☼ RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN ☼רות
"Will you rescue me? / What kingdom will replace my bounty / of leisure, what tether of care and nurture / do you wish to rope my neck with?"
"Will you rescue me? / What kingdom will replace my bounty / of leisure, what tether of care and nurture / do you wish to rope my neck with?"
The blossoms in my hair have only been braided in for a day, but they are already wilting. As I stride across the threshold that separates the hall from the courtyard – out into the night air -, they shed petals in a trail of soft pink behind my hooves. The image is far too delicate to suit me, and soon – quickly – the petals are crushed beneath the hooves of partygoers, as unnoticed, I think, as a fly on the wall.
The evening has only barely begun, and the crowds are still small, quiet, and mostly-sober; the sun hasn’t even slipped entirely over the edge of the horizon, and the – faint – breeze hasn’t grown cold just yet. That is to say: the party is still utterly palatable. No chaos from my siblings, no sordid whispers, no drunken partygoers to pull aside and care for after they’ve drunk too much, because Solis knows, someone dying of alcohol poisoning at one of our parties is the last thing that our household needs right now. It is still, in a certain way, serene.
I am not sure where Ishak is. I know that he is nearby; chatting with one of the maids, I suspect. (Much as he has complained about hearing too much about this party, how he only, desperately wants to get it over with, how the servants can’t seem to come up with anything more interesting to discuss – he is still collecting more information about the specifics. Ishak is particular like that. He is never quite satisfied that enough as enough; no knowledge is too much knowledge.
I am, I’m sure, the opposite. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to know. I think that is why I keep him in my company, or- that was the intent. Sometimes, now, I’m not so sure, but that is another thing I don’t want to look at too deeply.)
Corradh and Hagar are in the courtyard, each preoccupied with their separate poisons. I glance, for a moment, at the finished result of Hagar’s work, and then at Corradh, among a flock of artists. I consider, for a brief moment, participating – and then, almost immediately, I think better of it. (Or maybe I run from it.) I love them both, of course, in very different ways, but I am sure that I would have no patience for their games – they do not ignite the barest flare of interest in my chest. (That is hardly unusual.)
I am not interested – and obligation can only carry me so far on its own.
Still. I stride through the courtyard, towards the center, where I can see the sky – and I try to make sure that I am carrying myself like a proper Ieshan, even with wilting, dripping blooms in my hair, even without anything interesting to do (like my siblings). I am not sure if I am praying to go unnoticed (because it would be troublesome to speak with anyone) or praying to be somehow eye-catching (because I am so hungry and so envious, so desperate for something I can’t put a name to), though I know better.
I need only look in a mirror to know better.
Over the haze of light, I can make out the soft blush of sunset, interrupted here and there by branches and building and string of decorations. I wonder – and the crowd swims around me, as I do – how long it will take for the sun to disappear entirely, how many precious moments of peace I have before trouble, inevitably, sinks its dark and jagged teeth into the lovely atmosphere my brother has seen fit to manufacture.
(It will crumble, certainly – this sort of thing always does.)
@Dalmatia || aaaa, a thread with you again <3 || Jeannine Hall Gailey, "Rapunzel: I like the Quiet"
The evening has only barely begun, and the crowds are still small, quiet, and mostly-sober; the sun hasn’t even slipped entirely over the edge of the horizon, and the – faint – breeze hasn’t grown cold just yet. That is to say: the party is still utterly palatable. No chaos from my siblings, no sordid whispers, no drunken partygoers to pull aside and care for after they’ve drunk too much, because Solis knows, someone dying of alcohol poisoning at one of our parties is the last thing that our household needs right now. It is still, in a certain way, serene.
I am not sure where Ishak is. I know that he is nearby; chatting with one of the maids, I suspect. (Much as he has complained about hearing too much about this party, how he only, desperately wants to get it over with, how the servants can’t seem to come up with anything more interesting to discuss – he is still collecting more information about the specifics. Ishak is particular like that. He is never quite satisfied that enough as enough; no knowledge is too much knowledge.
I am, I’m sure, the opposite. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to know. I think that is why I keep him in my company, or- that was the intent. Sometimes, now, I’m not so sure, but that is another thing I don’t want to look at too deeply.)
Corradh and Hagar are in the courtyard, each preoccupied with their separate poisons. I glance, for a moment, at the finished result of Hagar’s work, and then at Corradh, among a flock of artists. I consider, for a brief moment, participating – and then, almost immediately, I think better of it. (Or maybe I run from it.) I love them both, of course, in very different ways, but I am sure that I would have no patience for their games – they do not ignite the barest flare of interest in my chest. (That is hardly unusual.)
I am not interested – and obligation can only carry me so far on its own.
Still. I stride through the courtyard, towards the center, where I can see the sky – and I try to make sure that I am carrying myself like a proper Ieshan, even with wilting, dripping blooms in my hair, even without anything interesting to do (like my siblings). I am not sure if I am praying to go unnoticed (because it would be troublesome to speak with anyone) or praying to be somehow eye-catching (because I am so hungry and so envious, so desperate for something I can’t put a name to), though I know better.
I need only look in a mirror to know better.
Over the haze of light, I can make out the soft blush of sunset, interrupted here and there by branches and building and string of decorations. I wonder – and the crowd swims around me, as I do – how long it will take for the sun to disappear entirely, how many precious moments of peace I have before trouble, inevitably, sinks its dark and jagged teeth into the lovely atmosphere my brother has seen fit to manufacture.
(It will crumble, certainly – this sort of thing always does.)
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HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTHlaughs at my red teeth❂please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence
