☼ RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN ☼רות
"bronzed as earth, the second lies / hearing ticks blown gold / like pollen on bright air. Lulled / near a bed of poppies,"
"bronzed as earth, the second lies / hearing ticks blown gold / like pollen on bright air. Lulled / near a bed of poppies,"
I think, as I watch her, that this girl seems too good to be here. Too good for our manor. Too good, maybe, for Solterra – but if there is one thing that I have learned as a daughter of our house, it is that you can never quite trust seemings. I readjust my grasp on the stem of the wine glass, suspending it politely between us, and I still don’t drink. It is more of a party trick than anything, a method of blending into the crowd.
She tells me that she is from Delumine, where the parties are not nearly so glamorous. “They sound more interesting than the ones here,” I say, and I am not just being polite. (In fact, I mean it as genuinely I can say that anything is interesting.) “Why did you decide to come to Solterra?”
The girl twirls her glass, and then she smiles brightly, asking me if I have any advice for a newcomer. (The gesture strikes me as somehow more genuine than the works of art in the gallery in the other wing of the manor. It is almost frustrating in its innocuousness.)
“I wouldn’t drink anything mixed by my brother,” I say, eyeing her glass. “Pilate has never been much good at bartending – much as he would like to be, I’m sure.” (My brother has never been able to abide being bad – or anything short of the best - at anything.) It occurs to me briefly that the girl, with her foreign roots, might not know that I am a member of the Ieshan household yet (most people do not, at a glance), but I don’t much care if she does or not. If she doesn’t, she has likely heard of my brother, the venerated head of our great house, and I will be explained by proxy.
The thought of Pilate reminds me of someone else. She is a decidedly pretty young girl, and, I think, naïve; another warning comes to mind. “And, if you run into Corradh, don’t let him charm you. He’s hard to miss – looks a bit like a leopard. He breaks hearts wherever he goes.” All my brothers are trouble in different ways. Once, I might have said that Adonai was different, although I don’t think that I’ve ever really liked him; now, he’s just as bad as the rest of them, if not worse.
I think, for a moment, that what I should really tell her is be careful. What I should say, if it weren’t for the playfulness of her tone, or if it weren’t for the way that I didn’t really care about anything, is glance over your shoulder, from time to time, because there are people at this party, I’m sure, that would happily snatch up a sun-bright slip, and make her disappear forever. What I don’t tell her are all the ways that I’ve had to learn to defend myself in a house with eyes, all the ways that I’ve learned to pretend not to see, not to hear, not to think. I do not tell her that the worst thing you can be in Solterra is ignorant, though it is probably the best thing to seem.
(Let her stay bright, until she learns to know better.)
@Maret || hello I love Maret || "Two Sisters of Persephone," Plath
She tells me that she is from Delumine, where the parties are not nearly so glamorous. “They sound more interesting than the ones here,” I say, and I am not just being polite. (In fact, I mean it as genuinely I can say that anything is interesting.) “Why did you decide to come to Solterra?”
The girl twirls her glass, and then she smiles brightly, asking me if I have any advice for a newcomer. (The gesture strikes me as somehow more genuine than the works of art in the gallery in the other wing of the manor. It is almost frustrating in its innocuousness.)
“I wouldn’t drink anything mixed by my brother,” I say, eyeing her glass. “Pilate has never been much good at bartending – much as he would like to be, I’m sure.” (My brother has never been able to abide being bad – or anything short of the best - at anything.) It occurs to me briefly that the girl, with her foreign roots, might not know that I am a member of the Ieshan household yet (most people do not, at a glance), but I don’t much care if she does or not. If she doesn’t, she has likely heard of my brother, the venerated head of our great house, and I will be explained by proxy.
The thought of Pilate reminds me of someone else. She is a decidedly pretty young girl, and, I think, naïve; another warning comes to mind. “And, if you run into Corradh, don’t let him charm you. He’s hard to miss – looks a bit like a leopard. He breaks hearts wherever he goes.” All my brothers are trouble in different ways. Once, I might have said that Adonai was different, although I don’t think that I’ve ever really liked him; now, he’s just as bad as the rest of them, if not worse.
I think, for a moment, that what I should really tell her is be careful. What I should say, if it weren’t for the playfulness of her tone, or if it weren’t for the way that I didn’t really care about anything, is glance over your shoulder, from time to time, because there are people at this party, I’m sure, that would happily snatch up a sun-bright slip, and make her disappear forever. What I don’t tell her are all the ways that I’ve had to learn to defend myself in a house with eyes, all the ways that I’ve learned to pretend not to see, not to hear, not to think. I do not tell her that the worst thing you can be in Solterra is ignorant, though it is probably the best thing to seem.
(Let her stay bright, until she learns to know better.)
@Maret || hello I love Maret || "Two Sisters of Persephone," Plath
HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTHlaughs at my red teeth❂please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence
