jane
Watching Vysanthe, Jane could perceive the amusement in her eyes. From her words, it was evident that she was a multi-talented figure. “I’ve always thought it magical, to see the entertainers in my court back home. My mother pushed me into accepting the title of a scholar, so I could have some reason to live in the court. I never did anything with it though, just drifted through life like a dandelion seed draped in gold.” She chuckled, rolling her eyes at her former self. Her attempts to feign maturity obviously mattered little to someone who had experienced the world and all its figures. Jane imagined that Vysanthe could probably see through her to the dangly, growing figure she was.
“I must admit that there is nothing I despise quite as much as these freedoms. I do nothing, ever since I moved to Solterra I have stayed in my relatives’ house and seen them grow increasingly sick of me. More than once have I dreamt of leaving, but I have no idea what I would do.”
Relaxed in her age and station, Vysanthe ate at the blackberries. Jane admired the ease in her frame; so easy and practiced, no doubt, from years of meeting individuals. Jane had a few on her side, but very few to give her purpose. She remembered a few days ago, she had gone into a coffee shop with another filly from the court- a ridiculous young thing, caring only for clothes and gossip. In the corner there had been an older mare, draped over a table.
“That’s Lillian, she’s a widow,” Mir had said with a sneer, “Got married when she was our age, and now they say that she’s a horrible old wreck who does nothing but bet on races and fights at the Colosseum.” Lillian was a bay, who in many ways reminded Jane of her mother. “How horrible, to be the one who dies last,” Mir continued.
But Jane had seen herself. It was horrible. She remembered the shiver of excitement.
@[Vysanthe] / speaks / whoo finally!
