who's the fool who wears the crown?
Marisol thinks she recognizes the look in this girl’s eyes. It is a look of loneliness that shimmers like sunlight in her pale-blue gaze, a look that Mari has come face to face with too many times in mirrors, or the still, silver surface of a lake. In the faint dark of the plaza, lit only by the flickering of candles, the girl’s face is all pearl-white and soft lines. The two of them and the swirling crowd could make a lovely painting.
She introduces herself as Euphrosyne. Mari’s deep gray eyes seem to brighten—she even leans forward slightly, unconsciously. The murmuring of the crowd falls slightly closer to silent, their dance steps slowing along with the music. Unusual names have always intrigued her. For someone who has never left Novus (and hardly even left Terrastella), foreigners coming to visit always present a kind of thrill; they are her only window into the outside world, a gateway to the real and fantastical.
It is unusual, and exotic, but Marisol spent so much of her childhood reading that she recognizes the meaning of it as soon as Euphrosyne introduces herself. “Merriment,” she adds, smiling shyly. “It fits.”
The music is picking back up again. Mari casually sidesteps closer, ducking out of the way of the dancers with her usual neat grace. Anyone who knows her—anyone who has met her, even—knows that this is not her usual scene. Celebrations in general have never been her forte, and especially not ones like this, so full of… glee. But Novus is finally calm. There is no visible threat looming on the horizon. And what is more satisfying for a leader than to see her people happy?
When Euphrosyne asks if she dances, Mari can’t quite contain her laugh. It is a noise of incredulity, but good-humored; amusement flashes through the steel of her eyes when she turns sideways to meet the girl’s gaze. “Hardly,” she responds. Then realization dawns, and her face softens briefly as she adds: “Though if you do, I could use a teacher.”
.