[P] winter's end

[Messalina]

MESSALINA

The flowers always seemed to brighten whenever he was near. 

Messalina was certain she wasn’t just imagining it — the first time the girl had noticed was when she had stumbled upon the then-Emissary tending to the gardens one summer evening. Peeking slyly (she would’ve felt guilty for spying, had she not convinced herself afterwards that she’d been wandering the gardens anyway, and had merely decided not to bother Ipomoea when she’d spotted him) from behind a rose bush, she’d noticed how the blooms clung to him like how her hair clung to the satin shifts she oftentimes wore. 

She hadn’t thought much of it at the time — there had been a gentle, almost melancholy breeze that evening — but the observation had stuck to her like a dandelion seed, and as Messa watched the Regent now, the thought bloomed and bloomed until she felt compelled to act upon it. Her lips parted — 

“The garden is filled with beauty today.” — and closed again as cerulean eyes darted towards him in fluttering surprise. Is he...

Ivory curls rustled as Messalina waved the ridiculous notion aside with a withering smile. Impossible. Surely Ipomoea was referring to the flowers, and rightfully so — they were in full bloom today, lovely and pristine. And… on the off chance he had been referring to her… empty compliments had always followed the pale dancer to every gala, every dinner she’d attended by Mother’s side. How many times had she done the same? 

Empty words, empty eyes. Empty hearts. 

“Surely they only bloom so well because of a certain someone,” she responded at last, a teasing smile dragging the corners of her lips up, up, up. She was careful to keep her tone steady, her brows smooth. She was careful to overlook the Regent’s flushing cheeks, the way his eyes refused to meet hers. 

Casual smalltalk — that’s all this was. That’s all this was.

The yellow rose felt cool against her neck as his voice pulled her from her thoughts. Messa. No one except for Po ever called her that, and hearing it never failed to spark a jolt of tingly pleasure to spread like hot butter through her bones. She bit her lip to keep the burn off her cheeks. The effect he had on her would never cease to bewilder her. 

Ivory hooves echoed against the stones as she began to walk languidly down the path, her muzzle ghosting over the petals of the flowers she passed.

“… I haven’t ever been entrusted with anything before.” She paused under a patch of warm sunlight. The bright rays bleached Messalina’s curls a blinding white, and her lashes sparkled like gossamer as they fluttered softly closed. 

“My mother — not my real mother, I was orphaned at birth — despite raising me as her own, never truly trusted me, I suspect. Even after I obeyed her every wish, met her every expectation, it was never… enough.” She hated the sound of her voice, how unsure it was, as the words poured unbidden from her throat. “And after everything, she still…” Betrayed our kingdom. Left me behind to burn. 

Her tongue clamped down on the words. What would he think if he knew what Mother did? If he knew how much Messalina still wished to see her again, despite everything? 

He will begin to hate me, like they did. Like everyone did.

Her eyes were as hard as sapphires when she opened them. “If one tries their hardest, and it is still not enough, maybe it means they can't be trusted. Maybe there's a reason they never deserved it.” If even Mother never trusted her, how could Somnus do the opposite so easily?

She couldn't understand.

eyes so blue,
I drown.

@Ipomoea
her feelings are all over the place, it gave me whiplash writing it

rallidae