[AW] we drew in revelry;

[Theodosia]

let our eyes show the 
fire in our hearts tonight

She patrols the festival in long, loose strides, prowling like a tiger around the edges of the revelry -- she cannot help but be on edge, with so many people gathered into one place and so much potential for trouble on the wind. Her warpaint gleams like fresh blood beneath the flickering lanterns where it peaks beneath the leather straps of her armor, and the dagger pressed against her leg is a comforting weight when it feels like so many things are spiraling out of her control.

Perhaps this is what Icarus felt, when the wax began to stream across his back, when he realized he had flown too high and gotten too close to the flames. She had forgotten herself, in her foolish, selfish pride -- in her hubris, in her misconception that someone like Marisol could be interested in someone like her, in a simple cadet.

She has no intentions of mingling with the guests -- not when Marisol’s words still ring within her ears, a harsh rebuke that sings duty first whenever she eyes the glasses of wine floating freely around -- but she finds herself surprised by Florentine’s approach when she goes to cut through the crowd, faltering for just a moment before the once-queen.

“I suppose so.”

credits

@Florentine