samreaper Kazumin @Conscripts John @Funnyguy Lorenzo @Silverpaw Wulfric @Helo Callum @Lava Alckon Drake/Farim
Attire:Dress, Hair, Necklace, Headpiece

---

The theater was silent after Lorenzo's performance.

Not the kind of silence that came from indifference, but the lingering hush of something that had seeped deep into the bones of every person in the room.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. One lady leaned toward her husband, whispering behind her fan, her brows furrowed. A young lord in the back cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting in his seat as if trying to process certain… vivid phrasing.

Some faces were deeply moved among the crowd, eyes glistening with emotion. Others, however, seemed unsure whether they had just witnessed a heartbreaking tragedy or something with unintended innuendo.

Then, slowly, applause began hesitantly, but as more hands joined, the sound swelled, growing into something genuine, something appreciative.

One thing was certain. Lorenzo had left an impact.

Anastasia sat still as Lorenzo’s final words faded into the silence. She hadn’t expected something so raw from him. Then, she murmured, "That was… powerful, Lorenzo." Her eyes met his, "You really made them feel it."

As the applause settled into a hush after Lorenzo’s performance, Anastasia moved her seat into the center of the stage. The soft lavender fabric of her gown cascaded around her, its embroidery shimmering under the light. Her eyes were bright with excitement as she settled into place in her seat.

She adjusted her cello, flashing a dazzling smile at the audience. “Soooo, originally, I had something super fun planned for you all!" She let out a little giggle, "It was going to be fast and dramatic and—well, I was probably going to knock something over in the process.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

She beamed, her fingers absently brushing over the strings. “I’ve been practicing this piece all week, and I thought, what better way to end the night than with something full of energy? Something to send everyone off in a good mood, something to make you all smile—”

She trailed off. The words felt strange now as if they belonged to someone else. Her smile lingered for a moment, then wavered. The laughter in the audience faded into silence as a sudden change came over her.

Anastasia’s fingers stilled. She took a breath, her shoulders rising and falling as she looked down at her cello, her expression softening. Her lashes lowered, and when she finally spoke again, her voice was quieter. “But… I’ve been having a change of heart.”

She lifted her gaze, and the shimmer in her eyes wasn’t from the stage lights anymore. “This past week has been… a lot.” She let out a small, breathy laugh, but it lacked actual joy, "And the truth is… someone really special to me—to a lot of people—isn’t here tonight.”

She hesitated, pressing her lips together before continuing. “A dear friend of mine, Darryn Fletcher, lost his life.” Her voice wavered just slightly before she determinedly shook her head and added firmly, “He was murdered.”

Anastasia swallowed as the room went silent, gripping the bow in her hand. “Darryn was more than just a stablehand. He was kind. Thoughtful. He had this way of making you feel like you mattered.” A wistful smile ghosted her lips. “And he put up with me, so, you know, real saint material.”

A few soft chuckles from the audience followed.

“I don’t want him to be forgotten.” Her voice was firmer now, her brows knitting together. “I don’t want him to just be a name people whisper about when they talk about what happened.”

She lowered her head for a moment, as if composing herself. Then, gently, she adjusted her cello, fingers finding their place.

“So… Instead of the wild, fast, fall-off-the-stage song I had planned, I’m going to play something else.”

She let the words hang in the air, her voice quiet as she spoke her next words.

“Something that reminds me of how beautiful it was to be his friend.”

It was only a moment later the first haunting notes of her song filled the air.

The melody drifted through the theater, each note carrying a weight that words never could. Anastasia’s body swayed with the song, her eyes fluttering shut as she poured her heart into every bow stroke, a love letter to the boy who would never hear music again.

For Darryn.

For the moments they had and the moments they lost.

The moment her bow glided across the strings, it was as if the entire world around her had vanished—no audience, no stage, no grand event. Just her and the music.

At first, the melody was soft and fragile, each note trembling like a flickering candle. Her body swayed slightly, her grip tightening on the cello as the music wrapped around her, pulling her deeper. The ache in her chest grew heavier, pressing against her ribs. Memories flashed behind her closed eyes.

Darryn’s lopsided grin, the way he blushed when she teased him, the way his eyes shined when he spoke about his love for the horses.

Their last conversation.

Tears welled up, slipping past her lashes down her cheeks. Her fingers trembled for just a moment before she forced them to steady. Not now. Keep playing. Keep playing.

But her emotions surged like a storm. The cello’s voice grew stronger, richer, as if it, too, was weeping. Her strokes deepened.

The song was supposed to be beautiful, but the more she played, the more it felt like something was breaking inside her.

The notes grew more desperate, her bow pulling harder, her body curling into the cello as if she could squeeze the pain out through the strings. Her shoulders trembled with the effort, her breath uneven, catching on silent sobs.

Still, she didn’t stop. She couldn't stop.

This wasn’t just a song anymore—it was a confession. It was a wish, an apology, a desperate plea to turn back time, to change things, to have just one more moment.

The melody soared, then wavered as her grip faltered. She bit her lip hard, her tears falling freely now, dampening the fabric of her gown. The once-perfect notes cracked with raw emotion, turning the music into something hauntingly human.

And then, the climax.

A sudden, trembling breath left her lips as she drew her bow across the strings in one sweeping motion, pouring everything into the final stretch of the piece. The sound swelled before slowly fading into quiet.

Her hands stilled and the last note hung in the air, stretching through the silence, vibrating in the stillness of the theater.

For a woman who usually ran from her feelings, it felt as if she had been stripped bare before the entire room, every wound exposed, every crack in her heart laid open for all to see.

She didn’t lift her head right away nor did she didn’t wipe the tears away.

For just a moment, she stayed there, curled over her cello, sweat dripping down her skin. And she let it all consume her.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Alexander and Charlotte

Part 3

Time: 11:30am Sola 28
Location: Art gallery
Interactions: @ReusableSword Roman @Tpartywithzombi Violet

---

They were greeted by a symphony of lively chatter and the soft clinking of glasses when they stepped inside.

Like the entrance hall, the ceiling was high and adorned with intricate detail and a grand chandelier. Cream-colored sofas and cushioned stools dotted the polished marble floor in an artful arrangement, inviting guests to comfortably relax. As they ventured further into the room, the delicate notes of the pianist's melody reached their ears.

A well-dressed staff member in a tailored suit approached, balancing a tray of sparkling wine glasses, each filled with a deep crimson or pale golden hue. Close behind, another server followed, presenting an elegant display of smoked salmon crostini. Each golden, toasted round was adorned with a ribbon of salmon, nestled atop a velvety swirl of dill-flecked cream.

“Thanks for this, Charlotte. This is indeed a better change of scenery for us.” Alexander said softly from over her shoulder. “Red for me, and white for Lady Vikena, please.” Alexander forwardly requested for them both.

Charlotte’s fingers grazed the stem of the offered glass, but instead of lifting it right away, she hesitated. A flicker of irritation passed through her, subtle but undeniable. Why, exactly, had he taken it upon himself to decide for her?

“Much appreciated,” she said curtly before plucking a delicate salmon crostini from the tray, and setting it neatly onto a napkin.

With wine in one hand and her small indulgence in the other, she moved to one of the plush couches, sinking into its comfort. Her gaze flickered upward, quietly studying Alexander.

For someone so practiced in restraint, something was simmering beneath her skin that she made no move to stop from rising. What is it about men that makes them believe a woman’s choices are theirs to make?

She crossed her legs, lifting her glass before finally speaking up despite the logical side of her brain advising her to pay the event no mind. The moment Alexander sat comfortably beside her on the couch with only a glass of red wine in hand, she spoke.

“A bold assumption.” She took a sip before adding, “For all you knew, I might have preferred red.” On the surface, it was only guesswork by him. In truth, Alexander was testing her temperament. There was resistance but also acceptance as she indulged in his selection.

“You didn't like that.” Alexander said simply before taking a short sip from his glass. “I just thought of myself as a good judge for what you might favor. White is sweeter to the tongue and wouldn't stain your lips.” He continued. “Choosing what's best for someone is just a form of generosity. I meant no harm, Charlotte.” He shifted himself closer to her and raised his glass toward hers while resting his arm over the backrest of the couch, his hand, the closest it's ever been to her ribbon.

Her brows knit together in thought before a smile crept across her face. “Oh…Of course. How silly of me and how kind of you to choose what’s best for me.”

“You don't do the same? You seem like the type. I mean not out of ill will or control. Just as a means to protect others or perform a kind gesture… I can give you another demonstration. You might not like it, but I think you'll come to appreciate it in time.” Alexander gave Charlotte a smirk. He truly enjoyed this little dance of theirs. A duller man would miss her falseness. She lacked naivety, despite her soft appearance. One would think she was timid. And thinking that is exactly something she watched for.

“I do tend to ask others their preference in the scenario that just occurred. …However, I do understand your intentions now.” She raised her glass toward him, “A toast then, to kind gestures.”

“And new beginnings.” He added before their glasses clinked together. It was at this moment when their glasses touched and their eyes locked did he skillfully use his hand delicately untie Charlotte's hair ribbon. He snatched the ribbon away from her while taking another sip from his glass while watching the effect of his action.

Charlotte’s thick black waves unraveled, cascading down her back and contrasting against the pale blue of her dress, yet she took no notice. Instead, she set her glass down and turned to Alexander with a composed smile. He returned the smile but was prepared to perform his second act upon the ribbon.

Wait! Just keep it. We'll need it for later my good obedient boy.

I'd complain but I'd rather avoid tearing it in front of her.

“Feeling better, Charlotte? You look better.”

“Indeed, Alexander.” She said and leaned back to pick up her crostini. Though the motion stirred a flicker of thought within her, she gave no outward sign of it. Charlotte simply moved to take a neat bite of her food.

“So we agree then.” Alexander retracted his hand holding the blue hair ribbon. “This is the other demonstration I hinted at.” He smiled warmly, though something about this different look only allured him more than before. Is this what I imagine her to appear if I bed her? No. When I bed her?

Her lips parted as a flicker of realization crossed her face. She set the wine glass on the table as well as the crostini, returning to its place on a napkin. Slowly, she reached back, fingers grazing the now-loosened waves of her hair. Her gaze lifted to meet his, confusion flickering in her eyes.

“Now, what exactly was that meant to demonstrate?” she asked, her voice steady but edged with scrutiny. Without hesitation, she extended her hand toward him, palm open, expectant.

“Charlotte, keep up, darling. It's to show that sometimes, I know what may be best for you,” He looked down at her open hand, his grin widening. “Even if you might not like it.” He set his drink down and proceeded to nearly fold the ribbon. “And why not give me something that will allow me to remember this wonderful time between us. I'll keep it safe. Promise.”

Charlotte’s hand remained extended, but a flicker of something sharper danced in her gaze as she met Alexander’s eyes.

“If you insist on keeping it,” she said after a moment, “then I shall have to take something of yours in return. That’s only fair, wouldn’t you agree?”

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I love her! Take all of his buttons, Charlotte! Or take his belt so he has to walk funny!

“Of course Charlotte. I'd be disappointed if you had failed to make such a proposal. Go on. Take.”

Charlotte’s fingers twitched faintly as she lowered her arm, her posture still despite the storm that had been brewing in her mind. Every instinct screamed at her to retreat, to leave before she wandered too far into waters she couldn’t navigate. But then, she thought of Anya Petrova, the heroine from one of her favorite books who had faced her enemies with nothing but her wit.

Her heart drummed against her ribs, her mind reeling, but she forced herself to stay steady. She had no choice. This was a game she had to play. For her friends. For Lorenzo.

Her gaze flickered to the ribbon in Alexander’s hand, her chest tightening at the sight of it. It was a piece of herself that had been so easily taken. The urge to snatch it back burned at her fingertips, but she knew better. Instead, she willed her smile to remain, her lashes lowering just slightly as she met his gaze.

Anya Petrova never let them see her falter.

Charlotte hesitated for only a moment before she shifted closer, closing the space between them on the couch. Her gown brushed against him as she moved. Subsequently, her hand extended once more and her fingers hovered just above Alexander’s vest, her eyes flicking to the coffin-shaped pendant resting against his chest

Fear is power in the wrong hands.

Her hand rose higher, her fingertips lightly grazing the cool metal. The pendant was ominous yet oddly beautiful, and as she traced its edges, her touch lingered a moment too long. She let her fingers brush against the fabric of his collar, grazing the barest hint of his skin. Then her hand began to drift downward, her fingers gliding along the length of his arm, tracing the edge of his sleeve until they reached his hand. There, she paused, looking up at him through her lashes as her fingertips hovered over the ring on his finger.

Her pulse quickened as she let her fingers toy with the ring briefly, lightly twisting it as if testing the waters. Then, Charlotte began to slide the ring from his finger. Alexander's lips parted to let out any type of argument against her choice but once the bronze ring left his hand, any contention went along with it. She pulled off his mask, making him vulnerable yet free.

“Since you insist on keeping a piece of me, Alexander…” Charlotte murmured, her blue eyes locking onto his. “…I’ll be taking a piece of you, too.” A soft smile curled at her lips as she cradled the ring in her palm, her fingers curling around it as if it were a cherished item she wasn’t ready to part with. Her smile held its usual sweetness, but something else was there now too—Something bold.

“Good.” Alexander commented while slipping the ribbon into his inner breast pocket. “That was probably the best choice you could have made, Charlotte.” His hands cradled around hers that held his ring, his eyes locked on hers. “But…” Something about his smile changed. The natural charm was replaced by something darker yet tempting. A guilty pleasure that couldn't be pushed aside. A craving never to be satisfied. A thirst would fail to be quenched. Charlotte could not force herself to look away as the setting around them blurred into insignificance and she became lost in his very eyes. Then from the contact with his hands, a soothing warmth washed over her entire body. “I need you to do something for me Charlotte. Will you? For me?”

Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the heat of his hands around hers. She opened her mouth to speak, but her words faltered as his gaze anchored her in place, drawing her in like a gravitational force. The intensity in his eyes made her pulse quicken as she stammered, “Y-yes…”

“Good, Charlotte. Good.” Alexander whispered while leaning in closer to her. “This ring is very special to me. And I shall allow you to have it but it is for your hands only and yours alone until you return it to me.” He reached past her face, moving some of her hair back to reveal the side of her neck. He couldn't help but to briefly tuck lips at the sight. “Now, to finalize our little deal.” Alexander smirked wickedly. “A kiss will do.” He said just because he knew he had her wrapped around his finger. The power over her was satiable but still not enough. With a turn of his face, he exposed his cheek. “Here. It's innocent, don't you think, Charlotte?”

As he had leaned in closer, Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat. She then found herself nodding to the request regarding his ring despite the fact her mind felt oddly blank. As he had made his final behest, Alexander’s warmth settled over her, coaxing her forward. Her gaze flickered to his cheek, the invitation lingering in the air between them.

It was innocent enough, wasn’t it? A harmless exchange, a mere gesture to seal their little game.

Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible thread, she leaned in until her lips hovered just above his skin. But then—something snapped.

A sudden awareness crashed over her, dispersing the fog that had momentarily dulled her senses.

What am I doing?

Her lips just barely brushed against his cheek before she pulled back abruptly, her body stiffening as realization set in.

No, no, no—

“P—please excuse me,” she stammered, voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, she rose from her seat.

Silly me. I must have taken my eyes off her for too long a time. Still he chuckled lightly before his hand caught one of hers just as she was preparing to stride off. “Charlotte, sit. I was merely joking. Sit down and finish your crostini. I have something else in mind anyway.”

Charlotte’s body locked up the moment he caught her hand.

“…A joke, then?” Her voice was breathy, but the sharpness beneath it betrayed her.

She lifted her chin, her gaze steady as she plucked her crostini once more. Charlotte did not move to sit just yet as she peered down at him, “Then go on, Alexander.” she said softly. “Enlighten me.”

“Sit first. No kisses. I promise.” Alexander stifled a chuckle. “And we should make the agreement on equal footing… unless you’d like me to stand with you?” Alexander released her hand and leaned back into the couch while grabbing and sipping his wine.

Charlotte hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot briefly, the mask she had worn beginning to slip at the edges. She felt lost, as if she had wandered too deep into unfamiliar territory, and now she wasn’t sure how to find her way back. Slowly, she lowered herself back onto the couch, but not as close as before.

“And the dove is back to her perch.” Alexander drank the rest of his wine and set the empty glass onto the table. “Now, let's set the conditions. That ring, as you know now, is very important, Charlotte.” He hammered the point yet again while digging into his breast-pocket. “So, I’d like you to keep it on you. Obviously, you can't wear it on your fingers but…” He pulled out his pocket watch and her ribbon and used the space between them to set them both down. “But you could wear it around your neck. No one has to see it and I think that's for the best considering someone around you is compromised.” He frowned slightly. “I can keep your ribbon, I'll tie like so…” He began tying the ribbon to the chain of the pocket watch. “And keep it secured in my breast-pocket.” Placing both items back inside the pocket he smiled. “Also, whenever you'd like to speak in private or to simply see if I still have your precious ribbon, just tell me you wish to see it. I'll oblige but… the same also goes for you. Understood? Do we have a deal?” He reached his hand out to initiate a handshake.

Charlotte let out a quiet breath, glancing at the ring in her palm before taking his hand after a hesitation. They shook on it. “Yes. Very well… We have a deal." Her attention lowered, carefully threading the ring onto the silver heart that hung over the base of her throat. Though she had considered her locket, which hung below her bodice out of sight, she wasn’t eager to show Alexander something so precious to her.

His eyes gleaned at the locket, curious of what it held within but something much more pressing breached his peripherals. Turning his head slowly, he caught the full view of Violet and Roman entering the lounge area. He had knowledge they were present but seeing them together struck deeper. His lips spread into a smile, an initial greeting from afar before he faced Charlotte.

“Violet Damien. I should have figured my assistant would make her way to this event. You must be rather close to her considering the close relationship between your fathers. And you both seem to have plenty in common based on my experience with you too. But you're very different women. It's an interesting and beautiful thing.”

Charlotte’s gaze followed his, her pupils widening as the words settled in.

“... Assistant?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Alexander and Charlotte

Part 2

Time: 11am Sola 28
Location: Art gallery
Mention: @Tae Mina

---

“I asked you about it because you'll definitely need it if you continue on the path you were warned not to take… Pancakes at the Park.” He spoke to her softly to avoid any prying ears. “You’re brave for sticking with your delving, but you're also miserably unprepared.” Alexander pulled her along, continuing into the Reflections of Reverie section.

Is he... Is he the man that was behind the tree?

Charlotte blinked, noticeably caught off guard. She stumbled along after him as he pulled her into the next room. Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to keep her expression still, if only barely. A shaky breath left her lips before she pressed on, her voice quieter now. “You say I’m unprepared, that I’ll need magic. But tell me, Alexander—what exactly is on this path that I am moving toward?”

He glanced at her and kept moving until he stopped in front of a portrait on the darkened side of the room. He remained quiet as he stared at the portrait’s oblong shapes and cool mixture of color palettes.

“The worst things await you, Charlotte. As you are now, the worst things you could imagine…” He shook his head, as if disturbed by his own thoughts on what could occur. “I’m sure you're aware of who I am, and that you might consider me far from an ally, but you couldn't be more wrong. There's little I can tell you but… I need you… and you need me, Charlotte.”

Charlotte stood frozen for a moment, her pulse roaring in her ears. His words lingered in the air between them, heavy with implication. A chill danced down her spine, but she carefully reminded herself that perhaps that was the sole point of this conversation. Calbert had warned her that he wanted to scare them all as punishment after all.

Her gaze flickered to the painting he had chosen—a scene cloaked in shadow, hues of deep blues and grays blending into something almost formless. An abstract reflection of something just beyond understanding.

Something about it all ignited a spark of anger inside her.

“Need?” she echoed softly, tilting her head ever so slightly, studying him as much as the portrait. “That is a powerful word, Mr. Deacon. And you strike me as a man who chooses his words carefully.” He titled his head slightly at what she said.

She allowed the pause to settle between them before stepping closer, her voice quiet, almost delicate. “What is it that you think I need?”

Her brows furrowed, “Because if it's a mysterious warning paired with vague existential dread, that’s not what I need right now.”

She exhaled sharply, her blue eyes meeting his with sharp curiosity and something else—challenge. “Or rather… what is it that you need from me?” Their eyes pierced into each other’s but Alexander lacked the vigor in his expression. Charlotte's challenge pushed against a solid wall of poised calm.

“You ask that as if you're insignificant. As if you haven't drawn the attention of the most dangerous organization in this city because of what you've been up to, Charlotte.” His eyelids dropped slightly as he took a step closer to her. Charlotte took a step back instinctively as he stepped closer, her brows knitting together as her gaze dropped in thought. “I want you to help me get rid of the man at the top. And to that, you need to keep digging… Wulfric is a powerful ally but you won't get anywhere far with the group you've assembled. We all want something similar after all. We're just simply on opposite sides of the fence, yes?”

“... What have I done to warrant their attention? …” she murmured, almost to herself, as if turning the question over in her mind. Then, lifting her eyes to meet his with quiet scrutiny, she added just as softly—“...To warrant… yours?”

He spoke as if she had already begun digging—as if she had unearthed something of value. But she hadn’t even lifted the shovel from the dirt. And yet, somehow, the ground beneath her feet had already shifted. “If you’re here offering guidance if you’re truly looking for an ally, then tell me—” she hesitated for just a heartbeat before finishing, “What will you provide me in turn? Because what I want is the truth. ”

“The truth…” He whispered her words.

Then, more like an afterthought, she asked, “Tell me Alexander, what is it you fear I’ll find buried?”

“Charlotte. Calm yourself. We're in public.” He said quietly “I’ll answer your questions. Just…” Alexander felt a familiar chill wash over him.

Another wench of yours has entered. The red-head. Alone too. Eri informed.

“I’m not your enemy. Now, into the answers to your questions. The truth. You and your associates recently held a meeting under your roof, correct? How I know this is probably what's bothering you but I will get to that soon. You're looking into things that my associates don't want you looking into. They want to put an end to your meetings so they may protect their operations and dealings in Sorian. Keeping such things hidden allows for them to run smoothly.” Alexander put up two fingers.

“Now for the second question… Besides your grace and beauty, what you're doing may benefit me in replacing Marek Delronzo and give me an opportunity to change the playing field. Unlike myself, good deeds to him are just a means to an end. Charlotte, there are bad men. There are evil men. And there's him. You are simply the enemy of my enemy and one who I know wouldn't be the spy amongst your little group… club?” Alexander shrugged, not caring what she considered them. He lifted a third finger.

Three fingers, Alexander? Oooh I knew she was looser than she looked... By the way, your payment is due.

“Three… I'll feed my organization false information to keep them off you but your group creates an issue with me doing so. There will be problems if the spy amongst you contradicts me. One time, is misinformation. A second time is disinformation. So until you fix the plumbing in your group, I can't risk that. However…” He looked around to make sure he was not in earshot. “I can offer you a book of magic to assist you in uncovering more if Delronzo’s dealings… That's if you wish to continue on this path you put yourself on. There is the option of quitting entirely.” He sighed. Alexander couldn't believe Charlotte asked him four questions. He raised up a fourth finger.

“Four. I don't fear what you'll find. I'm just warning you of what may happen in your attempt to find it without real help.”

Charlotte folded her arms as she commented with a sigh. “ And informing me of the spy’s identity would be too simple.” She took her time digesting all that had been said, tapping her foot every so often before she conceded smoothly, “Very well then.”

“I don't know their identity, that's a problem we both share. That person doesn't report to me. If I knew, I’d tell you and then it would be as simple as excluding them from your circle.” Alexander commented. “The best guess I could make on the individual is that they're newly acquainted. Rules out Smithwood, at least.” He gave her a nod. “Now. Your turn to lead the way. That was a lot to take in and I would much rather you enjoy this time, at least a little.” His expression softened as he waved his hand for her to proceed.

Charlotte’s fingers curled ever so slightly before she released a breath, steadying herself. The weight of their conversation clung to her, yet she did not allow it to settle visibly upon her features. Instead, she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a look of practiced poise, one befitting the lady her mother had diligently raised her as.

“How generous of you to be so considerate of my enjoyment,” she murmured, touched with the faintest trace of something wry. Then, as though she had only just made up her mind, she took a step forward, tilting her head toward him in invitation.

“Come this way,” And without waiting for his response, she turned, leading him deeper into the gallery. She approached the Mirror of Perception exhibit, the room shifting into something almost otherworldly in its silent intensity. Though there were others scattered about, this room felt set apart, tucked away from the rest of the revelry. Charlotte’s steps slowed as the warped reflections flickered around them. The glass rippled with warped silhouettes, bending her form in unnatural ways as she slowly stepped about the room, observing as her frame elongated, and shrunk, the glass twisting her limbs into grotesque imitations of herself.

She finally stopped just before the largest mirror, its eerie depth swallowing the light. The world around her seemed to narrow as her gaze bore into the reflection.

A wiry thing with the eyes of a deer about to be hit by a carriage.

At first, it was just her—a slight distortion here, a shimmer there—but then, for the briefest of moments, something flickered.

A smile that was not hers.

It was only for a breath of a moment, gone as quickly as it came. And yet, the weight of it lingered, sinking deep into her stomach. She willed away the tremor of unease that had been shooting through her spine.

A trick of the mind. That was all.

She turned to Alexander, her expression composed once more. “It’s remarkable, isn’t it? The way our own minds can deceive us…” She gestured toward the mirror.

“Care to see what it makes of you?”

“It’ll be interesting to find out.” He answered with a grin. Unfortunately before he could step forth, Eri beckoned him.

Not! One! Step! Alexander, I have figured out what I want my payment to be and you better give it to me for all I’ve done. To have me play look-out and spot your ugly little whores.

Her screeching had not stopped him, however. Alexander kept up his appearance, though slightly delayed. He walked forth, stepping toward the large mirror.

You test me… bastard. Just you wait. Eri threatened.

Continuing to ignore his needy familiar, Alexander took in his warped appearance.

“It is remarkable… He commented as he watched his reflection morph strangely until he saw not himself but… him?

Staring back at Alexander was none other than Duke Lorenzo Vikena with an unsettling close-mouthed grin on his face and a pale decrepit look to him. Alexander’s lips parted, truly taken off guard by Lorenzo’s disturbing appearance in place of his own reflection. Despite wanting to look away, he couldn't bring himself to turn his face from Lorenzo's ghastly visage.

What the fuck is this?! Alexander thought as Lorenzo's grin widened to an inhuman extent. The corner of his lips raised up toward his eyes as if the skin on his face were made of wrinkled puddy. Alexander ground his teeth as he attempted to look from the mirror but all that changed was Lorenzo's grin that continued to grow, contorting his face now. Alexander couldn't look away from it! He couldn't shut his eyes to it! But then a single voice broke him from his nightmare.

Alexander… my payment.

What? What?! What do you want?! Is this your doing?!

Take the ribbon from Charlotte’s hair and snap it in front of her.

That's it?

Just do it. Don't question me, filthy blood-drinker.

“Are you alright, Alexander?” Charlotte’s voice, soft yet resolute, broke through the moment. She stepped closer, her perplexion evident. Alexander turned to face her but he appeared to be regaining his composure from what he may have saw in the mirror. He shook his head and readjusted his clothing before giving Charlotte a mild grimace.

“N- I’ll be fine. I just didn't particularly enjoy seeing my reflection do that… May we perhaps, sit down somewhere, please?” Alexander asked politely

Charlotte cast a thoughtful glance toward the entryway, “I do believe there is a lounge we can use for a reprieve…” A flicker of curiosity crossed her mind—had he, too, witnessed something as unnerving as the sight that lingered in her thoughts? She quickly dismissed the notion, deciding it mattered not. “This way,” she instructed as she led him into the adjacent room: the Ivory Lounge. As Alexander trailed behind her, his eyes remained fixed on the item Eri prized so much at the moment.

A ribbon. A ribbon of all things. Something so mundane that mattered little if it were ruined but Alexander was too stuck on the reasoning for such a mischievous act. He could do while Charlotte still had her back to him but he couldn't further her impression of him. If anything, he needed a recovery. Behind that Charlotte's display of grace hid doubt and suspicion, and Alexander would be a fool not to think otherwise.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11:30am
Location: The Edin Theater
Interactions: @JJ Doe Fritz @CitrusArms Stratya @FunnyGuy Lorenzo
Mention: @Samreaper Kazumin @Lava Alckon Farim
Attire:Dress, Hair, Necklace, Headpiece

---

Anastasia was still dabbing at her cheeks, sniffling as she tried to recover. She had just witnessed the most tragic, moving story about a puppet trying its best in a cruel, unfair world and now she had to emotionally shift gears into Lorenzo’s grand poetry? Talk about whiplash!

But then—trumpets!

Her eyes widened in delight as the music began. Oooooh, fancy! Ribbons! Petals! She clapped her hands excitedly, already getting into the mood of it.

Annnd theeeen Lorenzo spoke.

The first few words were fine, but as he went on, Anastasia’s expression slowly melted from delight into mild confusion... Then anger set in.

“Oh, EXCUSE ME?!” she suddenly burst out, loudly enough for anyone in the row, “‘A man playing with his pigeon’?! Is that what we’re calling an incredible synchronization performance now with a falcon?” She crossed her arms, exhaling sharply as she glared at the stage.

And then, Lorenzo called for her.

Her body froze mid-fume. Her lips parted, and she blinked rapidly. “My… cello?” She slowly turned back toward the stage, her brain short-circuiting. After a moment of stunned silence, she inhaled sharply and smacked her hands against her cheeks.

Alright, Annie. Focus. You can be mad and still do this. Multitask your emotions!

She stood abruptly and stomped her way toward the stage, her bright, friendly smile absolutely not matching the fire in her eyes.

“Duke Vikena!” she chirped, her voice too sweet. “Wow! What an introduction! So many trumpets! So much enthusiasm! And such a unique way to describe a fellow performer’s hard work!”

Perhaps she had not been able to completely omit the passive aggressiveness from her tone.

“And of course I’ll set the mood for your poetry! That’s what I’m here for—to support the arts!” She dragged her cello out from behind the curtain then adjusted it.

With one last pointed look at the back of his head, she placed the bow to the strings. “Oh, but before I begin, Dukey,” she began lowly, “What kind of mood are we going for here?” She smiled innocently at him, “Shall I play something exciting to match the flawless confidence of a man who just insulted our performers?” She plucked a high, mocking note before continuing, her voice growing sharper, “Or perhaps something somber, a little… tragic?” Her bow glided down, drawing out a slow, mournful note that hung in the air.

She leaned forward just slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper, “Like the tale of a poet who maybe should have stopped talking five minutes ago?”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11:30am
Location: The Edin Theater
Interactions: @JJ Doe Fritz @CitrusArms Stratya @Samreaper Kazumin
Attire:Dress, Hair, Necklace, Headpiece

---

Anastasia had been eagerly perched at the edge of her seat, her hands clasped together in gleeful anticipation as none other than her Kazoo took the stage. The moment the lights dimmed and a delighted shiver ran down her spine.

She clutched her knees with intensity, eyes fixated as she watched the puppet's awkward awakening, giggling softly alongside his first clumsy attempts to move. “Aw, such a cute puppet!” she whispered, nudging Stratya’s arm excitedly. When the puppet fell face-first onto the stage, she gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with both hands. “Noooo! My sweet little wooden son! Someone help him up!”

She bounced slightly in her seat as the story unfolded, enraptured by the puppet’s growing determination. “Look at him go! He’s doing it!” she cheered under her breath, barely resisting the urge to leap from her chair and clap along.

Then, the young woman entered. Her smile softened as the puppet’s excitement turned into shy hesitation, his longing to make a friend so heartbreakingly sweet. Anastasia’s fingers curled against her dress as anxiety gripped her chest. “Oh she’ll love you! She has to like you, you’re perfect,” she whispered, leaning forward, practically willing the story to go the way she wanted.

But when the puppet danced, her joy burst into a full-blown explosion of clapping and laughter.

She was entirely swept away, clapping along with the puppet, practically vibrating in her seat. “He’s amazing! This is amazing! This is everything!” She laughed breathlessly, caught up in the rhythm of the performance.

And then—the fall.

The girl's shriek sent a jolt through Anastasia’s chest, her joy abruptly strangled by dread.. “No, no, no! He didn’t mean to!” she cried, desperate to clear up the misunderstanding.

As the girl ran, the puppet crumpled and Anastasia’s eyes welled with tears.

She sat there in stunned silence as the curtain closed, a storm of emotions crashing through her chest. But then, she was on her feet an instant later, wiping her eyes and throwing her hands in the air.

“KAZOOOOOO! THAT WAS ART!” she wailed dramatically, still sniffling. “I LOVED IT! I HATED IT! I’M EMOTIONALLY DESTROYED BUT I CAN’T STOP CLAPPING! BRAVO! BRAVO!”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

FLASHBACK

Lottie & Cas

Part 2

Time: Sola 26

Location: Vikena Estate

Do I trust him?

It was the kind of question that should have sent her heart plummeting, her gut screaming and mind recoiling with all the reasons she shouldn’t. She could almost hear the voices of her friends protesting in her mind, their concerns, their warnings. Even her own logic chastised her, reminding her of Calbert and all the danger that loomed around him. It made no sense to be here, to let herself fall into this moment with him.

And yet, there was no hesitation in the way she reached for his hand. Her blue eyes locked with his, unwavering, as if daring the world to question her. The warmth of his skin, solid and real, sent a ripple of something unshakable through her, grounding her in the certainty she shouldn’t have had.

“Yes.”

The instant her fingers slipped into his, Cassius felt something deep in his chest tighten...not with apprehension, but with something far more intoxicating. Certainty.

His grip was firm but gentle as he helped her up, his other hand resting briefly at her waist to steady her as she stepped into the carriage. The faint rustle of fabric, the warmth of her so close...it was enough to send a slow burn coursing through him. Gods, this woman.

As she settled inside, Cassius turned toward the driver, the smirk playing at his lips unmistakable as he gave the man a wink of gratitude. Then, he climbed in after her, shutting the door behind them.

The space inside the carriage was close, intimate, the air between them still charged from the moment that had just passed. Anticipation, possibility, and genuine excitement weaved their way through Cas as his eyes met hers with a little smile for accompaniment. Then, they were off.

The wheels lurched into motion, and the soft hum of the city fell away behind them as they moved down Cherry Lane. Cassius leaned back against the plush seat, stretching out his legs slightly, his arm resting lazily along the back of the carriage. He let the momentary silence settle, glancing sidelong at her, taking in the way the lantern light flickered against the deep burgundy of her dress, casting warm highlights along her skin.

In all her innocence, something about Charlotte felt like sin and divinity all at once. She was breathtaking.

The thought came unbidden, and he exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus elsewhere...on the rhythmic sway of the carriage, the distant sound of laughter from a passing tavern, the faint clatter of hooves against the cobblestone. Eventually, the carriage slowed, the distant whistle of a train cutting through the air.

Cassius grinned to himself. As the carriage came to a full stop, he wasted no time. Pushing the door open, he stepped out onto the platform, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. The soft glow of the station lamps illuminated the scene...a few scattered passengers, the faint hiss of steam rising from the waiting train.

Without missing a beat, Cassius strode around to the other side of the carriage, reaching up to unlatch the door. It swung open smoothly, and he extended a hand toward her once more, his grin equal parts wicked and charming.

“Allow me, Lady Vikena.” His tone was sweet, but laced with playful mischief, as if he were toeing the line between a roguish tease and a gentleman’s sincerity.

Charlotte blinked as the door opened before her, revealing the world outside the carriage, her gaze flickering past him toward the waiting train. The cool night air that greeted her carried with it the distant hum of Sorian, but here, at the station, the world felt smaller, more intimate—just the two of them standing between the quiet anticipation of something unknown.

Her fingers twitched at her sides before she reached for his hand once more as she stepped gracefully down from the carriage.

“A train?” she finally said, lifting her gaze to his with intrigue. “I do hope this isn’t some elaborate scheme to whisk me away into the night, never to be seen again.”

Cas gave a playful tilt of his head at her words, those perfect eyes of his gleaming with mischief.

”Now now, Lottie…” he drawled, stepping in just a touch closer, their hands still joined. ”If I were to steal you away, if you were ever to truly experience the full benefits of what a night with me could entail, I’d bet all the gold in Sorian that you’d never wish to leave again.”

His thumb brushed ever so slightly against her knuckles before he turned, leading her toward the train with a wink and his effortless confidence.

“Incorrugible.” She had muttered with flushed cheeks, glancing away as they walked forward.

As they approached, the rhythmic hiss of steam filled the night air, the station lamps casting long golden streaks across the platform. The train itself was sleek and elegant, its dark carriages promising the unknown. Cassius held up their tickets briefly, giving a nod to the attendant before turning back to Charlotte with something softer in his expression.

“But in all seriousness, Lottie. You’ve trusted me this far, haven’t you?” His voice dipped lower, quieter, meant just for her. “And I intend to be worthy of that trust. You have my word…I’ll be a mostly perfect gentleman.”

Then, as if sensing the weight of his own words, his smirk returned in full.

“Besides, a little risk here and there only makes life more interesting. And, let’s be honest, if I were kidnapping you, I’d hardly have gone through the trouble of buying train tickets, now would I?”

With that, he took a step back, gesturing toward the waiting train.

“After you, Lady Vikena.”

Charlotte tilted her head ever so slightly, as if in deep contemplation—though, in truth, she hadn’t missed a beat. When she finally spoke, she seemed to be adding to her last statement, “And terribly optimistic.” Her eyes met his and a steady smile slowly crept on her face as she held his stormy gaze.

Then she abruptly stepped into the train without breaking her stride, but rather than turning away, she twisted, walking backward down the aisle with deliberate slowness.

“Has it never occurred to you, Cassius, that perhaps it could be the other way around?”

There was something about that ego of his, something insufferably infuriating yet strangely invigorating, that stirred something in her. It did not make her want to change, no, but it reminded her of someone familiar, someone she had nearly forgotten.

All the nerves that usually made her stutter and stumble her way through a conversation melted away, and instead her eyes narrowed, just as they had the first time they had met.

She then lifted her chin, voice laced with playful challenge.“That it could be you who finds yourself unable to leave?”

Charlotte let her fingers trail lightly over the back of a velvet seat as she moved, her tone laced with something sultry, something just barely teasing the edge of seduction.“That every night when you close your eyes, it is my face that lingers, my voice that whispers in the quiet? That every moment apart from me feels like an ache—one you cannot explain, one you cannot rid yourself of?”

She paused just long enough for the idea to take root before finishing with a sweet smile, “And before you know it…you are the one crawling back to me.”

Charlotte subsequently spun on her heel and sauntered ahead merrily, “Do try to keep up, won’t you—I want to find our seats.”

Cassius let out a low, knowing chuckle at her words, shaking his head slightly in playful disbelief.

"Oh, if only you could be so lucky as to test your little theory, Lottie." His voice dipped just slightly, the silken edge of it weaving between playfulness and something far more deliberate.

Despite his perfect demeanor, Cas faltered in his thoughts for the briefest of moments. He knew, unequivocally, that Charlotte had just been throwing the jest back his way…but…there was something about her words that sparked a hint of truth. Once more his thoughts traveled to how she, without even meaning to, had woven herself into his mind from the very night they met. The ponderance only lingered a fraction of a second, yet that fragment of a realization held weight.

With that, he followed her down the narrow aisle, his stride unhurried, his presence a steady radiance at her back. Their seats weren’t far, and just as he moved to step past her...his intention to slide into his own seat first...an attendant’s cart rolled up beside them, forcing him to adjust.

The space between them collapsed in an instant.

Less than an inch. That’s all the space that remained between their bodies. They were now close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her, the delicate rise and fall of her breath. Close enough that if either of them swayed even slightly, they’d brush.

His hand instinctively caught the back of her seat as he leaned in by the barest margin, his smirk never faltering. But his eyes...those damned Cassius eyes...darkened, tracing her face in the dim light of the train car. A flicker of something unspoken, something heady, passed between them, electric in its restraint.

Charlotte barely had a moment to react before the space between them vanished. All of a sudden she was trapped between Cassius and the attendant’s cart.

Her breath hitched, her spine straightening sharply as his arm brushed against the seat behind her, caging her in without even trying. The warmth of him, the damnable way he loomed without effort, sent a rush of something equal parts irritation and something far more dangerous skittering down her spine.

Her gaze flickered up to meet his, only to find those beautiful eyes of his watching her—watching her with an intensity that set fire to her nerves.

Then came his voice as he tilted his head just enough to murmur, his breath ghosting against the air between them.

"Here we are, love. Our seats are waiting for us."

And then, with a slow but deliberate ease, he slipped past her, settling into his seat as if the moment had never happened...except for the unmistakable glint in his gaze that said he’d felt everything. And he was damn sure she had too.

Oh. Oh, he was enjoying this. She could see it in the glint in his eyes and that smug, barely-there smirk playing at his lips! Certainly, that had been no accident.

As he slid past her, settling into his seat, she inhaled and summoned every ounce of composure she had left.

And then—

“You do have an awful habit of invading one's personal space. Please try not to forget yourself, Cassius.” she commented, her voice light yet disinterested, as though it was just a simple observation. She gave a slow, sweet blink, then she slid gracefully into her seat across from him, primly smoothing her dress. And with that, she crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands in her lap. Her expression remained serene, unbothered, unmoved—save for the traitorous warmth that still lingered in her cheeks.

Cassius leaned back in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, watching her with open amusement as she settled herself with all the grace of a queen who hadn’t just been moments away from combusting. Oh, she was good. Better than he had given her credit for at the least. That light, perfectly composed tone, the slow blink…every calculated movement meant to imply unbothered.

And yet he knew the truth…

"Forget myself?" His voice was the picture of wounded innocence, though the gleam in his eyes suggested he was anything but. He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a smirk that bordered on too knowing. "I do believe you're mistaken, love. If anything, I think I recall myself far too well."

He let the words hang between them, letting them settle in the tension-draped air of the carriage as the train lurched forward and departed. Then, as if sensing just the faintest lingering embers in her cheeks, he exhaled a quiet, confident, chuckle and turned his gaze briefly to the passing scenery outside.

The interior of the train was nothing short of luxurious. Velvet seats, brass sconces along the walls, and tables with beautiful cloths. The surface of each table was adorned with a single crystal lamp and a small vase of flowers. It was rather quiet besides the backdrop of chatter for the first moment or so until the faint hum of the engine and the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the tracks filled the space.

Charlotte ran her fingers absentmindedly along the edge of the table. She had taken this train so many times before—especially as a young girl, nestled between her parents, peering eagerly out the window at the rolling countryside. A luminous moon hung low in the sky, painting the hills and tall silhouettes of trees in light. The memory stirred something warm within her, and before she realized it, she was smiling to herself.

When he glanced back, her fingers were absently tracing the edge of the table, her lips curved in a soft, almost private smile.

And that...that was different.

The playfulness in his gaze softened, if only slightly, and for a moment, he simply watched her. Not with teasing, not with mischief, but with something quieter. A curiosity. A quiet pull toward the way her expression had shifted...not for him, not for any game they were playing, but for something else entirely.

He tapped a single finger against the table, drawing her attention back to him. "Penny for your thoughts, Lottie?" The smirk returned, but this time, there was something gentler behind it. "Or shall I guess?"

“Hmmm… Indulge my curiosity then. Charlotte’s smile did not waver as she drawled out her words. “Give me your best guess.”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11:30am
Location: Edin Theater
Interaction: @Helo Callum @Silverpaw Wulfric
Mention: @Samreaper Kazumin

---

A deep, bellowing laugh burst from the king’s chest as he finally heard words worthy of listening to from his youngest son. The laughter was, loud, crude, and entirely unrestrained. He slapped his knee hard enough that some of his remaining popcorn toppled onto the floor, but he paid no mind. "Finally! Something worth listening to out of your mouth, boy!" he roared, voice thick with amusement.

He then leaned forward, his voice lowering just enough,"They’re good for two things, Callum.” He raised two thick fingers, then dropped one. “And talking ain't one of ‘em.” Another wicked chuckle left his lips as he leaned back again, clearly pleased with himself.

Alibeth stiffened, her grip on her wine glass tightening just slightly. She did not dignify Edin’s crude remark with a response, instead choosing to take a slow sip of her wine, masking whatever reaction truly lay beneath.

Then in the brief pause that followed the applause after Drake’s performance, Callum had presented a question in a manner that made Edin’s brows raise.

Edin’s chewing halted, a greasy hand frozen mid-air as Callum actually called him "Father"—and with respect, no less. Then, a booming cackle erupted, nearly choking him on popcorn. He pounded his chest, wine sloshing dangerously in his goblet as he howled with laughter.

“Oh! Oh, responsibility, he says! From a monkey!” He jabbed Alibeth’s arm, nearly knocking her drink. “You hear that? By the Gods, the boy’s a comedian now!”

Still shnorting, he squinted at Clarence, tilting his head. “Huh. Stands straighter than you.” A dramatic sip of wine and a mocking grin followed.. “Tell me, son—does it bathe? Or is it filthy just like you?” Alibeth hushed him as Anastasia approached the stage and he relented, “Fine, fine, keep the little rat. But if it shits in the castle, you’re cleaning it up.”

As Anastasia took center stage and began her speech, Edin did not register a single word. His focus remained solely on his popcorn, his hand digging greedily into the golden bowl of his precious butter nuggets as if the supply might suddenly vanish. Instead of taking more bites, he tilted the entire bowl toward his face, pouring the kernels directly into his open mouth like a starving beast. The excess tumbled down his chin, bouncing off his robes, yet he remained undeterred.

Then, without warning, a deep, guttural growl erupted from his throat—a grotesque, primal sound of satisfaction. A few nobles seated near underneath the royal box whipped their heads around in alarm, their brows furrowed in confusion at the unsettling noise. But Edin paid no mind, still gulping down his feast with the gusto of a man who believed himself entitled to every pleasure life had to offer.

Meanwhile, beside him, Alibeth was watching their daughter. For the first time that evening, there was a flicker of something different. Briefly, a faint, barely perceptible smile touched her lips.

As the performance unfolded, both Alibeth and Edin remained relatively silent—save for the relentless crunching of popcorn from the king, his chewing the only consistent noise breaking their quiet.

Alibeth’s brows furrowed the moment the play took a turn. Her lips pursed in mild distaste, her expression flickering between confusion and a deep-seated dislike for the odd, performance.

“Strange,” she murmured once it finally ended, her voice barely audible over the sound of the audience’s applause. She recalled seeing Kazumin swirl Anastasia around the ballroom during the first event of the season, and her fingers curled subtly against the armrest. “What a ridiculous, pitiful little story.”

Meanwhile, Edin sat dead still, his face awash with emotion. His popcorn lay forgotten, his goblet of wine resting precariously against his knee, completely untouched.

Then, suddenly—
A loud, ugly snivel.

“A MASTERPIECE!”

The theater fell silent for a brief, stunned moment as Edin’s voice BOOMED from the royal box. His eyes shimmered with tears, and with a dramatic sniffle, he swiped a buttery, greasy hand across his face, smearing it over his cheeks like war paint.

“The boy! The BOY playing the puppet!” He gasped, clutching his chest. “A genius! A VISIONARY! Never before have I seen such grace, such artistry! The EMOTION! The SORROW! The AGONY OF EXISTENCE!”

A loud hiccup shook his massive chest, and suddenly he was gripping Alibeth’s wrist, shaking it with feverish excitement. “I must have him at the banquet tonight! No—NO! I MUST OWN HIM!”

Alibeth yanked her hand away with a withering glare. “He is a person, Edin. Not a prize goat.”

Edin wasn’t listening. He shot up from his seat, nearly toppling his goblet, and waved his hands wildly at the guards near the entrance.

“Find that boy—FIND HIM AT ONCE! BRING HIM TO ME! I want to see him perform for ME! Tonight! TOMORROW! EVERY DAY!”

A dramatic sniff. Another loud wail. He collapsed back into his seat, shaking his head as if the weight of the world was upon him.

“A sad little puppet…” he whispered, clutching his chest, utterly consumed by the tragedy.

Alibeth grimaced and turned away, covering her face.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11:30am
Location: The Edin Theater
Interactions: @JJ Doe Fritz, Morrigan @FunnyGuy Lorenzo @CitrusArms Stratya @Samreaper Kazumin @Lava Alckon Farim
Attire:Dress, Hair, Necklace, Headpiece

---

Anastasia raised her head at the sound of Fritz’s voice and beamed brightly at him. "Hi, Fritzy!" she greeted warmly, her tone carrying her usual sunny cheer. Following his gesture, her amber eyes drifted toward the viewing box. Rising to her tiptoes, she waved enthusiastically at Morrigan and her family. "Hi, Morrigan! Hi, everyone!" she called, her voice brimming with excitement.

When her gaze returned to Fritz, she shook her head in reassurance."No, no, I’m totally fine. Excited, even!" She smiled brightly but then hesitated for a moment, her expression turning thoughtful. "But… I’m going to think about what you said, about letting everyone hear something extraordinary. That’s exactly what I want to do." Without hesitation, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug. "You’re so awesome for doing this with me. Thanks a lot!"

She barely had time to let go before a familiar voice drew her attention. Turning around, she saw Duke Lorenzo approaching. Her face lit up with amusement as she greeted him. "If it isn’t the always fabulously dressed Duke Lorenzoooo Vikena!" She raised her arms dramatically as if presenting him to an invisible audience. "I heard you’re going to perform, too. Knock our socks off, Dukey boy!"

The moment lingered as Lorenzo joined their small group, and Anastasia’s attention briefly flitted between the two men, her bright energy palpable. Before the conversation could continue, the sound of footsteps caught her ear. Anastasia turned to see none other than Captain Stratya Durmand making her way toward them. Her grin widened as she greeted her warmly. "Ay, Captain!" she said with a playful salute and an exaggerated wink. "The area’s secured, no zombies in sight." She added with a cheeky smirk, "Good thing, too, because the Duke here’s about to give us poetry as hot as the Veirmont beaches he hails from."

Anastasia’s energy remained vibrant, but her gestures softened as the group settled into easy conversation. The crowd began to quiet, and she gestured for them all to take their seats. As she slid into her spot in the front row, her expression shifted to one of anticipation. She clutched her hands together and leaned forward, her amber eyes glimmering as Farim strode onto the stage.

As Farim’s voice rang out with his dramatic greeting, Anastasia couldn’t help but giggle. "‘Soooooorian!’” she whispered in an exaggerated imitation, stifling her laugh behind her hand. "That’s such a Farim thing to say." Her fond tone betrayed her admiration as her attention snapped back to the stage.

When Farim began his story about Thara and the tradition of rafiq madaa alhayaa, Anastasia placed a hand over her heart, visibly moved. "Isn’t that just the sweetest thing?" she said softly to Lorenzo,"A lifelong companion… That’s such a great idea." She grinned and gave Kier a little gentle pat on his tiny head.

As Thara made her dramatic entrance, diving toward the audience with precision and grace, Anastasia gasped audibly. "Oh sweet chocolate cakes! She’s incredible!" she exclaimed, gripping Stratya’s arm in excitement. "Look at the way she moves—it’s like they can read each other’s minds!" Her voice brimmed with awe as she watched the synchrony between Farim and his falcon.

When Thara gracefully landed on Farim’s arm, Anastasia jumped up from her seat, clapping wildly. "Woo! Go, Farim!!" she called, her voice ringing above the applause. She sat back down, beaming with pride. "He’s absolutely stealing the show," she said, leaning toward Fritz with a grin.

As the performance reached its conclusion, with Farim flipping through the air while Thara glided beneath him, Anastasia gasped again, her jaw dropping in awe. "Did you see that?!" she exclaimed, turning to Stratya. "I mean, I thought I was impressed before, but that—wow!" She shook her head, laughing softly as she returned her gaze to the stage.

When Farim and Thara bowed together, Anastasia rose to her feet along with the rest of the crowd, clapping and cheering loudly. "Bravo, Farim! That was amazing!" she called out excitedly.

Anastasia sat back in her chair, her hands clasped together with excitement as Drake approached the piano."Ooooh, look at him! All serious and broody—he’s really getting into it," she whispered with a grin. When Drake’s fingers danced across the keys, Anastasia’s expression softened, her head tilting slightly as she listened. As the music shifted from somber to spirited, she nodded along to the melody, her foot tapping softly against the ground. "This is actually... really beautiful," she admitted quietly to Stratya, "You can feel how much it means to him, can’t you?"

When Drake finished his last song, Anastasia clapped enthusiastically, rising to her feet with the rest of the audience. "Way to go, Lord Drake Edwards!" she called out, her voice bright

She turned to the three beside her and said in a genuinely serious tone, "He even stayed on the stage this time. Proud of him.”

Anastasia, then nudged Fritz playfully with her elbow as the clapping began to die down. "Alright, Fritzy, it’s showtime for us now!" She made her way toward the stage, her excitement clear in the bounce of her step.

Stepping into the spotlight, she waved enthusiastically at the crowd. "Hi everyone! I’m Princess Anastasia Danrose," she began, as if everyone didn’t already recognize her, her voice warm and full of cheer. She gestured toward Fritz beside her, "And this is my wonderful cohost, Lord Fritz, all the way from the Varian Kingdom!"

She paused for a moment, scanning the faces in the audience. Anastasia could not recall a time she had gotten the chance to stand before a crowd and speak to them like this. A gentle smile graced her lips as she let her eyes scan over the room, taking in the special moment. She wasn't sure if she knew all the right things to say, but she certainly wasn't nervous. Not one bit!

"Thank you all so much for being here." She said finally, "...Every single one of you has made a difference by coming out and supporting this event. The proceeds we raise will go to feeding families in need, and I think we should all take a moment to be proud of ourselves for making that happen."

She paused as if considering what to say next, then said, "And let’s not forget, we’ve been treated to some incredible talent so far, and there’s so much more to come! Everyone who volunteered their time today deserves a huge round of applause." She clapped along with the audience.

Turning slightly, she smiled and motioned toward the wings of the stage. "Now, without further ado, I’m so excited to introduce our next performer—my good friend Kazoo, who’s going to dazzle us all with some amazing performative dance! But he may need a moment for set up, so everyone hold tight!"

With a beaming grin, she stepped back, giving the stage to Kazumin and the theater staff.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: 11am
Location: Edin Theater
Interaction: @Helo Callum @Silverpaw Wulfric @JJ Doe Morrigan
Mention: @FunnyGuy Lorenzo

---

Edin’s eyes flicked toward Wulfric as he entered their viewing box, his expression initially unreadable. “Ah, the ever-dutiful firstborn,” he drawled,“Our future king, gracing us with his presence at last.”

As Wulfric came into full view, the crowd erupted in excited screams and whispers. A wave of adoration swept through the onlookers below, with girls swooning and murmurs of admiration rising in volume. They were hushed promptly by staff meanwhile Edin grumbled something bitterly under his breath.

Alibeth, meanwhile, offered Wulfric a nod of acknowledgment, and a faint smile. Her amber eyes scanned Wulfric, but she said nothing, observing him with her usual detached coolness.

As Wulfric settled in and his focus shifted to the scene below, Edin’s gaze followed his son’s line of sight.. “Your sister seems to attract all manner of... characters these days,” he remarked dryly, popping another handful of popcorn into his mouth, though his eyes slowly narrowed as he set his sights on Duke Lorenzo Vikena.

In unison with Wulfric, he suddenly sneered,“Vikena.” As Wulfric’s hiss mirrored his own, Edin’s lips had curled further. Together, they had uttered the name as if it were a curse.

Edin turned to his son, fixing him with a pointed look. Then he said, “...I trust you’ll handle it if that one causes a scene. I’m here to enjoy the show, not intervene in his theatrics.”

Alibeth’s gaze flicked between the two men. Still, she said nothing, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

Unbothered, Edin leaned back in his chair as he turned his attention to a new distraction. Grinning mischievously, he began tossing popcorn toward Morrigan, attempting to get her to catch it in her mouth. The sight seemed to amuse him endlessly, as his deep chuckle punctuated the air.

Alibeth turned her head rapidly toward Edin, her lips parting as she could not help but ask, “Must you behave like a chi—” However, it was then the sound of the box door opening caught her attention. Her question was cut short, and both parents turned to see Callum entering the room.

Silence fell over the viewing box as the young prince stepped in, looking uncharacteristically polished. But what truly left the royals—and several nearby onlookers—speechless was the sight of the wiry spider monkey perched atop Callum’s shoulder.

The creature wore a matching miniature suit and bow tie, mirroring Callum’s color scheme. The onlookers were abuzz, some whispering in disbelief at the unexpected spectacle as many guests below were pointing at Callum and his monkey.

“Marry me, Prince Callum!” came from below.

Despite the young girl’s bellow from below, Alibeth’s face had darkened, her eyes flashing with fury. “Callum,” she hissed, her voice sharp, “Where on earth did you obtain a monkey?” Her tone carried both anger and incredulity as she leaned forward, glaring at the small animal as though it might be responsible for the insult to royal decorum.

Edin, on the other hand, stared at the monkey with wide eyes, his mouth agape. He muttered under his breath, “A monkey… How is it that he has a monkey and I do not? I’m the king! If anyone deserves a monkey…It’s me.” The wounded pride was evident in his tone, his fingers digging into the armrest of his chair.

As Callum sat down, it appeared as if the King could slice through Callum with his gaze as he followed the monkey’s every move. He leaned in with narrowed eyes and barely concealed jealousy. “...Clarence is a ridiculous name… And he smells.”

Edin whirled to Alibeth and whisper-hissed, “He bows! Did you see that?!” He sank back into his chair, muttering indignantly and perhaps a little redundantly, “A monkey… I must have one. Why has no one brought me a monkey?”

Alibeth’s glare sharpened, her attention shifting back to Callum. “This is not a petting zoo, Callum-”

It was then the first performance began.

Though Alibeth had turned her attention respectfully to Farim, the king was now fixated on the monkey’s table etiquette. “Look at that! Better manners than Callum himself. Perhaps I should invite Clarence to court. At least he’d know how to behave.” He popped another handful of popcorn into his mouth, muttering bitterly between bites, “But not before I get my own monkey, mind you. A bigger one, naturally. I’m the king.”

She nudged him gently and pointed toward the performance.

Edin rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the Alidasht prince and bird, his golden crown tilting as he stuffed another handful of popcorn into his mouth. The buttery kernels glistened on his fingers as he chewed loudly. Servants had amassed a pile of several bowls of popcorn for his snack stash at this point.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, popcorn crumbs scattering as he spoke, leaning in. “How in the name of the Gods is he getting that ostrich to do that?” His gaze followed Thara as she swooped through the obstacles, the bird’s flight mesmerizing the audience below.

Farim’s front flip over the falcon earned a loud, boisterous cheer from Edin. “Ha! Did you see that?” he exclaimed, pointing at the stage with an air of indulgent glee, as though he were personally responsible for the spectacle. His booming voice drew the attention of nearby nobles in the box, who exchanged nervous glances.

But, as quickly as his amazement flared, his ego reasserted itself. Edin sat back, waving his hand dismissively. “Not bad. Not bad at all. Of course, if I had trained that bird, it would have been swooping through flaming hoops by now,” he declared, grabbing another handful of popcorn. “Back in my youth, I could have made this look effortless.” He smirked, reclining into his chair as though expecting everyone to agree with his claim.

“I like birds.”

Edin and Alibeth glanced at their youngest son upon the strange whisper. They exchanged glances, but neither decided to comment.

As Farim’s performance came to an end, Alibeth clapped politely, never betraying any true admiration. Her gaze landed on the Grand Vizier, now standing and clapping with enthusiasm. She coolly commented for the group to hear, “The Grand Vizier is standing. He seems quite impressed.””

Edin shnorted, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth as if the Vizier’s reaction were of little consequence. “Bah, you don’t have to worry about him,” he said dismissively, licking the butter from his fingers before reaching for more. “The man would stand and clap for a puppet show if it suited his agenda.”

“...You guys remember my performance at the Festival of Lights? I had the entire crowd in tears. Real art, that was.”

Alibeth inclined her head slightly as she replied. “Yes, my king. Truly, there has never been another quite like you.” Truly, she had wanted to forget that performance at the Festival of Lights in 1736 more than she could articulate.

Soon Lord Drake Edward’s performance began, Edin leaned back into his seat, his goblet in one hand and the nearly empty popcorn bowl balanced precariously on the other armrest. The initial notes caught his attention, and his brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly as the music began to wash over the theater. With each crescendo, his expression shifted from mild curiosity to something far more engaged. He sat upright, eyes fixed on Drake’s fingers dancing across the keys.

When the orchestra joined, and Drake’s heartfelt playing filled the hall, Edin let out an almost involuntary exclamation. “By the Gods…” he murmured, his voice low but tinged with awe. The richness of the melody and the sheer emotion in Drake’s performance seemed to move him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. His hand absently dipped into the popcorn bowl, but instead of chewing noisily, he paused with the kernels in hand, momentarily lost in the music.

As the audience applauded after Drake’s first piece, Edin clapped louder than anyone in the royal box, the sound of his rings echoing sharply. He glanced toward Alibeth, his expression briefly unguarded. “The boy has talent. Real talent,” he declared, before quickly snapping back to his usual demeanor. “Of course, nothing compared to my Festival of Lights performance, but… impressive nonetheless.”

“He is talented,” she agreed in a measured tone, though her voice lacked enthusiasm. As Drake introduced his next pieces, she asked, “Has anyone uncovered why the guests at Lord Edwards’ previous party were so… inebriated?”

Edin waved her off, his eyes still locked on Drake as he began his next piece. “Forget that nonsense,” he said dismissively, his voice brimming with irritation. “The boy is redeeming himself tonight. What does it matter?”

When Drake’s tear fell during his second piece, Edin leaned forward, captivated. His hand froze mid-air, the last popcorn kernel forgotten as the raw emotion of the music seemed to resonate deeply within him. He let out a long breath, almost reluctant to break the spell.

“Remarkable…” he muttered, and for a brief moment, there was no arrogance in his tone, only genuine admiration.

As Drake launched into his final piece, Edin’s mood shifted again. The vigor and energy of the music brought a grin to his face, and he rose, moving his body to the music, ignoring the disapproving glance from a nearby guard. When the performance reached its rousing conclusion, Edin shot to his feet, cheering and clapping loudly, his booming voice echoing through the theater. “Hurrah to Sorian indeed!” he bellowed, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Only can get that kind of talent from a Caesonia-born!”

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕