20th Zi’da, 717, Mid Morning
The carriage ride, for Darcy at least, had not seemed quite as long nor quite as dull. Having another person along for the trip had made the three trials pass far more quickly it seemed. Perhaps it was the company, or perhaps it was the distractions said company provided. Either way, she had spent far less time watching the scenery than the trip earlier in the season.
The problem with company however, is that also meant she did not partake in her regular nightly narcotics, unable to bring herself to do something so shameful and filthy before Caius. By the time they had entered the Bellesoir barony, the pale blonde was feeling keenly the symptoms of withdrawal. Her knee bounced and she pressed her teeth against a delicately manicured thumbnail, not quite biting it through, merely pressing and releasing rapidly. Occasionally, the musician felt a wave of nausea and felt hot and cold all at once, but then it would fade just as rapidly as it came.
As the bouncing, rapidly drawn coach made its way through the township, Darcy stole a peek at the quaint houses that passed by. The winter hadn’t stolen Bellesoir’s beauty, the village nestled prettily amongst sweeping fields of cold season growth of flowers and crops that colored the landscape in a patchwork quilt of bounty. Snow flittered gently down from a grey winter sky, the trial not quite chilled enough for the flakes to settle and bank, but enough to give cause for warm outwear.
And there, away from the town commons settled on a slight rise was the Novtrevé estate, and like the jewel that she was the manor itself. The long road that led up to the carriage drop off was lined with neatly manicured lawns and thick evergreens. Darcyanna recalled seeing the trees intertwined with glowing lights on many an evening event, such a beautiful sight really. Around the side of the buildings, one would find the rose gardens, perfectly symmetrical and planned out. Once every few arcs the family gardeners would change the colors, artfully digging up and planting the switch colors whilst keeping the old colored plants alive in a field specifically for the manor gardens. This arc it seemed they were wearing the Venora banner colors of magenta, dusted with pinks, purples and reds. In the centre of the rose gardens was a rectangular body of water that housed beautifully carved stone statues of elegant men and women draped so perfectly on pristine arched neck steeds.
The blonde pianist sat back from the window, taking a few deep breaths and rubbing her hands anxiously on the soft black skirts of her dress. Her cloak was buttoned tightly, hood lowered to protect the smooth chignon that her platinum locks were swept up into. Her make up was soft, delicate, befitting of the woman she was expected to be. Had to be.
Beauty, grace, duty.
“It’s been so long. Too long. Fates, do I look okay? Maybe we should stop in somewhere first. Freshen up.” She shouldn’t be nervous. It was only Oli. They’d already corresponded by letters, and the brief written contact had brought back fond and loving memories of the older dark haired Venora. He’d asked her to come home, to discuss and plan for a gala event before the end of Zi’da, and without hesitation the blonde accepted, asking Caius immediately to accompany her. She had been angry and upset he’d told Oliver about Pythera, and to say the idea of discussing it scared her witless, but if anything she trusted Oliver. She trusted Caius. Fates she’d spent so long away, using school as an excuse to hide the scars of Pythera’s rage from her brother, both physical and emotional. Oliver, so strong and proud, an unwavering rock against the tide of politics. Darcy had ever looked up to him, aspired to be like him. This husk of a woman was a shameful disgrace.
“The Onyx Rose, did I ever tell you that’s what the people call him? Dark, bold, strong. A protector of the people, of the family name. Oli is everything a Venora should be.” The young woman was waffling now, glancing out the window again with a start as she saw the manicured lawns.
Home. By the Seven she was home.
As the coach slowed to a stop, the short noblewoman waited for the door to open. Turning back to the Gawyne who accompanied her, Darcy tried on a smile, unsure if she was nervous or excited. Maybe both.
“Shall we?”
The problem with company however, is that also meant she did not partake in her regular nightly narcotics, unable to bring herself to do something so shameful and filthy before Caius. By the time they had entered the Bellesoir barony, the pale blonde was feeling keenly the symptoms of withdrawal. Her knee bounced and she pressed her teeth against a delicately manicured thumbnail, not quite biting it through, merely pressing and releasing rapidly. Occasionally, the musician felt a wave of nausea and felt hot and cold all at once, but then it would fade just as rapidly as it came.
As the bouncing, rapidly drawn coach made its way through the township, Darcy stole a peek at the quaint houses that passed by. The winter hadn’t stolen Bellesoir’s beauty, the village nestled prettily amongst sweeping fields of cold season growth of flowers and crops that colored the landscape in a patchwork quilt of bounty. Snow flittered gently down from a grey winter sky, the trial not quite chilled enough for the flakes to settle and bank, but enough to give cause for warm outwear.
And there, away from the town commons settled on a slight rise was the Novtrevé estate, and like the jewel that she was the manor itself. The long road that led up to the carriage drop off was lined with neatly manicured lawns and thick evergreens. Darcyanna recalled seeing the trees intertwined with glowing lights on many an evening event, such a beautiful sight really. Around the side of the buildings, one would find the rose gardens, perfectly symmetrical and planned out. Once every few arcs the family gardeners would change the colors, artfully digging up and planting the switch colors whilst keeping the old colored plants alive in a field specifically for the manor gardens. This arc it seemed they were wearing the Venora banner colors of magenta, dusted with pinks, purples and reds. In the centre of the rose gardens was a rectangular body of water that housed beautifully carved stone statues of elegant men and women draped so perfectly on pristine arched neck steeds.
The blonde pianist sat back from the window, taking a few deep breaths and rubbing her hands anxiously on the soft black skirts of her dress. Her cloak was buttoned tightly, hood lowered to protect the smooth chignon that her platinum locks were swept up into. Her make up was soft, delicate, befitting of the woman she was expected to be. Had to be.
Beauty, grace, duty.
“It’s been so long. Too long. Fates, do I look okay? Maybe we should stop in somewhere first. Freshen up.” She shouldn’t be nervous. It was only Oli. They’d already corresponded by letters, and the brief written contact had brought back fond and loving memories of the older dark haired Venora. He’d asked her to come home, to discuss and plan for a gala event before the end of Zi’da, and without hesitation the blonde accepted, asking Caius immediately to accompany her. She had been angry and upset he’d told Oliver about Pythera, and to say the idea of discussing it scared her witless, but if anything she trusted Oliver. She trusted Caius. Fates she’d spent so long away, using school as an excuse to hide the scars of Pythera’s rage from her brother, both physical and emotional. Oliver, so strong and proud, an unwavering rock against the tide of politics. Darcy had ever looked up to him, aspired to be like him. This husk of a woman was a shameful disgrace.
“The Onyx Rose, did I ever tell you that’s what the people call him? Dark, bold, strong. A protector of the people, of the family name. Oli is everything a Venora should be.” The young woman was waffling now, glancing out the window again with a start as she saw the manicured lawns.
Home. By the Seven she was home.
As the coach slowed to a stop, the short noblewoman waited for the door to open. Turning back to the Gawyne who accompanied her, Darcy tried on a smile, unsure if she was nervous or excited. Maybe both.
“Shall we?”