Written By Viviana
Sept. 25, 2021, 3:10 p.m.(4/9/1016 AR)
I overindulged. Shame on me. Lesson learned for today.
Written By Viviana
Sept. 24, 2021, 8:43 p.m.(4/7/1016 AR)
( Leila's been taking to studying in the Archives lately, so I've asked her to bring my entry to the Whites. )
I am utterly drunk off Saiklands wine, good and strong and smooth with the sort of charm I would expect from a suitor because it swept me right off my feet. A good thing, especially since I will be on my side for a time and all the feather-filled pillows do nothing for the bruised backside where once dignity sat proudly -- as I seemed to have forgotten my seat on a horse, which -- oh, V, it smarts.
Quite.
I'll not be forgetting that anytime soon. After this, I will sample my protégé Lore's Squid Ink and recall that I made my escort to the Grayson-Velenosa wedding reception chase us ourselves around in circles in that labyrinth -- it was maddeningly fun. All of that running about with Aella and I still forgot about those daggers. Diamondplate's lovely -- but it's still within grasp. The whole of it. The jewelry is artful, the scents are unique, so, those will all get tucked away somewhere.Oh
(I keep my eyes open for more. For better. Not for myself, mind, but for those precious few I desperately want to spoil. Looking at you -- )
Finally. These last couple of missives are so mesmerizing, Scholar. I have read and read them over again, lost in the language of them, with fingertips tracing the loop and curl of scripted words -- like holy scripture, these thoughts -- each describes which color speaks to them. It's art. I would write to them of the midnight rainbow a raven's feathers turn, that iridescent blue that prideful green and that velvet black. Or, I can write it here and savor all of that writing all over again.
I think I will.
Where's the Ink?
I am utterly drunk off Saiklands wine, good and strong and smooth with the sort of charm I would expect from a suitor because it swept me right off my feet. A good thing, especially since I will be on my side for a time and all the feather-filled pillows do nothing for the bruised backside where once dignity sat proudly -- as I seemed to have forgotten my seat on a horse, which -- oh, V, it smarts.
Quite.
I'll not be forgetting that anytime soon. After this, I will sample my protégé Lore's Squid Ink and recall that I made my escort to the Grayson-Velenosa wedding reception chase us ourselves around in circles in that labyrinth -- it was maddeningly fun. All of that running about with Aella and I still forgot about those daggers. Diamondplate's lovely -- but it's still within grasp. The whole of it. The jewelry is artful, the scents are unique, so, those will all get tucked away somewhere.Oh
(I keep my eyes open for more. For better. Not for myself, mind, but for those precious few I desperately want to spoil. Looking at you -- )
Finally. These last couple of missives are so mesmerizing, Scholar. I have read and read them over again, lost in the language of them, with fingertips tracing the loop and curl of scripted words -- like holy scripture, these thoughts -- each describes which color speaks to them. It's art. I would write to them of the midnight rainbow a raven's feathers turn, that iridescent blue that prideful green and that velvet black. Or, I can write it here and savor all of that writing all over again.
I think I will.
Where's the Ink?
Written By Viviana
Sept. 21, 2021, 6:10 p.m.(4/1/1016 AR)
Strawberries make me blush.
Written By Viviana
Sept. 20, 2021, 6:06 p.m.(3/27/1016 AR)
There are days when I feel a terrible romantic. On others - I'd prefer to be a terrifying one.
Written By Viviana
Sept. 11, 2021, 6:59 a.m.(3/8/1016 AR)
Too much whiskey, Scholar, so let's try this again --
If there should stand a Champion for all matters of the heart, I'll stand for it. I'll stand for love. Which is easy, isn't it, from where I am standing. I adore a story fraught with unwavering love and realized dreams. Love is hardly scandal. It's an ideal, a romantic musing that's ever so slightly out of reach of many members of the peerage. So, of course, I am seething with jealousy for them.
What rankles, dearest, is -- what?
Ah, yes. What rankles is this: for Count Duarte Amadeo for making a -- a -- socially inept, poorly constructed political statement while in the middle of a proclamation that should be properly celebrating love and a union to join hearts and ally Houses. You disrespect your people, and your House -- especially when you know, you knew -- the consequences of your actions. You're the ruling party of an entire city. As though you wanted to start a conflict of ascension on purpose. In your poor judgement, you also push Lord Orland and Lord Savio (who are simply in love -- which, gods -- I am super jealous of and I honestly think that if there's a reception it's going to be dazzling) beneath the judgmental eye of the people of your County that have seen one -- now, likely, two collapses of ruling Houses that are supposedly Bravura functioning in a time where it's all tenuous.
(In clear terms: you're a pompous windbag, Count Duarte Do Little, and you should not have made your heir and his betrothed a spectacle.)
First House Malgentilega. Now House Amadeo.
There's such a delicate balance between social scandal and social ruin -- summed in a word.
Subtlety.
If there should stand a Champion for all matters of the heart, I'll stand for it. I'll stand for love. Which is easy, isn't it, from where I am standing. I adore a story fraught with unwavering love and realized dreams. Love is hardly scandal. It's an ideal, a romantic musing that's ever so slightly out of reach of many members of the peerage. So, of course, I am seething with jealousy for them.
What rankles, dearest, is -- what?
Ah, yes. What rankles is this: for Count Duarte Amadeo for making a -- a -- socially inept, poorly constructed political statement while in the middle of a proclamation that should be properly celebrating love and a union to join hearts and ally Houses. You disrespect your people, and your House -- especially when you know, you knew -- the consequences of your actions. You're the ruling party of an entire city. As though you wanted to start a conflict of ascension on purpose. In your poor judgement, you also push Lord Orland and Lord Savio (who are simply in love -- which, gods -- I am super jealous of and I honestly think that if there's a reception it's going to be dazzling) beneath the judgmental eye of the people of your County that have seen one -- now, likely, two collapses of ruling Houses that are supposedly Bravura functioning in a time where it's all tenuous.
(In clear terms: you're a pompous windbag, Count Duarte Do Little, and you should not have made your heir and his betrothed a spectacle.)
First House Malgentilega. Now House Amadeo.
There's such a delicate balance between social scandal and social ruin -- summed in a word.
Subtlety.
Written By Viviana
Sept. 8, 2021, 10:34 a.m.(3/2/1016 AR)
Hope's an easy thing to keep a hold on when you're royal, rich, and you've never been the subject of ire due to circumstance or birth.
Privilege. Simple.
It's important never to forget this.
Privilege. Simple.
It's important never to forget this.
Written By Viviana
Sept. 6, 2021, 12:43 a.m.(2/25/1016 AR)
Write the words you need to hear.
Especially if no one else will.
Especially if no one else will.
Written By Viviana
Sept. 4, 2021, 8:46 a.m.(2/22/1016 AR)
Oh, darling Scholar, yes -- yes I understand that the smell of haze is a bit much, but -- how else to endure the worst of winter but with merry-making? Besides, there is whiskey for later and these wonderful hot springs at the Lodge that I discovered after a meandering, meaningful tour.
(When she's not flattering me - she's being an imp.)
I have my questions and my answers -- no, no, not for you here. Not even for the Blacks. No, they're mine. I am only as good as my given words, mm? My word's good. Secrets are kept. Missives burned and ashes scattered.
Why? Did you ask why?
Theatrics, dearest. For no other reason than that's what I want to do.
(When she's not flattering me - she's being an imp.)
I have my questions and my answers -- no, no, not for you here. Not even for the Blacks. No, they're mine. I am only as good as my given words, mm? My word's good. Secrets are kept. Missives burned and ashes scattered.
Why? Did you ask why?
Theatrics, dearest. For no other reason than that's what I want to do.
Written By Viviana
Sept. 2, 2021, 8:33 p.m.(2/19/1016 AR)
This crown. This crown transcends jewelry -- past art, past making statements. It's mine.
I adore it.
I adore it.
Written By Viviana
Aug. 28, 2021, 6:50 a.m.(2/8/1016 AR)
I won't have a legacy.
I probably won't, unless Pravus suddenly needs a redundant princess to ally with some far-flung Barony on a piece of land that we'll lay claim to eventually. Only then. Maybe then my feelings will change - maybe they won't. They probably won't. I don't want one. It's not indecision, no. It's not indifference either. It's acceptance of a fact that I have made myself quite content in not having a legacy.
Not one that's related to children, at least.
The legacy of a blade, of a Sword, is different -- isn't it?
This gleaming line of alaricite, the most noble of metals worked exquisitely, this heirloom. It's as much my body as left hand is, when drawn, and it's seen not only my blood -- but others. Drawn in honor, drawn in defense of family and House. It feels like birth, not in a physical sense, but in the mind. It's transformative. In place of an heir, it's an heirloom, and there will be a point in the future -- near, distant -- where that Sword will need to be passed onto the next, for them to inherit. I think about whom I envision holding this blade. I hope that when the time comes I might have a name. If I'm lucky enough, skilled enough, stubborn enough to survive and outlive this sword to see a Sword's retirement.
(Gods, that sounds so fucking dull, doesn't it? Retirement.)
I don't look upon my children and realize that I want to create a better world for them, provide them all the opportunities the world has to offer and marvel at their open-eyed, open-minded view of the world. (Such innocence, such trust. I will make a spectacle out of being an aunt, L.) I don't have that, I don't want it, and when I look upon myself -- my reflection in a mirror, or in flashes of alaricite when I have Twilight's Edge in hand -- I really like the idea of wanting to create a better world for myself. To provide myself with all the opportunities of the world, and marvel at everything -- everyone with open eyes and an open mind.
So, I do.
I'll fight for that, for life -- for living and sailing and drinking and fucking, for singing work songs with the crew by each sunrise and for knowing that each evening will see me fed and comfortable and safe -- for being selfish.
I'll fight for me.
I probably won't, unless Pravus suddenly needs a redundant princess to ally with some far-flung Barony on a piece of land that we'll lay claim to eventually. Only then. Maybe then my feelings will change - maybe they won't. They probably won't. I don't want one. It's not indecision, no. It's not indifference either. It's acceptance of a fact that I have made myself quite content in not having a legacy.
Not one that's related to children, at least.
The legacy of a blade, of a Sword, is different -- isn't it?
This gleaming line of alaricite, the most noble of metals worked exquisitely, this heirloom. It's as much my body as left hand is, when drawn, and it's seen not only my blood -- but others. Drawn in honor, drawn in defense of family and House. It feels like birth, not in a physical sense, but in the mind. It's transformative. In place of an heir, it's an heirloom, and there will be a point in the future -- near, distant -- where that Sword will need to be passed onto the next, for them to inherit. I think about whom I envision holding this blade. I hope that when the time comes I might have a name. If I'm lucky enough, skilled enough, stubborn enough to survive and outlive this sword to see a Sword's retirement.
(Gods, that sounds so fucking dull, doesn't it? Retirement.)
I don't look upon my children and realize that I want to create a better world for them, provide them all the opportunities the world has to offer and marvel at their open-eyed, open-minded view of the world. (Such innocence, such trust. I will make a spectacle out of being an aunt, L.) I don't have that, I don't want it, and when I look upon myself -- my reflection in a mirror, or in flashes of alaricite when I have Twilight's Edge in hand -- I really like the idea of wanting to create a better world for myself. To provide myself with all the opportunities of the world, and marvel at everything -- everyone with open eyes and an open mind.
So, I do.
I'll fight for that, for life -- for living and sailing and drinking and fucking, for singing work songs with the crew by each sunrise and for knowing that each evening will see me fed and comfortable and safe -- for being selfish.
I'll fight for me.
Written By Viviana
Aug. 24, 2021, 11:36 a.m.(1/28/1016 AR)
Belts are an under-appreciated fashion accessory. Such a shame.
Written By Viviana
Aug. 22, 2021, 10:15 a.m.(1/24/1016 AR)
When there's either the fall - or the hopeless feeling just before -- I don't know.
Written By Viviana
Aug. 21, 2021, 2:51 p.m.(1/23/1016 AR)
Always listen to that little voice.
Written By Viviana
Aug. 20, 2021, 12:16 p.m.(1/20/1016 AR)
Cardinals. Swans. Ducks. Stormcrows. Canaries. So many allusions to birds so very recently. It makes me wonder if I should take it as a sign.
I likely won't.
I likely won't.
Written By Viviana
Aug. 19, 2021, 4:28 p.m.(1/19/1016 AR)
Oh, precious darlings. Know that there's a mysterious one among us in the city, who, when answering what their favorite meal was - they said: Duke Bisland. Scandalous.
Written By Viviana
Aug. 19, 2021, 10:56 a.m.(1/18/1016 AR)
I passed by the bakery on one of my walks. Goodness. The shelves were almost cleared out, from what I could see through the shop windows.
Written By Viviana
Aug. 18, 2021, 1:33 p.m.(1/17/1016 AR)
Asked the Scholars what the fuck that redbird looked like.
I very rarely have a reason to walk along the edge of the Gray Forest, but if I do - I'll look for one.
I very rarely have a reason to walk along the edge of the Gray Forest, but if I do - I'll look for one.
Written By Viviana
Aug. 16, 2021, 11:58 a.m.(1/12/1016 AR)
Did you SEE her boots, Scholar?! Yes, the ones with the squids on them. She's marvelously creative, isn't she?
Written By Viviana
Aug. 15, 2021, 10:12 p.m.(1/11/1016 AR)
Such a darling. If you know, you know.
Written By Viviana
Aug. 15, 2021, 1:36 p.m.(1/11/1016 AR)
I got so lost trying to get to that party that I broke the mask (sorry -- I did fix it) before I even got there. Gods, the beauty of the event turned the air in my body to ice. It stilled the beating of my heart and ached, wishing that I had made the costume I envisioned.
So did the weather.
Only managed to lean, and lean with style until the third missive --
Well.
I'm due for a long soak in near-scalding water soon.
So did the weather.
Only managed to lean, and lean with style until the third missive --
Well.
I'm due for a long soak in near-scalding water soon.
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