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STATUS: What a good boy you are listening. Now time to listen some more and check out Potter's profile. 3 yrs ago
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Current What a good boy you are listening. Now time to listen some more and check out Potter's profile.
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In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 10 hrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: Top Deck
Interactions: @Apex Sunburn Scratch and Val, @Helo Ezekiel
Equipment:

Attire:
Gold Balance: 35
Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body



Meiyu barely flicked her eyes upward at the man approaching her, though she had already noticed him long before he spoke. The faintest glow of magic in his eye, the way his hand lingered on his sword hilt, it was clear this was a man who knew battle. And yet, for all his vigilance, his first assumption amused her.

She glanced down at the boy, whose arm still rested in her lap, trembling slightly from pain and the weight of the situation. “He’s not my son,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying an undertone of mirth. “Merely an unfortunate soul who stumbled into my path.”

The boy let out a shaky breath, his eyes flickering up to Ezekiel. “B-broken a bone before?” he stammered, swallowing thickly. “Yeah. Once. My ribs.” He shifted slightly, wincing, but his expression was hard to read—part pain, part something else.

Before Meiyu could speak further, another voice cut through the scene with far less politeness than the first.

Meiyu turned her head slightly, catching sight of the dark elf forcing his way through the gathering onlookers, dragging a small girl in his wake. The contrast between the two was striking—his rapid, blunt mannerisms against the girl's much softer presence. As they arrived, Meiyu leaned back slightly, folding her arms over her chest, allowing them to work uninterrupted.

She watched with interest as the surgeon moved with quick efficiency, his eyes scanning, assessing, and questioning in a way that set him apart from the usual healers she had encountered. Unlike Ezekiel, he did not immediately offer a solution. No, he examined, he tested, he doubted.

Meiyu remained silent as he listed his observations—no abrasions, no cuts, no sign of a fall. The girl, his assistant, followed his instructions diligently, checking for further injuries, confirming his suspicions.

And then, the conclusion.

"You didn’t break your arm. Someone broke it."

A slow, satisfied smile crept onto Meiyu’s lips, her amusement barely concealed as the dark elf finally turned his sharp gaze on the boy, then on her. Clever.
The murmurs in the crowd grew louder. Whispers of "Who would do such a thing?" and "What kind of monster—" flitted through the air, accompanied by scandalized gasps and indignant glares.

Meiyu sighed, almost disappointed by how predictable people were. She unfolded her arms and stood gracefully, adjusting the folds of her kimono before speaking in a voice that carried just enough steel to settle the growing unrest.

“Please,” she drawled, casting an unimpressed look at the gathered spectators, “let’s not pretend any of you actually care. A child breaking a bone is hardly the most shocking event in the world. Unless, of course, you plan to spend the rest of this voyage gasping at every misfortune.” She waved a delicate hand toward the stairwell. “Move along. The ship’s entertainment will return to its regularly scheduled performance soon enough.”

A few bristled at her words, but more than a few hesitated, glanced at each other, and then, one by one, the crowd began to dissipate. Nothing ruined gossip faster than being made to feel boring for indulging in it.

Once the noise had died down, she turned her gaze back to Scratch, her golden eyes glinting with something like approval. “Well done,” she murmured. “Your attention to detail is admirable. Far better than the good sir over here who assumed the boy was mine.” She inclined her head ever so slightly toward Ezekiel.

Then, she exhaled softly and addressed the more pressing matter.

“Yes,” she said simply, her voice even. “I broke his arm.”

The boy stiffened slightly at her words, though the pain had already numbed his initial fear.

She continued before anyone could interrupt. “The boy is a thief. A rather sloppy one, too, considering how easily I caught him. Could I have instead alerted the ships authorities? Sure, but I wonder what actions they would have taken?” She tilted her head, glancing at the dark elf, then Ezekiel, then finally at the boy himself. “The way I see it, they would have handled it far more harshly than I did. You see in my experience, people like the ones aboard this ship—wealthy patrons who expect safety and comfort—do not like the thought of someone sneaking into their pockets. If word got out that a thief was among us, no matter how simple and untrained, the crew might have taken more… extreme measures to ensure their passengers felt secure.”

She crouched slightly, looking the boy in the eye, her expression unreadable. “A broken arm is painful, yes. But it heals. I chose this over the possibility of you being thrown off the ship.” She tapped a single finger against his forehead. “Remember that, next time you think to steal from someone who sees more than you do.”

She straightened, her voice returning to its usual lilt. “Now, I do believe the boy needs tending to. Whether it be from the one offering magical healing or not, I could not care less.” Her gaze flickered toward Scratch and then Ezekiel as she grabbed her tea once more and took a sip.
In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 1 day ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Race: Yuan-ti
Class: Rogue Arcane Assassin
Location: Top Deck
Interactions: @Apex Sunburn Scratch and Val
Equipment:

Attire: Kimono
Gold Balance: 30
Injuries: None currently, but has numerous faded scars on her body



Meiyu sat on the top deck, her figure draped in a flowing kimono, its black and gold fabric shimmering in the soft glow of the light. She was ensconced in one of the plush lounge chairs, a small porcelain cup of tea held delicately in her hands, the steam rising in thin tendrils as she read a well-worn book. The weight of her curved sword sat beside her, the blade hidden under the folds of her robe, a silent reminder of the quiet danger she carried with her.

The deck bustled with people—voices murmuring, laughter echoing, the occasional clink of glass or scrape of chairs. Yet, Meiyu was alone in her corner, detached from the crowd as her sharp eyes observed those around her, always watching, always calculating.

A dragonborn and his young daughter caught her attention. The father’s demeanor was harsh, his voice barely a whisper but cutting all the same as he looked with barely concealed disdain at the large warforged man standing near the bar as he led his daughter down the stairs. Meiyu could almost taste the tension in the air between the two. She was well-accustomed to prejudice, having seen it many times before and even experienced it herself.

Across the room, a half-elven woman with striking magenta hair moved with an air of curiosity, her eyes scanning the room as she approached the bar. Meiyu couldn’t help but admire the woman's seemingly carefree attitude, the way she held herself, as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She could already tell there was something beneath that fae-like calm, a story that begged to be told.

Then there was a cloaked figure, perched by the bar like a shadow among the brightly lit patrons. Their hooded presence stood out, as though they preferred not to be seen, yet drew Meiyu’s eyes all the same. Not many were cloaked and even less seemed to be trying to hide their face like this person was. The soft rustling of their cloak suggested more than just concealment—they were hiding something. Meiyu’s lips curled slightly, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. There was always more than met the eye in places like this.

And now, an older dwarven man had come up the stairs and approached the warforged, his hearty laugh ringing out above the murmur of conversation. Though the conversation was too distant to hear clearly, she could sense the dwarven man was delighted by the warforged presence. What a refreshing contrast to the previous interaction with the dragonborn.

A light tap at her pocket brought her back to the present. Her fingers moved with practiced speed, seizing the wrist of a young boy, no older than thirteen, attempting to lift something from her. His eyes widened in shock as she pulled him into full view, a calm smile still playing on her lips.

"You've chosen the wrong target," she said softly, her voice like silk, but carrying a weight that made the boy freeze. "In some parts of the world, if someone is caught stealing, they lose a limb."

The boy’s face went pale, panic creeping into his features as he glanced at her sword. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat as Meiyu’s grip tightened around his wrist.

"I’ll be generous," she continued, her voice still calm, "and allow you to keep your limb. But you must learn a lesson. You need to be wiser on picking your targets and understand there are consequences to being caught."

His eyes darted to hers, wide with fear. "W-wait, what are you going to do?"

Without another word, Meiyu twisted his arm, her movements swift and precise. The boy let out a strangled cry as his arm broke with a sickening snap, his face contorting in pain. Meiyu pulled him gently down, her demeanor oddly soothing as she sat him next to her, the broken limb resting in his lap.

"Shh," she murmured softly, her hand gently pressing his trembling shoulder, as though comforting him. "No need to make a scene."

Her eyes flickered over the room, then she called out, her voice carrying in the quiet space. "Doctor!" she called, her tone as even and serene as before. "It seems this young man has fallen and broken his arm. Do hurry, please."

The lounge grew quieter for a moment as the people nearby took notice, but Meiyu remained the picture of composed elegance, her delicate fingers resting on the boy’s trembling shoulder, her eyes scanning the room for any who might dare to challenge her calm.

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 1 day ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Time: Evening
Location: Banquet hall
Interactions: @princess Anastasia
Mentions: @Lava Alckon Drake
Outfit: Dress, Hair, and Makeup



The herald’s voice echoed through the grand hall, announcing her arrival. "Presenting Lady Thea Smithwood of Stravy!"

Thea entered the banquet hall with a purposeful stride, the weight of the evening barely registered beneath the confident facade she wore. The moment she stepped inside, she felt eyes on her, and for a fleeting moment, she basked in the attention. Thea was no stranger to it, though tonight, the anticipation of seeing her mother again clung to her like a heavy cloak. Perhaps that was why she indulged in a bit of alcohol before the banquet? Not nearly as much as she had been drinking about a week ago, but still enough to give her some confidence.

Her attire tonight was nothing short of striking: a gown of shimmering fiery orange silk that hugged her figure tightly before flowing down in graceful waves, the fabric catching the light as she moved. The low-cut neckline was daring but sophisticated, framed by delicate gold embroidery of twisting vines that seemed to dance across her curves, an intricate touch that drew attention to the natural elegance of her body.

Her golden locks, usually falling loose around her shoulders in delicate natural curls, were arranged in soft, deliberate waves around her face in an updo. Her makeup was subtly bold with eyes accentuated with dark kohl and lips painted a deep red that only heightened the tantalizing curve of her smile.

Though her gaze swept across the room, scanning for her brother and others she might know, there was one face she couldn’t help but seek more eagerly than the rest: Lord Drake Edwards. Her steps slowed, eyes scanning for his familiar presence among the sea of guests and wondering where he would be seated, her chest tightening with both excitement and a touch of anxiety.

But even as she searched for Drake, the weight of the evening remained. This event, this banquet—her mother, the looming shadows of what this banquet would bring for Varians—everything felt heavy beneath the gilded glow. Yet, with Leo beside her (whenever he chose to make an appearance), she felt certain she could weather the evening.

Turning her head slightly, she spotted the king himself, lounging on his throne in his usual, chaotic indulgence. It took everything in her not to laugh at him and she found herself quickly turning her attention to the Queen and her children. She gave a curtsy before her eyes landed on her best friend and a mischievous smile spread across Thea’s lips. She waved at her best friend, her hand a quick, playful gesture that cut through the sea of people between them. Despite the glamour and grandeur of the evening, Thea felt a moment of ease, a little piece of home in the form of the girl who had been her anchor over the past few days. Anastasia was a calming presence for her, and tonight, Thea needed all the calm she could get. She held the wave for a moment longer, as if to say, ‘I’ve got this,’ before turning her attention to the looming presence of her mother, Duchess Alice.

Her nerves returned as she took her assigned seat a few seats away from the woman.

In Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron → 7 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 9 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Kalliope & Hafiz


Part 1


!!!Trigger Warning!!! SA, Abuse, Torture, Mental Health


Date: Sola 28th
Time: Night
Location: Castle Hallways near Banquet Hall



Kalliope stood before the mirror, adjusting the plunging neckline of her gown. She wore a striking piece of deep emerald silk that clung to her curves in all the right places. The fabric shimmered under the candlelight, the high slit along her thigh revealing just enough skin to be enticing without compromising her ability to move. Thin gold chains adorned the open back, draping delicately across her shoulders like jewelry, a deceptive touch of elegance masking the steel-edged woman beneath.

Despite the softness of the silk, she had not sacrificed practicality. A small blade was strapped discreetly to her thigh, hidden by the flowing fabric. Beauty was a weapon in itself, one she wielded just as expertly as the steel she carried.

Edin’s request had been clear: attend the banquet, blend in, and keep a watchful eye. Banquets like these were more than just an excuse for nobility to flaunt their wealth and status; they were breeding grounds for secrets, whispered alliances, and veiled threats. Not to mention , this banquet was unique and it was required of Varians to attend thanks to some suspicion on them. If something were to happen tonight, she needed to be ready.

She smoothed her hands over the gown, adjusting the small blade strapped to her thigh one last time. Satisfied with her preparations, Kalliope exhaled and turned toward the door, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she stepped into the dimly lit corridor.

The halls were quieter than usual, the usual clatter of servants preparing for the evening muffled behind closed doors. She welcomed the solitude, using the moment to settle into the role she would play tonight.

Yet, as she continued down the hall, a familiar unease slithered up her spine–whisper of instinct honed over years of survival. She wasn’t alone.

A shadow shifted at the edge of her vision, stepping into the dim glow of the sconces lining the hall. Before she could quite turn and see who her company was, he blocked her path like a wall she would never escape.

Grand Vizier Hafiz Kadir stood before Kalliope. His dark eyes bore into her with intensity she had seen once before. His chiseled features were accentuated by the flicker of the lights, shadows dancing across his angular jaw and high cheekbones.

Draped in an opulent robe of deep purple adorned with intricate gold embroidery, every detail of his attire spoke of wealth and power. In his hands, he held the end of his long braid, his fingers idly toying with it in a dismissive manner. He tilted his head slightly as he regarded Kalliope, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Look at you,” he drawled, his tone filled with faux amusement yet patronizing, “All dressed up like you’re someone worth the silk on your skin.” His gaze dragged over her figure, lingering and leering as he drank her in.

"I must say, Kalliope," he murmured, voice laced with contempt, "I'm impressed. I never expected you to crawl out of that wretched pit I threw you into. You must have clung to life like a rat, gnawing and starving, filthy and broken…" He took a step forward, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "But here you are," He reached out, the back of his fingers brushing over the scar he had left on her face. "Trying so hard to act as if none of that happened."

For a moment, Kalliope couldn't breathe. The world around her shrank, the grand halls of the palace fading into nothing but the suffocating weight of his presence. Hafiz Kadir.

The name alone was enough to awaken ghosts she had long since buried beneath layers of steel and willpower. But seeing him–hearing him–was something else entirely. The years had done nothing to soften the cruel edge of his voice, nor the way it slithered under her skin like a poison she couldn’t expel.

Her body betrayed her first. Her pulse slammed against her ribs, her breath caught in her throat, and for a fraction of a second, she felt small again. Felt the weight of chains around her wrists, the taste of blood in her mouth, his body pressed against her.

Then, he touched her.

A flicker of movement, the back of his fingers grazing the scar he had left on her face. A scar she had worn like armor, proof of what she had endured and what she had survived. But now, under his touch, it threatened to become something else. A brand. A reminder that, in his eyes, she would always be his possession and her stomach churned.

Hafiz’s fingers hovered over the scar, as if savoring the delicate discomfort it caused her. There was something undeniably cruel in the way he lingered, his smirk widening, though his eyes never lost the sharp gleam of satisfaction. He could feel her pulse quicken beneath his touch and it stirred something wicked inside him. He had always known how to make her bleed in ways of both body and mind.

Her reaction was instant.

Before she could stop herself, her hand snapped up, fingers wrapping around his wrist in a vice-like grip. Not trembling. Not weak. Steady. Controlled. But gods, it took everything in her not to break it.

His lips parted in a near-smile, though there was no warmth in it. He could practically taste the defiance rising from her like smoke, could feel the thrum of her rage and fear coiling together like a deadly serpent. It was all too easy to toy with her, to make her wrestle with the ghosts of her past, to remind her of what she had been and still was to him.

The heat of rage warred with the ice of fear in her veins, twisting into something sharp and volatile. She forced her lips into a smirk, despite the storm clawing at her insides. He will not see me break.

"Broken?” Her voice was steady, too steady, like the calm before a storm. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze narrowing into something sharp and dangerous. "Tell me, Hafiz, does it haunt you? Knowing that no matter what you did to break me, I’m still standing?"

Hafiz's eyes flickered, a brief flash of something unreadable. He tilted his head ever so slightly, studying her with arrogance. "Still standing," he repeated under his breath with twisted amusement, the words tasting like irony in his mouth. His smirk only deepened, the expression one of near-mocking delight as he rolled his wrist within her grasp, testing her hold as if it were nothing more than a child’s attempt at restraint.

Her grip on his wrist loosened and she let go, knowing if she injured him it could spell trouble for her. No, she would have to resist that. The ghost of the pain he'd inflicted on her tried to claw its way through, but she shoved it back, forcing a smile that dripped with false sweetness. "You may have made me bleed, but I’m still alive. And you? You’re just a rat playing king in his own little kingdom. Tell me, does it taste as sweet as you imagined, knowing you’ll always be lesser than your brother?"

The words were a dagger, cold and cruel, meant to wound just as deeply as the ones he'd left in her past.

Hafiz laughed. A low, rich chuckle that held no mirth, only amusement that slithered beneath the skin like a whisper of something dark. He stepped closer, leisurely, as if he were not a threat but something worse—something inevitable.

“Lesser?” He echoed, as if tasting the word. “Oh, Kalliope… my sweet little phantom. Do you truly believe I have ever envied my brother?” His fingers toyed idly with the end of his braid, his gaze never wavering from hers.

“Raif was made to be a symbol. A golden, glimmering puppet dressed in virtue, a fool who only exists to be paraded before the people so they can pretend the world is kind.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough that his voice dipped into something softer, something almost intimate…like a secret shared between old lovers.

“But you and I? We are not fools, are we?” His head tilted, his eyes narrowing with a cruel sort of knowing. “You should thank me, really. You have only ever become something because of me. It was I who gave you purpose, I who carved out the woman standing before me. Every ounce of strength you think you possess—every bitter sip of defiance—it is what I molded from the pathetic clay you were. Without me, you are nothing but a lost little girl playing pretend in silk she doesn’t even deserve.”

He sighed, feigning disappointment as he took a step back, letting his gaze drag lazily over her once more. “And yet, here you stand, gnashing your teeth, trying so desperately to convince me you are whole. But tell me, Kalliope…”

His voice dipped, honeyed and venomous all at once.

“When the night is quiet, when no one is watching, do you still hear it?” He paused deliberately before continuing even softer. “The sound of your own screams?”

He smiled, slow and satisfied, watching for the fracture in her carefully constructed armor. “Or have you fooled even yourself into believing you don’t wake up gasping?”

Kalliope had endured every manner of cruelty Hafiz could devise, but this…this was what he did best. Not the scars he had left on her skin, nor the pain he had inflicted on her body, but the way he wove words into weapons, wrapping them around her like a noose.

She could feel it tightening.

The air felt thinner, her limbs heavier, as if his voice alone could drag her back into the abyss he had once thrown her into. His words slithered into her mind, curling around memories she had spent years trying to drown.

The screams.

Not just hers–though those were the ones that haunted her most–but the cries of those she had been forced to silence, the echoes of every night spent in the darkness, waiting for him to come, waiting for the next lesson in pain, waiting for the next piece of herself to be stripped away.

Her pulse roared in her ears. She could feel it happening–the fear clawing up her throat, the instinct to run, to fight, to break just to make it stop.

No.

She swallowed down the bile, forced her breath steady, and lifted her chin. She would not let him see it. He would not have the satisfaction.

Her lips curled, slow and deliberate, the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges. Not forced–no, she made sure it looked genuine, like amusement rather than defiance. Because if there was one thing she knew Hafiz loathed, it was being laughed at.

"Oh, Hafiz," she purred, tilting her head, her gaze flicking over him like she were examining something particularly pathetic. "You always did love the sound of your own voice. Tell me, is that what you get off to at night? Whispering to yourself, pretending you’re more than just a parasite clinging to the legacy of better men?"

She let the insult sink in.

"You think you shaped me?" Her smirk deepened, though her fingers curled against her palms, nails biting into flesh to keep her steady. ”You forged a weapon, I suppose. But you were never smart enough to realize…" she leaned in slightly, just enough to let her voice drop into something sharp, something cruel. "Weapons don’t stay loyal to the hands that wield them."

Her heart hammered. She knew she was playing with fire, but if she let him see the cracks, if she let him see even a sliver of that terrified little girl he had once controlled, he would win.

She took a slow, measured step back, though the walls behind her left no real escape as she felt her back press against it. Still, she let her expression settle into something unreadable, something unshaken.

"So no, Hafiz," she continued, her voice lighter now, mocking. "I don’t wake up gasping. I wake up breathing, free, knowing that every day I live is another day you failed."

She let that sit between them, the weight of it thick in the air.

Then, with a quiet, taunting laugh, she added, "But tell me, old man, when the night is quiet—when you’re all alone—do you ever hear it?"

She tilted her head, watching him carefully, her voice dipping into something almost conspiratorial. "Not my screams—no, those were never enough for you, were they? But the whispers? The ones that slither through the cracks, the ones that call you a failure.”

She let the word drag, slow and deliberate, her smirk sharpening like a blade. "You clawed your way to power, shed blood for it, shaped me into a weapon for it…but deep down, you know.” She lowered her voice, letting it slither between them like his own venomous words. "You will never be anything more than a shadow in another man’s kingdom. Never feared the way you want to be, never respected the way you crave. Just a dog who bit too hard and got thrown the scraps of a throne."

Her chin lifted, her amusement razor-thin but unbreakable. "So, tell me, Hafiz… when you close your eyes, do you still hear that?"

She watched, searching for it—that flicker, that flash of something beneath the arrogance. Because if there was one thing she knew about Hafiz Kadir, it was that power was never enough for men like him. He wanted to be more. And nothing would ever be more damning than knowing he never would be.

Hafiz’s smirk twitched at the edges as something darker, something colder slithered beneath the surface of his expression. For a moment, he merely stared at her. Then, like a venomous beast stirred from its slumber, his face twisted.

It was not a snarl, nor an immediate explosion of rage, but something far more dangerous. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, his fingers flexing at his sides, before the corner of his lips curled. A moment of triumph flickered in her chest even at the smallest indication her words were close to hitting their mark.

Then he laughed.

It was not a sound of amusement. It was more like the scrape of a dagger being unsheathed in the dark.

“Oh, Kalliope,” he mused, shaking his head as if she were nothing more than a wayward child. “That was quite the performance. Really, I must give you credit. I almost believed it myself.”

He took a slow step forward. She met his step forward with a step back of her own, trying to hold herself high still. “‘Weapons don’t stay loyal to the hands that wield them,’” he repeated, the mockery clear in his voice, “Is that what you tell yourself at night? That you are something more than what I made you?” His voice was dripping with condescension. “That you are free?”

Another step toward her.

“Do you think that’s why you’re here now? Why you’re standing in silk instead of chains?” He chuckled, “How convenient for you to believe that. To pretend that you have crawled out of my shadow by your own strength.”

He reached out slowly, dragging a single finger along the scar on her cheek.

Her back bumped into the wall and Kalliope felt it. It was subtle, like a crack in the stone beneath her feet, small enough to ignore but dangerous enough to cause a collapse if left unchecked. His words had always been poison, but now they felt like they were slipping into the cracks of her resolve, finding their way into her mind where they had no business. She wanted to snap back, to twist her tongue into a dagger of her own, to show him that she was still in control.

I am Kalliope Arden and I am not afraid. I do not yield.

But his touch… it lingered. That damn scar, that reminder of what he had taken from her.

“And yet, every time you look in the mirror…” His voice softened, almost gentle. “I am still there.”

Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she felt a strange, uncomfortable heat rise to her face—an anger, yes, but also something far more insidious: the creeping fear of his truth. Of his hands still being there, even if they were never touching her anymore. His words dug deeper than any blade ever had.

His hand dropped, but he kept talking, “Do you want to know the truth, Kalliope?” His tone darkened into something venomous. “You can drape yourself in pretty things, slather yourself in perfume, whore yourself out to whichever man is foolish enough to believe you are his…”

His lips curled as he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, “But you will always be mine.”

Kalliope’s breath hitched.

It was slight—so slight no one else would have noticed, but Hafiz would. Of course, he would. Because he knew exactly where to press, exactly how to sink his claws in and twist.

Whore yourself out.

Sjan-dehk’s face flickered in her mind—his touch, the warmth of it, so different from this filth, so different from him. But the thought of Sjan-dehk, of their unspoken….whatever they were, tangled with the nausea rising in her throat. Hafiz didn’t know, didn’t deserve to speak of things he had no claim to, and yet the sheer gall of it made something in her snap.

Hafiz’s breath was warm against her cheek, and when she felt her back press fully against the wall, the panic slammed into her, sharp and suffocating. But something else flared hotter.

Rage.

I am Kalliope Arden and I am NOT afraid.

Her laugh was quiet, shaky, but not with fear—with something far more dangerous. Her nails dug into her palms as she tilted her head, baring her teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a snarl.

"You delusional, pathetic old man. Is that what this is about?" She mused, voice dripping with venom. "Jealousy?”

Her pulse pounded, her breath coming quicker now, but she clung to the anger, let it fuel her. If she let him see the fear, he won.

"You can talk all you like about ownership, Hafiz, but let's look at the facts, shall we?" She leaned in now, pressing into the fire in her veins. "You came to me. You sought me out.” She gave a sharp, humorless laugh. Her lips curled, vicious and unhinged. ”Sounds more like I own you.”

Hafiz’s expression darkened, his amusement curdling into something more intense… Something vicious. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw, his thumb pressing just beneath her ear—not enough to bruise, but enough to command.“You own me?” he snarled, repeating her words as his voice dropped into a low, seething growl.

“Then tell me, Kalliope—why is it that no matter who you’re with, no matter how much you pretend, you still feel the ghost of my hands on you?”

The moment his hand clamped around her jaw, Kalliope’s breath stilled. She had braced for this—the weight of his touch, the sharp dominance of his grip—but nothing could have prepared her for the way her body reacted. Her muscles went rigid and she couldn't move. She should have fought. She should have spat in his face, wrenched herself free, something....but his words coiled around her like chains, tightening until she couldn’t breathe.

Because he was right.

No matter how much she bathed, no matter how many times she tried to scrub him from her skin, she still felt the ghost of his hands. It sickened her, ruined her, and as much as she wanted to deny it, the truth was already sinking its claws in. He hadn’t needed to lay a finger on her to remind her who had left the deepest scars.

He leaned in, closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear. His breath was now hot against her skin, intimate in the most sickening way.

“Even when you’re alone, when the room is silent… you feel me, don’t you?” He laughed maliciously as he pressed on, “Do they feel it? The way I shaped you? No matter who fucks you, no matter how much you spread those pretty thighs, they will never rid you of me.”

Then, he snapped. In a single, vicious movement, he slammed her back against the wall, his other hand seizing her hip, his grip bruising, possessive, and cruel.

No. No, no, no—

Her breath hitched, panic clawing up her throat, and when he slammed her into the wall, her mind shattered. The room shrank around her, walls closing in, suffocating, swallowing her whole. His breath was fire against her skin, searing, burning through years of carefully constructed walls, ripping her open like he always did. The words slithered into her mind, wrapping around her ribs like a vice.

Memories surged, unbidden, unwanted—dark rooms, locked doors, the weight of him pressing her down until she thought she might drown. She could feel it, still fucking feel it, as if no time had passed at all. She had fought, screamed, bled…and still, he had shaped her.

She wasn’t here anymore. She was back there, trapped, helpless, no one coming to save her. A choked, ragged sound tore from her lips, and for the first time in years, she felt like that girl again.

“Do you remember, Kalliope?” He asked in a venomous tone. He waited, letting the silence stretch suffocatingly. “Do you remember how you’d beg?”

“I should remind you.” His voice was a hiss, his rage boiling over into something terrifying. “Should prove that you are still mine.” He pressed closer, “But no—” he then jerked away, laughing.

His words ripped her from the depths of her memories, dragging her violently back to the present. Remind you. The implication slammed into her like a dagger to the gut, and sheer, unfiltered terror took hold.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up—a feeble, desperate struggle. Her hands pushed against him, weak, trembling, useless. A choked whimper escaped her lips as she turned her face away, as if that alone could make him disappear. No, no, not again. Please, not again.

Then, suddenly, he was gone. The weight of him vanished, replaced by laughter, sharp and cruel. But the relief didn’t come. Her body still trembled, still burned with the phantom of his touch.

“You’re already ruined.”

The Grand Vizier’s smirk was victorious, cruel in its certainty as he stepped back, watching her.
“And besides, I haunt you wherever you go already.” He tilted his head, voice dipping into a whisper of mockery. “Now tell me, Kalliope… Who really owns who?”

The words settled into her skin like a poison, each syllable sinking deeper until they twisted, consuming everything that was once Kalliope. Ruined. His voice echoed in her head, relentless and unyielding. His laughter had stopped, but the cruel certainty of his words lingered, clinging to her like the stench of rot.

Her chest tightened as a hollow ache spread through her, swallowing her whole. She felt like a broken thing, a shattered glass whose pieces could never be put back together. There was no fighting it. No denying it. Every part of her that had ever fought, every piece of her that had hoped to escape, was now buried beneath the weight of his claim.

He didn’t need to touch her. He didn’t need to force her to bend beneath him again. He had already destroyed her, piece by piece, with words that were more suffocating than any physical strike he could land. He haunts me. The thought sent a wave of nausea through her and it took every last bit of strength she had to keep from vomiting. It was true. He was always there—lingering, lurking in the shadows of her mind. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know he was watching her. His presence was an indelible mark on her soul, one that no amount of time or distance could ever erase.

Her throat burned, and she couldn’t swallow the sob that was rising inside of her. His words had cracked her open, exposed every inch of the brokenness she had tried so desperately to hide. But there was nothing left to hide now. Not from him.

Who owns who?

Her lips trembled, the weight of the question choking her. She couldn’t answer him. She didn’t even know if she was capable of answering. She had never been hers to begin with. Not truly. She had been his—always his. And in the end, maybe that was the cruelest truth of all. He had won.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 9 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Thea & Leo


Date: Sola 28th
Time: Morning
Location: Oasis Tea Cafe



Thea sat alone at the small round table, the soft hum of conversation from the other patrons in the Oasis Tea Cafe fading into the background as she absentmindedly adjusted the lace trim of her dress. Her fingers traced the edge of her teacup, the delicate porcelain offering little comfort compared to the swirling thoughts in her head. The humid air of Sorian had settled into her skin, but the coolness of the cafe’s private room was a welcome relief. It was almost too quiet–too still–as she waited for her brother.

Her mind kept returning to Charlotte’s message, the cryptic warning about Leo needing her. The weight of that simple statement hung over her, pressing down on her chest as her concern for him deepened. He was always so strong, so steady. Leo never showed weakness, and for him to need anyone felt strange. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had been struggling all this time, hidden behind his usual bravado. Her heart twisted at the thought. There was also the thought that perhaps he didn't need her and that's just how Charlotte perceived things. Maybe he'd find this whole thing a nuisance?

And then there was the matter of the engagement. Her stomach turned slightly at the memory of the prince breaking off the arrangement, leaving her a letter, of all things. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the shame of it still lingered, like an unpleasant taste in the back of her mouth. She hadn’t had the chance to speak to Leo about it, hadn't even seen him properly since arriving in Sorian for the courting season. And yet, it seemed like something she couldn’t avoid any longer. There were too many unsaid things between them, things she had hoped would settle with time but now knew they couldn’t be ignored. The engagement was a thing of the past, but the silence between her and Leo was too loud to continue.

Thea pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the soft click of her heels against the floor as she crossed her legs beneath the table. The door to the private room creaked open, and for a moment, her breath caught in her throat as she looked up.

No Leo yet.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. He’d be here soon enough, she knew…or she hoped he would be, at least. What if he decided not to come? The thought oddly made her sick and relieved at the same time.

But it felt important. This moment with him, the chance to talk to him about everything–the engagement, their mother deciding to send her home, their father’s disappearance, and whatever Leo had been up to. She had no idea how he would react to any of it, but she couldn’t keep putting it off. She had been avoiding so many things in her life recently, but she couldn’t run from this conversation. Not any longer.

Taking another steadying breath, Thea glanced at the door again, hoping that Leo would walk through it soon–just as she had hoped for so many things over the years, with little to no result.

“Thea!” Leo’s voice betrayed none of his disappointment that she was still in Sorian as he approached the table. “Happy Birthday!” Things would be simpler if she did as their mother instructed and returned to Stravy. Then again, maybe that would’ve been worse. A sudden look of dread flashed across his face as he considered the possibility of Thea disappearing while traveling the same way his father had. With men like Calbert and Black Rose threatening him, that suddenly felt like a terrifying possibility. Maybe this was the best-case scenario.

Thea offered a faint smile at his birthday wishes, though the tension in her chest only grew as she watched him. “Thank you, Leo. And thank you for coming.” Her voice was soft, her concern evident as she studied him more closely. Something was off, and it was impossible to ignore.

“I’m so glad to see you’re well,” He added, only to second-guess his words. Did that imply too heavily that she might be in danger? “Not that you wouldn’t be.” He added, unconvincingly, as he took the chair across from her. Unable to be still, he fidgeted with his mint-colored suit. He glanced around at the other patrons, searching for signs of danger. Fritz had been lucky enough to receive a warning that someone would try to assassinate him. Leo doubted he, nor Charlotte, and possibly even Thea, would be so fortunate.

“I suppose by now you’ve heard all about my..” his face flushed slightly, and his eyes traveled away from Thea’s. Leo cleared his throat. “..Outbursts. And my sincerest apologies for that. Certainly hasn’t helped our family image any.” Shame ruddied his complexion, and he quickly changed the subject.

“How are you? Has anything…” He paused, searching for the right word, one that would not be too alarming. “...strange happened to you here, in Sorian?”

Worry gripped at her chest as she watched her brother. He wasn’t himself. His flushed cheeks, the way he fidgeted with his suit, and his wandering gaze–it all spoke of a restlessness that she couldn’t reconcile with the brother she knew. Charlotte’s words echoed in her mind, heightening her unease.

“I’m fine,” she said carefully, her eyes never leaving him. “Nothing strange has happened to me, unless you count sneaking back to Sorian after Mother tried to send me home.” Her attempt at humor barely lightened the air, her tone growing more serious. “But you…you don’t seem fine, Leo. You’re avoiding my eyes, fidgeting. It’s like you’re waiting for something terrible to happen.”

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Screw our family image right now, we can work to fix that later. Charlotte said you might need me, but she didn’t say why. Please, just tell me what’s going on. I want to help however I can, but I can’t help if you don’t let me in.” Her gaze searched his, steady and full of worry, waiting for him to respond.

“Where to start…” Leo half whispered, more to himself than Thea. Black Rose? Being hexed? Magic? There was so much of it, all so dire, but keeping his sister in the dark about any of it would only make it harder for her to stay safe. He started with the small stuff; how Morrigan assigned a servant to him, one who had yelled at him and flung horse poop around, for no other reason than Morrigan wanted to mess with his head. He almost continued into all the trouble Riona had caused him, but that suddenly seemed too petty to care about compared to what else he had to share.

He moved on to all the bizarre pranks that had been pulled on him: the shrill voice, the pink skin, the unearned drunkenness. How Lottie, Fritz, and he had formed a detective club to find out what happened after the memory loss party. How even Prince Wulfric had joined in on investigating once they uncovered a deeper conspiracy simmering in the shadows of Sorian.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “The party’s host, Marek Delronzo, he’s some kind of crime lord here. He runs a corrupt company called Black Rose with Alexander Deacon, and Calbert Damien has partnered up with them. Calbert has also personally threatened Lottie on two occasions that I know of.” Leo paused, looked around again, and then intently stared into Thea’s eyes.

“Count Hendrix was informed that someone would attempt to assassinate him on Drunkards Day. Someone left bones scattered about my room in the guest house. There was a human skull inside of a chest in my room, and this as well.” He withdrew the photograph of him and his father from the pocket at his chest, the back of which read ‘Don’t worry, you’ll reunite with him soon’, and offered it to Thea to look at.

“Thea, I want you to swear to me you will stay away from Calbert, his family, and anyone connected to Black Rose. This is dangerous; mishandling this situation puts multiple lives at risk.” He waited for Thea to agree.

Thea’s face remained calm as Leo spoke, but her mind raced, clinging to every name and every detail. Marek Delronzo. The name wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, Anastasia had mentioned him before, speaking fondly of the lavish parties he threw. But she had never suspected he was anything more than an eccentric socialite. Alexander Deacon and Black Rose were entirely new, and Calbert Damien’s name brought a bitter taste to her tongue. He held King Edin’s ear and she thought he was just a snake of a man, but clearly there was a bit more to him than that. The connections Leo was weaving were terrifying, but her focus stayed firmly on him as he continued.

When he produced the photograph, her breath hitched. Her eyes scanned it quickly, the sight of their father making her ill. She hadn't actually gazed into that face in over a year and she wasn't sure how it made her feel, but as her gaze reached the back of the photo, she went pale. All the blood seemed to drain from her face, leaving her as white as the porcelain teacup in her hand. The cryptic message scrawled on the back felt like a knife twisting in her gut, but she forced herself to look as calm as she could, even as her hands trembled.

“How…?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she cleared her throat, forcing strength into her tone. “Leo, where did this photograph come from? How could someone even have it?” Her heart pounded. The thought of someone possessing such a deeply personal item, something that should have been safe in Stravy, sent chills down her spine. The implications were as terrifying as everything else he’d shared.

She handed the photograph back to him carefully, her expression troubled. “This is…this is madness, Leo. You shouldn’t be in the middle of this, none of you should. Lottie, Fritz, even Wulfric? What kind of conspiracy is this?” She pressed her hands flat against the table to steady herself. “I promise. I’ll stay away from Marek, Alexander, and Calbert. But you and Lottie–” Her voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “How am I supposed to just sit here and do nothing while you’re risking your life? I can’t lose you too, Leo.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with a desperation she couldn’t entirely mask. Her hands tightened into fists as she stared at him, worry etched into her features. “If Calbert has already threatened Lottie and now this…” Her voice faltered, and she shook her head. “You can’t face this alone, Leo. Please. Tell me what I can do to help.”

Leo found his resolve as he looked into Thea’s wide eyes and paling skin. His hand did not tremble as he took the photograph back, folded it up, and returned it to his pocket. He would be strong for Thea’s sake, and so his hand slid across the table; open, and he waited for her to take his hand.

Thea hesitated only a moment before reaching across the table, clasping Leo’s offered hand tightly. Relief washed over her—not just at his reassurance, but at the fact that he wasn’t shutting her out. If he was letting her in, then she could do something. She could keep him safe.

“Thea, you will not lose me. Or Lottie. Or anyone else.” He forced himself to fully believe that, even if his belief only lasted for a moment. “I’m not here to shut you out of this.” He continued; he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Telling Thea to stay out of it would almost guarantee she’d do something recklessly bold. Leo couldn’t begrudge her that, he’d react the same.

“I want to bring you in, have you working with us on finding ways to take down these villains.” If Thea was part of the team, then he or someone he trusted could keep eyes on her. Could keep her safe. “And we must not confront them directly, for they employ the use of dark and unnatural forces. Magic.” A healthy amount of fear crept back into his tone as he whispered the foul word. “I believe that is how they acquired that photo and how they robbed so many of their memories the night of that party. There’s no telling what they are capable of.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, her grip firm as if anchoring herself to him. “If I can help, then of course I will. I’d rather be by your side in this than sitting in the dark, worrying.” She met his gaze, determination hardening her features. If she was involved, she could watch over him, keep him from doing something reckless. He had Lottie and Fritz, but they weren’t his sister.

The thought of magic made her stomach twist into a knot. It was a thing of myths, of whispered fears and fairy tales meant to keep children awake at night. And yet, Leo spoke of it as if it were real, as if it was the very force working against them. The idea that magic had been used to steal memories, to conjure the photograph now seared into her mind, chilled her to the bone.

“I agree, we need to avoid direct confrontation. There's no room to be reckless. Magic is outlawed for a reason, right? But perhaps it's not a bad idea to learn what we can about it. Know your enemies and such, right? I wonder if there's any information hidden within the castle library?” She mused, keeping her voice lower in case anyone were trying to eavesdrop on them.

Only now did she realize how small her own problems seemed in comparison. The broken engagement, sneaking back to Sorian, even her newfound interest in Drake–none of it mattered right now. Not when Leo was tangled in something so much darker.

“The castle library…” Leo withdrew his hand and repeated the suggestion as if it were a grand revelation. “An excellent idea! Thea, every day I’ve spent on palace grounds, I have found myself hexed! My voice…the pink skin…the drunkenness…” He filled in more details: the glasses Count Hendrix had that revealed magical auras and how he’d seen something dark and malevolent encroaching on him. The ease with which Thea had believed everything else he’d told her eased any reservations.

“Here is what I am sure of; someone in that palace toys with sorcery. I think this hexing business is a separate issue, it lacks the gravity that Black Rose brings with their threats. And the castle is a much safer option to search for more information, maybe even find something we can also use against Black Rose.” Leo left out his suspicions about Lady Morrigan without proof; that was something he’d only keep in the back of his mind.

“You know, given your close friendship with a certain princess that lives in that castle, I think you should be in charge of that front. You’d be able to snoop around just about anywhere without drawing much attention.” He suggested, and of course, the thought of how well-guarded Ana usually was made the idea sound like the safest way for Thea to be involved.

“If it’s separate from Black Rose, then that means someone else is playing games with you,” she mused, tapping her fingers lightly against the table. “But why? If it were random I feel like they would target others too. So is it personal? Or are they testing something?” Her mind sifted through possibilities, but without more information, it was impossible to say. Still, someone casting spells under the royal family's roof was a dangerous prospect.
She exhaled, pushing aside her unease to focus on what she could do. “You’re right, being close with Ana gives me access most others don’t have. I’ll do what I can to look into the castle’s archives, see if there’s anything useful.” Thea’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If someone’s using magic in the palace, there may be whispers about it. Servants always talk, perhaps I can befriend one and see if I can hear rumors. I'll play to my strengths of making friends and building relationships.” Was that really a strength of hers? She seemed to wholeheartedly think so. This led her to remember another budding relationship.
Her gaze flickered back to Leo, an embarrassed and nervous blush creeping across her face. “Oh, um, I-I have some news as well...” she began, taking a deep breath. “I know my engagement with Prince Felix was supposed to be good for our family, for our status.” Thea’s fingers curled slightly against the table. “And I’m sorry I royally screwed that up.” A dry, self-deprecating laugh escaped her. “I scared him off by being honest, and I didn’t mean to.” She shook her head. “I know it was an important match, and I hate that I ruined it.”

Leo could neither stop the eye roll nor hide the annoyance that flashed across his face at the mention of Prince Felix. He had not forgotten how uncomfortable Thea had looked beside Felix, how the prince’s eyes held only judgment, and his hand had gripped her like a possession. He waved a hand dismissively, “You deserve better.” He simply stated.

She hesitated before glancing up at Leo, a flicker of something hopeful in her expression. “But… I may have found another match. It’s not as prestigious as marrying the Crown Prince, but he will be a duke, and it would provide ties to Caesonia.” She bit her lip. “It’s a good match, politically speaking.”
Realizing she was rambling, she inhaled sharply and let out a breath. “That’s not really what I wanted to tell you though.” Her hands twisted in her lap, her voice softer now. “I met Lord Drake Edwards.” She paused, the blush on her cheeks deepening. “And I really like him, Leo. He seems to really like me too.” Thea’s gaze dropped for a moment, but when she lifted it again, there was a quiet certainty in her eyes. “He makes my heart feel happy.”

“And that’s what matters most; that you are happy. I’m certain not even mother could take issue here. Lord Edwards is an excellent choice, a fine man from a respected family.” Leo spoke, and a smile crept up. He noted the unmistakable joy that mentioning Drake brought to his sister’s face. Maybe even the happiest he’d seen her look in a long time.

“But, if mother has anything less than positive to say, I’d be happy to remind her that she went off and married whomever she pleased without any thought on how her choices reflect upon our family.” He offered as his smile turned more mischievous. Leo felt more relaxed than he had in days; knowing Thea was doing well had made everything else feel a little less hopeless.

Thea’s heart warmed at Leo’s words, the weight of lingering doubts easing from her shoulders. She had worried–worried that she had disappointed him, worried that she was making choices that would only cause more trouble. But hearing his support, seeing the way he so easily dismissed Felix and embraced Drake, made her feel lighter.
A small, grateful smile played on her lips. “You have no idea how much that means to me, Leo.” The relief evident in her words. “And if Mother does have anything to say, well… I think I’d quite enjoy watching you remind her of her own choices.” A spark of amusement danced in her eyes.

“She can always return to Stravy, give you a break from her meddling.” He added.

“I’m glad we’re talking, glad that…well that you’re exactly who you are. I was worried…everything I had to tell you was just so…it sounds crazy. But you believed me, and I’m thankful to have your help. I’m sure your support will mean the world to Lottie too.” Leo struggled to find the right words but got close enough to what he meant. The past year had been too much, too isolating, and he’d found not an ounce of support from his mother. There was a sense of guilt for never trusting that he could even ask Thea for support until now.

A soft, affectionate smile spread across her face. “Of course I believe you, Leo. You’re my brother, the first friend I ever had in this life. There’s nothing you could tell me that would make me turn away from you.” Her voice was steady, full of conviction. “I will support you until the end, no matter what.”

“Same.” He agreed without hesitation.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, letting the weight of her promise settle between them. A small smile tugged at her lips. “And as for Lottie, she also has my full support. But I have a feeling she’s stronger than both of us combined.”

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, her eyes brightened. “Oh! Before I forget—Annie is throwing a birthday party for me tonight after the banquet. You are coming, right?” She arched a brow at him, feigning a stern look. “I expect my favorite brother to be there.”

“Thea, I wouldn’t miss your birthday party. It’s my favorite holiday!” Leo relaxed in his chair, perfect posture slipping away as comfort eased in. If there was one thing he could excel at, it should be this. Being the perfect brother, making sure Thea always had someone on her side, looking out for her the way family was meant to, everything else mattered less. As long as he kept doing that, he could figure out the rest of the mess he’d turned his life into.

Thea beamed at Leo’s words, warmth filling her chest. “Good,” she said with playful satisfaction. “I’d hate to have to hunt you down and drag you there myself.” She let out a giggle and that's when she'd noticed a server approaching their table. She'd almost forgotten they were supposed to be getting breakfast.

Leo startled at the sudden intrusion, tension quickly coiling up as his stiff and guarded posture returned.

“Good morning, my lord, my lady. Have you decided on your order?” He asked, giving them both a pleasant smile.

Leo gave only a curt nod as he glanced at a menu. He was more than a little disappointed in himself for allowing somebody, even a nobody, the opportunity to sneak up on him like this.

Thea glanced at the menu, then at Leo before grinning. “I’ll have some of the Morning Mist tea, please. Oh! And an order of coconut macaroons!” She then tilted her head at Leo, letting him order.

“Oolong tea, harvest quinoa salad.” He didn’t glance in the waiter's direction, but once the man had left, he smiled at Thea. “I’m a little worried about what exactly ‘Danrose dressing’ is.” He joked as he pointed at the description of the grilled chicken salad.

Once their orders were placed, she decided to ask Leo something else. "So, has anyone caught your eye yet this season? Anyone you find interesting?"

“I’ve little time to get wrapped up in a summer fling, and I’ve met no one who I see the future Duchess of Stravy in,” Leo answered. He spoke as if he were being asked to go over a business proposal that he’d yet to begin working on. The topic filled him with dread, in the same way a cumbersome stack of paperwork would; a task filled with monotony whose payoff did not equate to the work required.

“But, interesting people, sure. Laying the groundwork for useful alliances. Count Hendrix, Prince Wulfric, Shehzadi Nahir. Although, I’m not sure if the Shehzadi sees me as a worthy ally or regards me more like a cat does a mouse.” Pride showed through as he spoke of his ability to meet and converse with the right people. Lifting the scaffolding for his house and family, and by extension all of Stravy, to continue to grow and prosper.

Thea rested her chin in her hand, watching Leo with a curious look. “You know, Leo, for someone who claims to have little time for romance, you sure put a lot of effort into making connections.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her gaze softened with something more thoughtful.

She reached out, gently nudging his arm. “I know duty and alliances are important, but… you deserve to be happy too. Not just as the Duke of Stravy, but as Leo—the person, not just the title.” Her lips curled into a small smile. “I’d like to see you with someone who challenges you, yes, but also someone who makes you laugh and actually relax for once. Besides, I don't want to see you end up in a marriage like Mother and Father's.” She kept the last line quieter, even though she knew most people were likely aware of the issues the Duke and Duchess had when they were married. She then decided to focus on something else he said.

Tilting her head, she asked with playful curiosity, “As for Shehzadi Nahir—do you want to be the mouse?”

“Mice, do not make good Dukes.” Leo shrugged. “And a royal cat, is not a Duchess. Connections that can benefit Stravy are worth more than summer fun.” He pointed out, a small grin betraying how appealing the mouse option was, the undeniable appeal of danger.

“For me, there is no separation from the title. It’s my future, just as much a part of who I am as anything else. But look at you, you are happy with a logical match that suits both your desires and your station.” He continued; there was no reason he couldn’t secure a union that worked similarly for him. But relaxed was not an option; it was a state of laziness and complacency. It turned leaders into men who did not notice the wolves until they had broken down the door.

“And if you see me with anyone that reminds you of our parents, feel free to slap some sense into me.” He offered.

Thea listened carefully, her expression softening as Leo spoke. She knew he had a point and she couldn't fault him for it. Connections were always important, but she wasn't convinced they were the most important thing.

“Oh, I’d do more than slap some sense into you,” she replied lightly, though the warmth in her tone betrayed her true feelings. “I’d find a way to lock you in a room until you promised to come to your senses. But I doubt I’ll ever have to because I know you're smarter than that, Leo.”

She paused, her smile fading just slightly. “I know the title is important, and I know you take your duties seriously. But I also know that the title alone doesn’t define you. You’re my brother, the man who always stood by me, who worked so hard to protect what we have. That’s who I see when I look at you, not just the future Duke of Stravy.”

Leo nodded his agreement, despite not seeing Thea’s point there. Everything that Thea described was exactly who he thought the future Duke of Stravy ought to be: a man loyal to his family, duty, and homeland. It was an honor to do these things, to be trusted to do them, and to shoulder burdens without complaint. It all meant more than just a rank to Leo, it was a sense of identity constantly pruned and cultivated.

Her gaze softened further as she added, “I suppose that my point is, yes, connections and alliances are important. However, I think what's more important is finding someone who compliments you and supports you. Someone you can share the responsibility with, not someone who adds more weight to your shoulders. That will be more beneficial to Stravy in the long run.” She then tilted her head, a small grin playing on her lips. “And if you ever do decide to be the mouse, I promise not to judge you too harshly.”

“Sure, all agreeable points, but there’s no rush for any of this. More than enough to focus on right now, and I promise, I will not hold it against you if you are married long before I am.” He offered.

Thea chuckled, shaking her head. “Fair enough,” she conceded, though a light blush crept onto her cheeks at his mention of marriage. She hadn’t thought much about it before, not in a serious way even when engaged to Prince Felic, but now the idea settled in her mind—particularly with thoughts of Drake.
What would it be like, truly? A life with him? She knew they weren't even remotely close to really be thinking of such things, but her daydreamer mind couldn't help it. The way he made her feel was unlike anything she had ever known—steady, safe, exhilarating all at once. But there was always that tiny, nagging fear in the back of her mind. What if she was too much? Too stubborn, too strong-willed, too ditzy, too eager for something real? What if, in the end, she scared him away before they even had the chance? What if her demons scared him away?
She quickly pushed the thought aside as the server returned, setting their tea and food down in front of them. Thea straightened, smiling in thanks before glancing at Leo. “Well, I suppose we should enjoy this before it gets cold.”

“Any idea what the banquet tonight is about?” Leo asked in between bites of food. “Varian attendance is mandatory: doesn’t sound good.” He added, but at least this time, unlike the day after Marek’s party, Leo was certain he’d done nothing to earn the ire of the royal family here.

Thea took a sip of her tea, humming thoughtfully as she considered Leo’s question. “Hmm… honestly I'm not sure. Annie hasn't said much about it so I don't know if she even knows. But l could think up theories. Let's see…” She tapped a finger against her chin, then her eyes lit up with mischief.

“Oh! Maybe they’re planning to announce a new royal tradition where all noble families must participate in an elaborate scavenger hunt across the kingdom. Winner gets a golden goose, second place has to host next year’s banquet, and last place is exiled to a remote island.” She gasped dramatically.

“Exiled to a remote island sounds more like fun than a punishment. More relaxing than a summer in Sorian. I do like the idea of a scavenger hunt.” It was too early in the day to worry about the night. Getting lost in Thea’s whimsical and farfetched ideas was just easier.

“Or—wait, I’ve got it. A murder mystery party!” She leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Think about it! The royal family went all out on the theatrics, and they just wanted to make sure there were enough high-profile guests to make it a proper spectacle. Someone will ‘die’ dramatically mid-dinner, accusations will fly, and we’ll all have to solve the mystery before dessert is served.” She giggled as her imagination went wild.

“No wonder they demanded Varian attendance - we have the best detectives. They’d have no hope of solving this future murder without us.” His unabashed confidence returned and clung to him like armor.

She sat back, grinning. “Or, you know… it’s just a terribly boring diplomatic dinner meant to make us all suffer equally. But I much prefer my ideas.”

“And after such a terribly boring dinner, everyone will see you as the hero whose birthday party rescued their night from tedium.” Tonight was about Thea; not even a potentially boring and ominously threatening dinner was going to ruin that.

“Then again, if Duke Lorenzo is going to be there, no way it will be boring.” He shifted the conversation to recounting the dinner he’d attended with the Sultan and his family and Lorenzo’s outlandishly out-of-pocket behavior that night. He smiled wide when he got to the part where he had impressed the Sultan, it was what made that story one of his new favorites to tell.

“Whatever happens at dinner, we will handle it with unshakable grace, and the world will see how Smithwoods always persevere.”
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Mina Blackwood


Time: Middle of the night, Sola 26th
Location: Her room
Attire:
Interaction:
Mentions: Munir


FLASHBACK


The brush trembled in her grip.

It wasn’t hesitation. It was rage. It was sorrow. It was something raw and ugly clawing its way up from the hollow cavity of her chest, threatening to spill from her throat in a scream she didn’t dare release.

The first strokes were wild, unhinged. Black, deep and endless, swallowed the canvas whole. Gold followed—jagged streaks, violent slashes that cut through the darkness like open wounds. Her hands trembled, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Shadows stretched long and distorted across the room, twisting like silent specters along the walls. Bottles—half-drained, some shattered—littered the nearby table, the sharp scent of turpentine and absinthe thick in the air. The glass of her latest drink sat abandoned beside her, forgotten as the brush moved with reckless, feverish desperation.

A figure began to take shape—tall, proud, his posture one of unwavering strength. But his face… his face was shattered, a hollow abyss where warmth had once lived. Around him, golden chains coiled like serpents, binding, choking. His hands grasped at them, desperate, but the chains pulled, yanked, dragged him into the abyss.

Munir.

Her breath hitched, a sob catching somewhere between her ribs. The truth was painted there, exposed in every desperate brushstroke. He had been her light. And she had snuffed it out.

A splatter of paint dripped onto her bare arm, stark against her pale skin. She exhaled, shaking, and stepped back. The candlelight flickered, casting the painting in shifting hues, making it seem almost alive—the chains tightening, the figure struggling, the void devouring him.

She couldn’t sleep.

Not with the weight pressing down on her chest like a corpse. Not with the phantom warmth of Munir’s touch still haunting her skin. The way his hands had once held her like something precious. The way his golden eyes had searched hers, desperate, pleading, when she told him she felt nothing.

Liar.

The word echoed in her skull, cruel and unrelenting.

She had shattered him. Broke him so completely that she feared she had broken herself in the process.

It was for his own good.

That had been the justification, hadn’t it? The lie she whispered to herself over and over again, hoping it would one day take root as truth. That pushing him away, cutting him out like a festering wound, had been the only way to protect him. From her uncle. From the inevitable storm that followed her. From herself.

But gods, it had hurt.

It still hurt.

She reached for the glass, only to knock it over, absinthe spilling across the floor in a slow, spreading stain. A bitter laugh escaped her lips, raw and humorless.

"Figures," she murmured to no one.

Mina sank to the floor, her back against the wall, arms draped over her bent knees. The painting loomed above her, a cruel reflection of her sins, a truth she couldn’t outrun. The alcohol burned in her veins, numbing but never enough. Never enough.

Her fingers traced the rim of the overturned glass absently, her gaze unfocused. Munir would never know. He could never know why she had done it. That she had loved him—deeply, fiercely, in a way that had terrified her. That her lies had been the only way to protect him from the monster pulling the strings behind the curtain.

That she had broken his heart to save his life.

And in doing so, had destroyed herself.

The night stretched on, long and unforgiving. Mina remained on the floor, lost in silence, in the wreckage of her choices. The ghosts of regret whispered around her, unseen but relentless.

And in the dim glow of candlelight, the painting stared back at her.

A wound she could never close.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Time: The Witching Hour, Sola 28th
Location: Middle of the forest
Interactions:
Attire:



FLASHBACK TO THE WITCHING HOUR OF SOLA 28th


The clearing was alive with flickering green fire, its eerie glow casting twisted shadows against the gnarled trees. Five figures stood around it, cloaked and hooded. Their hands wove intricate patterns in the air, whispering words that should never be spoken aloud. The magic pooled between them, tendrils of sickly luminescence twisting like roots in search of something to latch onto.

“This will be our last ritual before the next shipment,” one of them muttered, his voice a rasp beneath his hood. “There’s been too many disturbances. We need the ships protected at any cost.”

A woman–slighter than the others, but with an air of quiet authority–tossed a handful of crushed bone into the flames. The green fire flared, consuming it greedily. “Work faster,” she replied sharply. “The girl in the city is close to breaking. If we apply more pressure, she’ll submit. Once she does, we’ll use them and the others to complete the spell.”

The youngest of the group shifted uneasily. “Are you sure this is necessary? These people—they aren’t bad people. They’re parents, children. Is all this really worth-” His words cut off with a sharp gasp as the leader turned on him, fingers clenching the air. The boy’s body went rigid, lifted off the ground by invisible force, his breath strangled in his throat.
“Question us again,” the leader hissed, “and you will be the next to feed the flame.” The boy’s body was released, and he collapsed to the ground, coughing, rubbing his throat. No one else spoke.

The ritual continued.

The flames darkened, deepening from green to black, flickering with an unnatural hunger. The symbols carved into the forest floor pulsed with energy, waiting for the last phrase, the final drop of power that would open the way.

A twig snapped.

The youngest turned, uneasy. “Someone’s watching us.”

The leader barely spared him a glance. “Then let them watch. Soon, they will be part of something greater.”

A shadow dropped from the trees.

Tall. Graceful. Wrapped in furs and leathers, a sword strapped to her back. Silver hair caught in the unnatural firelight, and golden eyes gleamed like those of a predator reflecting moonlight. Torvi Jorviksdottir stepped into the clearing, hands empty, posture loose. There was no fear in her face. Only interest. “Well,” she drawled, glancing at the ritual in progress. “Do not let me stop you. Looks like you have put a lot of work into this.”

The cultists tensed, fingers twitching toward weapons and spells. The leader narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
She tilted her head, inhaling deeply. “That is a lot of magic for so few of you. And… blood magic? Bold.” Her eyes landed on the youngest, who still rubbed his throat from his earlier punishment. “That one does not smell confinced.”

The boy flinched. The leader straightened. “You should not be here.” His gaze flickered toward his acolytes. “She’ll do.”

Torvi lifted a brow. “I will do? Do what, exactly?”

“You are strong. More than most, it appears. That makes you a fine offering.”

A smirk curled at the corner of Torvi’s lips. “An offering. How flattering.”

The woman beside the leader stepped forward, hands weaving a spell. “Bind her.” The shadows around the clearing slithered, reaching like grasping fingers, the air thickening with oppressive force. A sigil flared beneath Torvi’s feet, glowing with crimson power, designed to hold, to drain, to subdue. The cultists watched, waiting for her to collapse, to be reduced to another sacrifice bound to their will.

Torvi chuckled as she watched the sigil at her feet, one hand toying with a necklace around her neck. She then rolled her shoulders as if shaking off a chill.

The sigil flickered. Then died. Silence fell.

The leader frowned. “That’s not–”

“Possible?” Torvi finished for him and shook her head in disappointment, letting out a sigh. “Always. You witches always think you are all powerful. Cocky. Foolish.” From the other side of the group came a snarl as Fenrys stepped into the clearing now. The young kid in the group let out a frightened sound as he looked at the large wolf. He looked like he was ready to bolt, but to his credit he stayed put. “You forget you are only mortal.”

Torvi moved. Faster than their eyes could follow. One moment she stood within the dying sigil. The next, her boot connected with the spellcaster’s chest. Bones cracked, and the woman flew backward, colliding with a tree so hard the bark split. The others barely had time to react before Fenrys was among them, a flash of black fur and snapping teeth.

The youngest turned to run. A hand shot out, seizing him by the throat. Torvi lifted him off the ground with unnatural ease, golden eyes burning, pupils blown wide. She inhaled again, slow, savoring. “You reek of fear.”

The boy’s hands clawed at hers. “P-please–”

“It is a shame, really. So young, so much life still ahead.” Her other hand reached up and gently caressed his face. “Tell me, little one, who put you on this path? Tell me, and I will set you free.”

Her voice was soft, almost tender, the brush of her fingers deceptively gentle against his cheek. Did she really mean it, he wondered? Was mercy still an option? “T-the Black Rose.” He finally whispered, hope shining in his eyes, but Torvi did not let him go.

“Thank you, little one. May the gods grant you mercy and welcome you with open arms into their halls.” She watched the fear rush back into his eyes once again.

“B-but you sai–” CRACK! His voice was cut short as she crushed his windpipe, snapping the bones in his neck. A flick of her wrist sent him crashing into the ground. He did not rise.

The leader raised his hands, magic crackling between his fingers. “You–what are you?”

Torvi turned toward him, tilting her head, considering. The shadows danced across her features, sharpening the angles of her face into something almost… inhuman. “You tried to make me prey.” A slow smile. “That was your first mistake.” The leader unleashed his spell–black fire meant to consume. The necklace she toyed with earlier flared brightly, countering the spell. Torvi stepped through it. The air shimmered around her as the flames licked at her skin but did nothing, parting as though unwilling to touch her. She was already in front of him before he could utter another word, her fingers curling around his wrist. A sickening crack. He screamed.

Torvi yanked him forward, so close he could see the sharpness in her eyes, the breath of something other behind them. “Your second mistake?” She murmured. She leaned in, voice almost a whisper. “Thinking I was merely human.” The last thing he saw was her smile before the world went black.

The clearing was silent again.

Torvi exhaled, rolling her neck. Fenrys padded back to her side, muzzle stained red. She ruffled his fur absently. “Well, that was fun.” The black flames guttered out. The sigils lost their glow. The night reclaimed the clearing.

The hunt was over.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Time: Morning Sola 28th
Location: Her room—>Art Gallery
Attire: Dress
Interaction: Rohit @Helo & Milo @PapaOso
Mentions: Munir, Alexander @FunnyGuy



Mina groaned as the faint whispers of the spirits pulled her from sleep, their voices a chaotic mix of scolding and disapproval. She blinked against the early morning light filtering into her room, burying her face in the pillow as if that could silence them. "What now?" she muttered, her tone groggy and laced with irritation.

"Stupid girl! Reckless, foolish girl!" the voices hissed, sharp and scornful. Mina rolled onto her back, glaring at the ceiling as though the spirits could see her exasperation. "Save the theatrics," she said flatly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "I’m too tired for your cryptic antics this morning."

But the spirits continued, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of displeasure. "You had no right! Flirting with him! Letting him feed from you! Continuing to interact with him after! Do you even care what you’re doing?"

At that, Mina let out a low laugh, propping herself up on one elbow. "So that’s what this is about? Alexander? This all started days ago and you choose now to scold me?! Good lord." She shook her head, her amusement clear. "You really think I’ve gone soft? That I’m falling for him? Swooning over his charm?" Her laugh grew louder, almost mocking. "Oh, that’s rich. I must be better at my tricks than I thought."

She stretched lazily before rolling back over in the bed. "Alexander is a means to an end. Nothing more." Her voice was steady, cool, and certain. "If I have to let him bite me, pretend to swoon, and let him think he’s got the upper hand for a while, so be it. It’s all part of the game." She glanced over her shoulder, addressing the spirits directly. "He’s trying to use me, too. I’m not blind to that. But if playing this game gets me the access and the knowledge I need? Then it’s worth every second."

Mina smirked, running a hand through her hair before shrugging nonchalantly. "Now, if you’re done with the morning lecture, I’d like to go back to sleep. Surely there’s something more pressing for you to haunt rather than bother me, right?" The spirits hissed faintly in reply, but their presence began to fade, leaving Mina alone with her thoughts.

She yawned before grabbing the covers, pulling them up to her chin as she closed her eyes. The voices of the spirits had finally begun to fade, their hissing and chiding whispers dissipating into the stillness of the room.

Almost.

A chill pricked at Mina’s senses, and her eyes snapped open. She felt it before she saw her–felt the familiar weight of guilt settle heavily in her chest. Slowly, her gaze shifted to the corner of the room, where the faint, shimmering form of a woman stood.

The Sultana. Munir’s mother.

She held a baby in her arms, cradling him close. Her expression was sorrowful, her eyes watching Mina with a quiet intensity that pierced straight through her. The Sultana hadn't spoken, she didn’t need to.

Mina sat up slightly, gripping the edge of her blanket as the familiar wave of guilt washed over her. It clung to her like a shadow, growing heavier with each passing second. She knew what the Sultana wanted, what her presence meant.

"I know," Mina said softly, her voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. She looked away, unable to meet the woman’s sad gaze. "You don’t have to remind me."

The Sultana didn’t move, didn’t speak. She simply stood there, holding her child with a mournful tenderness, her eyes fixed on Mina as though begging her to understand the weight of her actions.

Mina clenched her jaw, shutting her eyes tightly. "I did what I had to do…to protect him," she whispered, her voice barely audible. But the words felt hollow even as she said them.

When she opened her eyes again, the Sultana was still there, unmoving, unwavering. Mina swallowed hard and laid back down, turning on her side to face away from the lingering specter.

The air felt heavier than before, but Mina forced herself to close her eyes, letting exhaustion creep back over her. The Sultana’s presence didn’t fade, not entirely. She lingered in the corner, silent and still, her sorrowful gaze burning into Mina’s back as the young woman drifted into a restless sleep.



Mina stepped into the Sorian Gallery of Fine Arts, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. The warm glow of chandeliers above her cast light that seemed to dance along the art-covered walls, illuminating masterpieces that demanded attention. She wasn’t in a rush to be seen. Her posture was confident, as always, but there was a slight heaviness to her steps, a faint shadow in her eyes.

She had chosen an ensemble that bordered on avant-garde: a black gown with a fitted bodice and sweetheart neckline, with long bell sleeves and a full skirt. A black choker necklace with a large reddish brown gem adorned her neck, and her ginger hair fell in loose curls. Atop her head sat a large black hat decorated with dark red roses. Her attire was dramatic yet elegant, an extension of the enigma she so often projected. But beneath it all, she felt unmoored.

The lingering image of Munir’s mother haunted her as she wandered through the gallery, her eyes tracing the soft curves of sculptures and the bold brushstrokes of paintings. Art, usually her solace, only heightened her inner turmoil tonight. She paused before a large painting from Milo’s Reflections of Reverie collection. The piece was haunting, reminding her of a darkened forest where shards of light broke through the canopy above, casting fractured shadows that seemed to shift and move under her gaze. Chaos and tranquility indeed.

Her fingers instinctively reached out to the air between her and the canvas, as though she could physically grasp the meaning within. And then, that familiar chill slid down her spine. She froze.

“Mina…” The whisper echoed in her ears, soft and mournful. It wasn’t like the cacophony of the other spirits; no, this one was distinct. She closed her eyes, willing herself to breathe, but the voice persisted.

“Mina.”

The whisper grew more insistent, tugging at her resolve. She stepped back, her heel catching on the smooth marble floor. Her body pitched to the side, unsteady, and before she could catch herself, colliding into the solid frame of another guest. Her hands shot out instinctively to grab hold of something, anything, but it was too late. She was falling.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she twisted mid-air, her eyes catching the faces of two men just as she went down between them. Bracing herself for the inevitable impact with the cold, unforgiving floor, she closed her eyes, silently cursing whatever ghost had brought her to this point.
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 2 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Kalliope & Sjan-dehk


Date: Sola 26th
Time: Evening
Location: Small little inn

Part 3




By the time they arrived at the inn, the city’s chaos had given way to the stillness of the night. The inn itself was tucked down a quiet side street, its warm, golden light spilling onto the cobblestone road like a beacon of comfort. The carved wooden sign above the door depicted a coiled dragon resting atop a hoard of coins, its craftsmanship a testament to the inn’s reputation for blending charm and luxury.

Sjan-dehk glanced at the sign, then at the building’s facade. He let out a low whistle. “Fancy look for a quiet place,” he remarked.

Kalliope pushed open the door with familiar ease, stepping into the cozy common area where the scent of wood smoke and spiced tea filled the air. A few patrons lingered at the tables, chatting quietly or nursing drinks, but the room was far from crowded. Behind the polished counter stood a plump, middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a sharp mind. She glanced up as Kalliope approached, her expression lighting up in recognition. Her gaze briefly flicked to the necklace Kalliope war, a silent indicator of who she was that night.

“Well, if it isn’t Lady Vayne,” the innkeeper said warmly, “Shall I prepare your usual suite, my lady?”

Kalliope’s lips curved into a gracious smile. “Yes, please, Elyna. And if it’s not too much trouble, could you have some tea and perhaps something light to eat brought up? My companion and I have had quite the evening.”

“Of course, my lady,” Elyna replied with a slight bow of her head. Her sharp gaze darted to Sjan-dehk, but she said nothing more. Instead, she turned and gestured to one of the serving staff, giving quiet instructions before returning to the counter. “It’ll be ready shortly.”

Kalliope thanked her with a small nod, then motioned for Sjan-dehk to follow as she led the way up the staircase to the second floor. The corridor was lined with ornately carved doors, each marked with intricate plaques indicating the suite numbers. Kalliope stopped at the third door on the left, producing a key from the folds of her gown and unlocking the door with a smooth motion.

The suite inside was the epitome of understated elegance. A plush rug in rich shades of crimson and gold stretched across the floor, its patterns intricate and mesmerizing. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, the golden light casting a warm glow over the room. To the right, a small sitting area boasted a pair of high-backed chairs flanking a low table, perfect for quiet conversation or reviewing documents.

The bed dominated the far end of the room, its canopy draped in sheer, gauzy fabric that shimmered faintly in the firelight. A small sideboard held a collection of decanters and glasses, while a writing desk was tucked neatly into the corner, complete with an assortment of ink and quills.

Sjan-dehk looked at the room with impressed eyes as he carefully stepped inside, as if it wasn’t an inn’s room that he was stepping into, but the stately chamber of a mansion. But perhaps ‘stately’ was the wrong word to use – this room didn’t feel stuffy, or overly-elaborate for the sake of it. Everything seemed to have a reason for why they were the way they were. The decorations were certainly fine and intricate, but they accented the room nicely, rather than dominating it. He could feel a gentle air of cosiness from the furnishings, rather than a desire to impress.

Kalliope stepped inside before glancing over her shoulder at Sjan-dehk, her smirk returning. “Well? What do you think? Cozy enough for our letter-reading adventure?” Her tone carried just enough playful emphasis on the phrase to keep him guessing about whether or not she truly meant to behave as she pulled the letter out of her bodice and waved it before him. As they settled in, someone brought the tea she requested and an assortment of pastries before silently leaving.

Thank the Mother for the interruption, for Sjan-dehk’s mind had wandered to somewhere that wasn’t as savoury as he liked at Kalliope’s words – or her tone, to be accurate – and her actions. His eyes, which had been drawn to her bosom by her hand, quickly snapped away to instead look towards the person with their drinks and food. “Thank you,” he said with a nod, doing his utmost best to keep his voice and tone as calm, level, and devoid of his shame as possible.

That brief distraction returned his attention to the task at hand, but still Sjan-dehk was convinced that there was something dreadfully wrong with him today. He wasn’t usually like this, so easily distracted by the words and ways of a woman. Or just easily distracted in general.

He shook his head slightly, then looked at the tray. “Well, we’ve food and drinks. I think it’s as good a time as any for us to have a look at the letter.”

Kalliope laid the letter carefully on the table, smoothing out the edges with a practiced hand. She then walked over to the writing desk and grabbed a blank sheet of paper as well as a quill and ink, just in case she needed to write anything down to help decode this. She then grabbed a cup of tea and took a delicate sip, savoring the warmth and calming effects before she set it down. The tea seemed extra delightful tonight.

She sat down with a fluid motion, her gaze drifting back to the letter. After a long moment of quiet examination, she tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in subtle curiosity.

“So,” she said, her voice low and thoughtful as she looked at Sjan-dehk, “other than the random darker spots and slanted letters, does anything about this letter stand out to you?”

With furrowed brows, Sjan-dehk examined the letter. His command of Caesonian had improved over his stay thus far in Sorian, but reading was still something with which he found trouble. To be honest, had Kalliope not pointed out the slanted letters, he wouldn’t have thought them to be suspicious. And still, despite his best efforts to scrutinise them in every which way possible, he couldn’t figure out just why she had pointed them out. They just looked like someone was writing in a rush.

“Can’t say anything does,” Sjan-dehk admitted in a half-grumble. “Reading your language…Well, the characters, at least, isn’t something I’m too good at. It looks like a normal letter to me.” Then, his lips pulled into a grin and he looked at her. “But I’m guessing you caught something?”

She took another sip of tea before also grabbing a small pastry and nibbling on it. “Also, this tea seems to be exceptionally good tonight. I wonder what kind they used tonight because it feels special.”

“Is it?” Sjan-dehk gingerly picked up one of the cups and carefully sipped from it. He allowed the tea to linger on his tongue for a while before swallowing. Then, he sipped again. He emptied almost half of the cup before it occurred to him that, foreign as he was to local teas, he probably wouldn’t know if there was something about this particular tea’s taste. Embarrassed, he placed the cup back onto the tray and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“It’s…A strong tea,” he remarked, sounding more awkward than he would have hoped. “But it’s good, I think. Can’t say I can tell what it tastes of, though.” The fruity, earthy flavour lingered on his tongue, but as a welcome guest rather than one that had outstayed their welcome.

Kalliope took another sip of her tea, savoring the taste with a thoughtful expression. “It’s… fruity,” she mused, tilting her head slightly. “Maybe a little floral too? It’s different. Not something I recognize, though. A new blend, maybe? I'll have to ask Elyna later.” She glanced at the cup again, swirling the tea absently before chuckling softly. “Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked. Back to the matter at hand.”

She set the tea down and leaned over the table, her focus shifting back to the letter. With a steady hand, she began jotting down the darker and slanted letters onto the blank sheet of paper, speaking aloud as she worked. “Here’s an odd one… and another… and this one, too.” Her quill scratched against the page as she formed the collection of seemingly random letters.

When she was finished, she held up the paper, her brows furrowed in frustration. “It doesn’t make any sense. Just a jumble of letters. Whoever wrote this either didn’t want it deciphered or they’ve got a very strange way of hiding their message.” Letting out a soft sigh, Kalliope leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the backrest. “Or maybe I was wrong and it really isn't anything at all.”

As she sat there, the warmth of the room and the effects of the tea began to creep through her in ways she didn’t immediately notice. The edges of her usual sharp wit seemed to blur ever so slightly, and a strange sense of contentment washed over her, one that she rarely let herself indulge in. Her eyes wandered over to Sjan-dehk, and for a moment, a warm, lazy smile spread across her lips. “You know,” she began, her voice softer than before, “I was thinking about earlier. When I kissed you.” She tilted her head slightly, her emerald eyes glinting in the flickering firelight. “I wouldn’t mind doing that again.”

Sjan-dehk met her gaze, and was once again struck dumb. He had hoped that, after a night of being teased by her in such a fashion, such words would slide off his mind as easily as water dripping off a sheet of sailcloth. That was evidently wishful thinking; Kalliope’s words, coupled with the relaxed look about her face, brought Sjan-dehk’s thoughts to a crashing halt, and made his heart skip a couple of beats. Once again, he could himself wondering whether she was serious. Once again, he wondered just why that mattered to him.

With nothing to say, and no words coming to his mind anytime soon, he decided to occupy his mouth with other things before he blurted out something thoughtless. He reached for his cup and emptied it in one long gulp.

The words hung in the air for a moment, her tone sincere and unguarded. Kalliope reached for her tea again, her fingers brushing over the cup as she realized what she had just said. Her eyes widened slightly, and a faint blush began to creep across her cheeks. Quickly, she cleared her throat and looked away, pretending to focus on the scattered papers in front of her.

“Ahem. I mean, uh… That was supposed to stay in my head,” she mumbled, her voice quick and flustered. She dipped her quill into the ink again, keeping her eyes firmly on the parchment as if willing it to distract her from her own words. “Let’s… just focus on the letter again, shall we?” The slight tremble in her hands betrayed her composure as she scribbled aimlessly, trying to hide the deep flush spreading across her face.

“Yes,” Sjan-dehk said quickly, the heat still in his cheeks. “Let’s focus.”

Focus, as it turned out, was the one thing that refused to come to him. He watched Kalliope scribble with great interest, following every stroke of her quill and taking in every letter. Even so, it took him a couple of minutes before he realised that she wasn’t writing anything at all, but simply scrawling with neither aim nor purpose. That was indeed a curious thing, he knew. And yet he didn’t feel any need to ask her anything. Not what she was doing, and not whether she was alright. All Sjan-dehk felt was a strange, but comforting sense of calm.

He turned his head. For what reason, he neither knew nor cared. All he knew was that now he could easily catch sight of Kalliope’s strikingly beautiful eyes, bright and glimmering as they were. Had she always looked this attractive? Had he simply never noticed? Or was this yet another consequence of their exciting little adventure in the estate earlier? He didn’t dwell on those questions. He didn’t care much for them, anyway. What importance could they have, when he was here, in this room, and right next to a lady so, very alluring?

“I…” He began. Whatever carelessness he felt wasn’t reflected in his voice, but still he pressed on, a slight waver in his words. Whether it was from embarrassment or something else, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. “I…I mean, it was nice. The kiss. I liked it as well and, well, I wouldn’t mind if you…If you did what you want.” His words died to a quiet and indistinct murmur towards the end, but amidst the peacefulness of the room, he may as well have shouted them.

Kalliope froze at Sjan-dehk's words, her quill stilling on the parchment mid-scribble. Her emerald eyes locked onto his, wide with surprise and disbelief. For a moment, it seemed as if the world had stilled, the only sound in the room being the faint crackle of the fire. Then, almost imperceptibly, her lips curved into a soft, slightly giddy smile.

A light giggle escaped her, uncharacteristic and far too carefree for her normal flirtations and teasing. She set the quill down, standing with an almost languid grace and crossing the short distance between them. The haze of something in the tea, the warmth now coursing through her veins, seemed to melt away her restraint, leaving her feeling bold, almost reckless.

Leaning down, she placed her hands on either side of Sjan-dehk’s chair, bringing her face mere inches from his. Her eyes, bright with something that bordered on mischief and raw honesty, searched his as her breath brushed lightly against his lips. “I dare you to kiss me,” she murmured, her voice low and filled with a teasing, honeyed edge. “But I’ll warn you…”

Sjan-dehk gulped, but it was more of a reflexive action than anything else. Contentment, calm, and a hint of anticipation were all that were on his face as he looked up at her, his lips pulled into a relaxed, lazy smile. What other reaction could there be, to words as daring and titillating as those?

Her gaze dropped to his lips, lingering there for a heartbeat before flicking back up to his eyes. “If you do, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop there.” A quiet laugh tumbled out of her, soft and almost self-deprecating. “And that’s because… I think I’m falling for you, Sjan-dehk. Completely.”

She tilted her head slightly, her voice growing quieter but no less sincere as she let the confession tumble out of her. “I tried to tell myself I wasn’t allowed to. That it wasn’t smart, or right, or…” She trailed off, her smile fading just slightly as the weight of her admission settled over her. But then, the boldness surged again, her lips quirking into a faint smirk as she leaned even closer. “But here we are. Your move, Captain.”

“Falling?” Sjan-dehk echoed with a teasing grin. He tilted his head the other way and pushed himself upright. So close were their faces that he could almost count the strands of her lashes, that he could see the faint, warm shine highlighting her lips. For a brief moment, his senses seemed to return, and his smile faltered. His breath caught in his throat. Uncertainty crept into his dark irises. Every instinct told him to pull away while he still could.

But as quickly as it had come, that moment left. What had he even been worried about? Nothing that mattered all that much, he assumed. The grin returned to his face, and he raised his hand, bringing it to Kalliope’s face. His palm rested gently against her cheek, his thumb gliding along the ridges of her cheekbone. He had done the exact same thing earlier, in the estate, but back then it had been just a thoughtless reaction. An act, and nothing more. Now, however, it was more than that. He knew what he was doing. He wanted to touch her.

Her skin tingling beneath his touch and almost instinctively, she leaned into it, her eyes fluttering closed for a fleeting moment as she savored the gentle, deliberate motion of his thumb against her cheekbone. The gesture was so simple, yet it unraveled something deep within her, leaving her feeling vulnerable and impossibly safe all at once. When her gaze found his again, her expression softened, a quiet, unspoken yearning reflected in the depths of her emerald eyes.

“Falling?” He repeated, then nodded. Whatever he was going to do – whatever he was doing right at this very moment, in fact – wasn’t going to be the wise, or right, or even sensible thing to do. Deep in his heart, he knew that. And yet, he couldn’t say that he was bothered much by it. He knew what he wanted, and that was enough for him. “Then I suppose I’ve to catch you.”

His words came out in a soft murmur, each syllable bringing his face closer and closer to hers, until a hair’s breadth was all that separated them. He gazed into her eyes, his mischievous grin softened to a warm, gentle smile. “Here we are,” he whispered and winked.

He leaned in, and pressed his lips against hers.

The kiss stole Kalliope's breath before she even realized she had given it away. The warmth of his lips against hers sent a jolt down her spine, igniting a fire in her veins that burned through every last shred of caution she might have clung to. It wasn’t like the brief kiss they had shared earlier, the one she had claimed was a distraction. No, this was deliberate, purposeful, and brimming with the kind of emotion she had spent so long convincing herself she couldn’t afford to feel.

Her thoughts spun in dizzying circles, fragmented and incoherent. This is happening. This is real. She couldn’t deny the truth of it, the way his touch and closeness made her heart race and her knees feel as if they would give out at any moment. And then they did.

Her knees buckled beneath her, and before she could stop herself, she sank down, finding herself perched on Sjan-dehk’s lap. She let out a soft, almost breathless laugh against his lips, her cheeks flushed and her pulse racing. “Guess I really am falling,” she murmured without really breaking the kiss, though the words barely registered even to herself.

Sjan-dehk chuckled breathily, his eyes half-lidded and his lips pulled into a silly smile as he looked at her. At the same time, he slipped an arm around the small of her back to keep her in place. “You can fall as much as you want,” he said, the words coming out as hushed, heated breaths. With a tug that was equal parts gentle and firm, he pulled her snugly onto his lap. “You’ll be alright. I have you.”

Her hands, almost of their own accord, moved to his chest. They splayed out over the broad expanse of muscle, feeling the strength beneath his tunic as her fingers traced tentative, roaming paths. His heartbeat thudded beneath her palm, strong and steady, and something about that simple rhythm sent a warm ache of longing through her.

A soft, almost helpless sound escaped her throat—half sigh, half moan—as she pressed herself closer. One hand curled into the fabric of his tunic as if she were anchoring herself to him, while the other slid upward, brushing over his shoulder and coming to rest at the base of his neck. Sjan-dehk replied with a soft hum reverberating in his throat. The closer she pressed herself to him, the tighter he wrapped his arm around her, until their bodies were almost flush against one another.

His scent, sea salt and something earthy, unmistakably him, filled her senses, and it made her dizzy in the best way. Her lips moved against his, hesitant at first but quickly growing more confident, pouring into the kiss every ounce of unspoken feeling she’d kept bottled up for so long. She couldn’t hold back now, couldn’t stop the way her body gravitated toward his as if pulled by some magnetic force.

As her lips moved, so too did his. Wherever they went, his was sure to find them. He leaned his back off the chair, trying to press himself ever-so-closer against her, to feel more of her warmth, to fill his nose with more of her flowery scent, to simply know that this was real. His hand travelled across her back until its fingers could curl around her slender waist, and his arm could pin her to him. It was like his body didn’t want to let her go, now that he had her, even as his mind whispered that this wasn’t a smart thing to do.

The whispers kept swirling in his mind, but could never truly get him to listen. The raw desire burning within him drowned out their warnings. All he could think about, all he could care about, was Kalliope and how she – every part of her – felt against him.

Her fingers at his neck curled slightly, nails grazing his skin in a way that was both tender and daring. She broke the kiss for the briefest of moments, her forehead resting against his as she caught her breath. Her eyes fluttered open, locking onto his with a mix of wonder and disbelief. “Sjan-dehk…” she whispered, her voice breathy and unsteady. A giddy smile played at her lips as she leaned back in, unable to resist pressing another kiss to his mouth, softer this time but no less charged.

Something at the back of her mind screamed that she should stop, pull back, regain her composure. But the warmth of his body, the steadiness of his hands, the way his presence seemed to consume her…it was all too much, too intoxicating. For once, she didn’t care about what was right or wise. She didn’t care about the consequences. All that mattered in this moment was him.

When she did finally pull away, realizing she needed air, she didn’t move far, her forehead resting lightly against his as she struggled to catch her breath. Her emerald eyes fluttered open, locking onto his with a vulnerability that she couldn’t hide. “Sjan-dehk,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, the sound trembling with emotion. Her hand, still resting on his chest, tightened its hold slightly as if to anchor herself. “I think… I think you just made me fall all the way.”

The words spilled out before she could stop them, but for once, she didn’t care. There was no teasing now, no coy smiles or witty quips to hide behind. Just her, bare and open, her heart laid bare in a way that both thrilled and terrified her. “And I don’t know what to do with it,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing deeply as her gaze flickered to his lips again, already longing for the next kiss.

Sjan-dehk wasn’t quite sure what to do, either. He wasn’t a stranger to all they had done so far – the many post-battle victory celebrations he had been a part of made sure of that – but going any further than heated kisses and daring touches was wholly unknown to him. He may as well be asked to sail uncharted waters, towards uncharted waters.

And yet, as he gazed into Kalliope’s eyes, and saw the redness in her cheeks, the sincerity etched in her features, and that slight, but unmistakable, tinge of nervousness, that uncertainty didn’t matter all that much, anymore. What did it matter? Before each other, they had laid their needs and wants and desires bare. And it was clear that both of them craved the same thing. He brushed his hand against her cheek, fingers pushing aside the fiery tresses tickling her face. “I don’t know, either,” he said in a soft voice. “I don’t know what I’m feeling. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know if all this, all that I’m doing, is right. Or smart. Or if it even makes any sense.”

With one hand, he caressed his cheek. With the other, he held her by her waist. “But what I do know is that doing all this makes me feel…Content.” Slowly and gently, he guided her face closer, even as he leaned forward. “Mother help me, being with you like this makes me feel…Light. Lighter than I’ve felt in a damn long time.”

Their lips were now almost brushing against each other. He stopped, eyes half-lidded. “I don’t know a damn thing about what’s going on, Kali,” he admitted in a hushed voice. “But somehow, I can’t say that it bothers me at all, because right now I hear you calling to me just like the sea.” He grinned, but it wasn’t a mischievous one. It didn’t speak of playfulness, but of assurance. “And not even the damn Abyss can stop me from answering. So fall if you’re going to fall. I’ll be falling with you.”

He closed the scant distance between them, and captured her lips in another kiss. This time, he took the lead. With his uncertainties and hesitations discarded, he pulled her closer to him, sitting her fully on his lap. He placed both his hands on her waist, resting them just above her hips.

As his lips met hers, a wildfire seemed to ignite within her. It was all consuming. His hands on her waist steadied her, and yet, she still felt as though she was falling, her entire world narrowing to the feel of his lips and the strength of his touch. Her own hands found their way back to his chest, her fingers fanning out against the warm fabric of his tunic as if she were grounding herself to him.

But grounding herself wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Needed more. Her hands roamed upward, brushing over his broad shoulders before tangling in his hair. The soft strands were a contrast to the callouses of her fingers, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the way he felt beneath her touch, the way he responded to her, and the way her body seemed to hum with life in a way it never had before.

The kiss deepened, and she let herself get lost in it, the lines between where he ended and she began blurring with every passing second. She couldn’t hold back the soft, needy sound that escaped her throat, muffled against his lips but no less desperate. She pressed herself closer to him, needing to be closer to him. To feel his warmth envelope her completely.

She broke the kiss, her breaths coming fast and uneven as her lips lingered near his. Her emerald eyes glimmered with mischief and raw emotion as they locked onto his, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. That same grin, the one that usually preceded a sharp quip or teasing remark, was softer now, laced with affection and desire.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice low and playful, “there is a bed in this room.” Her fingers remained tangled in his hair, tugging gently as her grin widened, teasing and full of unspoken invitation. “Unless, of course, you’re enjoying the chair that much.”

Sjan-dehk glanced at the bed. “So there is,” he remarked, looking back at her with a grin. “This chair has its charms, but it’s not doing my back any favours.” He waggled his brows. “Not with what we’re doing with it.”

Her words hung in the air, daring him, tempting him, yet leaving him with the choice. She let out a quiet laugh, her cheeks flushed and her pulse still racing, unable to fully hide the giddiness or the growing fire inside her. And though her grin stayed playful, her eyes betrayed how much this moment meant to her…how much he meant to her. How much she wanted him. Needed him.

Her laugh was like the gentle lapping of waves to his ears. Calming, pleasant, beautiful. He took time to return her grin, and to hold her gaze for a moment. The challenge in her expression was clear, as was her desire. “Well,” Sjan-dehk began, tightening his hold on her. “Excuse me, then.”

In one swift move, he stood up, at the same time scooping Kalliope into his arms. He looked down at her as he adjusted his grip to hold her tightly and securely against his chest. “Let’s go,” he whispered with mischief in his words and anticipation on his face. He crossed the room towards the bed in only a couple of strides. And yet, his heart thumped as if he were running a mile. It announced his desire, his want like an overly-eager herald.

She let out a soft, surprised laugh as he lifted her effortlessly, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck to steady herself. She gazed up at him, her emerald eyes shimmering with affection and playful delight, her fingers curling slightly against the back of his neck. She pressed herself closer to him, relishing the steady strength of his hold, as she nuzzled into his neck, placing soft kisses there.

Sjan-dehk had to resist the urge to rush, to simply toss her onto the bed and continue with things. He took the time to gently lay her onto the soft mattress before standing back up to hastily unbuckle his sword-and-pistol belt, and remove any other unnecessary equipment. They fell to the floor, clattering noisily against varnished wood and resting in messy heaps. None of that mattered to Sjan-dehk – his attention was now entirely focused on Kalliope. A sudden flash of awkwardness came over him, and with it came hesitation. But as with before, neither of those feelings lasted for long.

He climbed onto the bed, crawling over her and gazing down into those bright, verdant eyes. He had lost count as to how many times he had done just that, but that didn’t matter. It still felt as if he were looking into them for the first time. He held himself up with a hand pressing into the mattress right by her head. “So,” he said and lowered himself slightly. “Where do you suppose this is going to go?”

Her fingertips traced the line of his jaw, then slid gently along his cheek, her touch light but sure. She could feel the warmth of his skin beneath her touch, the steady rhythm of his breath, and it made her heart beat all the more wildly. With a soft shift beneath him, she lifted one leg, sliding it over his side until it brushed against his waist. The motion was slow, deliberate, a silent invitation. Her other hand, still resting against his face, slid down to the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair as she gently tugged him closer.

Her voice, when it came, was barely more than a breath, hushed with raw emotion. “I want you, Sjan-dehk,” she murmured, her lips almost brushing against his. “I need you. I don’t want to stop here. I want this to go as far as you’ll let it. As far as we can go.”

Sjan-dehk paused for a moment. How far did he want to go? Where did he even intend to go? There was something wrong with this entire situation, a small, quiet part of his mind knew. It wasn’t like him to do anything without knowing his heading or his course. And yet, he couldn’t care less about that. It was too late now, he thought. There wasn’t any way for him to go, but forward.

She let her hand drift down, her fingers tracing over his chest teasingly. She gazed into his eyes, her own vulnerable and open, as if every layer of defense she had built up over time was melting away in the heat of this moment. She recognized there was a fuzziness to her thoughts, something that should have given her pause, but she was too far gone in her desire to care.

“Pretty sure I did warn you that if you kissed me I wouldn't want to stop there.” She teased him with a smirk as she pressed her leg a little closer against him, feeling the tension and the heat build between them. There was no room for hesitation now, no fear or doubt. Just her, her need, and the way she was fully, entirely giving herself over to him. “Don’t hold back.” She whispered, her voice almost a plea.

“That you did,” Sjan-dehk said with a quiet chuckle. He placed his hand over hers, pressing it against his chest, and leaned in closer. A pleased, content sound rumbled in his throat as he brushed his lips over hers in a brief, fleeting kiss. Then, he grinned, his other hand slowly, languidly, trailing down the front of her dress. He felt the soft fabric beneath his fingertips, the stiffness of the bodice against his palms, and the tantalising dips and curves of her body.

Instead of taking her clothes off, however, he brought his hand to the sash around his waist. With the swift and practiced hands of an experienced sailor, he undid the knot, pulled it off, and scrunched it into a ball before tossing it aside. A few more deft movements of his fingers loosened the strings that held his tunics in place. His clothes now draped from his frame like sails from a mast. “I don’t want to ruin your dress,” he said even as he teased the laces on Kalliope’s bodice. “So you might have to do this yourself, if you don’t mind.”

Kalliope’s lips curved into a sly, playful grin, her eyes flickering with mischief as she watched him, arching ever so slightly into his touch. “Afraid you’ll get tangled up, sailor?” she teased, her voice low and velvety as her gaze dropped briefly to the loosened fabric of his tunic. “You’ve managed knots in the middle of a storm, haven’t you?”

Her hands trailed down his chest, fingers tracing the edges of the fabric that hung from him, feeling the heat of his skin beneath before her hands slid to her bodice. She took her time as she began to untie the laces he had teased, her fingers moving with a languid, deliberate grace. She tugged one lace loose, then another, her lips parting as her breathing deepened. She leaned in as she loosened the last of it, her lips grazing his ear as she whispered, “But since you asked so nicely…”

Her bodice fell away, revealing more of her sun-kissed skin, and she reclined back onto the bed, her smirk softening into something more open and vulnerable. Her emerald eyes locked onto his, holding him captive with a look that said she trusted him, wanted him, needed him. “No more holding back, Sjan-dehk,” she murmured, her voice softer now, threaded with affection and desire. “I’m yours.”
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