M E S S A L I N A . //
What had started off as an excursion to the lands of Denocte had turned into a week-long trek over excruciating terrain. Though hard to admit to herself, Messalina may have… miscalculated the distance between Dawn and Night, and she was paying dearly for her mistakes.
By some miracle she had made it this far, past rivers and meadows and mountain ranges, relying solely on her keen intuition and a battered map.
Her journey to the Night Court was driven both by curiosity and necessity. It had been a rocky transition to life in Delumine, fraught with desperation and prickly interactions with the locals. At the end of it, she’d managed to obtain lodgings, a way to make some meager coin, and a bruised ego (still recovering). Thanks to the girl’s prior education, she’d become a sage’s assistant by day and a performer by night. She detested both jobs—the sage was as ancient as the trees, and the tavern she performed at was filled with nothing but intoxicated travelers more intent on bedding her than appreciating the elegance of her dance.
But it was the constant talk amongst them of the wonders of the enigmatic Night Court—their King Crow (whatever that meant), the streets filled with trinkets and music, and most importantly, the talents of the populace—that drew Messalina’s attention. She’d never encountered individuals as talented as she in the arts, and her curiosity was peaked. And if the rumors were true, the citizens paid good coin for splendid performances, something her near-empty coffers would sorely appreciate. It was decided. She would journey to the Night Court, stay for a full moon’s cycle, then return to Delumine jingling with coins and swathed in finery.
A smile parted her pink-satin lips as she fantasized about the luxuries she'd soon be able to purchase. A large chunk—scratch that, all—of her wages went towards restoring herself to her former glory. And while gold baubles weaved through her ivory braids, and a heavy embellished cloak settled gracefully around her shoulders, she was bitterly reminded of how she’d dressed her dolls in fabrics finer than her current ones.
Messalina halted her steps as water lapped around her ivory hooves. A lake as smooth as a mirror emerged in front of her: Vitreus Lake. Perhaps she would arrive in the court at nightfall, if nothing detained her until then. A blood-red ripple drew her eye to the water’s surface, and she exhaled at the reflection of the rose nestled behind her ear.
@Mila
notes: I finally put this up! <3 messa's naivety really shines through in this post o_o
