☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
I am baptized behind the lights all alone
heaven bent to hell
If it is unusual for a queen to walk among the snaking streets and alleyways of her capitol city, the citizens of Solterra have been forced to come to terms with it. Seraphina is a pauper and a guard, rather than a noblewoman, by inclination, and it’s something of a comfort to leave the palace walls and walk among a group of people that are slightly less inclined to stab her in the back if it suits them; she finds no comfort in the posturing of high class, though the Davke attack had cut many of them off at the kneecaps. At least it is no longer so gilded in the world she has come to occupy – it is harder for the city to stumble forward, thanks to the Davke’s relentless looting, but she isn’t so sure that the money of the nobility would ever have made it down to the lower classes, regardless of her interventions.
She lingers on the outskirts of the crowd as she makes her way down, down into the center of the city – towards the markets. The sound of laughter and the scent of frying pastries and the soft click-click of shifting items overwhelm her senses; there are even more people than she anticipated crowding the roads that lead to the marketplace, even in the smothering heat of the mid-afternoon. In a bid to avoid the crowd, she turns onto a side street, and it is among the uneven cracks of sandstone streets that she spots an anomaly which gives her pause.
A pregnant woman – her stomach swollen with child – walks down the busy streets. Seraphina has a hard time placing her expression, and the look in her eyes, but she brings with her the wildflower scent of Delumine; when she looks at her assortment of scars, she thinks that she might belong in Solterra, but for the softness of her features and the freckles that dot her cheeks. From the shade of sandstone buildings, she observes the tension laced like a livewire through the other woman’s frame, and she decides, finally, that her expression implies panic, or trauma. She doesn’t think that she should interfere, but the Solterran heat is dangerous for anyone, and a stressed mother more than most; she strides easily from the comfort of shade and into the heat, gleaming metallic silver in the daylight.
Drawing her eyes up to make contact with the woman, she strides forward slowly, a dignified confidence to her steady gait. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” She says, as gently as she can muster (which is still not very gently at all), “but I don’t think it’s safe to stay out in the sun right now.” Particularly for one who is not well-acquainted with Solterran heat, she almost says, but forces herself not to make assumptions, in spite of the persistent scent of flowers below sand and sweat.
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tags | @Eulalie
notes | <3
I am baptized behind the lights all alone
heaven bent to hell
If it is unusual for a queen to walk among the snaking streets and alleyways of her capitol city, the citizens of Solterra have been forced to come to terms with it. Seraphina is a pauper and a guard, rather than a noblewoman, by inclination, and it’s something of a comfort to leave the palace walls and walk among a group of people that are slightly less inclined to stab her in the back if it suits them; she finds no comfort in the posturing of high class, though the Davke attack had cut many of them off at the kneecaps. At least it is no longer so gilded in the world she has come to occupy – it is harder for the city to stumble forward, thanks to the Davke’s relentless looting, but she isn’t so sure that the money of the nobility would ever have made it down to the lower classes, regardless of her interventions.
She lingers on the outskirts of the crowd as she makes her way down, down into the center of the city – towards the markets. The sound of laughter and the scent of frying pastries and the soft click-click of shifting items overwhelm her senses; there are even more people than she anticipated crowding the roads that lead to the marketplace, even in the smothering heat of the mid-afternoon. In a bid to avoid the crowd, she turns onto a side street, and it is among the uneven cracks of sandstone streets that she spots an anomaly which gives her pause.
A pregnant woman – her stomach swollen with child – walks down the busy streets. Seraphina has a hard time placing her expression, and the look in her eyes, but she brings with her the wildflower scent of Delumine; when she looks at her assortment of scars, she thinks that she might belong in Solterra, but for the softness of her features and the freckles that dot her cheeks. From the shade of sandstone buildings, she observes the tension laced like a livewire through the other woman’s frame, and she decides, finally, that her expression implies panic, or trauma. She doesn’t think that she should interfere, but the Solterran heat is dangerous for anyone, and a stressed mother more than most; she strides easily from the comfort of shade and into the heat, gleaming metallic silver in the daylight.
Drawing her eyes up to make contact with the woman, she strides forward slowly, a dignified confidence to her steady gait. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” She says, as gently as she can muster (which is still not very gently at all), “but I don’t think it’s safe to stay out in the sun right now.” Particularly for one who is not well-acquainted with Solterran heat, she almost says, but forces herself not to make assumptions, in spite of the persistent scent of flowers below sand and sweat.
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tags | @Eulalie
notes | <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
