M E S S A L I N A . //
If there was one thing about the strange lands of Novus that unnerved her, it would be the fact that the citizens cared not for rank or circumstance when addressing each other. She had observed it in the easy banter between sages and champions, warriors and healers. And though she had never seen him, she’d deduced from the amiable way they spoke of him that the sovereign Kasil himself mingled freely among his citizens, treating them like equals.
There was the word again, foreign in her mouth. Equality. The girl wasn’t daft; she knew of equality, had read about the distant lands where ranks were abolished and everyone lived in peace and harmony, each with the same rights of the other. It was quite a joke to her—if there ever existed a place where vicious hearts did not seek to trample weaker ones in a bid for power, then may lightning strike her then and there. It wasn’t like Algernon had been ruled by a tyrant; in her encounters with him, the King had been agreeable and just. But the class system that existed was absolute. Maids obeyed their mistresses without question, and noblewomen flaunted their status and superiority to all ranked lower than they. Mother had held a position of considerable power, and so Messalina was expressly forbidden from interacting with the lower class. They would sully her reputation, and Mother would have her by the neck.
So spare her some mercy if she still cannot fathom the behavior exhibited by the citizens of Novus, let alone reciprocate.
It was then that a silken voice, echoing from someplace disturbingly close to where she stood, roused her from her thoughts. She made an effort not to startle, loathing the thought of being caught off guard. Had the intruder heard her pleas?
"Excuse me, were you just talking to yourself? Are you lost?" came a purring female voice, perfectly on cue. How impudent. Messalina swiveled her head sharply towards the source, golden pins chiming as her curls flared out in a halo of white, then settled back against her slender neck. Frosted blue irises narrowed a fraction in suspicion as they met sparkling emerald ones, the latter’s less-than-innocent intentions clear as day.
It seemed she had company, and whoever it was had made quite the impression. As she faced the stranger, Messalina took note of the slender woman’s almost predatory stance, a twisted sort of amusement rolling off her in waves. The girl resolved to end the confrontation as quickly as it had arrived, for she had no wish of inviting trouble this close to her destination.
In a way, it was relieving to shed her mask in front of this bold girl, her flame-red pelt and golden hair as glorious as a setting sun. To Messalina’s winter frost, she was summer’s flame: vibrant, dazzling, volatile. Messalina vowed to tread carefully around her; too close, and she would surely burn.
@Mila
notes: the air is fizzling ;A; trust me messa isn't much better -.-
