☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
throw the ashes to the wind
sun sinking like a stone
Another day of cold, another day spent attempting to reassure a swarm of citizens that yes, yes, they were doing their absolute best to handle the situation, yes, I’m sure that it won’t be long now. Now that Solis had descended upon the snow-covered court, with news that their troubles were caused by some sort of terrible beasts that they were now meant to vanquish, Seraphina could feel a bit better about telling her people that their troubles (or, at the very least, those caused by the snow) would come to an end soon.
Tomorrow, ideally, though she suspected that the damage caused by the snowfall would take considerably longer to deal with.
As she turns a corner, she finds herself narrowly avoiding a collision with a small, fawn-colored figure holding a stack of scrolls; she recognizes them as Basileios, the young head of the Azhade, and offers a small inclination of her head in greeting, though they are more concerned with gathering their fallen scrolls than they are with her.
“Basileios. Good day.” Her gaze rests on them with its usual, unnerving intensity. Seraphina likes Basileios, as much as she seems to like anyone – an ally among the nobility is a rarity, and she has a certain appreciation for those that step away from the grandeur and decadence of their bloodlines. You would likely never guess it, however, from her stiff posture and stern, ambiguous expression. She bends, slightly, and, with a whisk of her telekinesis, begins to help them gather up the fallen scrolls, ears twitching forward an inch to catch their stammered apologies. “You don’t need to bow to me,” she adds, a bit belatedly. The formalities of court life still make her uncomfortable, at best, and, though her personality is far from soothing, she wants her subjects to feel relaxed in her presence. (She serves them, after all – not the other way around. She wants them to know that. Although no one person owns her anymore, she is so used to being a useful thing that it is how she has come to process her role.)
As she helps them gather the last of the scattered papers and rises back up to her full height, her odd eyes coming to a rest on the young noble’s bright blue ones. They apologize again, their voice stumbling, and she wonders if she frightens them.
“Mmm. You have nothing to apologize for,” she says, after a moment’s pause, though it occurs to her that her tone isn’t at all reassuring. (That said, she means it. It wasn’t as though she’d been paying enough mind to where she was walking, either.) “What do you have with you?” She gestures to the collection of scrolls.
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tags | @Basileios
notes | <3
throw the ashes to the wind
sun sinking like a stone
Another day of cold, another day spent attempting to reassure a swarm of citizens that yes, yes, they were doing their absolute best to handle the situation, yes, I’m sure that it won’t be long now. Now that Solis had descended upon the snow-covered court, with news that their troubles were caused by some sort of terrible beasts that they were now meant to vanquish, Seraphina could feel a bit better about telling her people that their troubles (or, at the very least, those caused by the snow) would come to an end soon.
Tomorrow, ideally, though she suspected that the damage caused by the snowfall would take considerably longer to deal with.
As she turns a corner, she finds herself narrowly avoiding a collision with a small, fawn-colored figure holding a stack of scrolls; she recognizes them as Basileios, the young head of the Azhade, and offers a small inclination of her head in greeting, though they are more concerned with gathering their fallen scrolls than they are with her.
“Basileios. Good day.” Her gaze rests on them with its usual, unnerving intensity. Seraphina likes Basileios, as much as she seems to like anyone – an ally among the nobility is a rarity, and she has a certain appreciation for those that step away from the grandeur and decadence of their bloodlines. You would likely never guess it, however, from her stiff posture and stern, ambiguous expression. She bends, slightly, and, with a whisk of her telekinesis, begins to help them gather up the fallen scrolls, ears twitching forward an inch to catch their stammered apologies. “You don’t need to bow to me,” she adds, a bit belatedly. The formalities of court life still make her uncomfortable, at best, and, though her personality is far from soothing, she wants her subjects to feel relaxed in her presence. (She serves them, after all – not the other way around. She wants them to know that. Although no one person owns her anymore, she is so used to being a useful thing that it is how she has come to process her role.)
As she helps them gather the last of the scattered papers and rises back up to her full height, her odd eyes coming to a rest on the young noble’s bright blue ones. They apologize again, their voice stumbling, and she wonders if she frightens them.
“Mmm. You have nothing to apologize for,” she says, after a moment’s pause, though it occurs to her that her tone isn’t at all reassuring. (That said, she means it. It wasn’t as though she’d been paying enough mind to where she was walking, either.) “What do you have with you?” She gestures to the collection of scrolls.
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tags | @Basileios
notes | <3
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
