M E S S A L I N A . //
As she climbed, Messalina felt like she had left her weary, mortal body a thousand feet below. Her past, her burdens—they vanished with the land as she pressed onwards, towards the peak and into the clouds. A breath in—the scent of sweet moss, the kiss of cold fog—and a breath out. White clouds of steam streamed from her lips and nose, yet oddly, the cold didn’t bother her in the slightest. She did not know what to call this feeling, this weightlessness… delight? Is that what it was?
Nevermind that. For the first time in a long time, the ivory girl’s lips spread into a smile as bright as her gleaming pelt.
That morning, she had been aghast when the old sage she was employed to summoned her in his wheezing gasp (made hoarse from the eons of dust that had accumulated in his ancient abode, no doubt) and requested that she climb Veneror Peak to offer prayers in his place. She had accepted without protest—a habit she found hard to shake—but her mind was awhirl with horror. How thoughtless of him! Requesting that a lady such as herself risk life and limb to ascend the infamous peaks? All for a prayer to silent gods? Religion remained a foreign concept to her, the lengths that the citizens of Novus took to show their veneration baffling. The old sage took pleasure in assigning Messalina "recommended" reading, so she was familiar with the ancient lore of the land. However, belief requires more than faded words in a dusty scroll.
But now, surrounded by snow-tipped peaks and closer to the sun than the earth—she began to see why the citizens of Novus believed. There was a breathtaking rawness to the beauty that lay before her, a fierce sublimity that suggested a higher power responsible for it. Her heart beat fast and strong as she paused for a moment, breath leaving her in short puffs as she attempted to process the maelstrom of sensations coursing through her veins.
A blue flower lay at her feet, wholly out of place among the moss-coated rocks. It was a lovely shade, and preserved in a moment of exquisite bloom by the crisp mountain air. She picked it up, and without further thought, wound it into her mane. The sparse air must be getting to me—why else would I place another flower, and a discarded one at that, in my braids? Though she couldn’t see it, her thoughts drifted to the red rose nestled behind her ear. She no longer felt it there, and she no longer wondered why it remained as pristine as the day she received it. Mother’s spell would never leave her, it seemed.
“Oriens?” A shaky voice yanked her from her thoughts, and she frowned as her frost-blue eyes squinted ahead to no avail. The fog remained thick and impenetrable, allowing nothing but sound to pass. Intrigued (perhaps the mountain air did get to her head), she stepped forward, the lean outline of a painted figure slowly materializing as she approached.
@Ipomoea
notes: delighted to RP with the precious Po! ^u^
