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rainbowfic2015-07-31 01:59 am
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2015-07-31 01:59 am
Angel Cake #4, Aurora #22
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Angel Cake #4 (Holy), Aurora #22 (Lief)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Duck Gallery)
Word Count: 557
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Hopina gets married.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Her maid is there to do her hair. Elnah, always there for her, since she was a child. The one to dress her, brush her hair, teach her how to put on face paint when she didn’t have a mother to do it for her. Elnah, whom Hopina had once thought of as a friend, in her younger and more carefree days.
But she is just a maid, in the end, and she cannot save Hopina from this.
“You make such a beautiful bride,” Elnah sighs, as if this is something Hopina wanted, as if she has counted her breaths, measuring them to the day.
“Thank you,” Hopina says.
When her hair is done, Elnah steps aside and lets other servants come in, the women of Atro’s household. Soon to be her household. Oh, gods, she is going to be the Lady of the Court, and if she wasn’t so numb she might feel terrified at that.
The dress on, face paint meticulously applied, Hopina is led from her chambers and down the steps, across the Courtyard so the people who couldn’t buy or influence their way into the Main Hall have their opportunity to stare at their new Lady. There may have been cheering, there may have been name calling--all she hears is her own blood rushing past her ears, her own pulse beating wildly and out of time with her footsteps. She wonders if her heart will give out before she reaches the steps, wonders that it is so terrified when she feels nothing at all.
But she makes it, steps into the Main Hall and meets her betrothed. Atro, in a fine doublet for once, his hair cut neatly and a floor-length, silk-lined cloak thrown over his shoulder. His face lights up as she approaches, and he stars at her throughout the entire invocation. She looks back at him, face set in something approaching adoration, while her mind wanders of its own accord.
Their hands are bound together, the elements are called, the new couple are turned toward the crowd in the Main Hall while bells play. It is done, and she hasn’t heard any of it, just gone through the motions, said what she was told to say, and now it is done.
She sees her father, face lit up in ecstasy, all of his dreams for her come true. She sees the advisors, nodding politely and approvingly. She sees the nobility of the city, some of the younger women making sour, jealous faces, but most relieved that at last their Councilor has a wife, and soon, if the gods will it, there will be an heir or three to truly reestablish Atro’s family at the center of the city.
There is one face she looks for in vain. Of course he is not there. He is on the other side of the world, sent there by her own jealous husband. Oh, Edward. Would he be happy, too? Would he think she has what it best for her? Or would he walk away, head down, forever denied his own happiness? She will never know, either way, and that is worse than anything else she has ever endured.
“Come,” Atro whispers into her ear. “The feast is ready.”
She lets him lead her to the ballroom, and she smiles the whole way.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Angel Cake #4 (Holy), Aurora #22 (Lief)
Styles/Supplies: Graffiti (Duck Gallery)
Word Count: 557
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Hopina gets married.
Notes: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Her maid is there to do her hair. Elnah, always there for her, since she was a child. The one to dress her, brush her hair, teach her how to put on face paint when she didn’t have a mother to do it for her. Elnah, whom Hopina had once thought of as a friend, in her younger and more carefree days.
But she is just a maid, in the end, and she cannot save Hopina from this.
“You make such a beautiful bride,” Elnah sighs, as if this is something Hopina wanted, as if she has counted her breaths, measuring them to the day.
“Thank you,” Hopina says.
When her hair is done, Elnah steps aside and lets other servants come in, the women of Atro’s household. Soon to be her household. Oh, gods, she is going to be the Lady of the Court, and if she wasn’t so numb she might feel terrified at that.
The dress on, face paint meticulously applied, Hopina is led from her chambers and down the steps, across the Courtyard so the people who couldn’t buy or influence their way into the Main Hall have their opportunity to stare at their new Lady. There may have been cheering, there may have been name calling--all she hears is her own blood rushing past her ears, her own pulse beating wildly and out of time with her footsteps. She wonders if her heart will give out before she reaches the steps, wonders that it is so terrified when she feels nothing at all.
But she makes it, steps into the Main Hall and meets her betrothed. Atro, in a fine doublet for once, his hair cut neatly and a floor-length, silk-lined cloak thrown over his shoulder. His face lights up as she approaches, and he stars at her throughout the entire invocation. She looks back at him, face set in something approaching adoration, while her mind wanders of its own accord.
Their hands are bound together, the elements are called, the new couple are turned toward the crowd in the Main Hall while bells play. It is done, and she hasn’t heard any of it, just gone through the motions, said what she was told to say, and now it is done.
She sees her father, face lit up in ecstasy, all of his dreams for her come true. She sees the advisors, nodding politely and approvingly. She sees the nobility of the city, some of the younger women making sour, jealous faces, but most relieved that at last their Councilor has a wife, and soon, if the gods will it, there will be an heir or three to truly reestablish Atro’s family at the center of the city.
There is one face she looks for in vain. Of course he is not there. He is on the other side of the world, sent there by her own jealous husband. Oh, Edward. Would he be happy, too? Would he think she has what it best for her? Or would he walk away, head down, forever denied his own happiness? She will never know, either way, and that is worse than anything else she has ever endured.
“Come,” Atro whispers into her ear. “The feast is ready.”
She lets him lead her to the ballroom, and she smiles the whole way.
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