the bitterness of winter or the sweetness of spring
you are an artist and your heart is your masterpiece
In her youth, Thomasin was not allowed to play with the children on the streets, or attend large gatherings at the capital. Occasionally, she was permitted to travel with her father in the very early hours of the morning, when most of Denocte had settled into sleep after their wild night-life festivities, and pray at the very altar she stood before. Otherwise, she prayed at home, helped her mother tend to the gardens and practiced cooking; she became domestic quickly. Instead of learning about the world and how all the people worked, instead of learning history outside of her religion, practicing trades, or making friends, she was told to be quiet, only sing when worshipping, and spend her free time painting or counting the stars. It was lonely, but more importantly, Thomasin missed out on important social skills.
Because of this sheltered upbringing, the lamb wasn’t exactly the most adept when it came to conversations. She certainly wasn’t dimwitted. But the only way she learned about the vastly different types of personalities that the world harbored was from reading. Granted, Thomasin was forbidden to read anything outside of proper etiquette prompts or simple religious stories. And even though she truly titled herself as devout and a lady of faith, she craved excitement, she lusted after something out of the ordinary. And so, the little filly would stay up late, sneak out her room, hastily tip-toe to the herb fields, and read her mother’s stolen romance books. They were full of depth; well-fleshed out characters such as princesses, and knights, and dragons – lore and love that was dramatic and frightening. It filled her cup. These secret novels, where lovers would kiss in dark and slay monsters in the name of friendship, these fictional characters were the only friends Thomasin really had.
She was really trying to make friends. Giving it her all her gumption – she had been offering samples of baked goods to citizens and children, attempting to join in choir for group worship. But navigating real relationships was much harder than she imagined it to be.
The vampiress spoke a sad symphony of words, and in the dim candlelight, Thomasin could see that whatever stories of love Valan held within her were not ones with happy endings. In respect, she remained quiet. Besides, she only liked stories with happy endings – certainly not tragic.
But Valan had retorted with the fact that it should be ‘your majesty’. It seemed like Thomasin had offended her, even though it was unintended; in fact she was trying her best to lift Valan’s spirits – yet she was unaware she was digging into an invisible wound. Simultaneously, hearing the news that Valan was married created a small, invisible wound that Thomasin could call her own. It was alien to her, and she suddenly felt misplaced. Should she apologize? Should she really be addressing her as a queen? The silence was deafening, but inside Thomasin’s mind, she was racking for the proper answer so that she could still have a chance of gaining friendship.
Her unrefined emotions would always get the better of her. She swallowed hard – if she could have swallowed her own tongue she would have. “Is that how you wish to be addressed, Valan?” Her brow knitted in confusion, slightly taken aback as it was in her nature to take everything so personally.
Yet, the lady – this queen of the night – carefully gathered herself and laid down. In that moment, this dusty mare had forgotten about her feelings and followed effortlessly. Perhaps she was bewitched. She didn’t second guess the creatures movements, simply lowered her own slender body to the cold floor, crossed her dainty legs, and swayed the mass of hair at the tip of her tail closer to her frame so that she might cuddle in it like a blanket. With thirsty eyes and anxious ears, she listened to the stories Valan had to tell. Her piebald lashes fluttered at the mention of running through the gardens with another, a genuine smile gracing her mouth, only to eclipse into a small pout, and eventually a grimace as Valan continued.
This was a story that didn’t have a happy ending.
Sympathetic tears rimmed her eyes, expressing her sorrow at a volume barely above a whisper, “Valantine, I am so sorry.” She was quick to dispel her weariness and followed up with, “I find it charming you’ve named your flower.”
As the tables turned, it was now Thomasin in the spotlight as she was asked about her condition. She grew hot under her skin, a sort of cold sweat beginning to dew on her toffee pelt. “Oh.”
She cleared her throat. “It’s really nothing, I’m just sick, you see.” Thomasin has never been sick, but when your parents treated you like blossoms were cancer for the entirety of her short life, she knew no different. “It’s just a condition. I apologize if it repulses you.” With a nervous nod of her head, she dismissed it swiftly in embarrassment. Her fear of rejection was beginning to bubble to the surface. She felt so unsightly when asked about it. Was it repulsion, or hunger? She was reminded that a creature like Valan might, at any moment in time, change her tactics and aim her gaping mouth at the displayed organ to quench her hunger. The lump in her throat grew, but determined to save this conversation, she ignored it.
“Where is your home now? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in Denocte – I’m sure I would have remembered a face like yours had I seen it in passing.” Leering shyly, she returned her gaze to winter flame.
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"talking." thinking.
tagged: @Valan
vibing to: X
