Written By Alarissa
July 28, 2020, 11:06 a.m.(9/25/1013 AR)
There but by my grace does he get to breathe still.
Cherish your breathing.
Cherish your breathing.
Written By Alarissa
July 21, 2020, 9:19 a.m.(9/11/1013 AR)
It has perhaps been too long since I have fasted. But in conversation with the Blessed Avary, I agreed to her request. A breaking of the fast permitted in the evening, after sundown. As a household we are observing such, and Lady Azova and Donella were passing through the estate and heard word and have committed to joining in prayer and fasting for thirteen day’s. Even Victus joins in. Astrid wants to but she is too young. Though we sat and compromised and her own food will be simpler. With instructions that should she wish to cease at any time, that is fine. Her desire to join is well enough for me. Though I wonder if it is more her need to emulate those around her and partake is the ongoing of adults moreso than a true desire to be closer to the faith. Or just capriciousness. I never know. We will let her partake in a fashion till her little five year old mind can bear it no longer. Three days I would imagine.
Written By Alarissa
July 16, 2020, 2:35 a.m.(9/1/1013 AR)
I looked in the mirror today.
I realized that I look like my mother.
I find joy in this.
But then I realized that I look like my mother and I am only thirty years of age.
I do not find joy in this.
This is one of those days in which my vanity takes a grievous wound.
I realized that I look like my mother.
I find joy in this.
But then I realized that I look like my mother and I am only thirty years of age.
I do not find joy in this.
This is one of those days in which my vanity takes a grievous wound.
Written By Alarissa
July 12, 2020, 9:01 p.m.(8/22/1013 AR)
My breath is taken away. It has been some time since I have seen a smile this wide on his face.
Written By Alarissa
June 29, 2020, 10:15 a.m.(7/23/1013 AR)
Astrid saw dolphins on her journey back from Maelstrom. I felt more comfortable with the children out of the city and the riots. But Victus’ birthday comes and I felt he could use his daughter’s smile as he recovers from his shrubbing.
She down drapes herself over his legs while rolling back and forth and begs for a dolphin for a pet and endlessly chatters about all the reasons why she should have one.
I despair to think what the Mangatan Finflaps would think or the Brothers from Don’tgotothedarkwaterwhatareyoucrazy.
It is good to hear her chatter in the halls. Her way with Eleyna is gentle and the two walking down the hall together, Astrid with her little wooden axe and Eleyna with her stuffed spider dragging.
Now all we need are the twins and their Reese dolls and Danes with his shield and we will be whole again.
It is too quiet without all of them.
She down drapes herself over his legs while rolling back and forth and begs for a dolphin for a pet and endlessly chatters about all the reasons why she should have one.
I despair to think what the Mangatan Finflaps would think or the Brothers from Don’tgotothedarkwaterwhatareyoucrazy.
It is good to hear her chatter in the halls. Her way with Eleyna is gentle and the two walking down the hall together, Astrid with her little wooden axe and Eleyna with her stuffed spider dragging.
Now all we need are the twins and their Reese dolls and Danes with his shield and we will be whole again.
It is too quiet without all of them.
Written By Alarissa
May 17, 2020, 1:59 a.m.(4/21/1013 AR)
In the dead of the night many years ago, I felt safety shattered. The sanctity of my home, of my rooms were violated in swathes of blood slicked floors as men, women and children were slaughtered and I was left to listen to my husband take his last breath as he drowned in his own blood.
You do not realize how much blood is contained within a person till it has spread across the floor and seeped between your toes, soaking up the hem of your night gown. Or how silent death is when you are the only person left breathing in the room. We much such a soft racket. The rustle of our limbs, our breath. A press of lips. Things you do not do when you have left what is your body for the Shining Lands.
I never felt safe again. Not for years. I did eventually though. To hear Victus in bed, the rustle of his beard against a pillow, the snore of Astrids as she sneaks out of the nursery to climb into bed beside her father. The whine of Elegance and Matilda as they sleep before the fire chasing rabbits in their dreams. The swish of the demon's tail on the coverlets and furs. I could sleep at night when life permitted me to. Secure in the knowledge that anyone who tried to come into our marital bed with ill intent, would meet Barathrum personally. For even that blade sleeps in bed with us and it brings security.
There are no blood slicked floors. No empty eyes. Not this time. But the sanctity of my home, of my bedchambers have been violated again. Door left open, things rifled through like it was some market stall. Drawers open, shelves with items precious in thought and heart moved or taken. Precious but small objects taken because they were easy to grab. Perfume bottles spilt and cosmetics toppled as they took no care with my belongings save to figure out which would bring them more value on the streets likely.
I do not feel safe. I do not want to be in the city. They were in my bedchamber. My mind churns to what if they come back. What will they take then. I keep seeing the hems of my nightgown, soaked in red. My breath stopping in my chest. What if they came for blood instead of baubles? For lives, instead of food.
Twice now, in the halls of a High Lord's estate. Twice.
You do not realize how much blood is contained within a person till it has spread across the floor and seeped between your toes, soaking up the hem of your night gown. Or how silent death is when you are the only person left breathing in the room. We much such a soft racket. The rustle of our limbs, our breath. A press of lips. Things you do not do when you have left what is your body for the Shining Lands.
I never felt safe again. Not for years. I did eventually though. To hear Victus in bed, the rustle of his beard against a pillow, the snore of Astrids as she sneaks out of the nursery to climb into bed beside her father. The whine of Elegance and Matilda as they sleep before the fire chasing rabbits in their dreams. The swish of the demon's tail on the coverlets and furs. I could sleep at night when life permitted me to. Secure in the knowledge that anyone who tried to come into our marital bed with ill intent, would meet Barathrum personally. For even that blade sleeps in bed with us and it brings security.
There are no blood slicked floors. No empty eyes. Not this time. But the sanctity of my home, of my bedchambers have been violated again. Door left open, things rifled through like it was some market stall. Drawers open, shelves with items precious in thought and heart moved or taken. Precious but small objects taken because they were easy to grab. Perfume bottles spilt and cosmetics toppled as they took no care with my belongings save to figure out which would bring them more value on the streets likely.
I do not feel safe. I do not want to be in the city. They were in my bedchamber. My mind churns to what if they come back. What will they take then. I keep seeing the hems of my nightgown, soaked in red. My breath stopping in my chest. What if they came for blood instead of baubles? For lives, instead of food.
Twice now, in the halls of a High Lord's estate. Twice.
Written By Alarissa
May 14, 2020, 11:45 p.m.(4/17/1013 AR)
Up-jumped commoners indeed. The journals are ablaze. Gracious me. The problem with the commoners who have been raised, and there have been -quite- a few of those of late, is that there are far too few who are actually -worth- being ennobled. I can count on one hand the very few to whom I have ever said that I am glad that they found their way to where they are. For they behave as if they were born to it and raised to it. They have indeed earned it. The vast majority have left me rolling my eyes. The ones who write letters begging for assistance in amounts of not so minor silver for their projects, but fail to actually take a moment to sit and personalize them and just have a scribe copy out the same identical letter twenty times over. Who bray a little too loudly. Who flaunt their status as if we should applaud them, that they climbed - oh for it is social climbing and such lofty heights have been reached - so high, so fast with little care of regard to whether it was appropriate, or proper or if they had done something worthy.
Better to cut those ones from your social circle is what I say, turn your back to them, and refrain from encouraging them. A good Neo Noble, and yes, there are a few, are those who strive to make up for what they were not born with. Who behave as they should, follow the social rule and do not try to upend the boat so to speak because they can. Those, are the ones to be cherished, and encouraged. For they are trying. They care. They understand.
The upjumped commoners think only about themselves, and not at all for their children and the generations who will follow. So sad.
Better to cut those ones from your social circle is what I say, turn your back to them, and refrain from encouraging them. A good Neo Noble, and yes, there are a few, are those who strive to make up for what they were not born with. Who behave as they should, follow the social rule and do not try to upend the boat so to speak because they can. Those, are the ones to be cherished, and encouraged. For they are trying. They care. They understand.
The upjumped commoners think only about themselves, and not at all for their children and the generations who will follow. So sad.
Written By Alarissa
April 7, 2020, 10:52 a.m.(1/25/1013 AR)
A year and a half. Almost at least. My mind wandered in thought while watching Siggy and Delia playing in the atrium, my gaze wandered to the alcoves there in our family shrine. To the flame of Lagoma's that sits in a lamp and burns. I thought of Darkwater suddenly. Of the pool of water there. It cannot give me what I want. I don't know if there is anything or anywhere that can give me what I want. But if Darkwater's pool exits and the healing one can find within it's waters if Lilybelle's recovery is evidence of that, then... surely there are other places. Maybe they can give me what I want. I have to try. I need to try. Places lost to time.
Written By Alarissa
March 25, 2020, 11:58 a.m.(12/27/1012 AR)
It will be a hard thing for her when she grows and ascends to take the seat of her father. My daughter that is. She must balance the expectations of traditionalists with that of the progressives in the Isles. She will, after all, be their first High Lady of the Isles. Something that I understand is a hard thing to accept. There are many things in life that are hard to accept, but they are, what they are.
I do my best to see her raised a proper lady. To learn to sit still and observe. To hold her tongue until one is in private. Some things are not meant to be spoken in the public but in the privacy of ones own home. She already holds tea parties albeit, with her sisters and brother and the fish in the shrine. She doesn't dirty herself and has a good grasp of manners.
Which is to say I know that when she is with me, these things occur. Less so when she is about with my husband. Or the otter. Gods help me that otter. She insists on it sitting with her during lessons of elocution. Grasps it like a stuffed animal and drags it about. She taught it to kiss the back of my hand. Gracious. And then it offered up it's hip flask. With seawater in it. That, not so gracious. Saltwater is a horror to get out of brocade I am told.
But all the children flourish. Danse likes to sit with me in the atrium and pray or join me in the shrines. Limerance by far seems to be his favourite. He has yet to divulge the why, but it is and so I linger there a little more with him. The twins, well. They have shown fascination with horses. Both of them. Like bookends they are otherwise. Eleyna has been the only one that flourishes little. She has been miserable with illness after illness, and the glassy eyes of fever are not uncommon. I rock with her in the atrium and pray to Lagoma that she be given a rest, frail as she is, sweat sticking her blonde curls to her forehead with her thumb in her mouth. And yet the fever always breaks and my darling girl smiles again. And she sings. Oh but she sings. She is a babbler, my darling. No doubt her namesake would be delighted at that.
Five.
I am only thirty and I have five. Gods it takes so many nannies to keep them all alive and not murdering each other on the bad days.
I do my best to see her raised a proper lady. To learn to sit still and observe. To hold her tongue until one is in private. Some things are not meant to be spoken in the public but in the privacy of ones own home. She already holds tea parties albeit, with her sisters and brother and the fish in the shrine. She doesn't dirty herself and has a good grasp of manners.
Which is to say I know that when she is with me, these things occur. Less so when she is about with my husband. Or the otter. Gods help me that otter. She insists on it sitting with her during lessons of elocution. Grasps it like a stuffed animal and drags it about. She taught it to kiss the back of my hand. Gracious. And then it offered up it's hip flask. With seawater in it. That, not so gracious. Saltwater is a horror to get out of brocade I am told.
But all the children flourish. Danse likes to sit with me in the atrium and pray or join me in the shrines. Limerance by far seems to be his favourite. He has yet to divulge the why, but it is and so I linger there a little more with him. The twins, well. They have shown fascination with horses. Both of them. Like bookends they are otherwise. Eleyna has been the only one that flourishes little. She has been miserable with illness after illness, and the glassy eyes of fever are not uncommon. I rock with her in the atrium and pray to Lagoma that she be given a rest, frail as she is, sweat sticking her blonde curls to her forehead with her thumb in her mouth. And yet the fever always breaks and my darling girl smiles again. And she sings. Oh but she sings. She is a babbler, my darling. No doubt her namesake would be delighted at that.
Five.
I am only thirty and I have five. Gods it takes so many nannies to keep them all alive and not murdering each other on the bad days.
Written By Alarissa
March 25, 2020, 1:11 a.m.(12/26/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Charis
What can I say. When one door is slammed in the face, one strives to open another. There is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, a tailor of divine fingers in the Valardin ward. With such stellar skill in the inclusion of the classical ways of Valardin fashion. Already I have a handful of dresses that have emerged from her shop and there's countless more being produced.
Charis of Aeternal Aegis. I intend to champion this woman, and see her name on the lips of everyone. Her master of the Artshall velvet has me forgetting about my poor nose and running my hand over my hips as I marvel at the stitching. A golden girdle, that's what I need to go with this. Shimmering in canary diamonds. Oh yes...
A new era, a new legend. This I am sure.
Charis of Aeternal Aegis. I intend to champion this woman, and see her name on the lips of everyone. Her master of the Artshall velvet has me forgetting about my poor nose and running my hand over my hips as I marvel at the stitching. A golden girdle, that's what I need to go with this. Shimmering in canary diamonds. Oh yes...
A new era, a new legend. This I am sure.
Written By Alarissa
March 22, 2020, 2:44 a.m.(12/21/1012 AR)
I have two black eyes, a broken nose, but at least my husband didn't have to cleave through the Shav population of the Oathlands to come find me.
The ridiculousness of this is not lost on me, in the least.
Mistress Swifts poultices work wonders and I can already breath far better and the prodigal healer swears that my nose will be as straight as it was before.
The ridiculousness of this is not lost on me, in the least.
Mistress Swifts poultices work wonders and I can already breath far better and the prodigal healer swears that my nose will be as straight as it was before.
Written By Alarissa
March 1, 2020, 11:07 p.m.(11/8/1012 AR)
Progress made in funding for the fortresses for the faith that will be starting soon and other splanned. I am pleased. Even as I find myself sitting endlessly in the atrium with Eleyna who has already caught sick as she is prone to in these colder months. I may have to take a journey to the Lyceum with her if it persists, so that she can have warmer weather.
Written By Alarissa
Jan. 27, 2020, 4:25 p.m.(8.73015666335979/27.888773148148147/1012.6441797219467 AR)
I tried on an arm that a jeweler made for me and realized how utterly normal this was becoming. To just choose ones arm for the day. I despise that this is normal. Things ache less at the end of the day. It still aches, but less. It doesn't distract me from the day or by noon leave me in tears. My children no longer run up to me and stare or shy away. A star iron arm, wooden, rubicund, is is just there now and Astrid likes to settle her hand in the false one and give a tug, hoping it's the one that has something to drink in it. Or Eleyna shoves her fingers throgh openings to make the otters in the one arm, swim about.
I still don't like to look at it. I despise it. Abhor it. Such a strong word. To abhor. A part of me that I still consider mutilated. I don't know that I will ever not consider it such. The scars though, are not so raised, softer and as always with regina's minstrations, it heals just a little more each time. I catch myself thinking about it in the quiet moments when my mind wanders.
I still don't like to look at it. I despise it. Abhor it. Such a strong word. To abhor. A part of me that I still consider mutilated. I don't know that I will ever not consider it such. The scars though, are not so raised, softer and as always with regina's minstrations, it heals just a little more each time. I catch myself thinking about it in the quiet moments when my mind wanders.
Written By Alarissa
Jan. 5, 2020, 10:39 p.m.(7/6/1012 AR)
There was mud between my toes. I suppose one could call the everything a northern spa day. But for charity I agreed. AARG shall see a hefty sum in thier coffeers soon from a handful of others. Not the most ladylike of situations. I will say however that the Lady Monique Greenmarch has bested me in -mudwrestling-.
Written By Alarissa
Dec. 29, 2019, 10:45 p.m.(6/19/1012 AR)
The days pass swiftly. Far too swiftly for my liking. I need to sail off to Maelstrom to handle some things. Things to see set in motion, places to go and be. Nary a day of rest. Rosalie, I am sure, is well equipped to handle auction matters should they arise. Little by little the things start to filter in and something for everyone to bid upon. Lord Jyri himself has made something that takes my breath away. Mistress Emele a helm that I have nod oubt will be seen on the head of someone at the next Tournament of Roses. Still looking for someone who can design a plushie of either Sir Preston or Legate Cassandra.
Written By Alarissa
Dec. 8, 2019, 10:08 p.m.(5/5/1012 AR)
'Pain is the memory and nowdays, memories are scarce.'
This was what he said to me when I asked him if the pain, the ache ever goes away. He's been living with own loss far longer than I have. It was words to think upon in his departure. But then, I don't know that anyone can in truth forget the act of losing a limb, no matter what brought it about. Reigna comes and helps, makes adjustments to the routine, salves and tinctures, show's Maxene how to massage it and loosen the tightened muscles and force things to relax. Master Apollo's harnesses make it easier to wear the arms made and spread the weight of them. The softest wool from Keatons lands and aeterna make things bearable.
But taking it off at the end of the day still takes my breath away. Still wells up tears till Maxene soothes it. It will take time I am told, always without fail, that it will take time. But it makes me wonder when I wake in the dead of night from the ache, if this happens in Cardia, or Jairdal. Of course it does, but even with the Nox'Alfar and the like, do they use magic to grow the limb again? Or is it magical limbs of materials and it works as if it were ones own?
This was what he said to me when I asked him if the pain, the ache ever goes away. He's been living with own loss far longer than I have. It was words to think upon in his departure. But then, I don't know that anyone can in truth forget the act of losing a limb, no matter what brought it about. Reigna comes and helps, makes adjustments to the routine, salves and tinctures, show's Maxene how to massage it and loosen the tightened muscles and force things to relax. Master Apollo's harnesses make it easier to wear the arms made and spread the weight of them. The softest wool from Keatons lands and aeterna make things bearable.
But taking it off at the end of the day still takes my breath away. Still wells up tears till Maxene soothes it. It will take time I am told, always without fail, that it will take time. But it makes me wonder when I wake in the dead of night from the ache, if this happens in Cardia, or Jairdal. Of course it does, but even with the Nox'Alfar and the like, do they use magic to grow the limb again? Or is it magical limbs of materials and it works as if it were ones own?
Written By Alarissa
Nov. 17, 2019, 7:06 p.m.(3/19/1012 AR)
I do not think I make an error. All the entries were lovely in their own way. Lord Jyri's scaffolding upon which to adhere plates of different materials was lovely, and the functionality they gave with regards to placing other hands on it or items to make it useful was a lovely touch. Baroness Skye's alaricite scaffolding that had plates in it, and different paintings to be done or pieces to put in it. Goodman Apollo made an arm fit for everyday wear with this garment and that, with matching gloves. It was a beautiful simplicity. Lady Zoey and Goodman Otto made more modern marvels of engineering that would presumably take quite some time to set fingers and hands to gripping via the tightening of wire like that on a lute. Both Alaricite. Each arm had a place, an purpose.
My daughter even made an entry. Who she collaborated with in the house I do not know, but it was a stick with holes in it for ribbon, covered in glass and at the end were not less than five gold grapefruit spoons.
Now I know why the head of the staff was muttering about missing spoons. I promised her I would wear it. Gods above, I do not know where I will, but I will. Perhaps to family dinner. She was very proud of it.
But none lived quite up to what I had hoped to see. They were all lovely but function over art seemed to be what most looked to. Nearly to a man and woman they all cited that it would be as if I never lost an arm.
I have lost an arm. I will never forget. All I want, is to cover what I have left, that ugliness, with something beautiful. Full articulation of the fingers is.... time consuming. Though goodman Otto's will be a good thing I think, for out riding. Or punching a shark on the nose.
My daughter even made an entry. Who she collaborated with in the house I do not know, but it was a stick with holes in it for ribbon, covered in glass and at the end were not less than five gold grapefruit spoons.
Now I know why the head of the staff was muttering about missing spoons. I promised her I would wear it. Gods above, I do not know where I will, but I will. Perhaps to family dinner. She was very proud of it.
But none lived quite up to what I had hoped to see. They were all lovely but function over art seemed to be what most looked to. Nearly to a man and woman they all cited that it would be as if I never lost an arm.
I have lost an arm. I will never forget. All I want, is to cover what I have left, that ugliness, with something beautiful. Full articulation of the fingers is.... time consuming. Though goodman Otto's will be a good thing I think, for out riding. Or punching a shark on the nose.
Written By Alarissa
Nov. 3, 2019, 11:07 p.m.(2/19/1012 AR)
Two entries thus far for the design of arms. It is interesting to see what some focus on, what they think that I desire. One, aims to give me back that which I have lost. Another, to give me choice and freedom. There are still many days and there are others who I know are working on something to submit. Functionality aside, I am looking forward to see what Jayus inspires in them. To see the art that can be produced, to wear. What people will think these pieces should look like.
Written By Alarissa
Oct. 30, 2019, 3:38 p.m.(2/10/1012 AR)
Bless your heart.
Written By Alarissa
Oct. 11, 2019, 12:36 p.m.(12/28/1011 AR)
I couldn't find my ring. I was not at my best, and more than a few servants tried their best to help me find it. Last I remembered my signet ring and my wedding ring had been on my vanity since i had woken up after I had lost my arm. Its still hard to say that.
I didn't think that a simple thing like where were the rings would have set me manic looking for them. Had someone come in and taken them? The bed, the vanity, jewelry everywhere and perfume was spilled. I thought perhaps that the demon had come in and swept them off with her tail, or the children had played with them. I tore apart dresses looking through pockets and through the shelves, displacing all the dragons and in tears about where the rings were.
Maxene had them. She had placed them in a drawer in my wardrobe, so that they wouldn't get lost until I decided what to do. She forgot to tell me that she had done this. Rings. Rings set me off. I ended up sitting in the atrium for hours, trying to calm myself. I put the wedding ring in the lost alcove. Beside my brothers portrait. It's not like I can just leave the arm there. Things lost and gone and I am having trouble. I am trying, but I am having trouble and the pain does little to help me forget that there is nothing there anymore. Nor Astrid with her questions about what has happened.
Pellinor has to ride with me on the horse till I re-learrn how to ride. Petal at least, has gone above and beyond in adapting styles and making gowns that I can feel some sense of comfort in when out. I have been going out. Forcing myself to at least. I don't linger.
Nothing is the same.
No matter how much I wish it were so.
I didn't think that a simple thing like where were the rings would have set me manic looking for them. Had someone come in and taken them? The bed, the vanity, jewelry everywhere and perfume was spilled. I thought perhaps that the demon had come in and swept them off with her tail, or the children had played with them. I tore apart dresses looking through pockets and through the shelves, displacing all the dragons and in tears about where the rings were.
Maxene had them. She had placed them in a drawer in my wardrobe, so that they wouldn't get lost until I decided what to do. She forgot to tell me that she had done this. Rings. Rings set me off. I ended up sitting in the atrium for hours, trying to calm myself. I put the wedding ring in the lost alcove. Beside my brothers portrait. It's not like I can just leave the arm there. Things lost and gone and I am having trouble. I am trying, but I am having trouble and the pain does little to help me forget that there is nothing there anymore. Nor Astrid with her questions about what has happened.
Pellinor has to ride with me on the horse till I re-learrn how to ride. Petal at least, has gone above and beyond in adapting styles and making gowns that I can feel some sense of comfort in when out. I have been going out. Forcing myself to at least. I don't linger.
Nothing is the same.
No matter how much I wish it were so.
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