N E F E R T A R I
For years she had been dancing circles around the Ieshan, brushing shoulders and trading glances with any and every faceless and nameless noble socialite. They’d never met- nothing formally, anyways. But she’d kept tabs, as she supposed most denizens of Solterra did, as she knew anyone of note certainly did- gossip was always soaked up by those lavish types, and the Ieshan house was full of it. It had come as no surprise when the noble prince was finally granted passage as king, named by Solis himself, chosen by his people. What an honour that must have been.
Nefertari was used to traveling in tertiary circles, not unlike a fly on the wall. Beautiful and sophisticated enough to get in any door she batted her lashes at, but never with any intention to snuggle up to those with any real power and pull. No, that would be too tempting for the blood that flowed through her veins. It was her specialty she supposed, blending in among the glitz, the glamour, fading away among the sea of beautiful faces. It created a sense of security, though she’d never admit it. Being able to surround herself with the comforts of high society and none of the pressures for people to remember who she was. Drinks were always good for that. Smouldering looks and flirtatious advances never needed to be taken seriously the day after, and there was a delight she took in the illusion of anonymity that certain revelries gave her.
Fleeting moments wove themselves into a narrative that somehow manifested as her life. Sparkling lights, ballrooms, laughter, silks and pearls- all of them parts of the illusion. Here, among the best and brightest of Solterra she could craft this identity, be anything she wished to be. Be anything but herself. Drinks were also good for that, anyone will tell you.
So when the festivities begin to lull, and the denizens couldn’t possibly revel anymore, they find themselves with renewed drinks in hand and the cycle continues. It was easy to float between groups of people, exchanging pleasantries and sharing in joys, imagined hardships and other such frivolous things. Deep in her heart, secreted away behind walls she had been so careful to build with her time in the desert, she knew that these gilded people could know no real hardships. Few could, honestly, if they were born with silver and gold and loving parents and all the world gifted to them. It was easy, with a sly smile and a flick of her mane to pretend she, too, knew of no such real woes. It was better to forget them, to bury them so deep she could look at those childish dreams and fears with the eyes of a woman far removed from the past that carved those thoughts in a stone planted firmly in her gut. The chatter, the lights, the drinks, they all did their part in slowly drowning those things until the morning. The drinks did the most of it.
Nefertari had never laid claim to being a lush, for no truly noble lady could dance with starry-eyed suitors and string puppy-eyed boys behind her if she could not keep her feet. She kept her liquor well, cradling it in her belly, always enough to feel the hypnotic buzz at the very back of her senses, but never quite enough to dull them. Her tongue may be more loose, more quick witted (though wit has always been a debatable subject for anyone, in her humble opinion) her smiles are more easy, more genuine, the hurt and loneliness thinly veiled as she wanders from one gathering to another. Mingling, but never truly settling; a mirror to her overall approach to life whether she liked it or not.
The day had grown into night, the sun giving way to what should have been a swath of stars, and the bells chimed the ninth hour. The festivities had died down, and those who still chose to rejoice in their delight at being truly Solterran had begun to shift their focus to the most Denoctian attraction the children of Solis had to offer. The warm fire of distilled spirits began to wane, and the mare started to wander the stalls of the market, now open for business for this oh so special occasion. It had been, what? Four years since she had settled in Solterra, five since she had fled the watchful eyes of her Vogelstein household. Never had she felt more homesick than wandering this false Night Market. She busied herself by carefully observing every stall, every good these artisans had to offer. If she focused on their craftsmanship perhaps she could ignore the twisting in her gut that said this was so very, very wrong. The Solterran streets, while lively, blotted out the most important features of the marketplace they so desperately tried to recreate.
The mare lifted her golden pools to the heavens, seeking stars which would not dare show themselves when still so polluted by false suns. The night sky in the deserts were beautiful, she knew, but almost never inside Solterran walls. There was something about the structures, perhaps, or the people themselves that pushed the night away. After all, how opposite the Night was Day? And how had that very thing attracted her to this place, like a simple moth to a flame?
She sighed heavily, bowing her head and going once again in search of drink from one of the market vendors. Surely another would drown the hurt and loneliness a little while longer. Perhaps liquored eyes would blur the lines just enough that she could pretend, just for tonight. As she did most nights when the festivities were bright and the foods were rich and the decorated of society danced their way to the wee hours of the mornings.
