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Darkseeker
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Name Maren Vella Scott Gender Female - she/her Age 24 Sexuality Pansexual Occupation Lady-in-waiting Appearance Maren is a fairly unremarkable-looking individual. She stands at an average 5'4 with a slender, lanky body type. Her skin is quite pale; she has only the faintest hint of a tan, as she tends to burn in the sun instead. Maren's hair is a deep brown color, and quiet silky and soft. It is about shoulder-length, though she usually styles it in a simple braid to keep it out of her face. She rarely brushes or pays much attention to it, but it miraculously maintains its silky, smooth texture. Maren's facial features are very soft and feminine. She has plump lips and a button nose, and her soft jaw and chin only add to the round appearance of her face. Her cheeks have not yet lost their youthful plumpness, lending her a significantly younger appearance. Maren tends not to care much about her attire. She usually selects gray or brown dresses that she can wear while at work without worrying about dirtying them. She typically adds a white apron from the kitchens over her outfits to keep the most stubborn of stains out of her dresses. Personality Maren is a very quiet individual. She tends to keep to herself, even around those she knows well. She rarely voices her thoughts out loud, preferring to keep them in her mind instead. She is not particularly shy, but she doesn't see the point in talking if she doesn't have anything to say. Maren's frequent silent nature gives others the impression that she is brooding and grumpy, which isn't untrue. Maren has a tendency to fixate on the negative and often lets it affect her mood, to the point where it's obvious to others. She also just has somewhat of a melancholy personality, which only adds to this reputation. Maren is extremely intelligent, but her career options as a woman are quiet limited. Her noble birth has allowed her to secure a position as a lady-in-waiting for a higher ranked family, but she dreams of one day becoming an author or journalist rather than a glorified maid. Likes · Reading and writing · Cold weather · The rain · Cats Dislikes · Strangers · Alcohol · Hot weather · Complete darkness Strengths · Intelligent and creative · Can be charismatic when she chooses · Determined and hard-working Weaknesses · Melancholy · Limited physical strength · Introverted Kin Hans Scott - father. Deceased. Adeline Scott - mother. Deceased. James Scott - brother. Very ill with an unknown disease. |
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Name Priscilla A. Lavigne Age 23 Gender Female Sexuality Lesbian Birthdate December 5th Appearance Priscilla stands at a slightly taller than average height of 5'7, and comes with a commanding presence. She may appear to be soft in the looks department, but don't be fooled by this. This woman is well sculpted with curves, and sports a gentle appearance. With a figure the shape of an hourglass and small and narrow shoulders, her hips are a little wider than they should be. She has fair skin with little to no blemishes or marks, save for the light freckling on her back and chest. She hates it with a passion. Priscilla carries herself with her head held high, and with confidence in her stride. She never seems to falter when it comes to this. Her eyes are reminiscent to that of a doe, big and framed by thick, dark lashes. They're a light hazel color, honey brown with small patches and flecks of pale green. Her face is diamond shaped with high, healthy cheekbones. Above her eyes sits a pair of neatly arched brows, and below them is a straight nose that's gently upturned at the end. Her lips are full and form a cupid's bow. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and in Priscilla's case, this is certainly true. She's an expressive woman, whether it be genuine emotions or a front she puts up. But if one looked close enough, they could tell her true feelings about something by the look in her eyes. Her hair is long and well kept. Quite wavy, falling past her shoulder blades and a light shade of black in color. Typically, it can be seen down, or tied in a half-up and half-done style. Priscilla takes immaculate care of her hair, and the only time it can be seen messy is when it's wet, windy, or when she first wakes up. Other than that, she does not let it go unkempt. In the sunlight, one would discover the various shades of dark brown streaked throughout, as well as how it seems to be lighter at the ends. Priscilla prides herself on her hair and considers it be one of her best features, hence her obsession with keeping it clean and neat. Clothing wise, she prefers the finer things in life. Colored dresses, lacey gloves, and expensive jewelry. She is not one to allow her clothes to get dirty, as expected. Statement pieces for her consist of emeralds, sapphires, and amethyst. To those she considers to be closest to her, she will often gift them her favorite pieces of jewelry as a quiet way of letting them know her appreciation for them. It warms her heart to see them wearing it after this. Priscilla presents herself like any royal woman would, with grace an elegance. Her movements can be described as almost cat-like. Every step she takes it made with careful precision, and it's rare to see her out of line. Personality Priscilla is an interesting woman. She's well aware of her worth, and many will find it difficult to get along with her strong will. She's incredibly stubborn and plants her feet in like a mule. Patient and calm where it counts, but otherwise? She has a deadly short temper, and lets it loose. Priscilla may become choking and overwhelming. She's venemous and will always bite, particularly when cornered. She is certainly not one to argue with, or to poke or prod at. She has always been known to be an intense woman, perhaps even insufferably so. And when things don't go her way? Well, all hell breaks loose. She will fight and fight until there is nothing left. Explosive temper aside, she genuinely does have feelings. She keeps her heart under lock and key, refusing anyone who tries to get close. If one manages to pick their way through the brambles and obtain her love, they will find themselves at the center of her world, worshipped and admired by a woman who is fiercely unyielding in her passion. Has anyone ever managed to achieve this? No. So for this reason, and for the sake of not being vulnerable to anybody, she makes it difficult to get close to her in any manner, even in friendship. Those who push through, however, will find themselves with a loyal companion who will go to the ends of the earth for them. She was not always this way, though. Priscilla is quite prickly, but she's also known for her charisma and cunning abilities. She has reputation to uphold, and is a high-society socialite. Likes - Horses - Poetry - Evenings -Flowers/horticulture/anything to do with nature - Small gestures of appreciation - Braiding someone's hair Dislikes - Bitter tastes - Blatant disrespect - The smell of lemons - Cocky men - Backhanded compliments - Struggling to find the right words Strengths - Horseback riding - Extensive knowledge of herbs and plants - Her status - Cunning and often manipulative/deceptive - Intelligence - Light on her feet, agile Weaknesses - Prone to freak outs - Can be a bit of a control freak - Cannot stand when things don't go her way - Doesn't accept change very well - Obsessed with her reputation, will do anything to preserve it - Standoffish Kin Madeline Lavinge Duke Lavinge No siblings |
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It was a peaceful morning, or, well.. had been. The sky was a pale blue, adorned with thin, wispy clouds that trailed lazily across the expanse of blue. The grass was still wet with last night’s dew, and there was a chill in the air, a sign of the change of seasons that was soon to come. Birds chattered and sang their songs outside in the trees, and a cold breeze coasted through the air. The news had been broken to her in such a blunt manner. In a way that left no room for argument. Her parents had simply shook their heads and stammered while they tried to explain it was for the best interest- their best interest. They had claimed that their daughter was too unapproachable and her temper burned too hot for her to be able to find someone fit for marriage on her own, so they took the liberty of doing it themselves. Though Priscilla did not wish to be wed, especially not to a man. That was something they were unaware of, her harsh feelings towards men, but how could she possibly tell them the truth? There she stood on her balcony, still dressed in that deep purple robe she always wore to bed, face red and tear stained. As expected, she had lashed out and everything went south immediately. It wasn't her fault! How was she supposed to react? She was going to be wed- without her permission, may she add- to a man she had never met and would never love. Maybe she shouldn't have reached the way she did, but it's not like she could help her anger. They had always nagged her about settling down with someone, but she never expected them to go and do something like this. Priscilla raised a hand to her eye, rubbing away some of the remaining tears. The cold air stung and she felt like some of her wet tears had frozen on her lashes. Autumn was always a cold time, a precursor to the harsh winter that would soon follow. Maybe if they had just talked to her instead of practically selling her off, she wouldn't have been so pissed off about it. Not to mention that it was a family way down in the ranks of nobility, too. Priscilla was on the path to become the next queen. An only child, the sole heir to the throne. She had rightfully earned her title. And now she was going to be forced to share her success with someone who was not as worthy as her? Call her selfish, or even stuck up, but it just didn't seem right to her. But no amount of arguing could change her fate. After what felt like forever, she finally turned and went back into her bedroom. Priscilla didn't want to even be around her parents right now. Just the mere thought of them pissed her off all over again, and she still couldn't quite see straight or get the shake out of her hands. There was only one person she wanted to see right now- Maren. They weren't quite the bestest of friends, but the woman was someone she'd learned to trust when they met during her teenage years. But did she really want to go bother the poor woman over a childish thing like this? It's not like she was the first woman to be stuck in a situation like this, and she wouldn't be the last. It was just how life worked sometimes. Priscilla was almost 24, for Christ’s sake. Her mother was married at 18, as were her aunts. Really, she should be thankful that they at least gave her a chance to find someone on her own. But at the same time, it wouldn't have mattered. She had no choice but to marry another noble, even if they were all stuck up brats, even more so than she was. Priscilla would rather die than be caught looking anything less than a proper lady, but right now, she didn't give a damn. Given that Maren was her lady-in-waiting, the woman’s sleeping quarters were just right down the hallway. Oftentimes she did feel a little bad bossing her around, so she tried her best not to do so. Prisiclla viewed Maren as more of a friend rather than a servant or a maid or anything of the sort. That being said, sometimes her cockiness did her in the way, unfortunately. She wasn't always the kindest to Maren, especially on bad days. And this day? This day had gotten off to a horribly bad start. But strangely enough, all she wanted right now was the woman’s company, and someone to rant to. Given her prickly demeanor and fiery temper, it wasn't easy for everyone to get along with her. Priscilla has friends, yes, and she does enjoy spending time with them. But they don't always see eye to eye, and a matter like this isn't one she wants to have spread around like common gossip. What was this guy's name, anyway? She couldn't remember for the life of her. Aiden? No.. not Aiden. Something else. Not that it really mattered all that much. Priscilla glanced down at herself, debating on if she should take the quick second to chance into something more presentable before she went to Maren’s quarters and disturbed the poor woman. She probably should, but she didn't really care right now. Priscilla wasted no time stomping out of her own room, her angry presence made known to anyone nearby by the sound of her stomping. She usually carries herself with grace and elegance, but right now, she was anything but. She had her moments of rage and anger, but it never really did get this far. Her parents had completely set her off and right now, she was like a wildfire during a drought: unstoppable. At least she had the courtesy to give a few quick knocks to Maren’s door, pausing for a moment. Should she just barge in? Normally, she wouldn't. She never was one to invade someone’s privacy, especially not someone who was so close to her. So, she decided against it, which was her only conscious thought at the moment. “Maren?” Priscilla’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, lacking its usual bite. Despite the anger that gnawed at her and filled her head, she couldn't quite bring herself to use any sort of mean tone with the woman. It wasn't her fault. She didn't deserve to be yelled at and treated like absolute shit. Priscilla’s hands clenched and unclenched at her side, her breaths coming out heavy. She could be calm. She knew how to be calm. And in all honesty, she probably shouldn't have stomped her way over here like a child, still dressed in her nightclothes. “Can I come in?” Her voice was softer this time, almost sweet. Was she completely overreacting? Most definitely, since it's not like arranged marriages were uncommon. The parents chose a suitable partner for their children, particularly their heir, to ensure that everything would go smoothly. But Priscilla was having none of it. She knew her duties, and she knew she'd eventually have to marry and keep the bloodline going, but did she want to? No! She wanted nothing to do with a man, and really, just wanted to rule alone. This was not an option for her. Her gaze was cast downwards, to the slippers that were still on her feet. She had just woken up and was hit with the news, so maybe that's why she was so mad. Priscilla was usually her softest and kindest when she first woke up in the mornings, but they had gone and soured her mood. Another short knock was sounded, and she started to tap one of her feet impatiently. What was Maren doing in there? To be fair, it hadn't even been a minute, but she just couldn't help herself. Maybe the woman had already heard her yelling and could have guessed what this whole thing was about. Priscilla definitely wasn't quiet about it, but neither were her parents. A screaming match so early in the morning is just what everyone needs. |
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Maren knelt on the hardwood floor of her room, the rough-hewn boards digging into her knees uncomfortably. Her fingers were wedged beneath a loose board before her; as she tugged forcefully, it popped free completely to reveal a tiny space beneath, just large eneough for the leather notebook and loose sheafs of paper that were tucked so lovingly inside. Maren retrieved the notebook and paper with the care one would use to handle an infant, and cradled them to her chest as she manuevered the false board back into place. When it had popped firmly back amongst the other boards, she scrambled to her feet and hurried to her desk, where she unloaded her arms onto the smooth wooden surface. The sheafs of paper and the notebook's pages were covered entirely in a messy, spidery scrawl. Maren often could barely read her own handwriting, but she had committed the contents of the notebook almost entirely to memory. She flipped eagerly through its pages as she retrieved her quill and ink from her desk drawer. She had told the servants that she needed it to write Priscilla's personal letters, and evidently none of them had thought to follow up with the young royal, for Maren still had her beloved ink. She dipped the nib into the black pot and began to scribble across the pages, barely stopping to blink. The words seemed to flow out of her as fast as she thought them, and she felt herself slipping into an almost trance-like state as the words fell automatically from her quill. It was not inherently taboo for a woman to pursue writing, especially not one of Maren's social standing, but the contents of her work would have certainly raised some eyebrows. She wrote often about the female body and women in general; comparing them to flowers, the sun, the stars. Her work was kept sequestered away in order to prevent the well-meaning servants from stumbling across it as they cleaned her chambers. Her quill quickly ran out of ink, and she dipped it into the pot once more. The particular poem that she was penning compared one of her past lovers to the night; all-encompassing and occasionally overwhelming. There was a tiny crack as the nib of Maren's quill snapped off, and the room quickly filled with her curses. She flung open her desk drawer and rifled around until she came across a fresh one. It was slightly rumpled and dusty from its time in the back of her drawer, but it would do. Just as she was about to resume her writing, a knock sounded at her door. Maren jumped, nearly sending her inkpot flying across the room. She gasped and yanked her drawer open again, sweeping her quill and inkpot inside before leaping to her feet and hurrying to the loose floorboard. She pried it open as quickly as possible, leaving jagged cuts on her palms and fingers, and shoved her materials haphazardly inside. She slammed the board back in place, hoping that whoever was in the hall didn't hear, and hurried to her doorway. "Priscilla," she said in surprise, dropping into a curtsy as she opened the door. She hoped that her heavy breathing and wide-eyed fear wasn't too obvious, but knowing Priscilla, she would pick up on it quickly. Maren was snapped out of her reverie by the distraught look on the other woman's face. She looked horrified, furious, and deeply sad at once, as if she had received horrible news. "Is something wrong?" She could guess. Maren had heard whispers of a possible arranged marriage between Priscilla and the son of another influential family. She had dismissed them as simple rumors, but it seemed like there may have been more to them than that. "Did something happen with your family?" she asked tentatively. She didn't want to let on that she'd heard about the marriage before Priscilla had; for some reason, it felt like she had betrayed the other woman by not coming to her with the rumors immediately. Maren rested a comforting hand on Priscilla's back and guided her into the room. "Of course you can come in. Here, sit." She led Priscilla to the edge of her bed and let her sit, casting a sideways glance at the loose board in the floor and hoping that its odd appearance was visible only to her. "Can I get you something? I had the kitchen bring me a pot of black tea earlier." Maren retrieved the pot from her dresser and poured them each a cup in the delicate china saucers that had been delivered with it. Maren handed one to Priscilla before taking a deep drink of her own. She had no idea how to approach this situation. She couldn't tell Priscilla that she had heard the rumors of marriage, of that she was certain, but she felt sick with guilt keeping it from her. She told herself firmly that there was nothing she could have done, even if she had told Priscilla of the rumors, but her stomach still twisted uncomfortably as she gazed at the devastated expression on Priscilla's face. Maren had suspected that Priscilla's romantic interests did not like with men for a long time now, but had never felt comfortable broaching the subject. She always had a terrible foresight of Priscilla having her thrown from the castle upon her insistence that they were the same in that regard. She knew that the other woman would never do such a thing, but she still didn't believe that they were close enough to have that conversation. Though they had known each other for years, they had stayed at arms' length for most of that time, becoming friends but never getting to know each other too well. Maren knew that her own hesitance to get to know the other girl was the shame that she had carried for so long about her feelings towards other women, but she couldn't be sure what was causing Priscilla to hold back, and she was too wary to push her. She crossed the room and sat next to Priscilla on the bed, drawing her stocking feet up beneath her. "Please, Priscilla. I want to help you." |
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Priscilla was hardly able to contain her anger, and unfortunately for her and those around her, she had a pretty nasty temper. She knew she shouldn't be mad, and that she really had no right to be, but still! She just couldn't help it. Something was necessary to calm her down before she completely lost it and made a complete fool of herself. It wouldn't be the first time. She could usually handle herself pretty well, given that she had a reputation she cared heavily about, and she was to be the next queen. Nobody outside the castle walls got to see this nasty side of her. Few got to see the completely unbridled side of her. When she was a child, meltdowns would be pretty frequent for her. Priscilla would be overwhelmed with her much-too-big emotions, unable to really handle herself. They were so much worse back then when she didn't care about what people thought of her. But now, she knew she needed to do something before she snapped completely. And her solution came not in the form of an action, but a person. Her lady-in-waiting, the one she didn't really treat as much as a servant, rather a friend. In all honesty, she didn't like bossing any of the servants around, which was pretty surprising considering how stuck up she could be. She may be a complete asshole, but she wasn't one to treat servants like mere tools. They were people, too. She recognized this and respected it. And right now, her mind was only on finding a source of comfort, not going to Maren to boss her around and make her feel better about herself. So she marched her way down to the woman’s door, not even bothering to change out of her nightclothes. Why should she care? Priscilla already looked like a complete mess. There was no point in trying to fix herself up. Her knock was heavy and rapid, but brief. For a moment, there was silence, and then the sound of scrambling footsteps and a slamming noise. What the hell was that woman doing in there? Priscilla cocked a brow, but she was much too distraught to really care all that much. She just.. wanted someone to talk to. That was all. Maybe Maren might think she's stupid for this, but she didn't really care. Why did she have any right to complain? She didn't, that was the thing. This was something normal and it was her fault for not finding her own partner. But how could she possibly find one, when she had no interest in men? The door opened to reveal the familiar sight of Maren, but almost immediately, Priscilla could see the unusual rapid rise and fall of her chest and her widened eyes. Normally she'd would've commented on it, asking if Maren was okay. But this time she chose to let it go. She'd worry about it later. She couldn't really bring herself to speak, her mouth suddenly going dry the second she tried. Of course. Maren’s questions caused her to blink a few times and glance away, brows furrowed as she tried to will herself to speak. She couldn't. Honestly, she felt kind of stupid for even freaking out about this. A warm hand found its way to her back, and she allowed Maren to guide her over to her bed. She took a seat on the edge, legs crossed at the ankles, her hands folded in her lap. Finally, she managed to find words, but only when Maren retrieved tea for both of them. Her hands unfolded so she could hold the saucer in her hand, which was shaking so badly she thought she might drop the damn thing. “Thank you.” She murmured, taking a deep breath in. Where did she even start? Priscilla turned her gaze over to Maren, struggling to piece together what she wanted to say. “I.. I don't even..” She paused, her voice sounding pitifully small. For someone who always carried herself with grace and elegance, she sure was a complete and utter mess right now. “I don't know where to even start.” She admitted, glancing away again. Well, now she felt very stupid, not even kind of stupid anymore. How did she even talk about this? It’s not like she could tell Maren about her liking for women, since that sort of thing was frowned upon so heavily. It was something she carried deep within her, a feeling that made her feel so guilty. It was wrong. She knew it was wrong. Yet she couldn't change the way she felt, no matter how hard she wished she wasn't different. Priscilla had never had any romantic partners. Why? Because even as a teenager, she knew she was different. She never had eyes for any of the boys her age, but rather, she was drawn to the pretty girls who gossiped with her and giggled about their crushes. Sometimes, Priscilla would pick a random boy and giggle about him to them just so she could feel some sense of normalcy. Maren sat down next to her and spoke again, drawing her from her thoughts. “I’m arranged to be wed to some.. man I don't even know. I just.. it's normal, I know, but I don't want it. How am I supposed to spend my life with a man I will never love?” Her head tilted to the side, and she paused for a moment, considering her next words carefully. “Maybe I’m being too dramatic about this whole thing. But I am not some item to be pawned off, I can make my own choices!” She still couldn't quite make her words make sense, or figure out how to properly explain her feelings. So she didn't. That was enough, and she didn't need to give Maren a whole sob story about something that was bound to happen sooner or later. To be honest, she didn't even think her parents would allow her to marry someone of her choosing. They would complain he wasn't suitable enough, she would regret her choice, and all of that. She gazed down for a moment, and it was then that she noticed Maren’s hands. They were cut up. Priscilla sat her saucer down in her lap, almost hesitantly reaching out to take the other woman’s hands in her own. It was not something she would normally do. But she was freaking out more and more by the minute, evident in her rapid, shaky breathing and shaky hands. What a pathetic thing to get so worked up about. “Your hands. What happened to them?” Her voice was utterly soft as she spoke, turning Maren’s hands over in her own to examine the cuts on her palms, and her fingers. They were fresh. Her thumbs rubbed gentle circles into Maren’s palms, suddenly more concerned about the other woman than herself right now. Maybe a distraction was what she needed right now. She noticed that Maren’s hands fit so neatly in her own, which were slightly larger. She was only a few inches taller than the other woman, but some differences in their size were quite noticeable. Like their hands, but that was just one example. Her gaze trailed upwards, a flash of concern in her eyes as she met Maren’s. Priscilla may be prickly and seemingly unfeeling, but she really isn't. Her emotions are big. Too big for her. This includes her anger, her concern, and everything else. She's not quite sure why she feels everything so strongly, but she does, and she finds it difficult to cope with. “I can get you fixed up, if you'd like. You must not work yourself so hard.” Priscilla sighed softly, chalking it up to Maren having injured herself while working somehow. But despite this, she did not let go of the woman’s hands. Strangely enough, the contact made her feel the slightest bit of comfort. |
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Maren did her best not to stiffen as Priscilla took her hands in her own, marveling over the tiny nicks and cuts covering the thin skin. "I, ah, was trimming the hem of one of your dresses and dropped the blade." She was shocked by how easily the lie came to her, and how guiltless she felt after it left her lips. She simply felt as if she'd stated a true fact, not as if she'd conjured a lie from the depths of her mind. Gently, she pulled her fingers from Priscilla's. "I'm all right, but thank you." She stood and crossed to her vanity, where a small pitcher of water and a rag sat. She dipped the cloth into the water and dabbed gently at her small wounds, wincing at the sting. "I just need to clean them." She returned to Priscilla's side with the rag and sat next to the princess again, curling her feet up under her. She ensured that her knee was pressed against Priscilla's thigh; she had noticed how the contact of their intertwined hands had seemed to calm her, and the last thing she wanted was for the princess to work herself into a frenzy again. "And I'm sure you've already spoken to the king and queen about your displeasure? What did they say?" Even if Priscilla had gone to her parents, Maren doubted they would have been able to break off the betrothal even if they'd wanted to. Arranged engagements were often binding agreements, only able to be broken by extenuating circumstances. An unhappy bride-to-be would certainly not be considered one of those. Maren finished cleaning the cuts on her hands and set the rag next to her upon her quilt. "Do you know who your betrothed is?" she asked cautiously. She didn't want to upset Priscilla further, but perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it would be a young man she already knew, or one she hadn't met but who was kind and sweet, and understanding of her distaste for romance involving men. She rubbed the edge of the rag between her fingertips. "Why don't we go outside? It's a beautiful day, perhaps it will make you feel better." She stood and offered a hand to Priscilla. As she spoke, a gentle breeze blew in through the window, ruffling her hair. She took Priscilla's hand and pulled her lightly to her feet. "Let's go." Maren cast a final look over her shoulder at the loose board as she led Maren from her room. It lay at a slightly cockeyed angle, but she hoped that it wasn't obvious unless someone was looking for it. The halls of the palace were dark and cool. Maren pulled Priscilla along until they reached one of the spiraling stone staircases leading to the floor below. She took the steps at a jog, giggling as she pulled the princess along playfully. When they reached the first floor, Maren shoved open one of the great oak doors leading out to the courtyard, a gorgeous section of bright green grass and brilliantly colored flowers. Small wooden arches dotted the area, covering in climbing ivy and surrounded by tiny bunches of wildflowers. Maren led Priscilla to a stone bench by a bubbling fishpond and took a seat. Beneath the surface of the water, the fish raced each other back and forth, weaving swiftly between the steams of the lilypads floating upon the water. Maren inhaled deeply as another breeze fluttered the leaves of the plants around them. "I feel better already," she said quietly to Priscilla, "do you?" With the birds chirping and the wind rustling the plants surrounding them, the courtyard was the most peaceful place Maren could even begin to conceptualize. She often found herself wandering there when she was struck with particularly bad writer's block, or even just needed to take inspiration from its leafy green appearance. Even so, she couldn't help but still worry about Priscilla. The poor girl still looked miserable; Maren supposed she would be too if she were in her shoes, betrothed to be married to a man she likely had never met before in her life. She settled a hand comfortingly over Priscilla's and squeezed gently, hoping that the combination of exposure to nature and camaraderie would help improve her spirits. As they sat, she tried her best to think of the possible options for Priscilla's marriage. There was Alder Grey, prince of a neighboring kingdom. Maren had met him a handful of times at various balls and events hosted between the two kingdoms. Or Priscilla's betrothed could be Jasper Alore, the son of one of the dukes here in their home kingdom. Another option was Grenn Lewis, a young knight who was making a name for himself across the kingdom in tourneys and jousting competitions, but Maren wasn't sure that Priscilla's parents would be willing to wed her to someone of such low status. No, it was more likely that poor Priscilla would be forced to marry a man she'd never met, and he would likely be older than her as well. Older men with little luck finding wives often paid the parents of young, fair women in order to arrange marriages with them; Maren hoped that Priscilla's mother and father would not stoop so low, but then again, she would never have expected them to force Priscilla into an arranged marriage, either. |
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Priscilla’s gaze flickered from Maren’s hands to the woman’s face, nodding slightly as she explained she had dropped a blade. She knew it had to be something work related. She didn't like that Maren was subjected to do the work nobody else wanted to, but what could she really do? All she could do was to go easy on the woman. And as Maren pulled her hand away, Priscilla was a little reluctant to let go, but she didn't try to force the woman to keep holding her hand. Her own hands rested on her thighs, which were covered slightly by the clothing she wore. And that made her glance down at herself, considerably embarrassed that she had allowed herself to get so angry and storm out of her room without looking presentable first. She couldn't be caught like this. But it was just Maren here right now, and the woman had seen her at her worst plenty of times. Clothing wise.. not really emotionally yet. Well, this probably counted because she was royally pissed off. Priscilla watched as Maren tended to her own hands, feeling a little bad that the woman ended up with cuts because of her. And then she returned, and she glanced down as she felt warm skin pressed to her own. It was comforting to her. Her gaze remained there for a moment, a tad bit lost in thought. Maybe she should just suck it up and go through with the whole marriage. She had to stop and not be so selfish for once. This was not for her own benefit, but for everyone else's. Priscilla knew she could be stuck up and selfish.. but this was something that went beyond her reach. It wouldn't make her happy, but it would do everyone else a favor. Wasn't that a good thing? “They told me it is not my choice. But I don't want to be wed.. at all. Doesn't matter to who.” She spoke with a softer tone, finally glancing back up to Maren. That was probably a lie. Priscilla was sure that if she found someone she genuinely loved, she would want to marry them to be with them forever. Only problem is that she doesn't get to marry her lover of choice, because it would not be considered socially acceptable. Nobody would be willing to wed two women, afterall. She just wished she could be normal, and that she didn't have to worry about being like this. If only that was an option. She shook her head in response to Maren’s question. “They told me his name. I do not remember.” His name wasn't important enough to remember, anyway. The two would meet, and he would probably be confused as to why she showed no interest at all. But she didn't care. Prisiclla cocked a brow as Maren stood and offered her a hand, suggesting they go outside. She opened her mouth to speak, to say no and say that she couldn't be seen in this state, but she didn't quite get the chance to say anything. Maren had already pulled her up to her feet, and was already being led out of the woman’s room. So she just trailed behind, finding it kind of amusing how she almost seemed to tower over Maren. In reality, there wasn't much of a difference between them, but it just seemed that way. Priscilla had to admit, Maren’s light and airy giggles made it hard for her to stay all mad and pissy. So she just kept up with Maren’s jog, grip tightening on the woman’s hand a little so she didn't lag behind too much. She would prefer not to go out where everyone can see her, but she supposed she could let it slide. Who was really going to see her anyway? As soon as they were outside, she felt her shoulders relax a little, but not by much. Priscilla was trying her best to cheer up but it just wasn't working. She took her seat next to Maren, her legs crossed at the ankles and her hand rested down next to her. Her gaze flitted around the scenery. She had been here countless times, but it somehow seemed different today. In the distance, she could hear the horses out in their pasture, and she glanced in that direction. Priscilla had not yet gone to see her own horse. A Pura Raza Española mare, with the most stunning dapple gray color, and a mane that she could boast about for hours. The horse had been her 20th birthday gift after her previous one had passed away. Priscilla loved that horse to death, and she loved this one. An impressive height made for the horse to be even more showy. She almost asked Maren if she wanted to go to the stables. Almost. The woman’s voice lured her from her thoughts, and she wasn't sure of the answer. Did she feel better? Well, she was still angry and upset, but she was calmer now. She wasn't crying or throwing a fit. “I.. suppose I do.” Priscilla spoke quietly, trailing off to glance to the stables again. Maybe a ride was what she needed to clear her head. Certainly not in her current attire, though. She'd have to go change. She knew she'd have to come to terms with this whole thing eventually, but right now, she just didn't want to. Scratch that, actually, she couldn't. If it were her choice, she'd accept it and be happy about it and move on. She wouldn't choose to mope around and be so angry about it. Priscilla glanced down as she felt a warm hand on her own, giving a gentle squeeze. Whoever her parents had chosen for her marriage was probably taken into careful consideration.. since he'd eventually rule alongside her as king. The thought made her unbelievably upset. She spent her whole life being groomed and prepared for her future role as the queen, and now she was forced to share it with someone who had not gone through the same things as her? It made her so mad. But she just took a shaky breath in, closing her eyes for a moment to feel the breeze ruffling her hair. Everything would be okay. She would get through this just fine, and she would come to terms with it. “I just wish they would have talked to me first, you know? Let me have an option of who I wanted to pick.” She shook her head slightly. If that was the case, she wouldn't be so mad, because it would have been her choice. Yeah, she wouldn't have wanted it either way, but she wouldn't be stuck with someone she doesn't even know. Had it been up to her, she would've chosen her childhood friend, who was a prince in one of the neighboring kingdoms. Priscilla hadn't spoken to him in some time, but he would've been a good choice. She wouldn't have loved him as a husband, but rather as a friend. That would've been so much better, but of course, life wasn't fair and this wasn't something she could choose. |
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Darkseeker
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"You should've had the opportunity to choose," Maren mutterd softly, rubbing soothing circles onto the back of Priscilla's hand with her thumb. "They expect you to marry a man you've never met in your life - it's ridiculous." She was getting upset on Priscilla's behalf, which wasn't productive. She wanted to calm the princess, not work her into more of a frenzy. She noticed Priscilla glancing furtively in the direction of the stables, and an idea struck her. "Would you like to go for a ride?" Neither of them were dressed in riding attire; Maren pulled Priscilla to her feet again and took her by the hand, leading her back into the palace, up the winding steps, and into the princess's room. "I'll be right back." She darted out of Priscilla's room and down the stairs to her own. She threw open her wardrobe and considered her options. Since she was riding with the princess, the most suitable attire would be a habit skirt. It was warm outside, though, and Maren couldn't stand the idea of wearing a skirt on top of her breeches. She snatched a pair of riding pants from her wardrobe and pulled them on, then added a frilly button-up shirt on top. Her scuffed riding boots were tucked beneath her dresser, and she kicked off her slippers and tugged them on. She returned to Priscilla's room and stuck her head inside. "Ready to go?" The two scrambled back down the stairs and returned to the courtyard, this time making their way across the garden in the direction of the stables. The royal stables were incredibly grand. Constructed of whitewashed wood planks, they were two stories tall, with brass trappings on each door and stable entrance. Maren slid open the door, sighing as the cool air from within rushed out to hit her face. The horses whinnied as they entered, stomping their hooves in the soft bedding lining their stalls. Maren smiled as she passed Priscilla's gorgeous gray mare, and continued on to the next stall beyond hers. The stall contained one of the servant's horses that Maren had ridden before. Though she was a member of high society through her position as Priscilla's lady-in-waiting, she did not own her own horse. This mount was a gorgeous black stallion named Gideon; he whickered as Maren unlatched his stable door and entered his stall. He was a massive horse - Maren had had to scramble onto his back in the past - but he was a gentle giant, nudging at her pockets in search of apples or carrots from the kitchen. Maren laughed and scratched his neck as he nibbled at her pants. The stable's tack room was massive, at least the size of Maren's bedroom. Luxurious leather saddles and bridles lined the walls on pegs, and stacks of soft blankets filled the corners. Maren collected Gideon's tack and a currycomb and returned to his stall. The horse neighed softly as she quickly brushed him down, obviously enjoying the pampering. It took no time at all to tack Gideon up, and Maren poked her head back out into the aisle to check on Priscilla. "Ready?" she asked, leading Gideon out into the aisle with her. The palace grounds were covered in riding trails, so many that Maren had only explored a fraction of them. "I was thinking we could ride through the woods," she said to Priscilla as she dragged a mounting block alongside Gideon and swung herself up on to his back. "It'll be nice and cool among the trees." The two rode out of the stables side by side, Gideon tossing his head in the cool breeze. The forest was located behind the palace, so they had to ride around the structure to access its various trails. Maren basked in the sunlight, almost dozing off atop Gideon's slow, loping gait. She shook herself awake and glanced over at Priscilla, surreptitiously suveying the other woman's mood. Priscilla loved to ride, particularly with her beloved mare, and Maren hoped that their outing was improving her mood. It seemed to be having the desired effect, at least. They finally reached the edge of the woods, and Maren sighed in relief as they passed into the cool shade of the trees. Gideon stretched his neck out to snatch some leaves off of a nearby tree, and she laughed, reining his head away from the plant gently. The forest was remarkably quiet, the faint cries of birds and the clip-clop of their horses' hooves the only sound in the woods. Maren turned to Priscilla again. "Feeling any better?" she asked gently. "It's a beautiful day." It was; though the forest was primarily shaded, patches of sunlight streamed in through the canopy overhead, creating dappled golden spots on the forest floor beneath their horses' feet. Maren nudged Gideon into a slow trot, and the stallion tossed his head elegantly, his long, feathery mane whipping in the air. Maren glanced over her shoulder at the princess, who was beginning to lag behind. "I'll race you!" She kicked Gideon into a canter, and the stallion obeyed, darting effortlessly around the obstacles in his path. He jumped over a fallen log lying on the trail, and Maren shrieked with delight, grasping his mane tightly. She could hear the hoofsteps of Priscilla's mare thundering behind them, and she dug her heels into Gideon's sides, encouraging him to run faster. He complied, pinning his ears back against his neck as he transitioned into a full gallop. Maren felt like she was flying, like she could bound upwards, through the tree canopy and into the sky to see the world all around her from above. |
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Summer 
Night 
Fog Moon: 
