☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
try try your whole life to be righteous and to be good
wind up on your own floor, choking on blood
She has told herself in the time that has passed since the attack that Avdotya has not won. Her kingdom is not truly in shambles. They will be fine, they will survive this, one lost battle did not mean the end of the war…but as she stands in front of Rhoswen, something inside of her breaking, she has never felt with such certainty that she has lost, and she has paid for it. She has survived, but so, so many are dead. She has survived, but, if she was beginning to fix Solterra, all of her plans have crumbled to dust. She has survived, but she feels sure that some part of her has been lost to the flames, and, even if she goes digging through the ashes, she isn’t sure that she will ever want it back again. She has failed her kingdom, her people, herself – and now she faces a woman who has betrayed her court, all but on her knees.
"My father used to tell me that control was an illusion, and that we cannot truly change anything - only shape it. It is not how we we fall that matters, but how we get back up again."
She looks up, then, her odd gaze slowly sweeping towards Rhoswen’s – she stares into those stormy, uncertain grey eyes as though she is looking for some sort of an answer, but, of course, there is nothing to be found there. They are both lost. “He sounds like a wise man,” Seraphina says, finally, softly, rolling the words around in her mind; standing up, eh? She hasn’t had much time to think about that, yet. Half of the time, it seems that she isn’t even sure that she’s survived the attack at all – half of the time she feels more like some passing ghost, helpless and condemned to wander the sands as they burn out of control. (They are still putting out fires. Everywhere, she smells smoke.) “I just…wish that I knew what getting up meant, right now.” And she doesn’t. Seraphina has always felt certain; she has never had room for doubt, one way or another. Now…she told herself that she would never hesitate again during the heat of the attack, but it feels that all she has done since the attack is hesitate, hesitate, hesitate. She has always known her purpose, her place, her path. Now, wherever she looks, she seems to find a tangle of thorns in the place of a well-worn road.
She thought that she had seen Rhoswen broken earlier, when the truth of Raum had come up; she had been wrong. It is only now that she sees the woman truly crumble, uncertain, speechless, guilty – she wishes that she did not understand her pain so well as she does. She hesitates, for a moment, thinking over her response; she could tell her never to return. She should tell her never to return. It would be what her predecessors would do, she thinks, and it would be what Viceroy would have done, if not killed her and taken the child. However, she is not her predecessors, and she is not Viceroy. She doesn’t know who she is, but she knows that she can’t tell her that she is exiled from the court; not now. “You don’t have to know, right now,” She tries to sound soothing, but she is not sure what comfort she has to offer her now, when the world seems all but ashes all around her. She looks at the little girl – has Rhoswen even named her yet? – and tries to quell the throbbing pain in the depths of her breast; she tries to take comfort in knowing that she can save that one, spirit her away from the clutches of the monsters lurking like sharks among the dunes. “You just need to focus on your health, and your child’s. What you do when things are calmer…can wait for the calm.” She doesn’t know if things will ever even be calm again, and she knows that it is obvious in her tone.
If she has more to stay, it is interrupted by the clink of metal and a soft crashing from the brush; Seraphina whirls, teeth baring as she prepares to lock them around the throat of some encroaching Davke soldier, but, instead, she finds herself eyeing a Solterran guard. Tall, muscular, and covered from head to hoof in steel armor, she blinks at the silver, dropping into a bow. “My lady. It had been some time since you left, so we were sent to search for you.” Seraphina straightens, the aggression in her posture relaxing, though she remains statuesque and stiff.
All at once, girl is gone, and iron-wrought queen stands in her place. “Teague.” She greets the woman by name – the cream-colored mare is one of her personal guards, and well-trusted. For a moment, her gaze drifts back to Rhoswen and her child, then settles on Teague. If she remembers correctly, the older mare is a mother herself; she can think of no one better to send as a guide. “You have arrived at an…opportune time. Escort Rhoswen and her daughter to the border of the Arma Mountains, and remain with her until a Denoctian arrives to escort her to the Night Court.” Teague inclines her head at her, brow furrowing in confusion, and then looks down at the child and her exhausted mother; she nods, slowly, her expression clearing.
“Of course, m’lady,” She dips her head. “As you wish.”
“Travel safely,” Seraphina says, returning her gaze to Rhoswen – any vulnerability has disappeared, replaced with the impassive cold that one would be forgiven for assuming is permanently etched into her features. Her words are genuine, but there is no warmth to be found in her tone.“I will send a message to Reichenbach, to make sure that he knows that you are coming.” With that, the silver is gone, offering little more than a glance over her shoulder to the sleeping filly as she disappears, soon nothing more than a dark silhouette against the hazy light of the moon.
tag || @rhoswen
notes || sera out! this was fun - we'll definitely have to have them meet again soon <3
try try your whole life to be righteous and to be good
wind up on your own floor, choking on blood
She has told herself in the time that has passed since the attack that Avdotya has not won. Her kingdom is not truly in shambles. They will be fine, they will survive this, one lost battle did not mean the end of the war…but as she stands in front of Rhoswen, something inside of her breaking, she has never felt with such certainty that she has lost, and she has paid for it. She has survived, but so, so many are dead. She has survived, but, if she was beginning to fix Solterra, all of her plans have crumbled to dust. She has survived, but she feels sure that some part of her has been lost to the flames, and, even if she goes digging through the ashes, she isn’t sure that she will ever want it back again. She has failed her kingdom, her people, herself – and now she faces a woman who has betrayed her court, all but on her knees.
"My father used to tell me that control was an illusion, and that we cannot truly change anything - only shape it. It is not how we we fall that matters, but how we get back up again."
She looks up, then, her odd gaze slowly sweeping towards Rhoswen’s – she stares into those stormy, uncertain grey eyes as though she is looking for some sort of an answer, but, of course, there is nothing to be found there. They are both lost. “He sounds like a wise man,” Seraphina says, finally, softly, rolling the words around in her mind; standing up, eh? She hasn’t had much time to think about that, yet. Half of the time, it seems that she isn’t even sure that she’s survived the attack at all – half of the time she feels more like some passing ghost, helpless and condemned to wander the sands as they burn out of control. (They are still putting out fires. Everywhere, she smells smoke.) “I just…wish that I knew what getting up meant, right now.” And she doesn’t. Seraphina has always felt certain; she has never had room for doubt, one way or another. Now…she told herself that she would never hesitate again during the heat of the attack, but it feels that all she has done since the attack is hesitate, hesitate, hesitate. She has always known her purpose, her place, her path. Now, wherever she looks, she seems to find a tangle of thorns in the place of a well-worn road.
She thought that she had seen Rhoswen broken earlier, when the truth of Raum had come up; she had been wrong. It is only now that she sees the woman truly crumble, uncertain, speechless, guilty – she wishes that she did not understand her pain so well as she does. She hesitates, for a moment, thinking over her response; she could tell her never to return. She should tell her never to return. It would be what her predecessors would do, she thinks, and it would be what Viceroy would have done, if not killed her and taken the child. However, she is not her predecessors, and she is not Viceroy. She doesn’t know who she is, but she knows that she can’t tell her that she is exiled from the court; not now. “You don’t have to know, right now,” She tries to sound soothing, but she is not sure what comfort she has to offer her now, when the world seems all but ashes all around her. She looks at the little girl – has Rhoswen even named her yet? – and tries to quell the throbbing pain in the depths of her breast; she tries to take comfort in knowing that she can save that one, spirit her away from the clutches of the monsters lurking like sharks among the dunes. “You just need to focus on your health, and your child’s. What you do when things are calmer…can wait for the calm.” She doesn’t know if things will ever even be calm again, and she knows that it is obvious in her tone.
If she has more to stay, it is interrupted by the clink of metal and a soft crashing from the brush; Seraphina whirls, teeth baring as she prepares to lock them around the throat of some encroaching Davke soldier, but, instead, she finds herself eyeing a Solterran guard. Tall, muscular, and covered from head to hoof in steel armor, she blinks at the silver, dropping into a bow. “My lady. It had been some time since you left, so we were sent to search for you.” Seraphina straightens, the aggression in her posture relaxing, though she remains statuesque and stiff.
All at once, girl is gone, and iron-wrought queen stands in her place. “Teague.” She greets the woman by name – the cream-colored mare is one of her personal guards, and well-trusted. For a moment, her gaze drifts back to Rhoswen and her child, then settles on Teague. If she remembers correctly, the older mare is a mother herself; she can think of no one better to send as a guide. “You have arrived at an…opportune time. Escort Rhoswen and her daughter to the border of the Arma Mountains, and remain with her until a Denoctian arrives to escort her to the Night Court.” Teague inclines her head at her, brow furrowing in confusion, and then looks down at the child and her exhausted mother; she nods, slowly, her expression clearing.
“Of course, m’lady,” She dips her head. “As you wish.”
“Travel safely,” Seraphina says, returning her gaze to Rhoswen – any vulnerability has disappeared, replaced with the impassive cold that one would be forgiven for assuming is permanently etched into her features. Her words are genuine, but there is no warmth to be found in her tone.“I will send a message to Reichenbach, to make sure that he knows that you are coming.” With that, the silver is gone, offering little more than a glance over her shoulder to the sleeping filly as she disappears, soon nothing more than a dark silhouette against the hazy light of the moon.
tag || @rhoswen
notes || sera out! this was fun - we'll definitely have to have them meet again soon <3
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
