Ariella’s expression brightened at Stratya’s warm greeting and the mention of fighting lessons. Her natural curiosity and playfulness were piqued as she looked at the dagger in the Captain's hand, her fingers itching to take it. “Well, I must confess, Captain, my experience with blades is... minimal at best,” Ariella admitted with a sheepish grin. “Though, I can say with certainty that my embroidery scissors have seen their fair share of battles. Thread, mostly. Vicious stuff.” She let out a light laugh.
Her emerald eyes flicked back to Stratya’s, sparkling with excitement. “But, truly, I’d love to learn. It sounds much more thrilling than discussing trade routes or marriage prospects.” She grimaced at the thought of the latter, then quickly shifted back to her earlier enthusiasm. “If you’re offering lessons, Captain, consider me your most eager—albeit clumsy—student. I promise to be diligent. Mostly.” She grinned
Ariella’s gaze lingered on the dagger once more, her hand hovering near it as if seeking permission. Her eyes lifted from the dagger as she caught a glimpse of Mathias, Cal, Riona, Roman and The Doctor. “ It’s a full house now” she smiled her eyes lighting up.
She turned to listen to the instructions from the camp instructors who interrupted Stratya’s and Ari’s conversation. Her shoulders fell as she let out a sigh, the last thing she attempted to cook she burnt so bad it could have been considered a chunk of coal. Smiling she looked around unsure who her camping partner was but catching a glimpse of Cal’s and Riona’s faces they seemed to pale as if they saw a ghost. Looking concerned she turned back to Stratya “ If you’ll excuse me I’m just going to say hello to Cal” she smiled before skipping off.
“CAL!” she shouted attempting to distract them with a large smile. She reached Cal and Riona’s side “ Are you two alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost” her voice dropped to a whisper.
Ariella stepped down from the carriage, her bare feet sinking into the cool, soft earth as she took in the breathtaking campsite with a gleam in her vibrant green eyes. Her long, fiery red hair cascaded down her shoulders in wild curls, almost like flames dancing in the evening light. She adjusted her green corset, her calve-length dress flowing around her legs as she moved with a lightness that came only from the joy of being outdoors. A worn, brown satchel hung at her side, carrying little more than essentials. She hoped she could find more interesting things to bring back to her altar.
The warm glow of lanterns hanging in the trees and the scent of pine and woodsmoke made her feel alive, her pulse quickening with excitement. Every detail felt perfectly crafted, a beautiful blend of comfort and the raw beauty of the wild. Her gaze traveled across the scene to the central fire pit, where the golden light flickered and danced. She felt fully at home here, more so than she had in any ballroom or parlor—this was freedom. Something strange hung in the air though, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it but as she felt the earth under her feet she felt a shift…something changed. She looked down quizzically at the ground. What is that?
The staff greeted everyone with enthusiasm pulling Ari from her thoughts, the redhead woman’s cheerfulness drawing an amused smile from Ariella, and she found herself exchanging an eager wave. There was something special about Pinebrook’s camping event; it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
When the camp staff began organizing tent assignments and hinting at partnered activities, Ariella’s excitement only grew. She felt a surge of anticipation—this night was already turning into the best event she’d attended, a night of wild beauty under the stars, and she was ready to embrace every moment.
She looked around attempting to see anyone she knew. She noted the woman who stood off to the side she didn’t seem too excited staring at her with such a gaze Ariella couldn’t help but nervously smile at her. Attempting to find some kind of excuse to move, she noticed the captain standing off to the side. Skipping excitedly Ariella approached her with a smile nearly ear to ear “ Beautiful night isn’t it!” she said clapping her hands together and resting them against her legs as she swung on her heels slightly “ This should be quite the evening I think. How are you feeling after my brother's party? “
I trust this letter finds you well. I wanted to extend my gratitude for your generous offer at the masquerade. The idea you proposed was startling at first but… perhaps with another conversation, we could discuss things further.
Given my... condition, it wouldn’t be as simple. I would appreciate it if we could discuss the matter further. Please let me know where and when would be the best to meet with you. If the offer is still available.
Ryn savored the warmth and aroma of his tea in the Polite Inn’s grand yet cozy lobby. Dark wood paneling, lamps of various shapes and sizes, and lush plants dotting the room framed an array of strategically placed portraits. Intricately patterned rugs softened the gleaming hardwood floors, while an elegant chandelier hung above. He’d chosen this meeting place with care—safe enough for Lady Damien to visit unescorted, but not so high-end as to attract attention to the rendezvous of two nobles, a guest room upstairs for privacy, and a convenient washroom to clean up should the need arise.
Movement at the entrance caught his eye. Lady Damien glided through the arched entryway, her presence immediately commanding the room. Ryn’s face lit up. He set his tea aside and rose to greet her, one hand raised in an enthusiastic wave. “Lady Violet, I’m so happy to see you. How have you been?” Pulling down the black hood of her cloak, Violet offered a faint smile to Lord Fritz, though it didn’t reach her eyes. She was dressed in her familiar black attire, but tonight there was something different—something unsettling. Her gown, usually high-necked and modest, had been replaced by one with a daringly low neckline, plunging enough to reveal a large scar that snaked from her chest, up her neck, like a jagged reminder of a past that refused to heal. The once-concealed mark now lay bare for him to see, each raised edge telling the story of her pain.
Her red eyes locked onto his, but they held none of the anger that once simmered within them. They were hollow, darkened with an eerie emptiness. Back in the garden, her rage had been palpable, like the sharp crackle of a flame barely contained. But now, standing before him, that fire had burned out, leaving behind only cold ashes. The vivid red of her irises felt more like an abyss, swallowing any remnants of life or warmth she once held. There was no spark in her gaze, no anger, no passion—just an unsettling void. Even the smile she gave him felt fragile like it could shatter into sorrow at any moment.
“Good evening, Lord Fritz” his enthusiasm for this meeting didn’t go unnoted considering its topic. “I’m glad to see you in good health aswell. I’ve been alright I suppose. Surviving as we all do. Yourself?” She asked as she set her cloak down over the chair.
The smile on Ryn’s face slowly faded as he took in Lady Damien’s hollow expression. It was markedly different from the vacant stare she wore when she had just been resurrected. Where once there had been fire, now only ashes remained. “I’m surviving as well,” he replied, “though I dare say my spirits are a tad higher than yours at present.” He searched her face for any hint of the reason behind this change. The question “What happened?” hovered on his lips, but instead, he gently cupped her cold hands in his own.
Violet’s eyes dropped down to his hands grabbing hers in his false attempt at comforting her. She offered him a smile. “ I assure you I am fine. Nothing to worry over. Just a long morning.
Ryn’s dark eyes met her gaze, his concern on full display. The silence stretched between them, before he donned his cheerful demeanor once more.
“Have you eaten?” he asked. “I brought you some… delicacies I’d like you to try, if you’re feeling up to the task.” Ryn reached for a trunk positioned beside his chair.
Adjusting herself to sit down into the chair she looked at the large trunk he seemed to be reaching towards scared of what lay under it. If it was what she thought, she was possibly in a dangerous position.
Looking around the Tavern nervously, it was nearly empty with only a few patrons who seemed to be minding their own. Turning back to his attention she leaned into the table to see what exactly it was that he brought.
With a click, the latches surrendered, revealing rows of glass bottles nestled in plush velvet. Each contained various shades of crimson liquid, from the bright scarlet of fresh-picked cherries to the deepest garnet, with every shade of ruby and burgundy between.
“As I was uncertain of your dietary restrictions, I procured an assortment of samples for you to taste,” Ryn explained, carefully avoiding any mention of blood in a public setting. “Consider it a kind of wine-tasting.”
His eyes sparkled with excitement as he looked at her like starlights on a moonless night.
Violet leaned back in the chair, her expression softening as she stared at the sealed vials before her. Though the blood inside was safely contained, preventing its scent from reaching her, she felt the thin barrier was the only thing standing between her and chaos. For now, her self-control held firm, but she couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if just one of those vials were opened.
“That is very kind of you…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She knew the meager amount of blood in those vials would hardly satisfy her growing hunger, but she wouldn’t burden him with that truth. It had been far too long since she’d fed, and even the smallest wound could push her over the edge. A mere cut from a finger might unravel her restraint, and yet here sat an entire case of blood, taunting her, teasing her with its unattainable promise of relief.
"Early for some wine, but I much prefer it from the source," she said with a sly, toothy grin. The gleam in her eyes darkened, hinting at the hunger that simmered beneath her teasing words. The playful smile she flashed was laced with something far more dangerous, a subtle but undeniable threat lurking in the shadows of her gaze.
“Naturally,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Most everything tastes better when it’s fresh off the vine or out of the oven, doesn’t it? However, circumstances may conspire to narrow one’s options.”
Leaning in slightly, Ryn’s voice took on a more serious note. “I think it’d be for your benefit to explore the boundaries of your dietary restrictions with an open mind.”
He leaned even closer, whispering, “Who knows? You might discover a predilection for a bred heifer, heavy with her first calf, and find out you’re violently allergic to human, male, age twenty, banker.”
“These are just appetizers.” Ryn said as he pulled away. His fingers adjusted his tie, the motion drawing subtle attention to his neck. “I have something more substantial in mind for the main course.”
“ But … we have business to discuss first. Amongst some other things.
Ryn tilted his head to the side. “This sounds serious. Would you like to move upstairs? I have a room reserved for us if you want privacy.”
“ Should by me a drink first Lord Fritz before inviting me to your room.” she teased in her attempt to lighten the mood. She looked over at the bar raising two fingers to signal some drinks over.
He chuckled, “You’re absolutely right. Where are my manners?”
Turning her attention back to Fritz she let out a soft sigh “ I want you to understand that this conversation is not an easy one for me. I struggled to even write the letter to you in the first place. she admitted as some drinks were brought over to their table. Two glasses of whiskey sat neatly between them before the bartender hurried off. “ What made you so interested in starting this wine business? She looked over at the trunk “ You seem rather versed in your own knowledge of it.
“Because I want to help you where I can, of course.” And it was truly as simple as that. “Whether I am versed at it, is a matter of debate,” Ryn added, lifting the whiskey to his lips. The whiskey burned a path down his throat, igniting a warmth that spread through his chest.
Violet reached for her glass as well, tossing back the glass before setting it down.
“My family and I are no stranger to…” he paused, searching for another word to replace the one he wanted to use, “the ‘unusual.’ So in that regard, I am more knowledgeable than the average person.” A smirk crossed Lady Damien’s lips.
He leaned against the back of his chair, hands clasped loosely, as his gaze settled on her. “Why do you ask?”
“ The idea of help is a foreign one for me. I suppose I am waiting for some kind of payment or expectation yet you seem to be offering it so freely. I am trying to understand why.” Her hand reached for the empty glass as her fingers idly fidgeted with it.
“If it would set your mind at ease, I could certainly attach some conditions to my generosity.” He tapped his chin in mock contemplation. “Perhaps you might be required to join me for tea in the gardens, or form a book club with me. We could gather a circle of literary minds to debate the merits of brooding heroes and swoon-worthy villains, with the losers owing the winner a dramatic reading of their choosing.”
She let out a soft chuckle, one that was truly genuine as she seemed to relax against the chair. Her eyes were still dark but there was a glimmer of light still in them. Her eyes dropped down to the glass as her mind wandered. “ I think I can make that work, book club may need to be in the evenings though” she joked “I will say that is the first time I've been referred to as unusual...”
“You,” Ryn interjected. Lady Damien’s crimson eyes looked up from the glass to meet his. “Are extraordinary.” Then winked at her, she smiled softly in return.
The silence between them simmered for a moment. " Have you ever heard of the tale of the beast?” She broke the silence with a simple question.
Oh, he knew of beasts aplenty—one in particular, he knew very well. “The Beast, you say? I’ve heard many tales of beasts. Which one were you thinking of? Do share.”
” This one is just a silly child's story, Was thinking about it today. Its no matter, kind of a silly question. She waved over the bartender with another drink as he placed it down in front of her.
” Truthfully, I am just very nervous about this agreement. She admitted. “A lot of unknowns for me. It's all feels very intimate and that is foreign territory.” She grabbed her drink, and before she finished speaking she had already finished her glass off.
Flinching slightly as it went down, she started to feel more relaxed. She held the glass lazily in her hand.
Ryn’s eyes tracked the arc of Lady Damien’s glass as it lifted, tipped, emptied. Amber liquid vanished in a heartbeat. He recognized the telltale signs of someone seeking the age-old remedy for nerves: liquid courage. “I understand,” he said in a low voice and gave her the time to gather her thoughts.
” I do have something to give you in return for helping me… It might not be something you’ll like but hopefully, something you appreciate. Maybe if you decide to be a returning customer we can discuss that book club.”
“A customer? … Ah, when you said business, you truly meant business.” Ryn sat up straighter in chair. “Very well, Lady Violet, please do continue. I’m all ears.”
“ I… Violet froze in her seat for a moment “What did you think this was?” she asked curiously her voice holding slight caution but held concern. “ I didn’t mean to offend you. The bookclub remark was intended to be a joke but I suppose my humor is rather dull. Which caused him to chuckle.
“I thought I was taking my nightlife friend out for dinner.” Ryn’s laughter faded into a gentle smile. He reached across the table, his hand coming to rest reassuringly atop hers. “Don’t worry, no offense taken.” He gave her hand a light pat before withdrawing.
Friend…
She didn't have many of those. She felt the darkness linger behind her eyes but as she continued to drink its presence seemed to linger less but continued to remind her it wasn't all that gone. Just waiting for its see moment.
“ Dinner. With a friend.” She nodded “ I like the sound of that.” Smiling, she waved down another drink. “I just need this whole arrangement. I've been informed of some things but…” Her red eyes look up at him, holding its stare as the darkness that lingered made itself known through her gaze “I am afraid I may end up doing something I regret.” She omitted “ a loss of restraint. I don't seem to possess that…the last time…” her mind flashed back to the kiss, tasting Roman's blood on her lips as the darkness consumed her like a rushing wave of need. Then the slap.
“I hurt someone I really care about, I'm not sure he … I don't know. “ She said with a troubled mind. “he slapped me in the face…I don't know maybe it was to pull me from …whatever was happening but the look on his face.” Violet's heart sank. “ I feel like that is what really hurts. I see this monster just looking back at me in the mirror but when I tasted him it was like I lost all control of my body and my mind. Something else took over and I'm scared it may happen here.” Her voice was soft like a whisper just enough for the two of them to hear. Her eyes wandered his face for any reaction. Maybe she said too much, but she still didn't understand it herself.
Ryn listened intently, his expression solemn as Lady Damien’s words hung in the air between them. “I am sorry it happened that way,” he said softly. “But I’m certain he only meant to snap you out of it. Not because he thought you a monster. I feel like he would’ve done more than just slap you if he did.”
Violet seemed to relax at his explanation confirming what she had thought herself but was uncertain if she was trying to find resolve.
A chuckle escaped him, “I’ve seen it before, you know. Friends who’d sooner tackle each other into a mud puddle than let one another spiral. It’s messy and imperfect, but it comes from a good place.” She smiled softly.
His lips curved into a gentle smile. “I’m sure your special someone acted out of love, not condemnation.”
“I’d rather see myself dead before I harm him.” her voice dropped. He slowly nodded in response.
Ryn leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “I trust you, Violet. I see the compassion that held you back from that masquerade, the fear for my safety. These aren’t the hallmarks of a monster.”
Their gazes interlocked. Ryn’s voice carried the quiet strength of absolute certainty. “You will not kill me,” he stated.
“You can't be certain of that,” she replied taking a large sip of her whiskey it wouldn't be the first time she’s killed someone.
“True,” he said. “But I choose to trust you with my life because I have faith in you.”
“I hope you are right. “ she paused “I know that this person can handle himself with little concern but… If he out of all people saw me as I see myself. I think that it would be safe to say I did become that monster.” Her shoulders relaxed as she leaned back, chugging back the rest of her drink. She tilted the glass in her hand “ He was the one person who always saw me…” she said softly as if remembering something.
“Anyways… The news I have. When would you like it? I’m afraid it's not good but perhaps there is a solution.” she smiled “Before or after our wine sampling…” Her red eyes seemed to darken at the mention of it.
After studying her for a moment, Ryn answered, “When would feel right to you?”
“After…if you do die, well you won't have to worry about it, and no sense in worrying you before that.” she smirked at her rather dark joke.
Her macabre jest elicited a burst of laughter from Ryn, warm and genuine despite the somber topic. “In that case, might I ask a favor of you?” he began. “Should I not survive this ordeal, would you see to it that my remains are returned to my family?”
He paused briefly. “If that proves difficult, ensure nothing remains of my body, but let my family know of my passing. You can spare them the details.” His eyes fluttered closed, “And if you're feeling particularly charitable, tell them I’m sorry I failed.”
“You can tell them yourself when you're 90 years old…” she said with a soft smile, offering a small, but genuine, attempt at reassurance. Her voice, though calm, carried the weight of uncertainty beneath it. “So… dinner. Friends.” She repeated their agreement slowly, as if testing the words on her tongue. “I’ve never really had a friend.” Her confession hung in the air, bittersweet. "Roman… well, I suppose he counts. But I don’t usually go around kissing my friends...” She paused, the alcohol loosening her tongue more than she intended. The words slipped out, followed by a half-hearted shrug.
A coquettish grin played at the corners of his mouth as he added, “Is Lord Ravenwood the special someone you mentioned earlier?” The name had been a calculated guess. “Roman” wasn’t uncommon in this continent, but the strapping lord was the only one Ryn could imagine Lady Damien crossing paths with in her circles. He watched her carefully, searching for minute changes that would confirm or deny his suspicion more surely than any words she might speak. Lady Damien’s eyes widened slightly as her cheeks pinkened. She reached for her glass avoiding eye contact as she finished off her whiskey.
Clearing her throat, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the fabric beneath her rustling as she fidgeted. Her crimson eyes flicked back to Fritz, locking onto his with an intensity that lingered in the air between them, as if he were searching her soul for answers.
“Roman?” she echoed, her voice trying to sound casual, accompanied by a sheepish smile. The act didn’t last long. She exhaled deeply, the tension in her shoulders easing as she gave in. “I suppose I made it rather obvious, didn’t I…” Her sigh was one of quiet defeat, her gaze dropping for a moment before she gathered the courage to continue.
“Yes, it was him… is him,” she admitted, her voice softer now, tinged with regret. “I wanted to scare him away, to make him leave before he saw the... monster I’ve become.” Her words trembled as they left her lips, the shame in her voice undeniable. “Seems it worked,” she murmured, her fingers gently folding in her lap as she crossed one leg over the other. “I haven’t seen him since, so I guess I got my wish.”
Her hands tightened slightly, her knuckles paling. “It’s for the best. I don’t know how I’d live with myself if I hurt him. It was only a small taste this time but… what if it hadn’t been? What if I killed him?” Her voice cracked at the thought, eyes distant, haunted by a fear she couldn’t shake.
“Sorry, maybe this is too inappropriate. I guess I don’t know what friends talk about,” she admitted, her gaze drifting off as she tried to grasp the concept. Her thoughts wandered to the novels she’d devoured over the years—stories filled with dark romances, complicated relationships, and secrets. The women in those books always seemed to gossip about their love lives, their hearts entangled in someone else’s story. In those worlds, gossip was gold, a currency of connection.
“Friendship needn’t be confined by others’ definitions. It can be whatever you want it to be.” His eyes twinkled. “Be your charming self and the rest will fall into place naturally.”
She let out a quiet breath, her expression softening. “How about you?” she asked attempting to change the subject.” Did anyone catch your eye? Or maybe some new friends?” Her voice took on a wistful tone as if searching for something to hold onto. “I need a distraction.” she pleaded hoping he would go along.
After a long pause, Ryn finally said. “Aside from you?” He chuckled, “Well, it’s hard not to have my eye caught by everyone here. So many fabulous people are bedazzling me at every turn I’m practically in a constant state of whiplash.”
But even as the words left his mouth, faces flickered through his mind—fleeting images he might have dismissed as stray thoughts, had her question not prompted deeper reflection. “Even if there are a few individuals who linger in my thoughts more persistently than others, whether I can pursue them romantically is... a little complicated.”
“I think I understand complicated more than most.” She added with a reassuring smile.
Ryn’s fingers drummed an absent rhythm on his knee as he considered the question about friends. “I’d like to believe I am making some headway with new friends, but… I cannot help feeling as though there is a barrier between us, which prevents us from becoming good friends. I’m not entirely sure how to bridge that gap,” he confessed.
“Time… I would imagine,” she murmured, her voice trailing off as her thoughts drifted. She paused, eyes narrowing slightly in contemplation. “Sharing something with them—something you wouldn’t normally tell anyone else,” she added, her words slow, deliberate, as if she were unraveling a truth buried deep within.
Her mind wandered to Alexander, the secrets they had exchanged, the intimate confessions that felt too dangerous to share with anyone else. With him, she had revealed her darkest thoughts, her most raw vulnerabilities. He, too, had shared some in return, creating an interesting dynamic that she had yet to understand. Then there was Roman—Roman, who had also come to know her, but in a way that felt worlds apart from Alexander. Roman saw Violet in a way that made her feel human, made her feel seen. With him, she wasn’t a creature of darkness, but something almost normal, someone deserving of affection, of warmth.
But Alexander… Alexander forced her to confront the monster within. He stripped away the illusions and made her face the darker side of herself, showing her how to embrace it, how to understand it. In his presence, she could no longer hide from the truth of what she was.
Both men stirred something profound within her, but in entirely different ways. Roman brought a sense of humanity, grounding her in a reality she longed for, while Alexander illuminated the shadows, urging her to accept the very thing she feared. It left her standing in a fog of blurred lines, unable to distinguish who she truly was, or where she stood with either of them. She struggled to reconcile the two versions of herself they had uncovered, wondering which was more real—and which was more dangerous.
Smiling, she shook off the weight of her wandering thoughts, her gaze refocusing on Lord Fritz. “You’re a very lovely person, Lord Fritz,” she said warmly, her voice soft yet sincere. A playful glint sparked in her eyes as she continued, “I’m certain it’s only a matter of time before others see that too. And, if nothing else, you’re already off to a great start—because you’ve made a new friend in me.”
Ryn blinked a few times before he returned the smile with equal sincerity, “Thank you Lady Violet.”
Her lips curved into a mischievous grin as she reached for her freshly filled whiskey glass. Her hands, unsteady from the drinks she had already consumed, trembled slightly as she raised the glass between them. “We should toast,” she declared, her grin widening, “to new friends and to the tangled web of complicated relationships.”
Ryn raised his cup. “To tangled webs and complicated relationships,” he echoed. “May they be less convoluted than a Caldwell Thornewicke novel.” Their glasses met with a crystalline chime, the delicate sound drifting above the lobby’s soft murmur like a stray note of music.
With a final appreciative sip, Ryn set his emptied glass on the table’s polished surface. “Now then,” he ventured, “shall we head upstairs? Or do you think you can maintain composure if you were to ‘wine-taste’ here?” His fingers brushed the trunk’s edge, a subtle reminder of its crimson contents. The unspoken option—to drink directly from him first, before the samples—hung in the air between them. Ryn’s raised eyebrow and slight tilt of his head made it clear: the choice was entirely hers.
Her eyes flickered towards the staircase, thoughts wandering as her pulse began to race. The creeping darkness that relentlessly plagued her mind seemed to giggle with sadistic delight, feeding off the anticipation. She glanced down at the half-filled glass in her hand, the deep red liquid sloshing faintly before she tipped it back, draining the contents in one swift motion, her throat burning as the warmth spread.
"Yes... upstairs would be best," she whispered, her voice barely audible, laced with the weight of her decision.
Time: 10am Location: Drakes Birthday Party Mention: Interactions:@RodiakMathias Appearance: No shoes | Blue summer gown with butterflies embroidered on gown
Ariella smiled sweetly, though the corners of her lips twitched as she fought the urge to laugh. “Ah yes, those were the days,” she said airily. Her gaze slid toward Mathias, realizing now that it was him. She immediately caught the frantic look in his eyes. He was on the verge of cracking. But Ariella was nothing if not the perfect storm in moments like these.
Ariella's lips parted as she suppressed a laugh, her entire body trembling slightly from the effort. But instead of reacting with shock or laughter, she immediately swept forward, a dramatic gasp escaping her. “Oh, my dear Lord Wimsley!” she cried, stumbling purposefully, grabbing Mathias's arm to steady herself, and giving the impression of being utterly shocked by the entire ordeal. “What a brave soul you are! To continue enduring such, such... hair-raising moments!” She threw her head back, one hand clutching dramatically at her chest.
“Oh, you must forgive Lord Wimsley!” she insisted, voice laced with mock sympathy. “He’s been under such stress lately—why, his valet told me just last week that the poor man has been losing hair by the day! Why, it’s a wonder he has any left at all!”
Satisfied that the situation had been sufficiently derailed, Ariella gave Mathias's arm a gentle pat, turning back toward the old woman with a bright, if somewhat tipsy, smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, my dear lady,” she said sweetly, “I must steal Lord Wimsley away. We’ve pressing matters to discuss. Hair... loss and all.”
Before the old woman could react, Ariella tugged Mathias away, moving them away from the heavily awkward encounter. Her back straightened as she side-eyed behind her casually seeing if the elder woman was following or staying.
Turning her attention back to Mathias, Ariella’s arm remained loosely interlocked with his, her body vibrating with barely contained amusement. She tried to suppress the bubbling laughter that threatened to spill over, but a soft giggle escaped her lips. Her eyes darted around the garden, checking to see if any guests had noticed their absurd little escape.
" Mathias?" she whispered her voice light with mischief. She leaned down slightly, tilting her head to peer up at him from beneath the brim of his oversized top hat, her fiery red hair brushing against his sleeve. Her gaze sparkled with playful curiosity as she raised a brow. “Do you often attend these events dressed as an old man?”
With each word, Ariella’s voice trembled with the effort of holding back another giggle. Her lips quirked up in a grin, and she could feel the tremor of laughter bubbling in her chest. The absurdity of the situation—the fake mustache, the frantic escape—was almost too much to bear. She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep a straight face, but the corners of her mouth kept twitching with the overwhelming urge to laugh.
Time:Past:Nighttime Present:10am Location: Damien Estate Mentions:@FunnyguyAlexander @reusableswordRoman @princessCalbert and Liliane
...Past
The long-awaited trip had finally arrived for the Damien household, though not under the circumstances anyone had hoped. Their mother, too ill to make the journey, had reluctantly stayed behind in Montauppe, where she could be under the constant care of the finest doctors. Violet was given the responsibility of traveling in her place, a duty she had grown accustomed to over the years. It wasn’t a choice, not anymore—just another task handed down, like an unspoken inheritance. Watching over Crystal, her younger sister, had become less of a request and more of an expectation as they both grew older.
For once, Crystal was able to travel. Having finally shaken off the last remnants of her recent illness, she was in good spirits, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of health. Their mother had insisted she go, determined to give her daughter a taste of the world beyond Montauppe. Crystal’s future carried the weight of the family’s hopes; she was the daughter meant for bright things, a promising marriage, and the revitalization of their household’s name.
Violet didn’t mind the arrangement—at least, that’s what she told herself. She had long since accepted her role, the quiet one who stood in the shadow of her sister’s potential. As Crystal’s future blossomed, Violet’s own had dimmed. Approaching the age when most young women were presented to society, she knew that life wasn’t meant for her. It had never been in the cards. She was practical, reliable, and the one entrusted with the quiet burdens of the family. And so, she traveled in place of their mother, not for her own sake but for Crystal’s—always for Crystal.
It was alot harder to wed off someone with the disfigurement she obtained as a child. Though not impossible, Violet held down her expectations to avoid disappointment. Knowing her family she’d likely be married off to a business arrangement or perhaps a wealthy elder man whos life would expire before hers began. Thankfully she had many books to read, stories of romance and lives unlived. Her favorite book was one she had since she was a child. The gold lettering on the front had been nearly chipped away, the spine was broken in and the book looked well-loved. Whenever she could she re-read it, over and over and each time the story was just as magical as the first.
Her favorite story had become that of a man, misunderstood and shunned by all because of his grotesque appearance. The villagers saw him as nothing more than a beast—a monster to be feared and avoided at all costs. She found herself deeply relating to this so-called monster, feeling a kinship with his isolation and the way others recoiled from him without ever trying to understand the person beneath. In the midst of his loneliness and despair, a woman entered his life. Unlike the others, she didn’t let his terrifying appearance drive her away. Her aversion to the men who pursued her—a parade of suitors who flaunted their charm with empty, superficial gestures—only made her see the true ugliness that lurked in their hearts. Their attempts to win her affection were shallow, filled with arrogance and entitlement. But the Beast was different.
Despite his fearsome exterior, he was kind, patient, and strong in ways that mattered. He treated her with gentle respect, taking the time to truly know her, to understand her in a way that none of the other men ever had. His tenderness and thoughtfulness transcended the surface, and in turn, she came to understand him as well. Their bond grew slowly, built not on appearances but on the quiet care they shared for one another, forged through patience, trust, and a deep sense of mutual understanding. She found beauty in the beast. It was a tale as old as time itself.
Their travel had been long, they had arrived just in time for their father's meetings and just in time for the seasons unexpected snowstorm.
Days of icy winds and thick frost had kept the Damien household confined indoors. It was the longest and coldest winter her father had said. They were meant to travel back to Montauppe after her father's work events but the weather had become harsh. It wasn’t that she disliked the cold—quite the opposite. She adored it, but her love for the warmth of a crackling fire and the comfort of a soft blanket always won out. Her windowsill had become her refuge here, the perfect place to curl up with a book. Close enough to feel the fire's gentle heat, yet far enough to watch the snow drift from the sky like fragile crystals.
Her fingers ran down the cover of her favorite book, tracing the detailed outlines of the filigree and aspects of gold that remained, the title nearly vanished from view but she didn’t need anyone else to know its secrets. The important thing was that she knew was laid beyond the cover.
Her silver eyes reflected the flurries outside, each snowflake twirling and spinning as it fell. The night was so dark and heavy with snow that she could barely make out the outlines of the trees beyond her window. The fire crackled beside her, filling the room with its comforting, steady hum.
Then came a sound—a soft knock at the door, delicate and hesitant.
A tiny whisper broke the stillness.
"Violet?" The voice, barely more than a murmur, was timid, like a mouse stirring in the quiet.
Violet lifted her gaze from the worn cover of her book, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.
"Crystal," she replied softly, recognizing the fragile voice of her younger sister. Peeking around the doorframe, the small child stood there, her large blue eyes shimmering, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders like pale silk.
“What are you doing up so late?” Violet asked, her voice warm and soothing. Crystal, frail and delicate, tiptoed into the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Her fingers twisted nervously as she shifted from one foot to the other, eyes lowered in guilt.
Violet's smile softened. She set the book aside and turned, her eyes scanning Crystal with understanding. "Another bad dream?" she asked, her voice tender. Crystal gave a small nod before rushing toward her. Tiny feet padded across the floor, and with a dramatic flair, the child flung herself into Violet’s lap, burying her face into the soft folds of Violet’s dark night dress.
Looking down at her sister, Violet’s expression melted into one of pure affection. Her hands moved instinctively, stroking Crystal’s back in slow, comforting circles. "Shh..." she whispered gently. "It was just a dream... Whatever it was, you're safe here."
Crystal’s small head lifted from Violet’s lap, her large blue eyes shimmering like sapphires, tears brimming in their depths.” I miss home..” she said between soft whimpers“ I miss mama…” her lip quivered as she attempted to speak.
Violet offered her a reassuring smile, her hands stroked her hair softly before pulling her up into her lap. Cradling Crystal between her legs she relaxed back against the window as she continued to play with her hair.
“Don't worry, we will be heading back to her any day now…” she whispered. Her fingers fed through her hair combing her fingers through her hair.
Sniffling Crystal relaxed in her lap, reaching over to pull the blanket over her and Violet's lap. It was one Violet had made for the trip, hand-woven with embroidered ravens and black roses enterlaced amongst the fabric. Crystal traced the pattern with her finger.
“ What about a song?” Violet asked softly, still combing her hair with her fingers.
Crystal didn’t respond, only her tiny whimpers and her small hands as she grabbed the blanket relaxing into Violet's arms.
Smiling softly, Violet's silver eyes looked down at the Raven on the blanket. Reminding her of a song she found in an old book she had finished recently.
Clearing her throat, Violet began to sing. Her voice was soft but her pitch and tone were near perfect. She always had the natural ability to sing but always shied away from doing it. She didn’t enjoy the attention it brought. She knew it was one of Crystal's favorite things, it always worked to calm her down.
Í gegnum þokuna og storminn flýg ég, Svartir vængir skera í gegnum himininn, Frá frosnum löndum, þar sem ísvindarnir væla, Ég ber hvíslið, hina fornu sögu.
Þöglir skuggar um nóttina, Leiddu hina föllnu til endalauss ljóss, Augnaráð Óðins á vængina mína, Ég syng lagið sem örlögin bera með sér.
While Violet sang crystal had fallen into her, her eyes falling heavy as she continued to stroke her hair.
Heyr kall mitt í gegnum myrkvaðan himininn, Hrafnsóp þar sem hinir föllnu liggja, Í sölum guðanna rísum við upp aftur, Á vængjum nætur ferðumst við um fræðina. Valhalla bíður, þar sem hugrökk hjörtu svífa, Söngur hrafnsins að eilífu....
Through the mist and raging storm I soar, Wings of midnight, shadows roar, Across the frozen fjords where the ice winds wail, I carry the echoes of an ancient tale.
I am the silent shadow of the night, Guiding souls in Odin’s sight, The fallen rise beneath my wings, To the sound of the song that destiny brings. Hear my call through the blackened skies,
A raven’s cry where the brave ones lie, In the halls of the gods, we rise once more, On wings of night, we reclaim the lore. Valhalla waits, where the warriors soar, The raven’s song forevermore.
Smiling softly, her voice trailed off into the quiet of the room, the last note of her lullaby fading into the stillness. The small girl in her arms slept peacefully, her tiny breaths steady and warm against Violet’s chest. Gently, she cradled the child closer, feeling the rise and fall of her fragile frame, safe and sheltered in her embrace. A soft sigh escaped Violet’s lips, barely more than a whisper. She would do anything for her family—anything. Yet, on nights like this, a small ache settled in her heart, a quiet yearning she could never quite silence.
There were days she selfishly longed for someone to hold her with the same tenderness, to take care of her as she cared for others. Her parents, always consumed by their own concerns and worries devoted their energy to looking after Crystal. And though Violet never resented them for it—she understood, truly she did—it still left an emptiness, a quiet space in her heart that begged for more.
Her gaze drifted to the worn book that lay beside her on the bedside table. With one hand, she reached for it, careful not to disturb the sleeping child in her arms. The pages were soft with age, familiar beneath her fingertips as she opened it to her favorite passage. The words, etched into her memory, offered her the comfort she sought.
At least for now. —----------------------- Present Day...
Her fingers glided across the worn cover of the book, tracing its edges as if the touch alone could conjure the memories held within. The familiar texture beneath her fingertips stirred something deep inside—a quiet, aching nostalgia. Each stroke brought her closer to what she had once dreamed, what she had once hoped for. But those dreams seemed far away now. With a sigh, she lifted the book and placed it back above her desk, where it had long rested, gathering dust like an artifact from a forgotten time. The layer of dust was thick, an unspoken testament to how long it had been since she'd last opened it.
Perhaps she had given up on it. The idea of her dream—of a life where hope still flickered—was something she had slowly buried. She had resigned herself to facing the brutal reality of her existence. No matter how much she longed to escape it, life had a way of reminding her of what she had become.
Her eyes drifted toward the mirror, and the reflection that stared back was unforgiving. Her gaze fixated on the scar that marred her face, a jagged line that had long become the focal point of her appearance. Her red eyes followed its path, tracing down to her neck. The scar was not just a mark on her skin—it was a symbol of what the world had made of her. The world had cast her as a victim, but she refused to play that role.
Her hand trembled as it reached up, her fingertips hovering over the scar. Slowly, she touched it, as if to remind herself that it was real—that she was real. The skin beneath her fingers felt both foreign and familiar, a constant reminder of the life she now lived. As her fingers traced the scar, she felt the weight of all she had lost, and the pain of what she had become.
“For us scars are beautiful, they show others the hardships one has gone through and make them stronger for it. My people don't crave strength, we honor survival above all else, and scars are survival.” making sure to look her in the eye for a moment, “your scars are beautiful, they are you. They aren't going anywhere and whoever says that you are tarnished doesn't know what the fu-... What they are talking about.”
Roman’s voice echoed through her mind, a haunting refrain that clung to her thoughts like an unwanted shadow. His words, though distant, seemed to pull at something inside her, as if trying to plant a reminder of something she’d forgotten—or perhaps had never fully understood. The memories felt so distant now like they belonged to another life entirely. Or maybe it was just her, unable to grasp the meaning behind it all. Maybe she was the only one who didn’t know what the hell she was talking about anymore.
A small, bitter smile curled at the corners of her lips as her gaze fell to the blank sheet of paper lying before her on the desk. She had been waiting, hoping, that Roman would have reached out to her by now. A letter, a message, something to bridge the silence that had stretched between them since that night. But nothing came. And with that silence grew a quiet, gnawing fear—a fear that perhaps he didn’t want to see her again. After all, he had seen her—the real her—and the night had ended in such darkness, leaving a bitter taste in the air. Her mind continued to spiral, debating back and forth as she wrestled with her thoughts. Survival, she reminded herself, trying to steady her pulse. It always came back to that. With a deep breath, she dipped the quill into the ink, the tip hovering above the paper before finally pressing down. She began to write, though the words came slowly. The letter was vague and short, lacking the conviction she wanted it to hold. Still, it was something—a branch extended in hope. She just prayed he would take it.
As the hours passed since they last saw each other, she could feel herself slipping deeper into a familiar darkness, one that taunted her from the corners of her mind. It was growing stronger, consuming her in ways that made it difficult to think clearly. The memory of that night in the forest loomed over her—how everything had unraveled in the shadows, the silent ride back to her manor afterward. The cold grip of revenge clung to her, intertwining with the dangerous apathy she felt toward death. Her mind drifted toward the endless cycle of violence, a need for vengeance that threatened to swallow her whole.
She was worried—worried that maybe she was already too far gone.
Time: 10am Location: Drakes Birthday Party Mention: Interactions:@RodiakMathias Appearance: No shoes | Blue summer gown with butterflies embroidered on gown
Ariella huffed away from her brother, her mother’s words stinging like nettles as she stormed off. Another servant, fully aware of her rising irritation, smirked and glided over with a tray, offering her a cocktail like it was a peace treaty in a glass.
Stopping mid-rant, Ariella eyed the drink, took in a deep, calming breath, and snatched it up with surprising enthusiasm. The servant wisely backed away, clearly not wanting to witness the aftermath of a woman on the verge of a meltdown. Cocktail in hand, Ariella resumed her dramatic exit, muttering to herself about how she *really* wasn’t cut out for these events.
She couldn’t fathom how she shared DNA with her mother—surely some mistake had been made at birth? And poor Drake—his birthday bash had gone from “respectable” to “downright awkward” thanks to their mother’s insufferable lack of decorum. At least her father was the eye of the hurricane, calm and collected amidst the family chaos.
Taking a sip of her cocktail Ariella scanned the crowd. A few guests were rolling around in the grass which she envied, others were clustered around tables sharing drinks, while a giggly mob gossiped louder than the string quartet playing in the corner.
Her gaze zeroed in on someone new—a young man looking distinctly uncomfortable as an elderly woman bore down on him like a hawk on a mouse. Ariella’s eyes widened at the sight of the man’s mustache. It wasn’t just bad it was terrible.
That poor man, she thought, amused. The fear on his face wasn’t exactly subtle. Smirking, Ariella decided to rescue him. Cocktail in hand, she practically skipped toward them, eager to intervene just as the elderly woman came dangerously close to spilling her drink on the unfortunate gentleman’s pristine suit.
“Good evening!” Ariella chirped even though it was still morning, throwing a curveball into the awkward situation, and adding another layer of possible discomfort. “I don’t believe we’ve met! I’m Ari—uh—Lady Ariella Edwards.” She winced internally at the title but soldiered on. “Have you tried these drinks? They’re amazing!” She held up her glass before realizing it was, yet again, empty.
Mid-rant, she stumbled to the left, narrowly avoiding a full-body collision with Lord Wimsley. Grabbing onto his arm for dear life, she erupted in laughter. “Oh my, I think I tripped over my shoes!” she said, wobbling but somehow still standing. Peering down at her feet she laughed again “Oh wait, I'm not wearing any…” as she attempted to straighten herself back up. “Dreadful things they are… Don’t you agree?” she said looking at the two of them her eyes darting between them as her cheeks flushed pink from all the alcohol she had consumed.
Her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper as she leaned in, cupping her hand around her mouth like she was about to spill the kingdom's juiciest secret. "My mother wears them—some truly uncomfortable ones, too... I think that's why she's so mean." She gave a solemn nod as if this revelation explained everything.
Leaning back with a self-satisfied grin, Ariella beamed as if she'd just solved world hunger. She even gave a little nod, as though waiting for the crowd to break into applause for her sheer brilliance.
Time: 10 am Location: Drakes Birthday Mention: Interactions: Gideon@papaoso, Captain@citrusarms, Drake@Lava Alckon, Callum@helo, Victoria@princess Appearance: No shoes | Blue summer gown with butterflies embroidered on gown
Ariella blinked up at her father, a wide, slightly dazed grin spreading across her face as his familiar voice broke through the haze of the alcohol. The flush in her cheeks deepened, both from the warmth of the drink and the surprise of his presence.
"Father!" she exclaimed, almost stumbling as she turned toward him, her hands instinctively reaching out to steady herself against his arm. She let out a breathless laugh, her eyes sparkling with an impish glint. "I didn’t expect you to sneak up on me like that."
The playful air that surrounded her seemed contagious, her carefree nature at the moment reflecting the years of love and freedom she’d always had with him. His gentle teasing only brought out a more dramatic reaction. She straightened her back, puffing her chest slightly as if to prove that she was entirely capable of handling herself. "I’m perfectly fine," she declared, her voice lilting as she took a sip from her own drink. "Just enjoying a little...well-deserved fun after the dungeon, you know."
She flashed a mischievous grin at Captain Stratya, then back at her father, thoroughly enjoying the absurdity of their conversation about chocolate and mead. Ariella leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. "I think Stratya here has the right idea. Chocolate in sweetbread—what a revelation!"
As Gideon’s hand found her shoulder, she relaxed a bit, the steady weight grounding her, even if her head was spinning a little. His gentle warning about the drinks earned him a mock pout."Slow down? Me?" Ariella laughed, clearly delighted by the absurdity of the suggestion. But her father’s wink made her laugh even more, the kind of unguarded, bubbling laughter that only came from too much drinking and too much happiness in the moment.
Her eyes followed his as he glanced down at her bare feet, and she let out a small, sheepish chuckle. "You know me too well," she said, wiggling her toes with a grin. "Shoes are a torture device."
For a brief moment, the whirlwind of the party faded away when she heard her mother shouting towards her "Ariella! Put your damn shoes on right now or so help me, I will come over there and smack you with one!"
The chatter around them grew silent as they all stopped to look at Ariella and back towards Victoria. The whispers erupted as the crowd continued to look towards Ariella as she felt a flush of embarrassment as her eyes darted nervously between her father and the captain. Her eyes landed back on her father, filled with disappointment and sadness she masked it with a soft smile and a squeeze of her father's arm.
“I’m sorry, I hope you both can excuse me,” she said softly, her voice nearly cracking as she decided to leave the table.
A server noticed Ariella leaving empty-handed and shuffled over offering her another drink. Without much thought she took it and threw it back, putting the empty glass back on their waiter’s tray before attempting to shuffle around the tables.
While her bother was giving his speech she hoped she could just sneak out and avoid this mess, already feeling like it was a mistake. However, suddenly she heard a gasp and the sounds of crashing. She looked over to see Drake falling into the tables.
Grabbing a fist full of her skirt she ran over to her bother but Callum had already intercepted it, she watched him offer a hand out to her bother. Knowing how Drake felt about Cal made this situation all the more interesting for Ari “Not such a bad guy after all, is he Drake…” she thought. As she reached his side she offered Cal a smile before her attention turned to her brother.
”You alright?” Callum had asked, whispering something to him she didn’t catch.
“ Drake!?” Ari added. “ Are you hurt?” she looked at him with a concerned expression as Cal attempted to help him up. She felt her mother's presence moving towards them as her body slightly stiffened.
"Drake!" she whisper-hissed, glaring down at him. "Do you have any idea how utterly embarrassing that was? Falling off the stage like a commoner who can’t hold his drink! My son, making a spectacle of himself at his own birthday party."
Ariella's eyes narrowed in on her mother as she bit back a remark but she continued.
"Oh, look. I believe a flea just jumped out of your hair, Prince Callum Danrose. You might want to find a comb—though I doubt it’ll help with whatever’s going on there."
Ariella’s smile faltered as her mother’s biting words filled the space. Her initial concern for Drake was quickly overshadowed by a simmering irritation, the familiar sting of her mother’s sharp tongue aimed first at her brother and now at Callum.
Her hand instinctively tightened around the fabric of her skirt, the warmth from the moment before disappearing as tension settled in. She glanced at Callum, who was helping Drake up, her heart aching at the cruelty of the insult tossed his way. Her eyes flicked to her mother, and for a moment, Ariella debated whether to let it slide, to simply keep the peace. But she couldn’t.
Taking a deep breath, Ariella stepped forward, her posture calm but her voice steely with liquid courage. "Mother," she began, her tone firm but measured, "I don’t think this is the time or the place for such... comments."
Her eyes darted back to Drake, offering him a quick, reassuring smile before her gaze settled on Callum, her expression softening. She couldn’t stand to see him treated so poorly, not when he’d done nothing but try to help.
Turning back to her mother, Ariella’s tone sharpened slightly, though she kept her words controlled. "Perhaps we could focus on making sure Drake is alright, instead of... embarrassing anyone further." Her eyes flashed with a hint of challenge as she stood her ground, unwilling to let her mother’s venom go unchecked.
“It's not very Lady like” she added as she took a step closer to her mother. Something she continuously reminded Ariella whenever she did something unapproving
Time: 10am Location: Drakes Birthday Party Mention: @Helo Interactions:@CitrusArms@Papaoso Appearance: No shoes | Blue summer gown with butterflies embroidered on gown
Ariella reached for the cocktail a server had placed in front of her, its tall glass reflecting the vibrant colors of Drake's favorite shades. The drink was as elegant as it was extravagant, layered in hues of green and gold, with delicate sprigs of mint and a sugared rim. She raised it to her lips, sipping through the straw, and was immediately struck by the sweetness that danced on her tongue. The flavor was rich, almost indulgent, and she savored it for a moment, letting the taste linger before greedily sipping more.
As she drank, her attention remained on Captain Stratya. The woman’s stories were charming, full of nostalgia and warmth, yet Ariella couldn’t help but let her mind wander. Stratya’s fond memories contrasted with Ariella’s childhood, which had been shaped by discipline and rigid expectations. Etiquette lessons, needlework, and endless demands had left little room for joy. The only bright spot had been Ana, her beloved friend, and the secret alcove Ana had gifted her — a sanctuary where she could escape the pressures of her upbringing.
She nodded and smiled at the appropriate moments in the conversation, but her mind was elsewhere, fixated on the events of the previous night. Callum's words echoed in her head: the secret room, the dangerous magic, and the shadowy stranger he’d fought. Surely, he didn’t face it alone… Her eyes flickered to Stratya, assessing the captain’s strength. Could she have been the one to accompany Callum? Ariella doubted her friend would’ve taken on such a dangerous task by himself, and Stratya looked more than capable.
Ariella’s thoughts drifted again, this time to her growing connection with magic. Recently, her bond with the earth had become more intense, almost overwhelming. There was a heat to it now, an intoxicating pull that she couldn’t quite explain. She wondered if it had anything to do with the magic Callum had uncovered. Was something dark lurking nearby, stirring the elements? Perhaps it wasn’t her own power growing stronger, but the presence of some external force.
Her green eyes trailed to Callum across the party, watching him laugh and take shots at the other table. She felt a pang of sadness, remembering the weight of his tale. He had faced so much, and yet she felt powerless to help him. Her life had been full of lessons meant to shape her into a perfect lady, but none of those lessons had prepared her for this. I want to protect him, to protect my friends. I don’t want to be a wallflower anymore... I want to be a wolf.
The captain’s voice brought her back to the present, just as Ariella finished her drink without realizing it. The alcohol had begun to take effect, a soft buzz relaxing her shoulders as she turned back to Stratya with a bright smile. When the captain complimented her hair, Ariella felt her cheeks flush, whether from the drink or the memory of a similar comment from Callum, she couldn’t tell.
“Thank you!”she replied with genuine enthusiasm. “You know, you're not the first person who’s said that. I always hated it growing up, but I suppose I do look more like my father than my mother, and for that, I’m grateful.” She laughed, a bit louder than intended, the alcohol loosening her tongue. “I used to loathe it, but lately... I’ve grown to appreciate it.”
She made to take another sip from her empty glass before realizing it was gone, setting it down with a small pout. Standing up suddenly, she lifted the hem of her dress and kicked out her foot, showing Stratya her bare toes with a playful wiggle. “I love camping! I love the outdoors!” she declared, her voice brimming with excitement. “I hate shoes, always have. If I could, I’d live in a treehouse or a cabin, somewhere deep in the woods.” She wobbled slightly as she nearly fell back into her seat, giggling at her clumsiness.
Ariella leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Captain… you’re a woman,” she stated as if revealing a great secret. “You must know how to use a sword, right?” Her eyes drifted to the blade at Stratya’s hip, filled with a sudden, reckless curiosity. “Could I hold it?” she whispered with a mischievous grin. “I’ve never held a sword before…”
Before Stratya could respond, Ariella felt a large hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, her heart racing until she looked up to see her father standing beside her. “Oh! Father…” she exhaled, placing a hand over her chest with a wide smile. “You startled me.” She quickly glanced between him and Stratya, her cheeks flushed from the drink. “I was just talking to the captain here about chocolate and mead,” she added with a laugh, leaving out her more embarrassing request.
Time: 10am Location: Drakes Birthday Party Mention: Interactions:@CitrusArms Appearance: No shoes | Blue summer gown with butterflies embroidered on gown
Ariella took a moment to study the woman who introduced herself as Captain Stratya Durmand. The warm smile on Stratya's face put her at ease, and she returned the gesture with a bright smile of her own, her curiosity piqued by this new acquaintance.
“Well, Captain Durmand,” she began, her tone light and playful, “I think you might be onto something with that bread idea. Strawberries and chocolate… sound like a bit of heaven in every bite.”
Ariella leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “ My name is Lady Ariella Edwards, It’s a pleasure to meet you. I haven’t tried strawberries and chocolate together but I'll take your word for it" she smiled.
Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she added, “And if you do end up making that bread, I hope you save me a slice. Sounds like it’ll be unforgettable.” She sat back in her seat as she noticed her brother wave at her with a smile. She was still truthfully mad at him for his comments towards Callum but knowing her mother was keeping a keen eye Ari smiled and waved back to her brother.
Time: 10am Location: Drakes Birthday Party Mention: Interactions: Appearance: No shoes | Blue summer gown with butterflies embroidered on gown
Ariella arrived at her brother's birthday party feeling a mix of anticipation and weariness. The path to the backyard entrance led her to the large white gates nestled between towering hedges, their pristine surface gleaming under the late morning sun. She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before pushing the gates open, the sound of cheerful chatter and classical music spilling out to greet her.
As she stepped inside the backyard, she was immediately struck by the beauty of the meticulously manicured garden. The grass was a perfect, vibrant green, and the flowerbeds overflowed with blooms of every color, their fragrance filling the air. A sense of tranquility washed over her as she took in the scene, the chaos of the past day momentarily forgotten.
The tables, set up in neat rows across the garden, were all adorned in Drake's favorite color. Rich green tablecloths draped elegantly over each one, and the napkins, folded into delicate shapes—flowers, birds, stars—added a whimsical touch to the decor. Ariella couldn’t help but admire the attention to detail; it was exactly the kind of celebration her brother would have wanted.
A classical band played softly from a small stage at the far end of the garden, their music mingling with the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. The melodies were soothing, a perfect backdrop for the elegant gathering. Guests in their finest attire were mingling, sipping on champagne, and sampling the trays of hors d’oeuvres being passed around by attentive servers. The atmosphere was one of refined joy, the kind of quiet, cultivated elegance that made every moment feel special.
Ariella made her way through the crowd, exchanging polite smiles and greetings with familiar faces. As they returned to conversation she found herself sneaking behind a large shrub and ripping the shoes off her feet. As her feet touched the ground she felt the connection bind her back, the feeling had grown stronger since the last spell she had cast in the forest for Callum. Feeling more relaxed she ditched the shoes under the shrubs before casually walking towards and empty table. Sitting down she tucked her feet under the table, wondering if she would run into Mathias.
Her mind fluttered with thoughts as she sat there, resting her hands on the table she couldn't help but think about what her mother or brother would say when they saw her after her stint in the cells.
Ariella arrives at her brother's birthday, quickly removes her shoes and stashes them under a bush before sitting off to the side anticipating the fallout of her stint in the cells.
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