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The Poisoned Apple
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Dark Angel, Queen of the Silver Mist
(last edited Nov 29, 2019 05:56AM)
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Nov 21, 2019 06:39PM

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Ianira exhaled nervously as she approached the doors of The Poisoned Apple. Her stomach was twisting in knots, and her throat was tightening, making her feel as though she could barely swallow or even breathe. A few days prior, her Aunt Asphodel and her mother had summoned her to the sitting room after dinner one evening to inform her that the final details of her betrothal had at last been settled and that she would be meeting her fiance for the first time at The Poisoned Apple today. She did not know as much as she would have liked to about her betrothed; her mother and aunt had only made her aware of the basics as they had reassured her that she would have many opportunities to get know more about her fiance for herself before they were due to be wed as soon as she was of age.
Smoothing her silk, teal skirts, she seated herself at a vacant table, anxiously leaving instructions with the staff to direct Cirrus - or as she knew him, Dagger - to her location as soon as he arrived. A china cup of steaming, black tea with hints of citrus flavor was set in front of her by one of the servers, and she daintily dropped two cubes of sugar into the dark liquid, waiting a moment for it to cool slightly before tasting it. She refrained from ordering any actual food as her appetite was nonexistent due to her anxiety and tentatively cracked open the book she'd brought with her to flip through while she awaited Cirrus's arrival. Her mother had insisted that she be a tad early, and so Ianira had slipped a book into the carriage with her when her mother wasn't looking. The tome was evidently well-loved. The silver lettering on the cover had begun to fade, and the binding was worn and coming away in places. Despite this, she had never asked for a newer edition of her favorite collection of epic poems, preferring to pore over this one until it disintegrated. And so read it she would, at least until her betrothed arrived.


So when Cirrus appeared and sat opposite her, she didn't notice right away. It took approximately a single minute for to realize that she was no longer alone, and as she finished reading the last page of the rune she had been on, she nearly flinched but somehow managed to keep her composure mostly together despite being startled and a tad embarrassed to be caught reading so intensely. The lightest of rose pink blushes dusted her porcelain face, and she hastily tucked her book away out of sight, earnestly wishing that she had not slipped the tome of epic poems with her under her mother's nose. If she had only forced herself to sit and wait patiently, this would not have happened. Her gaze would caught Cirrus immediately, and she would have made a much more flattering first impression. As soon as the blush on her cheeks faded, she raised her eyes to meet Cirrus's. She was unsure what she had expected, but this was not it. He was different than how she had imagined him to look but not in a bad way at all. Unfortunately, she could not allow her thoughts to dwell on the matter for too long, for she feared her face would flush again and give her away. Instead, she gathered her courage and spoke aloud, trying her best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. "Good day, my lord. It's lovely to finally meet you at last."


Once more, her gaze fell to her favorite book, though the only evidence it was there was a rectangular ridge near the edge of the chair. Hesitantly, her fingers found the cover beneath her skirts and placed the tome gently in her lap as she debated whether or not she should risk reading it. It seemed already that Cirrus saw no need to speak to her, and she was uncertain if she should stay or not. She definitely was not going to simply leave; she was too shy, and her mother would be displeased with her if she did so. But there was nothing much to do besides sip her tea, and that did not sound in any way appealing at the moment. Reading was the only past time of any interest available, so she cracked open the book, setting it on the table and flipped through the pages until she found the rune she had left off reading.




"O, ye many unborn nations,
Never evil nurse your children,
Never give them out to strangers,
Never trust them to the foolish.
If the child is not well-nurtured,
Is not rocked and led uprightly,
Though he grow to years of manhood,
Bear a strong and shapely body,
He will never know discretion,
Never eat the bread of honor,
Never drink the cup of wisdom."
Abashedly, Ianira lowered her lashes, fixing her gaze on the oaken table. She supposed it was strange that she returned to this book of tragic and heroic poems time and time again, especially since she had endured some of the abuses Juuso had in her own life. According to the story, she was supposed to end up like him and ultimately take her own life, but still she could not help but be fascinated by how the legend unfolded. Besides, it was only a story that had been written down so long ago that none alive now remembered if there was any truth to it or not.



(Sorry this is super late. I understand if you don't want to contiune with me.)

Ianira's chin dipped down at the mention of her aunt, her eyes focusing on the unfinished cup of tea in front of her. Sometimes she didn't understand how she could be of the same flesh and blood as her aunt. Asphodel was nearly everything she wasn't and never could be: refined yet determined, strict but kind, lovely but with a tongue as sharp as steel. Her aunt could walk with kings but still not lose the common touch. "Yes, I have oft heard talk about my aunt's tenacity when others think there is no one around to hear them." She agreed, daring to risk a glance up at his face.
Her emerald eyes swiftly plummeted down to her hands resting in her lap at his assessment of her. Is there any shred of determinacy lurking anywhere within me? Does it count if it resides in the form of staying up all night reading and writing and musing and pacing just to grasp a difficult concept? Maybe not since I am far too afraid to share any of my writings to the world. A dreadful curse it is to open my soul up to everyone and everything if some passing stranger but reads a single rambling from my pen. Although Cirrus assured her that her lack of determinacy was not necessarily a major character flaw, she couldn't help but wish she didn't appear so one-dimensionally timid and wretched. Yet another wistful yearning she could spend evening and morning hours on the balcony or in the courtyard daydreaming about. "Hard to say." She answered thoughtfully, her gaze flickering softly from her lap to Cirrus. "There is time before we are to be wed. Perhaps we will grow to like each other, or perhaps we'll only learn how to tolerate the other." Part of her wanted to protest: But there are different ways of living; everyone simply thinks their way is better than the others. But as usual, fear held her tongue still.


At his warning, she dipped her chin in a small nod once to indicate she understood. It did not bother her in the slightest that he had not kept up with the goings-on around the courts. Personally, she cared little for the social events and gossip running rampant through the court, but her mother expected her to be fluent socially and apprised of everything happening around her, although she strongly preferred to keep to herself and immerse herself in books. "Of course." She answered, grasping her russet cloak and fastening it around her neck with a silver clasp in the shape of a howling wolf's head. "Do you have a specific place in mind to walk to, or shall we just wander and see where we end up?" She asked, tucking her tome of epic poems into a pocket on the inside of her cloak.