Bridgerton | Official RP Thread

[DandelionKate]

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Calling Day: Conversation w/ Finch Ridlington

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Orpheus felt his heart race as he cupped Finch’s face in his palm, the beating of a long awaited melody. Notes of anticipation hung in the air, a harmonious blend of desire and vulnerability between the two of them.
Orpheus barely had time to process Finch’s closeness before their lips met, a brief moment charged with relief, comfort, connection, and a profound sense of freedom and belonging that Orpheus had always longed for.
It was as if the opening of the intricate maze of his mind was finally visible, the light breaking through, the exit just within reach. Orpheus felt himself fall into it, his body begging for more, his mind spiraling and willing against him in a terrified rage.

Amidst the overwhelming emotions, a subtle undercurrent of pain began to surface, casting shadows on the clarity of the moment. The initial relief transformed into a mingling of conflicting sentiments—anger flickered like an unexpected spark, challenging the simplicity of the newfound connection.

A blur of images danced across Orpheus’ closed eyes. Suddenly, the light at the end of the maze was gone, the notes fell flat, the beat of his racing heart off tempo and frantic.
Finch pulled away.

Shadow recast itself over Orpheus’ mind, pulling him from the moment and tossing him back into the place he had been before, yet somehow colder, darker.

“No…no…no…” Orpheus backed away, his hands desperately wiping his lips, panicked. “No, I’m not-No…no I swear…I’m not-“ Orpheus stumbled, his weak legs giving as he fell back into his desk causing parchment and ink to tumble down around him. Orpheus slid back against the wall, his hands still slowly wiping his lips, his eyes screwed shut.

“No…please…no…I’m-“ His words were breathy, mumbled.

At Finch’s apology, Orpheus’ eyes opened wide, fixated on him.

“Get out!” Orpheus yelled. “OUT!" He screamed louder, his feral call mixed with fear and panic.

He didn’t want Finch to see.

Jerald quickly entered the room, having heard the banging and Orpheus’ cries, and he quickly escorted Finch out by the arm. Shooting Orpheus a worried glance over his shoulder, Jerald quickly shut the door and led Finch out of the estate promising to send word when Lord Langston felt better.

Orpheus’ eyes shut against the world again, yet shut or open, it did not matter. The flashes of images blurred and blended, taunting him.
His brother’s face. His eyes. Orpheus’ eyes. Those cold, dead, hateful eyes. That feeling. That heat. That longing. The smacking of the hot cane against his skin over and over. The burn of tears down his face. The image of Finch he could not shake. The memory he resented most of all. It melded with his brother’s now. A twisted image of hate and desire blurring in his mind.

“No! No! Please! I’m not! I swear I’m not! Don’t-“ Orpheus pleaded with the air, with his mind, with his ghosts.
Orpheus threw his head against the back of his wall, willing the images and memories to silence. Wiping at his mouth still, tears streaming down his face in a wet, hot blur, only adding to the warped vision of his mind.

Orpheus felt the tightness in his chest, a panic so strong he felt all the air pushed from his lungs. Orpheus tried to inhale, failing over and over in desperate gasps. Scarred and tormented, he felt the world falling away from him, blackened vision he had only known from the pull of alcohol and yet here it was. That same lull. That same pull that threatened to take him back.

Then a knock at the door.
“Lord Langston…” Jerald entered, swiftly moving to Orpheus in a movement so smooth it had to have been practiced hundreds of times before. Jerald removed Orpheus’ coat once more, pulling him onto the bed and shutting the curtains of his room.

“Sh…” Jerald whispered, wiping Orpheus’ eyes with a handkerchief. “He is gone. You are fine. Breathe.” Jerald said, taking long, slow breaths as an example.

Orpheus tried to mimic, but managed only broken cries and gasps. There was a desperation to his fingers that would not relent as they slowly yet steadily continued to wipe his lips until they turned red.

Jerald knew there was little to do until Orpheus calmed down, so he moved to clean the mess from the fallen items of Orpheus’ desk.

Orpheus sat, his eyes still shut, his shaking hands still wiping. The world seemed to move in reverse, his past humming an eerie symphony in his ears as images of every night swirled past him. Every touch. Every bruise.

Orpheus sat silently crying until he could not cry any longer. His hands growing tired and falling to his sides. His eyes simply staring at the wall in front of him.

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mentioned:
Finch (@Caticorn)

[Kristi]

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Klaus father had ignored Louisa, staring at her only in annoyance as his eyes raked over Klaus. Klaus felt every bone of his body freeze as his father suddenly left, entering the house, his footsteps getting louder and angrier as he disappeared inside the house. A butler stepped outside the house with a sigh, taking a bow, as he instructed Louisa and Klaus to enter inside, and Klaus thought to himself- was this not the first time Ms.Brantley have been to his house? Usually, when Liebe was alive and they would meet up- it was always them coming to her house, because due to mother’s past illness, he did not wish to overwhelm her and Klaus could tell that Father just did not like guests much, unless they were friends of his, and Louisa Brantley was no friend of his father unfortunately.

As they went inside the house, and into the dining table, Klaus always the kind, tried to break the tension as he said, “I hope the food is to your liking,” He mumbled, “And I’m sorry that my father is not with us for the meal right now,” He said, noting that his father had disappeared to his room, no longer wanting to be in the presence of Ms.Brantley and he sighed-this was not how he wished for his father and Ms.Brantley to get along.He had wanted for them to get along, after all, Ms.Brantley was someone he deeply cared about- she was a dear person to him and it would pleased him a lot if they could have gotten a lot. But it seems that shall take time.

As the maid brought in the meal, Dough came down in changed clothes and combed hair and Klaus recalled- *right, Dough had always had some feelings for Louisa, and Klaus smiled at that- his brother was so cute, though unfortunately, Ms.Brantley was not looking for marriage, so nothing could ever work between Dough and Ms.Brantley.

“It’s been long since we have seen you, Lo-Ms.Brantley,” Dough said his face turning red, “How do you fair?” Dough asked as he took a piece of grilled steak in his mouth. Klaus waited for everyone to at least have a bite, before he took his own bite of food, and when he ate, he had accidentally bit his lips as he dropped the steak in shock bewirdled, as he quickly grabbed the glass of water in front of him- right, he had forgotten, he had asked for the cooks to make his food extra hot and filled with spices, because he loved to eat hot meals due to his love for the feeling of fire upon his skin. His mouth was covered with sauce from the steak, and he saw that Dough broke into laughter, and Klaus laughed as well- although it was a bit more nervous than Dough laughter as he grabbed a handkerchief to wipe his face.

“How are you liking the food?” Klaus asked Louisa, as he took another bite, albeit more careful than the other one. As soon as he said that, Klaus could hear the angry voice of his father upstairs and his face blanched. He chose to ignore it, focusing on Louisa and Dough, as Viscountess Shafer- his mother, came down, her hair falling down her shoulders. She looked at Louisa, raising a brow, as she said, “Louisa Brantley is it not? My my has it not been long.” She teased, “Are you the reason my father is angry?” Though the viscountess already knew the answer, “Do not worry yourself, he is always angry,” She said, as she walked towards the table, grabbing a fork as she took a piece of carrot from Dough’s plate and went back upstairs, to rest. His mother was also not the biggest people-person, she was kind to visitors, but she tended to not like having them in her house much as she tended to love to sleep during the appropriate in between time that visitors usually arrived at.

Remembering something, Klaus looked at Louisa as he asked, “Is this your first time meeting my mother?” After all, during the time Liebe was around, his mother tended to lock herself up in a room to rest from her illness, so it was quite possible that she and Louisa had never met, unlike she and Viscount Shafer who had met a lot of times and those times were not the most pleasurable.

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@Ouijaloveletters - need to add color but done!

[Ouijaloveletters]

Louisa watched with a mixture of bewilderment and triumph as Mr. Shafer stormed inside the house. Turning to Klaus, she shrugged, blinking innocently. ”I do believe I have made him mad. Well, at least I’m in one piece, I suppose. It could certainly have gone worse.” When a butler allowed the two entrance, she followed Klaus, nodding politely at the butler. ”To be honest, I’m just happy there is food. I am rather hungry, and you were not obligated to do this. Also, just getting to see the look on your father’s face is enough. It’s for the best he is not here. Things may turn into a yelling match otherwise.” Louisa waited for the rest of the family to arrive before beginning to eat. Soon, Klaus’s younger brother came down the stairs, and Louisa chuckled at his slip up of almost saying her first name. ”It’s lovely to see you too, Dough. I have been well, thank you. How have you been?” Louisa asked genuinely. She had a soft spot for the youngest Shafer. He didn’t treat her as something to be sneered at. Aside from Mr. Shafer, Louisa quite liked the family, which was saying something. Louisa had just taken a sip of water as Klaus had taken a bite of steak, and she nearly spat her mouthful of water across the table when she laughed. Luckily, she managed to swallow in time. Klaus had asked her how she liked the food, and she cut off a piece of steak, putting it in her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she nodded. ”It’s lovely, thank you. Truly.” Mr. Shafer could be heard yelling upstairs, but Louisa simply pretended everything was fine. The sound of footsteps on the stairs caused her to turn her head, and Louisa made eye contact with a woman who must have been Klaus and Dough’s mother. Quickly swallowing her bite of food, she greeted the woman, bowing as best she could while seated. ”Mrs. Shafer. Lovely to see you.” She smiled when asked if she was the reason Mr. Shafer was angry. ”Yes, it would appear so. Apologies.” Once Mrs. Shafer retreated upstairs, Klaus asked if it was the first time Louisa had met her. ”Yes, I believe it is. I am already liking her.” That was considered extremely high praise from Louisa, and possibly a new record. She rarely ever liked people just after meeting them.
@Kristi - Klaus

[Kristi]

୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧୨♡୧

"I hope you understand why i hesitate to share more information, in recent times I have struggled quite a bit,’ prince explained vaguely, and Belle felt the unspoken question deep within her. The desire to ask ‘how so?’ pulsated in her heart and mind, yet she restrained herself, cognizant of his expressed unease. It was not yet time to ask and Belle knew better than to ask, the calculated time was not now. Thus, She merely nodded as he continued, narrating an excellent morning. Belle was about to tell him, that she was glad his morning went well, compared to her’s when his lips began to move again, and she paused, as he divulged that the cause of his joy lay in conversing with his favorite English friend. Belle knew what he was trying to say, understanding he was referring to her and the sentiment behind his words, English was not his native tongue, just like english was not her’s, a linguistic nuance they both navigated, and at times when one is multilingual, words tend to get mixed up and expressing self becomes harder. Yet, Belle could not help but to play with him a little as she said, 'Ton ami anglais préféré ? Mon Prince, vous savez bien que je suis une Française, n’est-ce pas ? ’ Favorite english friend? My Prince you do know I am a french woman don’t you?’ She knew that he could not speak French or at least fluently, so she knew that he had not understood her words, but she hoped he at least knew that she was speaking french, and if he asked her to tell him what she was talking about, then Belle shall tell him. But for now, those were the only words she said with a small curve of the lips.

“Je suis heureux d’être une raison pour votre bonheur, mon prince, j’espère que vous ne vous mettrez jamais à me haïr.” Belle added, then in English she had said, “I am pleased to be a reason of your morning happiness, as I least know our friendship is mutual,” She told him, tucking a strand of her back. She could not help but to wonder about many things, as Belle often did, her thoughts were all over the place, but one main thought right now was the fact that she was glad her father had asked her to pen pal the Prince of Spain. She remembered the day- she was entering boarding school and reaching puberty, and her father was building numerous connections across nations. Making more allies outside France and England, he allied himself with numerous prominent and powerful Portugese nobles, German nobles, nobles from Russia, Italy, Montenegro and Spain, her father always so skillfull in getting people to like him and ally with him, had somehow won over the friendship of the Spanish king and had sent letters to the king, and had been delighted in provided military aid from the fleur army to help in wars- going as far as to state that if needed, he could send Thomas, Belle’s brother, to help fight in which Thomas upon hearing that had choked on water.

After a while, Belle was to enter boarding school soon. Her father had pulled her side and ask her if she would want a pen pal, Belle knowing that it was not simply an innocent request, and it perhaps had to do a lot with politics-which she turned out to be right about, as her father had told her he would like for her to write to the Prince of Spain, calling it a great ‘learning’ experience for her, as he was a skilled warrior, having fought in many wars and a very noble human being, that would satisfy Belle’s curiosity. Belle had agreed and because she had agreed, she had met him. He was standing right in front her currently, painting a perfect portrait of the gentlemen she had read in the fictional books that Josephine always seemed to love and implored Belle to read too. She was glad that he was the exact same way he had portrayed himself to be in their letters- just as king, just as intelligent and just as humorous.

As she opened the gifts, gift by gifts, thanking him for each gift and especially for the battle sword he had given her, that from its tip to its hand, one could tell the sword held many stories to it. It was amazing to put it in simple terms, even though it shall likely remain more of an accessory to Belle than an actual tool, she was pleased at the gift he had given her. She had turned to ask him whether he had thought of her in battle, and his answer warmed her heart.What he had said was, ‘i thought of you in every battle, lady fleur’ and began to explain it.

His thoughts of her held no romantic inclinations, a blessing in disguise for Belle. Navigating the waters of love was not her forte; and she additionally faltered in offering solace to hearts entangled in romantic turmoil. Moreover, the prospect of others harboring romantic sentiments toward her proved irksome, triggering a cascade of awkward recollections from bygone entanglements. She also feared something if that was the case- but it was not and thus she shall not ponder on that fear. As he went on to continue in his speech, pulling metaphors and comparisons with his battles and Belle being in a dance with a man that does not interest you. Belle could not help but to think, ‘Throughout yesterday, that was all that seemed to be happening’

The prince continued, saying that throughout those hard situations, there were moments in your mind that kept one entertained from those situations even though the situation was not enjoyable. When he had said that ‘she knew that her parents had sent her to dance not for them to torture her but to secure a good life for her and help her find a husband,’ Belle felt herself internally frowning at that comparison, on the outside though her face was blank. If that was her parents way of securing a good life for her, there was absolutely no need for that. Belle could forge her own good life for herself without a husband, in fact a husband had no place in the life she wished to build for herself. Her dreams and imaginations spoke words of prosperity, of finally achieving relaxation and of freedom- freedom being a thing a woman cannot achieve if she is tied down to the chains of marriage.

Most marriages that Belle witnessed had a familiar tale to them- a tale of discontent and societal expectations woven into the fabric of countless unions. The men, unable to fathom the intricacies of a woman’s world, would vent their frustrations to comrades, casting shadows on their wives’ struggles, making mockery a shared sentiment. It was a script Belle had witnessed too often—an unhappy ending etched in the wrinkles of time. As husbands complain about their wives and wives complain about their husbands. Many husbands tended to complain about the body changes of their wives after giving birth and how disgusted they were now in her, ridiculing her often and many wives complained about how harsh their husbands have gotten now that the wives lost their youth, and how they often see them preying and given lustly glances at younger women.

Observing this repetitive narrative, Belle pondered the intricate dance of matrimony. Why so shall anyone ever truly wish for marriage? She had witnessed the tragedy of couples whose stories ended in discontent, an unhappy epilogue etched in societal norms and unspoken grievances. Yet, amid this sea of discontent, her parents stood as a testament to an alternative script. Their partnership was marked by mutual admiration, shared responsibilities, and a profound connection that transcended societal expectations. Her father, enamored, and her mother, an advisor and equal partner in the dance of life.

As for Josephine, Marquise Antoine Blanc remained an enigma, their marital tale hidden behind veils of privacy. Belle, ever the observer, could only hope that Josephine’s story unfolded with the grace notes of contentment, mirroring the harmonious duet of her parents’ union. The fear of an unsatisfied demise lingered in Belle’s thoughts, steering her away from the traditional aspirations of marriage. Her dreams soared higher, seeking the freedom of the skies, the solace of books, and the embrace of a life unencumbered by the chains of societal expectations. In her narrative, happiness would be the final chapter, and the only vows she’d take were whispered in the rustling leaves of freedom. But she could understand the words of the prince, after all the reason that she danced at all during the dance and kept up with those ‘thing’ was because she knew that if she did it she shall achieve sastification at the end from her aunt. It was just another stealthy step in achieving her goals and that kept her going.

“I am glad, my prince, that I was a driving force for you,” She told him, her cold eyes looking warmer. 'Truly, the fact I had been a motivation for you to not lament on your battles pleases me, as I did not know you held me to the same regard I held you" At times, when Belle wondered why she never just ran away, lived a life far away with Louisa as soon as she came back from boarding school, she thought about Prince Emmanuel. She thought that if she ran away, leaving everything behind just like that- she would never get the chance to meet the Prince in person and he shall be disappointed in that and Belle to shall be disappointed. She often thought of the prince- how he might look, if he would look like the paintings of him and if he shall act like the way he presented himself in his writings. In her journal, one time when she was bored- she had written little notes about the Prince. Describing him detail for detail on how he might look, she had compared his height to her’s, imagining how tall he shall be standing in front of her. She had compared his knowledge on things that Belle was unsure about to her’s and she had written notes in her journal of how much of n amazing person he was. Truly a fictional man brought to life.

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Amidst the undulating fields, Belle’s retinue handed them the tools of archery. With a flourish, she took the lead, her arrows unerring as they met the bullseye with poetic precision. A symphony of success unfolded, each arrow finding its mark, prompting an impromptu smile to dance on Belle’s lips. “Impressive, Lady Fleur,” the prince remarked, inviting a playful curtsy from Belle in response.

As the stage shifted to Emmanuel, Belle gracefully stepped aside, an attentive spectator to the ballet of arrows. His shots found their mark, striking the bullseye with military precision. Applause rippled through the guards, but Belle, ever the wordsmith, approached him with a witty observation. “You’re a virtuoso of skills, dear prince. Is there a realm where your prowess does not reign supreme? Your keen eyesight truly befits a military leader,” she remarked, a twinkle of admiration in her eyes. “Your skills truly remain supreme and lead one to be jealous. You know I heard there was a hunting contest in England soon about to happen, do you plan to join it? It shall be fun, a great way to show your skills that you should pride yourself on and a good way to find a lady that catches your interest to become the queen of Spain. If you are comfortable, do you mind telling me if you had already found a lady you are interested in?” She asked curious for the future of spain and new spain, and if she shall be expecting a lady to be introduced to and learn about. Speaking of learning about, Belle still curious of how the war Emmanuel was in before he came here went, dryly Emmanuel had answered, ‘it went well,’ meaning it obviously did not go well.

“It is easier said than done, but do not beat yourself too much over it,” Belle murmured as she shoot an arrow and missed bullset, making her bite her lip as she tried again- this time with success. “This was your first lose was it not? And as seen with me failing to hit bullseyes like I tend do, humans are humans and make mistakes. You cannot always expect to win my prince but what matters is that you tried your best,” Belle said albiet a little awkwardly, not being the best in comforting people. Back when she was young, she tended to comfort people through remarks that were seen as ‘rude’ or ‘insulting’ accidentally as back then Belle was more brutally honest than now and social clues tended to escape her mind when it kept to interacting with people- that was probably why her and Louisa were best of friends. She shifted her arrow away from the shooting range and towards a tree wanting to get an apple to fall down, pulling at the strings, she released the arrow and it pieced through the apple falling to the ground and as Belle walked to pick it up, the guards quickly went in front of her picking it for her and Belle blinked, thanking them none of the less. “Shall we see who can bring down the most fruits?”

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@raviola

[raviola]

Azucena Clone 1 - Orpheus Confrontation

It was interesting how people appeared into each other’s lives, and then vanished after so little time. Like flickering lights turning off and on, Azucena had watched her friends come and go in the past years. It was a natural process, she thought, Aurelia would eventually come back, and she did, Harrison could come back, and he seems like he might, the only person she did not wish to see again…

Orpheus Langston.

The a knot of guilt sat in her throat, a knot that kept her from speaking, and kept her from telling her best friends the truth. Because she had spoken to Aurelia as if she were the one who was betrayed, and because she had referred to “Lang” as his nickname, when she knew his real one all along.

Tell me, what would you do if it happened to you? If you saw your favorite girl, and your only love, looking at one another as if they were more important than god, with lust sparkling in their eyes burning a thousand times brighter than the love they had for you. All of their beliefs shared in the pews of the cathedral, promises to Him that they would be humble and kind, standing on a tight rope when they were face to face.

What would you do if it happened on your birthday? If you were in your most magnificent of dresses, adorned in the gold of your land, your hair done up in an intricately designed style. If there was no one to see it, would you have any value then? The only guest at her pity party, she had been avoided by her friend for weeks, abandoned by her betrothed, all alone.

So come nightfall, she went to the tavern into disguise, needing to be anyone else but Azucena. What would you do if you saw him sitting at the bar? Orpheus Langston, all alone like you. Considering his courtship with Lia that season; his tall, mysterious silhouette had the perfect appeal for revenge.

A part of you feels bad for him, wondering what must have happened to take him to the place he sat in, surrounded by empty ports, blood on his hands, dried tears on his cheek. A part of you is disgusted with those who have betrayed you. A part of you wants to have a real friend, even if it is just for one day. Tell me, what would you do?

In her eyes, there was only one answer to that question. For a few months, Orpheus was one of those “flickering lights” burning so bright. Was it so wrong for her to believe all of that shine was just for her?

One conversation in the black crow became two, two became three, her polite nods became jokes and the realest parts of herself that she was willing to share with him. Although she was initially drawn to him for purposes of vengeance and pity, she stopped looking down to him when he began looking at her from above, skin to skin on the white sheets of the inn.

If it had been up to her, Azucena would have ran away with him, she would have waved goodbye to her life as a marchioness, so they could build a new one out of oak trees and their love for one another. But still, after so many attempts, she was still not the name in his head when he arose from slumber. He continued to think of her. She had been dishonest with him. The foundation of their connection was so weak that they fell at the first sign of rain.

On the first night, the queens ball, for the first time in nearly one year, they spoke. She was in such awe she almost forgot her cover was blown. He looked just as she had pictured him to, standing before her in the dress of a duke, reminding her of the life they would never have as much as she had fantasized about it last winter.

They did not even get to share one dance.

The next day, set for small talk and flirtation, she curled up on her sofa hugging her knees. Her maids teased her about her flirtation with the men. She giggled, amused by the jokes of Gretel and Louise before they heard a knock at the door. The girls all looked at each other puzzled, hearing the squeak as butler opened it. Their dialogue sounded like silence, their regular voices descending into whispers. What could have been delivered to her home? She wondered, perhaps a letter from lady whistledown.

The butler walked to up the stairs and into the room where Azucena and the maids sat, and he whispered into the ear of one. Looking down, he held in his hands what looked like a letter.

The maid’s eyes widened, and she quickly took the paper and nodded, trying to dismiss him in a rush. Then, she turned to Azucena and handed her the paper, Azucena raised a brow containing her anxiety, but did not feel there was time to ask questions.

She opened the letter as her heart seemed to beat harder, she could almost hear it in the back of her mind and was afraid others might, too. Being a lady with many secrets, it was likely she had been exposed for a variety of shameful semantics of her life, but when she unfolded the paper, it was addressed to her specifically. It was then that she knew her maids could probably hear her strong, scared metronome. She read through it frantically and then just looked up at them struggling to keep a straight face.

“I must leave.” Her skin became void of color, and it seemed like Azucena had hidden, the voice of her conditioning taking over. Be kind. Be polite. Be serious. She reminded herself for far too many times in the few seconds that she got up and went into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Taking her time, she adjusted her dress, redid the ribbon in her hair, and laced up her shoes. Usually, her maids would help her with these steps, but she knew she did not need him.

She did not want them near her, for she feared they may begin to see a white web of silk lining her perfect teeth.

She had gone into her room alone, and she left alone as well. Azucena did not get the chance to speak to her maids, she did not hear them say more, and if they spoke at all, she did not hear it. Not even her thoughts did she hear, just a white noise, protecting her from the asteroid breaking the horizon. Just her own little world, where she could go on autopilot to reach the home of a man she claimed not to know. Because she knew his address, and she knew his attention to detail, and she knew how he behaved when he was in love. Not because she saw those things in person, but because she heard about them from her best friend. For years.

Finally, she walked up and reached the door, knocking once in hope that they may not notice and she would be let off on the pretext that ‘no one answered.’ Her heart drummed so loud that she was losing touch of her surroundings, beating so fast she could barely breathe.

And then, her heart stopped.

They opened the door and there he stood, no longer the man from the bar, nor her friend, nor her lover. Orpheus. The man who would punish her for her deception.

She swallowed, and recuperated her formal voice. “I have received your letter, my lord.” The girl could not even bring himself to say his name. “And I would like to start with an apology.” She said, glancing into the home in hope that he would give her the kindness to allow her in before they begun what was likely to be the most anguishing discussion in her lifetime. His dark eyes pierced her, and she knew his words would too.

@DandelionKate Orpheus

[DandelionKate]

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Calling Day: Conversion with Azucena Osuna

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falling.

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Orpheus collected himself as he waited for a reply, some notion that his words had reached their destination. A faint tap on the front door answered his call, his heart pounding in his chest as he swung open the door.

And there she was. As beautiful as the first time they had met.
His Lilith.

How strange to have those watery eyes still call to him the very same. There held no love or devotion between the two of them now, yet they still begged for him to step closer. Still pulling him in deeper. Still begging for him to drown within their depths. After all this time…the pull was still so strong.

He felt a weight in his chest so heavy and painful he might’ve ripped his heart out himself if she had not already done so. The oddest blend of betrayal, longing, and pain. It seemed a cocktail Orpheus frequented these days despite his distaste for them. The inescapable swirl of betrayals and lies that he was so often caught in.

However, the moment of longing faded as quickly as the door swung open, replaced by a deep-seated mistrust and anger that filled every inch of his body.
He placed a silencing finger over his mouth after she started to speak, his eyes cold and unfeeling as he looked to her now.

With a force that shocked even him, Orpheus pulled Azucena inside and led her up to his bedchamber, the furthest room from his father’s study. The only place where they would be guaranteed privacy.

Orpheus could not help but attempt to shake the dejavú as he stared at Azucena now standing in the very same spot Finch stood just hours prior. Another betrayal, another forgotten friend, another past memory come back to tear open his chest just as the scars began to heal.

“Is it true?” Orpheus’ spat in a voice so dark and raspy the sound sent shivers down his own spine. An anger stirred within him like a slow boiling kettle, threatening to spill over at the slightest of movements.
Orpheus had regained much of his mental and physical strength as the day carried on, yet the dark bags under his eyes from a lack of sleep were ever present, casting shadows under his even darker eyes, making him look eerily demonic.
He towered over her now, looking down with the knowledge of the upper hand, with the pained eyes of a scorned lover, and the anger of a Langston heir.

“I do not want an apology or more nonsense lie-filled poems about love. I want to hear it from your lips. The very same that kissed me and whispered my name. I want to hear it. Tell me…is it true?” Orpheus said, his voice breaking slightly as he questioned her.

Orpheus had dealt with enough pain and emotion to kill a man. A spiral of mixed feelings so great it consumed every part of him. Facing Azucena now was its own poisonous concoction, mixing itself in with the rest, a brew of confusion and lust and heartbreak he had never quite known before. It was pain enough to bring a man to his knees.

Orpheus had met Azucena while grieving. Grieving a lost love. Grieving a friend. Grieving a life.

She had taken him and kissed each bruised inch of his heart and made it whole again. She had held his hand and promised a new life. She had wiped his tears when the pain of it all became too much. She had written poems to fill his loveless heart. She had cared for him, intimately, slowly, building over so many months that Orpheus had nearly forgotten why he was sad at all.

She had been his first.

His only.

He had trusted Lilith with the darkest parts of himself, been vulnerable and broken, honest and pure. He had given her everything.
And as quickly as she blew into the Crow Bar that cold fall night, warming every inch of his dying heart, she had vanished.
Having filled his world with lies and betrayal all over again. Leaving him cold and alone. More broken than when she had shown.

Yet some part of him longed for her to say it was not true. That she was simply a girl. He was simply a boy. And that their love had been as honest and real as he had imagined it to be.
That he could love her still.
That love was possible for him.
He wanted it more than anything.

Yet he knew from her guilt ridden expression and flushed face that he had not been wrong in his assumption of her.

She had lied.
She knew of his pain and had chosen to break him anyway.
To step on the already broken pieces of his heart.
To use him as a weapon against the one person he had always loved.
To use his longing for love as a weapon against him.

She had used him for revenge.
And if that was her game.
Orpheus would play.

---

mentioned:
Azucena: (@raviola)
Finch: (@Caticorn) briefly

[raviola]

Azucena Clone 1 - Orpheus Confrontation

He hushed her and Azucena’s eyes widened a bit, shocked by his anger. In all of the time they had been together, she saw so many emotions from him. Desperation, melancholy, rage, and in all of those memories she had been the sweet escape he got from all of that. By day, he lived a hellish life as a duke, and by night, she was his wildflower in the ironic sanctuary of the black crow bar. At times, those crusty, yellow lights hanging above them reminded her more of home than her estate. If every day was a chore, then the tavern was the place they got to sit down and relax, be themselves for a bit.

She was the person with which he chose to be himself. The good sides of him, that were deep and insightful, when they could talk about their struggles synonymously. Never did she think she would be one of them.

It sort of took a turn on the way she perceived him. Once, he was a sad man, hobbling over the dirty floor looking for his shoe; a guy who needed a girl to talk to. And he was a bit of a starving artist, sharing all of his pain in beautiful ways. But now, they were not sat next to each other laughing. Instead, he towered over her, with betrayal glowing in the glare of his pupils. He looked tired, and there were bags under his eyes, his voice was raspier than she had remembered it, and he stood taller.

When she had spoken, he was always at his smallest, most vulnerable form. And although she saw the rips on his clothes for transfromation, she had never seen the beast he could turn into. In the inn, his handsome face made her want to pull him closer. Today, he was a monster sending her backstepping in fear. His breaths were weighted with fury, and she could feel his breath graze her skin in a way that made her feel so suseptible.

He only made her anxieties worse, and her skin chilled with him near. Then, he pulled her away, taking her to his room and she pulled back a bit, instinctively. Unfortunately, she remembered that no one was supposed to hear them talking, and so she bit her tongue.

They walked into his bedroom and it was everything she expected. Sheets of expensive fabric, tokens of his memories, a bed frame that would have been much nicer to have than the one at the black crow. He closed the door, and finally she sighed, letting go of her prior tension due to the way he had upset her. “Do not touch me.” She said, pulling her arm away from him.

One of the more brilliant parts of private conversations such as theirs was that Azucena was allowed to be herself. And that meant she no longer had to be the drab, docile and weak fair lady that was always getting stuffed into too-small corsets and lived solely to impress her mother. WIth Orpheus, not only could she be Azucena but also blue, and more importantly Lillith.

She liked to think of it as an alter ego, who was born based off the character revalations that orpheus inspired from her. Lillith was an independent thinker, with not only quiet, hesitant agreements but also opinions of her own. And her current opinion was that Orpheus, as much as he was allowed to hate her, was beginning to scare her a bit with his threatening demeanor.

Once again, he faced her and got close, asking her if it was true. Even doing it twice. She turned her head to the side, signaling for him to back away.

But once again, there was a question that Azucena had to answer, where no response she gave could save her from his hatred, so her heartbeat rushed again. She took a breath.

“Yes.” She looked down, ashamed of her dialogue. “I have lied to you, Orpheus, and I do not wish to do it any longer.” Finally, she had gotten the courage to call him by his name. She noticed his look of frustration, so she attempted to elaborate just as shyly.

“On the day that we met, I had turned the age of 18, and had not been spoken to by any of my friends. It was the only reason that I had snuck over to the black crow, I was crestfallen. I am sure you remember my former betrothed, Harrison. That day, aside from completing another year by myself, I had also seen him together in a carriage with Aurelia, your former courtship, who was my childhood best friend that had been ignoring me prior as well. So I ran off, and I saw you at the bar, and I figured you may have needed a friend… and that Lia might deserve some vengeance. I know that is not an excuse, and I know that it still hurts you, so I am sorry. I knew the whole time. I am sorry.” She said twice, heavily stressed seeing that his reaction would surely not be good.

But that was the opposite of what she wanted. Azucena was a complicated woman, and she was hurt by his small betrayal to her, so she had assumed it was most likely for the best that she no longer speak to him. But she never stopped caring for him. After only some months since their departure, there was still large part of her that remembered the tenderness of his lips, and the warmth of his touch that she had never seen be so aggressive.

Any semblance of tranquility in his expression had left his face. She could not yet digest that the moment had finally arrived. She had to drop her carefully curated theatrics, and instead face the truth. She could no longer supress the memory of the two of them, there wasnt an option to forget it anymore, because he knew the truth, and he was now a new man who hated her, not her Lang; forever frozen in her bittersweet memories.

She could not bear his irrationality as he began to rebuttal, putting her face in her palms and then getting back up in frustration. “But I did care about you, Lang.” This time, her voice grabbed just a bit more passion. “I did. and I meant the things I told you, regardless of what name I had used to share them.” Her voice softened. “I did, Okay?” She paused, placing her fingers on her temples, praying for a reaction that would not completely ruin them. “Please do not be upset.”

Once again, the words left from her mouth were things that only Lillith would dare to say out loud, because she was scared. She did not want her reputation ruined, but more importantly, she would not be able to live with herself if he hated her. She wanted to tell him the reason why she went away. Even when Azucena did not think of him, she could never forget.

@dandelionkate orpheus

[Kristi]

---

“He wouldn’t have harmed you,” Klaus assured Louisa, though uncertainty lingered in his voice, as if he were attempting to convince both of them. Despite this internal struggle, Klaus genuinely believed his father posed no threat to Louisa, for various reasons that echoed through his troubled mind. Even if Louisa didn’t share his certainty, Klaus felt compelled to add, “I wouldn’t have let him.”

Louisa held a special place in Klaus’s heart, and Liebe’s fondness for her only deepened his resolve to protect her. Memories of Liebe speaking warmly of Louisa played in Klaus’s mind like a cherished melody. Despite the failure to shield Liebe from harm, Klaus was determined not to repeat the same mistake with their friend.

As the butler guided them to the dining room, Klaus took a seat next to Louisa, with Dough settling in beside him. Dough, a bit flustered, greeted Louisa with a charming yet awkward compliment. “I-I have been well, as well,” Dough stammered, his ears turning red as he complimented Louisa’s appearance, his gaze momentarily fixed on the empty plate awaiting the forthcoming feast.

The anticipation for the meal didn’t last long, as the butler appeared with a tray of delicious-looking dishes. Klaus rose courteously to assist the butler in placing glasses of water on the table, expressing gratitude before reclaiming his seat. The aroma of the food filled the air, awakening Klaus’s senses.

As Klaus took a bite, the heat of the dish surprised him, prompting a hasty reaction that ended with a chuckle from Louisa. Dough had joined in, in the laughter and Klaus could not help himself but to laugh as well. His mother came downstairs, as if hearing the laughter, and wanting to join in. The expression on her face tired but still as beautiful as ever. Viscountess Shafer patted Louisa’s head at the greeting Louisa gave to her, laughing as Louisa tried to bow, “You do not need to bow, you are seated. Do not worry about that just enjoy the food,” Nora, Klaus mother said.

When Louisa apologized, Viscountess Shafer shook her head, “Like I said- worry yourself not. My husband just has a terrile temper,” Nora said as she rubbed her temples, “My husband takes after his father temper from what I’ve been told, but at least it is more controllable. Being in England frustrates him even more, so that is why-he does not like being away from Germany.” she shrugged, with a small curve of the lips. She walked over to Klaus, kissing him on the forehead, as she walked right back upstairs. As she went upstairs, Klaus asked Louisa if it was the first time that she had seen Viscountess Shafer, and when she said yes and that she was already liking her.

Klaus smiled at that- if she did not like his father, at least she liked his mother. “That’s a record for you,” Klaus said with a small laughter, “You usually don’t like most people,” But his mother- Nora was quite easy to like. Though his mother was not usually a people person, she was kind and charming, relaxed, and a very lovely woman. She was the type of person that Klaus knew Louisa would like. “My mother seems to like you too,”

---

@Ouijaloveletters - sorry this is dog water but here

[Ouijaloveletters]

Klaus assured Louisa that his father wouldn’t hurt her, and she frowned. ”You know I trust what you say, but I cannot help but feel you are wrong. It truly seems like he would do anything, but only time will tell. Just be careful. That’s all I ask.” When they sat down at the table, Klaus had sat next to her, Dough sitting next to him. When Dough complimented her, Louisa gave him a soft smile. She couldn’t help but laugh at his awkwardness. ”Remember to breathe. You look like you’re about to faint, goodness.” She looked him in the eyes, leaning to look around Klaus. This was to be polite, but Louisa also knew how to fluster the poor boy. As the viscountess patted Louisa on the head, she felt herself leaning into the comforting touch. She’d never get this type of thing from her own mother, so it was a foreign sensation. She knew her mother would never approve of her, so she would find it other places. Not that she needed approval from anyone, but it was still nice. Listening to viscountess Nora’s explanation of her husband’s anger made sense. Well, he was very much going overboard with it, but still. Louisa nodded when Klaus mentioned that it was surprising she liked Nora. ”Yes, I am rather surprised too. Yet, I am very pleased that I like her. She’s kind and calm, two traits I enjoy in a person. I am glad she likes me too.”
@Kristi - Klaus

[benitz786]

Clone 1: Aurelia X Cassian

---

A soft laugh, the gentlest melody, escaped her lips at his jest, following a candid statement about the true depth of her sentiment for the word different. The truth resonated in her, a chord struck by the realization of how much she missed him—truly, wholly. In this moment, a longing grew in her heart, its depth only becoming apparent now. The yearning mirrored the one she felt for Lydia. It was as if, in their presence, she was a child again, running with both her brother and sister as fast as her little legs would allow: Despite her burning lungs and the craving for air, she felt alive. They were her reason for living, and living so fully. Running with them, with the echoes of their mother’s impending scolding, was when she truly experienced the essence of living.

Things were different now. The strange reality of their grown selves had replaced the carefree children who could run until the titles of their parents no longer held them in place. For Lia, the strangeness was intensified by the lapse in her memory. She couldn’t recall her brother from the past few years, and even memories before then were fragmented. Every moment of their shared past felt close yet ever so far away. Glimpses of her brother’s face, moments of him smiling and teasing her, lingered in her memory. She could remember the warmth of his hugs, the joy of their games. The pain of his departure for school was etched in her recollections. However, a significant portion of her life seemed stolen, taken with no regard. It pained her, deeply, though she concealed it well. He didn’t deserve to feel the extent of the anguish she bore.

Her mother was right—her siblings could never know the true extent of her injury. It likely explained their absence for the past year, as all they knew was that she fell and was in the process of recovery. To them, she was okay, as if nothing had ever happened. Her mother had impressed upon her that it was better this way. Better if her siblings focused on their own lives, studies, and pursuits. Better if Cassian was present and looking for a wife… not worrying about his little sister. Her mother’s wisdom prevailed; Lia never wanted anyone to worry about her, and if she could spare her siblings pain, she would do so. Even as she needed them, even as she craved knowledge about their shared past, it was a subject she couldn’t broach.

So, without expanding on her statement, Aurelia simply stared at him, fascinated by how different he looked. It was strange. He didn’t look “older and wiser,” but rather unrecognizable in a peculiar way. It was as if her heart recognized him, but her head didn’t. Thus, she found herself gazing intently, her eyes roaming his features—every contour and line. She yearned to remember him this time, to etch his image into her memory so deeply that forgetting would be impossible. She craved to remember the scent of him, the palpable presence he exuded. She wanted to remember him in his entirety, but perhaps that was an unrealistic expectation. Instead, she aspired to create new memories, ones that would allow her to know him, to bask in his presence just like this, in this moment. As her brother and nothing more.

Was she crying? She hadn’t realized it, but she felt something wet on her hand. Her eyes burned—an indication that she hadn’t been blinking. Looking down, another laugh left her lips as she attempted to wipe her eyes without him noticing. Possibly an impossible task, but the last thing she wanted to do was worry him.

“I’ve missed you, Cass. Heavens, I’ve missed you so much.”

So much that she hadn’t even reprimanded him for his use of “shrimpy” in reference to her.

Bringing her now red eyes back towards his features, a grin illuminated her face at his words. She knew she should have been more concerned about the rest of her suitors. Aurelia understood her mother would reprimand her sooner or later, but at this moment, while her heart craved a family, she currently yearned for time with her family—with her brother.

“Perhaps I could indulge in some quality time with my incredibly not humble but undeniably more interesting brother. And, darling, I do believe I agree. It is an extremely tempting offer.” She did feel a twinge of regret for a moment as she glanced back at the door where her mother had walked off. But right now, something was telling her that she needed this.

With his arm around her, she grinned before guiding him towards the garden for a walk where the two of them could converse without the weight of responsibilities watching over them. “Tell me the truth, brother. I have actually grown a few inches, haven’t I? I do believe I have.” She joked for a moment, walking on her toes to lift her height ever so slightly as they strolled, laughter filling the air between them."Okay, now truly: I’ve missed so much of the last year. Everything I heard was from Mother, but all she told me was that your studies were difficult, and you couldn’t vis—that… that you were occupied. How are you, brother? Truly? Has any lady captured your interest? Are Lydia and I to get a sister anytime soon? "

@CerealKiller - Bro have to wonder if he’s gonna notice her being different then she usually is. Has to ask the right questions I GUESS hmm

[DandelionKate]

---

Calling Day: Conversion with Azucena Osuna

---

“Do not touch me.” Azucena said coolly, pulling her arm away.

“That’s a first.” Orpheus spat, gladly removing his hand and holding her gaze with a sharp glare.

Masked by a fiery anger and a sudden urge to make her feel the pain he had known, the twinge of longing still held Orpheus firmly in place.

Part of him wanted nothing more than to taste her lips once again, to force himself to feel the gentleness of a woman’s touch, to drive the inescapable memory of Finch’s lips from his mind.
Yet, another part, whose clenched fists threatened to rise against her every word, resented and despised the beautiful girl that stood before him now. As if a fallen angel had tricked his heart into venturing where it should have never wandered, he felt trapped, betrayed, sinful even. As if the heavens themselves had conspired against his heart.

“I knew the whole time. I am sorry.” At her words, Orpheus moved from her and pressed his palms into the wall of his bedchamber, his arms extended in front of him, his head lowered, his back turned from her.

Then something strange.
Orpheus’ shoulders began to shake, his chest heaving against the bent over position he held himself in.
Yet, he was not crying.

He was laughing.

A sound foreign to him, as he had not laughed so deeply in some time, it rang against the walls of the room, echoing through the hollow instruments that sat behind Azucena.

It was absurd to him how unfortunate each relationship had become. How each love he shared fell into twisted despair. Truly, as if the world were punishing him, testing him, seeing how far it could crack him until he broke. His life had been filled with lies and deception at each turn, and despite them, Orpheus would smile. It was an instinct. A coping skill. The only way to keep himself from fully breaking down: pretend he was fine.
He turned to face her, a twisted smile on his lips, his once dark eyes now hauntingly alight with something new.

The forced composure and feigned happiness tearing at his chest with the pressure of keeping it all together. Truly, what was one more crack?

“But I did care about you, Lang…Please do not be upset.” Azucena pleaded, likely understanding the rage that brewed just beneath his forced smile.

If Orpheus had been less beaten and exhausted, he might have exploded with the full force of his anger, yet he did not. There was a subtle feeling of excitement that overcame him now as he looked to her. Her eyes held a sort of fear and understanding of the shift in their dynamic.
He held the power now.
He was in control.
And in this game of betrayals and revenge, of lies and half-truths, it was his turn to play.

“Upset?” Orpheus said shockingly soft, still chuckling as he spoke. “Why would I be upset?” His voice was erratic, slowly building in the true panic and anger that he was holding in.

“I have loved many people in my lifetime, Lilith. Do you know what has become of them all?” Orpheus slowly inched closer to Azucena now, his fingers stretching at his side.

“Nothing.” He laughed again, his eyes wide and fixated on her. “They have died. They have turned from me. They have forgotten. Why would I have expected anything less from you? A girl who wandered in and out of my life with so little care for the cold winds she brought with her. Yet, the chill of icy winds does little when your world is already cold. A world that has turned my love into distaste. Turned my lovers into strangers. Turned my trust into pain time and time again. You are no different it seems. I accepted that the moment you left me in that bar.” Orpheus stood over her again, his hand slowly moving to trace the curve of Azucena’s face so gently he was barely touching her at all.
“Yet, I loved you…” He whispered, his eyes tracing the outline of the face he had nearly forgotten over time. “You were my greatest escape. My Blue oasis in a dying heat. My remedy for everything that bruised and ached and tore. And I trusted you with every honest word that fell from my lips.” Orpheus moved his hand to trace Azucenas lips just as softly, a brush so brief it could send shivers down the spine.

“And that was my mistake.” He growled. Suddenly, Orpheus’ eyes darkened again, his hand moving from her lips to her throat in such a swift motion, she did not even have time to scream as Orpheus pushed her back into the wall, holding her still. His eyes held hers, the pull still calling from behind the fear that struck her now. His heart longed to hear it again, to play in harmony with the siren song her eyes swam with. To drown.

“A mistake I will not make again…” His voice was dark and rough, his eyes filled with hate and something more.
“After today…” Orpheus breathed, his anger and longing giving way to pure desperation as his lips met hers with such a force it drove him hungry for more. His hand remained fixed around her throat but loosened slightly as he kissed her, his thumb grazing her jawline as his lips moved in sync with hers.

And suddenly it was gone.
The desire.
The burning, clawing depth of desperate yearning that so often restrained him.
The kind that his father so disapproved of.
The one he wanted most of all.
The memory of Finch’s lips on his.
The memory of the warmth that moved him.
The memory of his brother. Those eyes.
Wiped away in a brief moment of peace within her touch again.
It was just enough.

Orpheus suddenly dropped Azucena, pulled away from her in a horrified realization of his behavior. He turned from her, half out of anger, half out of shame, running his hands through his hair as he tried to force his mind from creating the parallel that lingered behind each reflective glass.

Orpheus turned to her, still as wild as before, however, the twisted smile and laugh had been replaced by the same cold and empty glare he had met her with at the door.

The rollercoaster of emotions sent Orpheus turning every possible outcome and situation over in his head a hundred times, longing for some truth or real escape to pull him from this torment.

Yet, despite his longing, the realization of her deception remained as crystal clear as her eyes. Aurelia was the target of their love affair, she was the origin of this plot. And no matter what Orpheus himself might feel, there was nothing in the world that would come before Aurelia Ellis. Not even someone he loved as deeply as he did Azucena. He would protect Aurelia to the ends of the earth. He would tear down any threat that positioned itself between them, and now, the one between them, was Azucena. If she spoke a word of their encounter. If Aurelia found out of their affair, his second chance with her love would be as ill-fated as their first had been. Despite his selfish reasonings, he knew it would also pain Aurelia to learn of any truths. He would not allow it. He could not allow Azucena’s lies and mistakes to be made into a weapon again. Their love story ended here.

“You have ruined this love for me, Lilith. You have taken what was ours and tainted it a shade of black that I cannot undo. Do not take another from me.” Orpheus moved back to her, keeping his hands at his sides now. His cold eyes becoming fixed again on hers, yet the pull seemed somehow softer now, quieted, at the understanding of what he needed to do.
“I will not let you ruin another love for me. I cannot. You will not speak of this. You will erase me from your mind if you must. But, if you so much as whisper my name to Aurelia you will lose far more than my love. Do you understand me? I will not let you hurt her. I will not let you pull her from me again. She deserves better than you and I, and I shall not be the one to derive her of happiness. She will love. You, as a dear friend. Me, as a suitor. You will not show at my door again. You will not write me. You and I will become a faded story on old sheets over old wine that we do not get to drink. We shall live happily apart…” Orpheus felt his chest tighten at the last utterance, a subtle lie that tinged his lips with the same poison she spewed from her mouth countless times before. It pained him.

“And we shall end as the strangers we began as.” Orpheus fought the tears that were beginning to build, refusing to cry now.

“You know…” He whispered, lifting his hand to touch her again but letting it fall instead. “The most tragic part of our story…If you had told me the truth from the beginning…I would have loved you the same. There would be little difference in Azucena, Lilith, nor Blue, and each name would be whispered as lovingly as the last. I would have held you through the darkest of times, as you had done for me. I would have given you every piece of me, never resting until the whole of my empty chest was filled with you. I would have written you melodies to put the songbirds to shame. I would have married you…happily, willingly. Yet, you sought betrayal and deception where there needed none. You chose your past over what could have been. A vengeance of dead romance despite the new one you had found. A mistake I am all too familiar with as a recipient of many tragedies…One I will not allow again. Not with you. I think you should leave, Li-“ Orpheus stopped himself, pulling his eyes from her to the wooden floorboard under his feet. “Lady Osuna.” He breathed softly, gesturing to the door.

“I trust your discretion in this matter as your reputation and relationships are as at risk as my own. For all you have taken, grant me this peace. Grant me the opportunity for a true love, and let my name die on your tongue as it had before. Forget my image. Forget my face. Go forth now and live as you please. Allow me the grace to do the same with the woman who no longer deserves the revenge you forged. Let this plot die with us. Let this love dissipate. I cannot bear the weight of it any longer. Please…go.” Orpheus kept his head low, finally feeling the warm tears fall down his cheeks.

---

mentioned:
Azucena (@raviola)
Finch (@Caticorn)
Aurelia (@benitz786)

[raviola]

She blinked not to roll her eyes at his arrogance, teasing whether or not she had deserved his attention. If she were to have rolled her eyes to joke with him, she would have. Yet, somewhere in that joke would lie truth, and so she withheld it. Of course, he meant it lightheartedly but he also he added that she had missed him. Then he attempted to overcompensate by reassuring her. She crossed her arms softly, resisting him just a bit. He had a good sense of humor, but it stung for him to say that.

She did miss him. To Harrison, it seemed a simple game. Become engaged to a lady who his mother had suggested, get bored, move on. Was it really that simple to him? Simple enough that now that she’s interesting for him, he can just go back like she’s another one of his options?

Of course, though, she reminded himself that she did not know what he did. When they agreed to separate, neither of them seemed interested in the other. As much as they lit the matches, the candle between them never caught flame. They tolerated each other, as a married couple should. But marriage was not just tolerance, it was also love; a love they did not feel. Harrison believed her lackluster, and Azucena never liked his ego.

She took a quick, shallow breath to recalculate. Then, she looked at him with quiet love, tilting her head as she gave him a small smile. “Was that so hard to admit, Harry?” Her voice was gentler in that moment, admiring him in oblivion.

As unaware as he was, she continued to think him very cute. His reference to the past sobered her in a way, that she showed a quick refrain from her seductive allure, and took a minute to enjoy his presence, one she did not expect to see much of now. It was sweet; the way he took himself ever so seriously, his dopey flexing of his own charms, and how in the midst of his silly arrogance, he was still able to admire her too.

At his last sentence, she finally gave in and rolled her eyes playfully. Although she must say she was invested in this mutual linguistic tutoring. Funny how the trilingual connoisseur of every European tongue (double entendre you rake) did not know Spanish. And since when did he love Latin so?

“What about italian?” She asked curiously. “I had assumed you would be first to mention your native language.” She paused. Bored by the semantics, she decided to return to her flirtation. “Or are you just going to keep adding onto the list until you no longer have anything to teach me?” The girl inquired. “Worry not, there is a lot more between us to share.” She said, speaking to him in a relaxed, sensual tone. And although she expected this interaction to be nerve wracking and perhaps awkward, she was progressively realizing she did not feel nervous at all. Quite the opposite, actually.

When she brought him back to face her, she had felt him freeze for a few seconds before melting back into her. He had not expected it, and she could tell. But as little as they had expected it, she believed they both found comfort together nose to nose.

Still, when he came too close, she had doubts. His firm hands got a hold of her waist, that part she did like, but then he wrapped them around her back, and embraced her. Instinctively, she stiffened just a bit. Azucena was not used to affection in that way. She was not hugged by her mother, nor her childhood maid. She did not see a reason to embrace her friends after that. The only person who she had that with was her father; but Harrison was not her father. So she did not respond, she just allowed him to hold her.

She was raised with her heart in the freezer. A heart that always threatened to shatter the stalagmites that encapsulated it, begging to burn as it was really intended to when it was made of foreign matter. Harrison was a threat to its condition, like sun rays shining above glaciers. In his arms, she discerned that if anyone was capable of changing her, it was him.

He pulled away, and continued his charade. His dialogue was enticing, a bit shallow, but held such charm. “Give it a few more dates of ours, and I will allow you to hug me.” She flirted shamelessly, matching his energy.

---

In the grass, Harrison feigned injury as a reaction to her comments, and Azucena giggled. “I had thought you did not resonate with the original name, because it did not apply to you.” She said, looking down at her journal and then up at him again, and before she replied he continued as he did. He bragged ever-so-humbly about his devilish handsomeness, and then joked with her too. She scoffed, a small chuckle following. “I? A troublemaker?” She pretended to be offended, but really was beginning to enjoy the moment sincerely.

She had asked him to lend her his cloak, and to her delight, he obliged. Azucena looked ecstatic, and she took her frail arms and slipped them into the sleeves. She felt much more comfortable when sheltered by his article of clothing. It smelled of him, and she took in the scent as she felt the crisp air or autumn. “Thank you.” She said timidly.

The winds grew more passion to them, but the two did not seek shelter from the weather. Instead, Azucena watched him as they conversed more. The wind blew back and forth the strands of her hair, but she did not flinch as she watched her debutante in fascination; her stolen dream, standing before her. The question was; would she reclaim it?

@kristi harrison

[astxrism]

CLONE 1

{ second stop / with Adeline }

---

Archie allowed himself to be swept away by the vivid imagery Adeline painted with her words. The idea of a secluded white house, overlooking a river with a garden in full bloom might’ve been something he would wish for himself a long time; not just for himself, but a future life with Adeline he would sometimes dream of. Before being mature enough to understand that could only be a wish and nothing more. Adeline and Archie could only be friends and that was an unfortunate thing he had to settle for. But now, when he knew these were just silly words he allowed himself to imagine that it, maybe, just maybe, was a real possibility. He couldn’t help but feel a warmth that transcended the imaginary confines of their make-believe world. The moment she took his hands in hers he squeezed it gently, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that had always existed between them.

”Ah, yes, the great escape,“ he chuckled, the sound carrying echoes of their shared mischief. The memory of their childhood escapade, attempting to run away only to be caught by Atlas, brought a genuine smile to Archie’s face. ”We were quite the adventurous pair back then, weren’t we?"“ His smile widened, relishing the simplicity and innocence of those bygone days.

”And as for Atlas, well, I think he had more patience with us back then. These days, I fear he’d go to even greater lengths to ensure I don’t whisk you away.“ Atlas and Archie have been good friends for as long as he could remember, but he could never quite understand why Atlas wasn’t as close to his sister as Archie was with his siblings. His proximity to Adeline served as a counterbalance to the perceived distance between Atlas and his sister. Archie’s genuine desire to make Adeline feel loved and cherished, especially in the face of family expectations, hinted at an unspoken commitment to be her steadfast companion. But for that same reason, being so good with Atlas, he couldn’t disappoint him and break the promise of not having their families romantically intertwined.

The playful tone returned as Archie posed a hypothetical scenario. ”If I did end up doing that, would you try to prevent him from kicking my butt again? I am sure we would be the winners that way.“ His words carried a lightheartedness, a playful challenge that held a deep purpose - testing the waters of Adeline’s reaction.

With Adeline’s next question, the playfulness of their conversation momentarily gave way to a more contemplative air. Archie’s gaze turned introspective, and he took a moment before responding, choosing his words with care. ”Well, Adie, finding a wife isn’t as simple as it might seem. Society has its expectations, and sometimes the heart has its own pace.“ He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. ”Besides, maybe I’ve been waiting for something or someone, and the timing just hasn’t felt right.“

But in all honesty there existed another chapter in his life, a tale of an intended union that faltered, leaving behind unresolved emotions that lingered in the recesses of his heart. This was a facet of his life that he seldom shared, a silent struggle masked by his charismatic demeanor. The specter of the failed engagement cast a subtle shadow on Archie’s soul. It was a narrative he kept shrouded in silence, a story written in the ink of disappointment and unfulfilled promises. If that was the hand fate had dealt him, he had learned to accept it with grace. Maybe Azucena’s parents not allowing her to marry Archie was what was supposed to happen but he still had some unpleasant feelings towards that situation and her. Archie did have strong feelings for her but sometimes he can’t help but wonder if she was just a choice he had to make because he couldn’t have what he truly wanted and if that same reason is now stopping him from trying to find someone else to marry. A reason why he mentioned maybe he was waiting on someone, hoping his words did not give anything away.

His gaze met hers with a mixture of sincerity and a touch of vulnerability. It was a question he had contemplated many times, both within the recesses of his thoughts and in the prying eyes of society. Adeline had always been a significant presence in his life, and perhaps, in some unspoken way, she held a place in his considerations that went beyond the conventional expectations of courtship and marriage. ”You do not have to worry about me Adie- tell me, how is this going for you? Any lucky gentlemen out there?“

---

@/sunflowerjm

+Azu briefly mentioned

[Caticorn]

---

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Conversation with Orpheus

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

---

Finch knew better than this. He knew that these feelings he had should not be acted upon. Yet, once again, he had let himself give into temptation and once again, Orpheus was negatively impacted by his lack of self-control. The kiss itself was warm and comforting. It was everything Finch craved but couldn’t have simply because society would not allow him to. However, as he pulled away, he saw that the reaction forming on the other man’s face was one of fear. Genuine fear. An emotion Finch would never have wanted to cause him and he immediately filled with guilt and shame. He shouldn’t have kissed him.

Orpheus began pleading with someone or something, though Finch did not know who or what. Was it directed at him or a figment of his imagination? Finch watched as his legs gave out and he crashed into his desk, wiping his mouth. He attempted to will himself to go to him, to help him, but his body betrayed him and his legs wouldn’t budge. He was frozen in place, unable to do anything but observe the scene playing out in front of him.

Orpheus’ frightened yelling transported him from one state of shock into another. He was watching him unravel and it was beyond heartbreaking but despite his every desire to do so, he could not move and that frustrated him. He was brought out of his frustration by Orpheus’ butler, Jerald, taking hold of his arm and escorting him out of the Langston estate. As he was led through the halls, he noticed something that had escaped him when he first came in. All of the mirrors in the house were covered by sheets of white fabric. It gave the building an eerie quality and under different circumstances, Finch would have inquired as to why it was that way.

“A…alright.” Finch responded as he was ushered out the door and told word would be sent when Orpheus was feeling better. Before he could say anything else, the door was shut, leaving Finch in a strange in-between state. He knew he couldn’t go back inside but he also wasn’t sure if he could just go about his day and continue his callings not knowing if Orpheus was okay. As he stood staring at the Langston estate, there was one question that was persistently appearing in his thoughts:

What have I done?

---

@DandelionKate - Orpheus

[sunflowerjm]

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

calling with priti mehta

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

At the woman in front of him, Atlas smiled; she seemed kind, and from the way she carried herself, Atlas knew she was different from the women he would usually interact with. Priti seemed to be the kind of woman who was looking for a husband, which, for some reason, made him even more nervous. Normally, he would just joke around with the ladies he wanted to pursue because he knew it would never go serious.

“I speak nothing but the truth,” he finally replied. “And well, I must admit, I have had more enjoyable evenings,” Atlas said with a nonchalant shrug, his mind wandering for a moment as he recalled his encounter with Lydia. After a small sigh, he continued, “I do hope your evening was more delightful than mine; perhaps you had the pleasure of dancing with many fortunate men?”

Even though Atlas gathered up the courage to approach Priti, it was a departure from his usual behavior, and now his introverted nature started to take over. Coming here, he thought he had the ideal approach to swooning her over, but lacking any knowledge about her, he found himself at a loss for words. With a slight, nervous chuckle, he discreetly clenched his fingers before realizing he still had her present in his hands, waiting to be given. “Oh, Ms. Mehta, I brought you a gift. Now I will apologize if it is something that you normally would not like, but with the little that I know of you, all I could think of was to bring something that I read about what women in your culture typically appreciate.” He extended his arm towards her, offering the gift with a hopeful smile. “It is also a gift to show my genuine interest in getting to know you better.”

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

@Caticorn

[CerealKiller]

---

Addington estate • with Archie

---

Dorothea released a soft, subtle huff, a mixture of amusement and intrigue, as she absorbed Archie’s response to her alignment with his earlier statement.
Archie’s deliberate provocations aimed to unravel the composed facade she wore, and yet, Dorothea maintained her poise, each subtle nuance in their exchange adding depth to the enigmatic dance of words.

She maintained her composed exterior, but beneath it, a mixture of emotions stirred. Archie’s comment about her diplomatic response grazed the surface of her carefully crafted facade.
As he looked into her eyes, seeking understanding, Dorothea felt a subtle shift within her. The acknowledgment of the past and the unspoken question left hanging in the air prompted a delicate vulnerability to surface, a break in the carefully constructed walls. She was poised, yet beneath that exterior, there was a flicker of emotion - a blend of uncertainty and a yearning for things to have unfolded differently.

“I appreciate your willingness to help, although there is not much you can do” she admitted, a soft sigh escaping her lips. The mention of their past left an invisible thread connecting them, one that wove through the complexities of their shared history. She wanted to believe his sincerity, but the unspoken “why” lingered in the air, a question that echoed both their hearts and minds. Why indeed? It was a question she often pondered herself, but the answer was shrouded in the constraints of societal expectations, family dynamics, and the lack of agency that defined a lady’s choices. And as Archie’s gaze sought understanding, Dorothea’s response held a quiet acceptance, as if acknowledging the intricacies that led them to the present, even if those threads were beyond her control.

Yet, as for her last interaction with Archie, there was no regret for the choices made or the way their paths diverged evident in her demeanor. The past, with all its complexities, for better or worse, had carved its course, and she stood by the choices made. “But there’s no need for apologies, Archie, Some choices are out of my control, but this one was mine to make, and I hold no regret”

Dorothea’s gaze met his, revealing a fraction of the conflict within. She couldn’t change the past, and the constraints of societal expectations bound her in a dance of roles she played. Yet, in Archie’s sincerity, there was a glimmer of understanding - a shared acknowledgment of the complexities that defined their present.

---

@astxrism Archibald
its bad im sorry cry

[astxrism]

{ home / before her departure to London with Theodore }

---

In the stillness of her cottage, Genevieve sat alone, surrounded by an atmosphere tainted with the lingering scent of loss. The usual vibrancy that once graced the rooms had surrendered to darkness, a reminder of her mother’s recent departure. All the memories of the place and life she had between these walls were more a burden than a comfort. Loss and grieving… That was what would be expected of Genevieve if she was close with her mother and if she had any other family left. But she was not and she did not have them - or at least that is what Genevieve thought. All her life all Vivi knew was that her mother had no contact with her family, leaving only the two of them, alone in the cruel world and her mother’s controversial profession.

Packed belongings stood as silent witnesses to Genevieve’s eager anticipation for a change of scenery. The ticking of the clock seemed to taunt her impatience, each passing second a reminder of the uncertainty shrouding her future. In an attire that mirrored mourning and determination, Genevieve’s gaze fixated on the parchment before her. The quill in her hand hovered over the written words, over the potential to reshape the course of her destiny. The flickering candlelight cast shadows upon her face, emphasizing the frown lines and wet cheeks that did not mirror grieving for her mother, but her own life.

𝑳𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆,

𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒔. 𝑨𝒔 𝑰 𝒔𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔, 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒙 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒘𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓? 𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓. 𝑺𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒅𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈.

𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒚, 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏, 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝑳𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒔 𝒂 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒋𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒚. 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒚, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆, 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔, 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈.

𝑰 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒎𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘, 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑰 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒃𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒚? 𝑰 𝒆𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝑳𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆.

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇,
𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝑯𝒊𝒍𝒍

The letter to Theodore, meticulously composed, lay before her. For a good part of her life, Vivi dreamed of London - a city full of possibilities and a rich life. Genevieve yearned for a life steeped in refinement, a life far removed from the shadows of her mother’s disdain. And she, no matter what was on her path, was determined to get it.

Since her mother’s passing, Vivi spent every last penny to find her mother’s family in a possible pursuit of a union with someone of elevated status. And all her prayers worked because she found someone, she found him, she found her mother’s cousin, Edwin Radcliffe, living his comfortable life in the busy city of London. She soon learned that his son Theodore would be returning to his family, granting her an opportunity to contact him and join him on his journey. They might hold a great dislike for her mother, but could they possibly turn away a poor girl, an orphan, all alone in a small cottage and no future? Could they possibly turn away their blood? Genevieve could only hope their hearts were big enough to not judge her for her mother’s mistakes. Because Genevieve was not Layla.

Or maybe Genevieve just tried to make everyone believe she was not Layla.

⎯⎯ ୨୧ ⎯⎯

{ London / Radcliffe estate }

The bustling city of London unfolded before Genevieve as the carriage approached Theodore’s family estate. Her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. London, with its sophistication, stood in contrast to the quiet countryside she had left behind. As the carriage rolled through the gates, passing a beautiful garden that surrounded the pathway, the Radcliffe estate came into view and Genevieve couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. This was not the first time Genevieve would find herself in such an estate, a different kind of occasion she does not speak of gave her that opportunity, but this is the first time she will be able to say she lives in one… Temporarily.

The carriage came to a graceful stop, and the footman opened the door, extending a gloved hand to assist Genevieve. Stepping onto the cobblestone path, she felt a strange mix of vulnerability and determination. This was her chance to carve a path to prominence, to escape the shadows of her humble beginnings. The front door swung open, revealing the fabulous family home of the Radcliffes.

”Thank you,“ her voice adorned with a delicate shyness. The façade she carefully crafted had to be flawless, a performance that would draw empathy and support from those around her. The Radcliffe family, a portrait of refined elegance, gathered in the drawing room, welcoming the girl. That drawing room became the backdrop for Genevieve’s performance. She moved with grace, her every gesture reflecting a mournful elegance. As the family engaged in conversation, Genevieve subtly observed the dynamics at play. ”I am truly grateful for your hospitality, I do promise not to be a burden to anyone. If there is anything I could help with I would be more than happy to,“ Genevieve offered, casting her eyes downward with a feigned vulnerability. But most of the time her attention was directed to Theodore since he was the one she spent more time with. ”I am undoubtedly grateful for your lovely son, Mr and Mrs. Radcliffe. He is such a generous soul. I hope I did not cause you any trouble on the road?“

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@Caticorn - Teddy

[Kristi]

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The expression on her face fell as she crossed her arms. Well, it was obvious that he had wounded her in some sort of way, but how? That was the question Harrison was thinking to himself as she seemed to be lost in her thoughts. He wondered if he should pull her away from her thoughts and back to him- make her laugh or make her slightly tensed as her cheeks darken. They were so many things he could have done- done to pull her out of what seemed to be a train of dark, sad and angry thoughts, but he went with what he knew best; the art of flirtation.

He was genuine with his words, staring at her with passion. There were no many ladies that Harrison was genuinely romantically interested in unlike what it might seem. Ladies that truly sparked a light in his heart and he was not just flirting with them simply because it was deeply engraved in his nature or because he had a reputation to uphold. Ladies whom he could genuinely see himself marrying were a few because as Harrison went by many titles, he also went by a title his sister had once called him when she was deeply annoyed with him, pretentious and Harrison agreed very well with his sister. He was quite pretentious indeed, at least when it came to art and love in itself was an artform. Some may not understand that or may not consider love an art form but Harrison whom was an artist- mastering in painting, sculpting, and poetry and loving all forms of art and often going to art galleries and museums to surround himself with all different kinds of art, could strongly say that he knew art quite well and indeed he did, love was an art.

Love unlike what many believed and like what Harrison hypocritically at times tended to view it due to how magical it was, required knowledge and effort. Love is not a spontaneous feeling, but is something requires thought, knowledge, care, giving, and respect. That is why it is hard to find, because one may never know they are in love unless they give it much thought like they do when they work on an art piece. That is why Harrison takes love quite seriously and like unseriously.

“Was that so hard to admit, Harry?” Azucena asked after he had said that he missed her as well and would love to spend time with her. And Harrison aaed in his mind, so that was why she was so upset now? Because she had feared that he was stringing her along, that she would become a like or that she was simple a game to him.

“I hope you do know I mean my words,” Harrison told her, “Truly, I have missed you so. And I do not tease to mock but I tease because m’lady, a teaser is one of my many titles. I wish for you to smile, do not take my obvious jokes too seriously but do take my claims seriously,” His voice was a little bit louder than her gentle tone, but it was gentle in a way- rugged and gentle, an interesting combination. Harrison could not help but to think that aah- in a row, he had gotten two ladies dejected with his jokes- perhaps he shall use a little bit more thoughts with his teasing and jokes as he forgot, most ladies are quite sensitive compared to his friends.

“What about Italian?” Lady Azucena asked, and Harrison raised a brow, Lady Azucena continued, “I had assumed you would be first to mention your native language?” and Harrison smirked, leaning in a bit closer, “Aah but see mi tesero, Italian is not my native language though, I am an English man but Italian is one of my major tongues,” He continued, “And I was planning to,” He leaned against the wall, his hands behind him and crossed and face like always bright like the stars. “I was planning to pull Italian at the end when there is nothing to teach you anymore, but you are right. There is a lot we can share between us,” He agreed, his voice low, deep and sensual as his thoughts like the man he was, ran wild. “I’m always open for italian lesson, Italian is a very beautiful language after all, but should i not first start from its mother, latin?”

---

In the grass they were, skin on the ground, their garment also on the ground. Harrison lay, his eyes staring at the cloud as they formed shapes, leaving him both amused and intrigued as it reminded him of a nightly pass time of his, he was about to comment on the clouds that formed on the sky, the beauty of it, start a conversation about it, when he and Azucena began their banter. Laughter in the air and the birds singing their favorite song- a beautiful chirping that set the scene and mood. The wind blew against the flowers in her garden and the strange clouds disappeared, making Harrison question if he had imagined that.

He laughed, sitting up, a hand running through his curls as they teased each other, him taking mock offense to the title of troublemaker- Though, Harrison knew quite well that he was indeed a trouble-marker. A chaos bringer after all, an artist , and peace in such a form or complete sanity was not something usually awarded to artist. No artist could truly call themselves an angel, because art required in depth creativity- and such creativity often goes against what the world might consider moral because they are art pieces that show the world its own shame. And considering other factors that made Harrison, Harrison, he was definitely not an angel but still he was fond of the nickname, simply because it was filled with irony.

“Did not resonate? But my lady, an angel is all I am,” He said putting a hand on his chest, I am the purest of angels, perhaps I was tainted by you," He teased, going on to admire his looks in his talks, and then directly called Azucena a trouble maker. She had scoffed, chuckling, “I? A troublemaker?” she questioned with mock offense, " Sí, eres un piantagrane,’ He said the last part in Italian, not remembering the spanish word for it. “Your poetry is more than simply enticing for you not to be a troublemaker,” He told her falling down to the grass once more as he closed his eyes, the sun rays shining upon him as he enjoyed the moment while it lasted.

When it was time to leave, he left but of course not without saying goodbye and not without a kiss on the hand goodbye. His next destination was his own home of course, he had to change, his outfit filled with some dirt from laying on the ground and he had to retrieve the gift he had prepared for his friend whom he was seeing to say hello as he had wished too and his sister had also requested not knowing that she did not need to request for him to see Lady Dahlia to say congratulate her for debut season, because Harrison was already planning too. He walked into his manor, his eyes hardened as he reached the parlor and saw the people calling on his sister.

He was about to intimidate them, poke fun of the, do usual Harrison things, when he saw his mother coming down and giving him a glance and Harrison went back upstairs as he reminded himself he had to leave before it got late. He still had other destinations to go to as he had promised them and he was a man of his words after all. He retrieved the gift, the gift behind wrapped with a latter on top of it, that said- To Dahlia Thornnwood . He kept it on top of his bed along with flowers as he changed into a lavender outfit. Lavender, her favorite color, he thought to himself with a hum as he finished dressing and he left the manor, entering the carriage to where the Thornwoods resided.

As the carriage began to move, Harrison stared outside as he reflected on a lot of things- the conversations he had been in, the scenery and the gift he had prepared. He struck a conversations with the carriage driver to make the ride filled with enjoyment for both of them. His driver had a lot of entertaining stories- from the time his driver had almost been assassinated, ran away and was from a different country. They talked a lot and when it was time to go, Harrison went into the Thornwood household already with a smile on his face. He held the gift tight and as he entered, he saw Dahlia sitting down on the coach looking as lovely as ever. Her hair was dark and almost raven, her expression was ethereal and he smiled even more to himself as he coughed. “I could not bring the stars nor the constellations, but I brought something better,” He began, a foxy smirk on his face, as he drew her attention. “I brought myself” His smirk expanded into a grin as he now stood in front of her, flowers in his hands. “And gifts of course” He said, extending his hands to hand her the flowers. A Beautiful silver boquets of Dahlia’s dyed in her favorite color, lavender. WIth a note from him, and from his sister, Angelina.

He carried the box he had dropped on the ground and placed it on the table, “Any guesses?” His voice was playful as he asked.

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@Megan -
@raviola - Azucena (mentioned)

[Kristi]

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Klaus nodded his head though he thought, I do not need a warning from my father, because unlike what people thought of him, Klaus was not delusional or at least he would not consider himself to be filled with hallucinations. He knew that his father’s love as physically scarring it could be at times, it was still love no matter what anyone told him. Indeed, it has been a long long LONG time, his father had told him that he loved him but Klaus knew that his father did or at least his father did not completely hate him- he was his heir after all and he had so many chances, so many chances to disinherit Klaus and give it to Dough but he did not because as his father always told him, he is the heir. His father’s heir and his father’s first son. Klaus recalled the amount of love his father had showed him before- teaching him how to play ball, stringing him along in his trips around the world for trade of wine and perfume.

He remembered how he and his father had laughed as Viscount Shafer taught Klaus how to make wine, where they had stomped together in the grapes and fermentatized it. The amount of times his father had patted his shoulders and told him he was proud of him, kissing his forehead as he apologized for-, Klaus shook his head. The point was that his father loved him and Klaus knew and believed that. It was the truth, the beautiful father-son truth.

As Louisa teased Dough, Klaus laughed a little to himself his expression bright as Dough stared at him, but Klaus mind could not help but to darken as he thought of other things, particularly of what looked to be Liebe but Klaus knew was not. He looked down at his plate, trying not to frown visually as his mind started to spiral- he heard her voice and felt her presence as if she was right there, laughing along with them. The laughter in the room began to echo in his ears, and he felt a sudden tightness in his chest. It was as if the walls were closing in, and the air became heavier. The aroma of the food on the table, the clinking of glasses, everything seemed distant.

The demonic version of her, if he could call it that was mocking him taunting him in a way he deserved. It asked him, why had he not save her? He could have but he was weak, and he was pathetic and it should have been him instead of her. He tried to focus on the food and everything else, but as he grabbed the fork, the food seemed to look more and more like the corpse of Liebe and he felt fear annd disgust in his mind as he started to breath hard. “From the looks of it, mother likes you to0. See, I told you Ms.Brantley, you are easy to like and very love-able.” He told her genuinely as he tried to distract himself from his thoughts. “You are a very wonderful person Ms.Brantley, never forget that, and I’m sure my father shall love you too when he gets to truly know you.” After all everyone else in his family did- Dough did, his mother did and Liebe did

Liebe…God Liebe was good and it was all his fault. He had killed her, he had killed his own sister indirectly, he was a murderer with her blood on his hands. He could have stopped it, if only he was not so… if only… if only

No, no, he could not handle this. Not right now, Klaus excused himself quietly from the table, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood. He mumbled something about needing some fresh air, but his voice felt distant, even to himself. The room spun slightly as he walked away, and he could feel the weight of invisible hands pressing against his chest.

As he stepped outside, the cool night air did little to soothe the storm inside him. His breaths became shallow and quick, and he instinctively clutched his chest as if trying to hold onto something slipping away. The memories of Liebe, his beloved elder sister, flooded his mind — her laughter, her beautiful raven hair, her warmth, the times they spent together.

Klaus stumbled towards the garden, his safe haven, but even the rustling leaves and familiar scent of flowers couldn’t chase away the haunting memories. He sank to his knees, his hands trembling, and his breaths uneven. The world around him blurred, and he felt like he was losing control.

“Liebe,” he whispered, a plea escaping his lips. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the vivid images of her, but they persisted. The guilt, the grief, the overwhelming sense of loss — it clawed at him, threatening to consume him. “Liebe… you’re here arent you… I’m sorry,” He apologized as her ghost threatened to eat him alive. The ghost only laughed and Klaus opened his eyes, realizing that he was still at the table with Louis and Dough, that he had not left at all, that he was still there and did not go to the garden and he felt himself panic as he stood up.

“Impossible,” He muttered, “No, no i was in the garden-” He muttered to himself.He looked at his hands as they became more blurry than before and he took a step back-was he imagining things again, was this just another fake reality of his.

No, no, that could not be.

Dough, noticing Klaus’s distress, furrowed his brows in concern. “Klaus, is everything alright?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry.

Klaus blinked, his hands turning back to normal and his face reddening as he came back to reality at what happened- at what he had done in front of Dough and Louisa.

Klaus nodded hastily, trying to compose himself. “Yes, yes, I just need a moment,” he replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ms.Brantley and Dough, please do enjoy the meal without me,” he told them as he departed for real this time.

Feeling the weight of their eyes on him, Klaus hurriedly excused himself again, this time determined to make it to the garden. He needed the solitude, the familiar surroundings that grounded him. The dining room’s walls seemed to close in on him, and the faces around the table blurred into indistinct shapes.

As he stepped outside once more, the cool breeze greeted him, but it brought little relief. The demonic echoes of Liebe’s laughter still haunted him, and he clutched his head in an attempt to silence the tormenting voices.

In the garden, Klaus dropped to his knees, the damp grass cool against his palms. He removed his gloves and his palm came in contact with a needle that was on the ground but Klaus did not shudder in pain or make any movement, he kneeled still as he felt tears threaten to fall and he felt the air around him becoming tighter. He needed this fresh breath, he needed to breathe. “That cannot happen again, Klaus” he muttered to himself, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. He tried to focus on the sensation of the earth beneath him, grounding himself in the present.

Back at the table, Dough leaned back in his chair, exchanging a worried glance with Louisa. “What’s going on with him?” Dough asked quietly. “Did my brother tell you if something is up? Lately, I had a feeling that Klaus has changed a little bit and what i try to bring it up, he denies it… do you know what his problem is?” Before Louisa could answer that, Klaus entered back into the dining, a small smile on his face as if nothing happened. He hummed to himself as he took a bite of the steak and seeing the looks that they gave him, he asked, “Is anything wrong?”

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@Ouijaloveletters

[Ouijaloveletters]

Louisa couldn’t help but give a glowing smile when Klaus had said that Nora seemed to approve of her. It seemed she actually cared about what Mrs. Shafer thought of her. It was very rare that she ever cared what others thought of her. Klaus then called her lovable, and a hint of a blush rose to Louisa’s cheeks. Awkwardly clearing her throat, she smiled. ”Thank you Mr. Shafer. Truly, I am not used to this sort of praise. I must admit that I do not know how to react. Again, thank you so much.” Louisa said, dipping her head. Really, she had no idea why Klaus was telling her these things. She didn’t deserve them at all. Another odd thing was that she seemed to feel lighter when Klaus was around, almost like the expectations of her family were completely gone. Well, she decided to pay it no mind. Suddenly, Klaus appeared to be having a panic attack. Louisa glanced worriedly at Dough, wondering if she should try and do something. Klaus began muttering about Liebe, and she flinched. ”Klaus…?” She murmured tentatively, finding herself reaching towards him. ”Klaus, please…look at me. It’s ok, you’re safe. I’m here, Dough’s here, and you’re safe. It’s ok, please…just breathe.” She found herself pleading with him, eventually moving to grab his wrist, squeezing gently. He seemed to think he was in the garden as he returned to his senses. Louisa hurriedly let go of his arm, turning to stuff a bite of steak in her mouth. That never happened. When Klaus excused himself, Louisa sighed. He was reamessed up by Liebe’s death. She’d never blame him, though. Death was hard. It was said that you could not mourn forever, but what did they know? You had the right to mourn for as long as you wished. Louisa was brought from her thoughts by Dough’s voice. At his question, she shook her head. Opening her mouth to answer, she closed it as Klaus entered. She sighed, turning to look at him. She wasn’t taking silence for an answer this time. ”Klaus, please…we are the ones who want to know what’s wrong.”
@Kristi - Klaus