The chatbox has been hidden for this page. It will reopen upon refresh. To hide the CBox permanently, select "Permanently Toggle Cbox" in your profile User Settings.
This chatbox is hidden. To reopen, edit your User Settings.
A very long time ago, when Mother had been alive, she had told Mihail that boys were supposed to be boys, and girls were supposed to be girls, and she had snatched him away and sheared away all his long black hair, so he had been left without any. He had cried and cried and buried himself in the corner of his bedroom for the rest of the day, not wanting to show his face if he was left bald and awful. When his tears had subsided, he had snuck to his older sister's chambers, because she had somehow always been a better mother than his real one, and wrapped himself tightly around Nethis. She knew how to comfort him, and she had always known how to make him feel safe.
It had taken years for his hair to grow back. Mihail had refused to let it be cut again once Mother was gone, so that it grew far past where it had once been and fell to his shoulder blades. He was just turned ten, and with his thin features and long locks, he looked more a lady than a lord. He liked that. He didn't know why he liked it, but whenever he saw his face reflected in some carefully-shined metallic surface, it pleased the little lord to see the womanly curve of his cheekbones, and the feminine pout of his lips. As soon as another male child publically commented on his looks, he would shy away from them, but in private, he enjoyed the spectacle.
Sometimes, when nobody was around, the child would sneak away and visit his sisters' chambers. None of his sisters was all that close to his height - they were all taller by virtue of being older - but the littlest Thanasi knew exactly which one's clothing he liked the best. Nethis had some chitons, himations, jewels, and gowns he thought were beyond beautiful, and it was to her chambers that Mihail now snuck, although it was easy, for her rooms were not that far from his own (and he liked the implied safety of closeness). He had been worried she would have found some way of locking it, but he was becoming proficient in picking locks now, and if that didn't work, then he was not beyond crying at the servants until they felt pitiful and let him in. If she was there when he broke in, then he was willing to pretend something had gone wrong, or someone had upset him - he had done so before - and she would hopefully believe and comfort him.
Luckily, it seemed her rooms were both unlocked and empty that evening, and Mihail slipped inside quietly, glancing around the hallway as he shut the heavy door behind him, hoping that no stray servant had caught his sly visit. He directed himself immediately towards her dressing area, though his steps were gentle and anxious, as if he was confident his most frightening sister would leap into some gap behind him. Still, it seemed safe enough, and, once he was buried in the possibilities of ladylike chitons and jewels, he had entirely forgotten the thought that someone might appear and chastise him.
Mihail had selected a crimson chiton in the same shade as the one he had been wearing already. However, it was decidedly more ladylike in its thinner fabric, and he pulled off his own outfit to tug on hers instead, wrapping it around himself as best he could despite the inadequate sizing, spinning to admire the way the elaborate patterns on the hem of the fabric flared out around him with his movements. There was a pretty himation too, which looked as if it was made of spun silver, though it was almost black enough to match the Thanasi colours, and he immediately draped that over his shoulders in the ladylike style. He had stolen jewels from her box, placing an elegant golden circlet on his forehead, and dripping all the gold and rubies he could find from his neck and wrists, so that he looked a high-class lady.
With thoughtfully chosen rings decorating his fingers - his favourite being one which snaked around his left middle finger, the design resembling a gorgeous viper with its fangs bared - he had been admiring his new reflection in a pretty silver mirror, wondering what it would be like to be Nethis. Or any of his sisters, maybe. Lady Mimi of Thanasi, perhaps - no, Princess Mimi of Thanasi. He practised making angry faces in the mirror, pouting and frowning as if he were some royal lady managing her household, and some naughty servant had just disobeyed his clear rules.
"And if my princely husband were to hear about this..." he was reciting, wagging a finger at some invisible slave he imagined was cowering before him, the other resting dramatically on his hip, and his expression turned into a haughty glower. But his gaze shifted from the made-up staff to the table behind them, settling on the pile of cosmetics. He had never tested Nethis's makeup before, but now that he saw it, he wanted to see how he might have looked.
Mihail abandoned his fantasy and wandered over, sticking a finger into a dark-red pigment, then smeared it dramatically across his lips, smacking them together to rub it in further. He dipped his finger in again, thinking a moment before he dabbed it onto his cheeks, not quite sure what he was doing but still trying to smooth it out enough that his naturally pale complexion was not too damaged. He had seen the way Nethis added the black kohl to her eyes and brows, and wanted to match the look, but fear of messing up the design as he applied it stopped him, and he only looked at it mournfully a moment before his attention was stolen by the next cosmetic. His whole ensemble would not have been complete without pretty nails, so he thought, but it was always servants who applied such elaborate pigments, and, although Mihail reached for the pot of colouring, he had no real clue how to use it.
This was a whole new world, and it was somehow simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. But Mihail was determined that he would look like a princess after it all, even if he would have to rub it all away quickly before his sisters saw.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
A very long time ago, when Mother had been alive, she had told Mihail that boys were supposed to be boys, and girls were supposed to be girls, and she had snatched him away and sheared away all his long black hair, so he had been left without any. He had cried and cried and buried himself in the corner of his bedroom for the rest of the day, not wanting to show his face if he was left bald and awful. When his tears had subsided, he had snuck to his older sister's chambers, because she had somehow always been a better mother than his real one, and wrapped himself tightly around Nethis. She knew how to comfort him, and she had always known how to make him feel safe.
It had taken years for his hair to grow back. Mihail had refused to let it be cut again once Mother was gone, so that it grew far past where it had once been and fell to his shoulder blades. He was just turned ten, and with his thin features and long locks, he looked more a lady than a lord. He liked that. He didn't know why he liked it, but whenever he saw his face reflected in some carefully-shined metallic surface, it pleased the little lord to see the womanly curve of his cheekbones, and the feminine pout of his lips. As soon as another male child publically commented on his looks, he would shy away from them, but in private, he enjoyed the spectacle.
Sometimes, when nobody was around, the child would sneak away and visit his sisters' chambers. None of his sisters was all that close to his height - they were all taller by virtue of being older - but the littlest Thanasi knew exactly which one's clothing he liked the best. Nethis had some chitons, himations, jewels, and gowns he thought were beyond beautiful, and it was to her chambers that Mihail now snuck, although it was easy, for her rooms were not that far from his own (and he liked the implied safety of closeness). He had been worried she would have found some way of locking it, but he was becoming proficient in picking locks now, and if that didn't work, then he was not beyond crying at the servants until they felt pitiful and let him in. If she was there when he broke in, then he was willing to pretend something had gone wrong, or someone had upset him - he had done so before - and she would hopefully believe and comfort him.
Luckily, it seemed her rooms were both unlocked and empty that evening, and Mihail slipped inside quietly, glancing around the hallway as he shut the heavy door behind him, hoping that no stray servant had caught his sly visit. He directed himself immediately towards her dressing area, though his steps were gentle and anxious, as if he was confident his most frightening sister would leap into some gap behind him. Still, it seemed safe enough, and, once he was buried in the possibilities of ladylike chitons and jewels, he had entirely forgotten the thought that someone might appear and chastise him.
Mihail had selected a crimson chiton in the same shade as the one he had been wearing already. However, it was decidedly more ladylike in its thinner fabric, and he pulled off his own outfit to tug on hers instead, wrapping it around himself as best he could despite the inadequate sizing, spinning to admire the way the elaborate patterns on the hem of the fabric flared out around him with his movements. There was a pretty himation too, which looked as if it was made of spun silver, though it was almost black enough to match the Thanasi colours, and he immediately draped that over his shoulders in the ladylike style. He had stolen jewels from her box, placing an elegant golden circlet on his forehead, and dripping all the gold and rubies he could find from his neck and wrists, so that he looked a high-class lady.
With thoughtfully chosen rings decorating his fingers - his favourite being one which snaked around his left middle finger, the design resembling a gorgeous viper with its fangs bared - he had been admiring his new reflection in a pretty silver mirror, wondering what it would be like to be Nethis. Or any of his sisters, maybe. Lady Mimi of Thanasi, perhaps - no, Princess Mimi of Thanasi. He practised making angry faces in the mirror, pouting and frowning as if he were some royal lady managing her household, and some naughty servant had just disobeyed his clear rules.
"And if my princely husband were to hear about this..." he was reciting, wagging a finger at some invisible slave he imagined was cowering before him, the other resting dramatically on his hip, and his expression turned into a haughty glower. But his gaze shifted from the made-up staff to the table behind them, settling on the pile of cosmetics. He had never tested Nethis's makeup before, but now that he saw it, he wanted to see how he might have looked.
Mihail abandoned his fantasy and wandered over, sticking a finger into a dark-red pigment, then smeared it dramatically across his lips, smacking them together to rub it in further. He dipped his finger in again, thinking a moment before he dabbed it onto his cheeks, not quite sure what he was doing but still trying to smooth it out enough that his naturally pale complexion was not too damaged. He had seen the way Nethis added the black kohl to her eyes and brows, and wanted to match the look, but fear of messing up the design as he applied it stopped him, and he only looked at it mournfully a moment before his attention was stolen by the next cosmetic. His whole ensemble would not have been complete without pretty nails, so he thought, but it was always servants who applied such elaborate pigments, and, although Mihail reached for the pot of colouring, he had no real clue how to use it.
This was a whole new world, and it was somehow simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. But Mihail was determined that he would look like a princess after it all, even if he would have to rub it all away quickly before his sisters saw.
A very long time ago, when Mother had been alive, she had told Mihail that boys were supposed to be boys, and girls were supposed to be girls, and she had snatched him away and sheared away all his long black hair, so he had been left without any. He had cried and cried and buried himself in the corner of his bedroom for the rest of the day, not wanting to show his face if he was left bald and awful. When his tears had subsided, he had snuck to his older sister's chambers, because she had somehow always been a better mother than his real one, and wrapped himself tightly around Nethis. She knew how to comfort him, and she had always known how to make him feel safe.
It had taken years for his hair to grow back. Mihail had refused to let it be cut again once Mother was gone, so that it grew far past where it had once been and fell to his shoulder blades. He was just turned ten, and with his thin features and long locks, he looked more a lady than a lord. He liked that. He didn't know why he liked it, but whenever he saw his face reflected in some carefully-shined metallic surface, it pleased the little lord to see the womanly curve of his cheekbones, and the feminine pout of his lips. As soon as another male child publically commented on his looks, he would shy away from them, but in private, he enjoyed the spectacle.
Sometimes, when nobody was around, the child would sneak away and visit his sisters' chambers. None of his sisters was all that close to his height - they were all taller by virtue of being older - but the littlest Thanasi knew exactly which one's clothing he liked the best. Nethis had some chitons, himations, jewels, and gowns he thought were beyond beautiful, and it was to her chambers that Mihail now snuck, although it was easy, for her rooms were not that far from his own (and he liked the implied safety of closeness). He had been worried she would have found some way of locking it, but he was becoming proficient in picking locks now, and if that didn't work, then he was not beyond crying at the servants until they felt pitiful and let him in. If she was there when he broke in, then he was willing to pretend something had gone wrong, or someone had upset him - he had done so before - and she would hopefully believe and comfort him.
Luckily, it seemed her rooms were both unlocked and empty that evening, and Mihail slipped inside quietly, glancing around the hallway as he shut the heavy door behind him, hoping that no stray servant had caught his sly visit. He directed himself immediately towards her dressing area, though his steps were gentle and anxious, as if he was confident his most frightening sister would leap into some gap behind him. Still, it seemed safe enough, and, once he was buried in the possibilities of ladylike chitons and jewels, he had entirely forgotten the thought that someone might appear and chastise him.
Mihail had selected a crimson chiton in the same shade as the one he had been wearing already. However, it was decidedly more ladylike in its thinner fabric, and he pulled off his own outfit to tug on hers instead, wrapping it around himself as best he could despite the inadequate sizing, spinning to admire the way the elaborate patterns on the hem of the fabric flared out around him with his movements. There was a pretty himation too, which looked as if it was made of spun silver, though it was almost black enough to match the Thanasi colours, and he immediately draped that over his shoulders in the ladylike style. He had stolen jewels from her box, placing an elegant golden circlet on his forehead, and dripping all the gold and rubies he could find from his neck and wrists, so that he looked a high-class lady.
With thoughtfully chosen rings decorating his fingers - his favourite being one which snaked around his left middle finger, the design resembling a gorgeous viper with its fangs bared - he had been admiring his new reflection in a pretty silver mirror, wondering what it would be like to be Nethis. Or any of his sisters, maybe. Lady Mimi of Thanasi, perhaps - no, Princess Mimi of Thanasi. He practised making angry faces in the mirror, pouting and frowning as if he were some royal lady managing her household, and some naughty servant had just disobeyed his clear rules.
"And if my princely husband were to hear about this..." he was reciting, wagging a finger at some invisible slave he imagined was cowering before him, the other resting dramatically on his hip, and his expression turned into a haughty glower. But his gaze shifted from the made-up staff to the table behind them, settling on the pile of cosmetics. He had never tested Nethis's makeup before, but now that he saw it, he wanted to see how he might have looked.
Mihail abandoned his fantasy and wandered over, sticking a finger into a dark-red pigment, then smeared it dramatically across his lips, smacking them together to rub it in further. He dipped his finger in again, thinking a moment before he dabbed it onto his cheeks, not quite sure what he was doing but still trying to smooth it out enough that his naturally pale complexion was not too damaged. He had seen the way Nethis added the black kohl to her eyes and brows, and wanted to match the look, but fear of messing up the design as he applied it stopped him, and he only looked at it mournfully a moment before his attention was stolen by the next cosmetic. His whole ensemble would not have been complete without pretty nails, so he thought, but it was always servants who applied such elaborate pigments, and, although Mihail reached for the pot of colouring, he had no real clue how to use it.
This was a whole new world, and it was somehow simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. But Mihail was determined that he would look like a princess after it all, even if he would have to rub it all away quickly before his sisters saw.
They were marked by Mother’s influence, so much so that Nethis could not unsee it here, as she caught Mihail unaware in her room, dressed in her clothing, and wearing her jewelry. She learned how to apply makeup from the woman, and more than one of the jewels Mihail currently wore belonged to her before they came to Nethis; that an inheritance made via boldly questioning Dionysios as to whether he intended to remarry and asserting her right as eldest daughter to claim what was left behind when he answered in the negative.
But it was not for that alone; her fondness for Mihail, too, bore the woman’s influence, which was something that went much deeper than cosmetics and finery. This was more unshakeable; despite deciding to abandon her heart two years past, she could not seem to abandon her softness for her baby brother. She had always pitied him most for what he did not get and really, their mother had only cemented that into place with her behavior.
There was an afternoon, nearer a decade ago than not, upon which Ulla had called for Nethis. There was nothing unusual in that on the face of it; first of her daughters, first of her children, from time to time Nethis was favored with attention and she typically basked in it. Only on this particular occasion, Mihail was a toddler in tears, flung across her lap, near inconsolable for what seemed to be a ridiculous reason. Ridiculous or otherwise, Nethis could hardly see how to leave him like that, so she had delayed in answering the summons for the sake of him until tears were dried and he could be convinced to go play.
It was woman’s work and she was not that yet, but it was also manipulation and there she excelled. A toddler, like her other siblings, was quite literally child’s play; in this Mihail was a place to cut teeth and try words, a place to learn what worked and what did not. Cold perhaps, but no less true.
Still, that afternoon she had delayed in answering for the sake of Mihail, but that explanation had not been appreciated once offered as an excuse for tardiness.
“You waste your time with him,” Ulla had said, critique making voice cool if not cold.
In answer Nethis had merely bowed her head, taking due critique as it came, except easy agreement wasn’t her answer. Instead, something more like a protest and condemnation in one was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “Someone should.”
The sentiment had earned a backhand across the face, which Nethis merely accepted as a matter of course as she lifted her chin and fastened her gaze on the woman, expression fierce. “If you will not, I will. Someone should.”
There had been a beat, a moment where Nethis was sure she would be punished for this, but the woman had simply sighed, given her an exhausted look. “You must learn to hold your tongue, Nethis. No man wants a wife who will argue as you do.”
This was a better reaction than punishment, a defter manipulation for a child that liked to think; Nethis stilled, considering this for several long moments before she nodded understanding. The moment passed, and as Ulla had initially summoned her for, there was another lesson in the application of cosmetics.
It was all woven together, and perhaps finding Mihail this way was what made her think of it, what made her choose to linger in the doorway of her own chambers and watch him play pretend. He was a boy still, though not for much longer, and she would waste her time on him if she so desired.
And yet, she held her tongue and held chastisement back for a different cause altogether: curiosity, mostly, and perhaps some amusement. A smile curved lips despite herself as he made a mockery of what or who a woman might expect to be in this world if she were lucky, wondering where he had gotten the idea from. Surely not her. Nethis spoke as little of marriage as possible for fear it might remind their father she was of marriageable age and he was obligated to find a husband for her.
She wanted no part in that. Not yet. Maybe not ever if the Gods were kind.
What she wanted right now was to understand. Dysius was a different sort of boy as compared to Mihail, and she had never known little boys to do as Mihail currently was. But then, that raised a question, did she not know simply because it was not talked about or because it was not commonly done? She could and would end this as necessary, if necessary, but for now, she could hold on to her curiosity and watch, gaze narrowed for the sake of the interest in the spectacle.
Or at least she could until he started touching what she knew would make a serious mess if he tried to use it for himself. The use without permission she could tolerate, the mess in her chambers she would not.
“Mihail, no. Put that back.” There was a bit of sharpness to this, each word punctuated, but truly, it was little more than a fleeting bit of chastisement. With this, she had marked her presence, so she abandoned her position in the doorway and crossed to him, door closing firmly behind her, now no longer held ajar for fear of the sound of a closing latch.
“Just what is it you think you are doing?” The question could hardly be called warm, but there was no bite to her words either; displeased a little, perhaps, but she knew Mihail could read the nuances of her tone well enough to understand this was more a curiosity than an introduction to chastisement.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
They were marked by Mother’s influence, so much so that Nethis could not unsee it here, as she caught Mihail unaware in her room, dressed in her clothing, and wearing her jewelry. She learned how to apply makeup from the woman, and more than one of the jewels Mihail currently wore belonged to her before they came to Nethis; that an inheritance made via boldly questioning Dionysios as to whether he intended to remarry and asserting her right as eldest daughter to claim what was left behind when he answered in the negative.
But it was not for that alone; her fondness for Mihail, too, bore the woman’s influence, which was something that went much deeper than cosmetics and finery. This was more unshakeable; despite deciding to abandon her heart two years past, she could not seem to abandon her softness for her baby brother. She had always pitied him most for what he did not get and really, their mother had only cemented that into place with her behavior.
There was an afternoon, nearer a decade ago than not, upon which Ulla had called for Nethis. There was nothing unusual in that on the face of it; first of her daughters, first of her children, from time to time Nethis was favored with attention and she typically basked in it. Only on this particular occasion, Mihail was a toddler in tears, flung across her lap, near inconsolable for what seemed to be a ridiculous reason. Ridiculous or otherwise, Nethis could hardly see how to leave him like that, so she had delayed in answering the summons for the sake of him until tears were dried and he could be convinced to go play.
It was woman’s work and she was not that yet, but it was also manipulation and there she excelled. A toddler, like her other siblings, was quite literally child’s play; in this Mihail was a place to cut teeth and try words, a place to learn what worked and what did not. Cold perhaps, but no less true.
Still, that afternoon she had delayed in answering for the sake of Mihail, but that explanation had not been appreciated once offered as an excuse for tardiness.
“You waste your time with him,” Ulla had said, critique making voice cool if not cold.
In answer Nethis had merely bowed her head, taking due critique as it came, except easy agreement wasn’t her answer. Instead, something more like a protest and condemnation in one was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “Someone should.”
The sentiment had earned a backhand across the face, which Nethis merely accepted as a matter of course as she lifted her chin and fastened her gaze on the woman, expression fierce. “If you will not, I will. Someone should.”
There had been a beat, a moment where Nethis was sure she would be punished for this, but the woman had simply sighed, given her an exhausted look. “You must learn to hold your tongue, Nethis. No man wants a wife who will argue as you do.”
This was a better reaction than punishment, a defter manipulation for a child that liked to think; Nethis stilled, considering this for several long moments before she nodded understanding. The moment passed, and as Ulla had initially summoned her for, there was another lesson in the application of cosmetics.
It was all woven together, and perhaps finding Mihail this way was what made her think of it, what made her choose to linger in the doorway of her own chambers and watch him play pretend. He was a boy still, though not for much longer, and she would waste her time on him if she so desired.
And yet, she held her tongue and held chastisement back for a different cause altogether: curiosity, mostly, and perhaps some amusement. A smile curved lips despite herself as he made a mockery of what or who a woman might expect to be in this world if she were lucky, wondering where he had gotten the idea from. Surely not her. Nethis spoke as little of marriage as possible for fear it might remind their father she was of marriageable age and he was obligated to find a husband for her.
She wanted no part in that. Not yet. Maybe not ever if the Gods were kind.
What she wanted right now was to understand. Dysius was a different sort of boy as compared to Mihail, and she had never known little boys to do as Mihail currently was. But then, that raised a question, did she not know simply because it was not talked about or because it was not commonly done? She could and would end this as necessary, if necessary, but for now, she could hold on to her curiosity and watch, gaze narrowed for the sake of the interest in the spectacle.
Or at least she could until he started touching what she knew would make a serious mess if he tried to use it for himself. The use without permission she could tolerate, the mess in her chambers she would not.
“Mihail, no. Put that back.” There was a bit of sharpness to this, each word punctuated, but truly, it was little more than a fleeting bit of chastisement. With this, she had marked her presence, so she abandoned her position in the doorway and crossed to him, door closing firmly behind her, now no longer held ajar for fear of the sound of a closing latch.
“Just what is it you think you are doing?” The question could hardly be called warm, but there was no bite to her words either; displeased a little, perhaps, but she knew Mihail could read the nuances of her tone well enough to understand this was more a curiosity than an introduction to chastisement.
They were marked by Mother’s influence, so much so that Nethis could not unsee it here, as she caught Mihail unaware in her room, dressed in her clothing, and wearing her jewelry. She learned how to apply makeup from the woman, and more than one of the jewels Mihail currently wore belonged to her before they came to Nethis; that an inheritance made via boldly questioning Dionysios as to whether he intended to remarry and asserting her right as eldest daughter to claim what was left behind when he answered in the negative.
But it was not for that alone; her fondness for Mihail, too, bore the woman’s influence, which was something that went much deeper than cosmetics and finery. This was more unshakeable; despite deciding to abandon her heart two years past, she could not seem to abandon her softness for her baby brother. She had always pitied him most for what he did not get and really, their mother had only cemented that into place with her behavior.
There was an afternoon, nearer a decade ago than not, upon which Ulla had called for Nethis. There was nothing unusual in that on the face of it; first of her daughters, first of her children, from time to time Nethis was favored with attention and she typically basked in it. Only on this particular occasion, Mihail was a toddler in tears, flung across her lap, near inconsolable for what seemed to be a ridiculous reason. Ridiculous or otherwise, Nethis could hardly see how to leave him like that, so she had delayed in answering the summons for the sake of him until tears were dried and he could be convinced to go play.
It was woman’s work and she was not that yet, but it was also manipulation and there she excelled. A toddler, like her other siblings, was quite literally child’s play; in this Mihail was a place to cut teeth and try words, a place to learn what worked and what did not. Cold perhaps, but no less true.
Still, that afternoon she had delayed in answering for the sake of Mihail, but that explanation had not been appreciated once offered as an excuse for tardiness.
“You waste your time with him,” Ulla had said, critique making voice cool if not cold.
In answer Nethis had merely bowed her head, taking due critique as it came, except easy agreement wasn’t her answer. Instead, something more like a protest and condemnation in one was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “Someone should.”
The sentiment had earned a backhand across the face, which Nethis merely accepted as a matter of course as she lifted her chin and fastened her gaze on the woman, expression fierce. “If you will not, I will. Someone should.”
There had been a beat, a moment where Nethis was sure she would be punished for this, but the woman had simply sighed, given her an exhausted look. “You must learn to hold your tongue, Nethis. No man wants a wife who will argue as you do.”
This was a better reaction than punishment, a defter manipulation for a child that liked to think; Nethis stilled, considering this for several long moments before she nodded understanding. The moment passed, and as Ulla had initially summoned her for, there was another lesson in the application of cosmetics.
It was all woven together, and perhaps finding Mihail this way was what made her think of it, what made her choose to linger in the doorway of her own chambers and watch him play pretend. He was a boy still, though not for much longer, and she would waste her time on him if she so desired.
And yet, she held her tongue and held chastisement back for a different cause altogether: curiosity, mostly, and perhaps some amusement. A smile curved lips despite herself as he made a mockery of what or who a woman might expect to be in this world if she were lucky, wondering where he had gotten the idea from. Surely not her. Nethis spoke as little of marriage as possible for fear it might remind their father she was of marriageable age and he was obligated to find a husband for her.
She wanted no part in that. Not yet. Maybe not ever if the Gods were kind.
What she wanted right now was to understand. Dysius was a different sort of boy as compared to Mihail, and she had never known little boys to do as Mihail currently was. But then, that raised a question, did she not know simply because it was not talked about or because it was not commonly done? She could and would end this as necessary, if necessary, but for now, she could hold on to her curiosity and watch, gaze narrowed for the sake of the interest in the spectacle.
Or at least she could until he started touching what she knew would make a serious mess if he tried to use it for himself. The use without permission she could tolerate, the mess in her chambers she would not.
“Mihail, no. Put that back.” There was a bit of sharpness to this, each word punctuated, but truly, it was little more than a fleeting bit of chastisement. With this, she had marked her presence, so she abandoned her position in the doorway and crossed to him, door closing firmly behind her, now no longer held ajar for fear of the sound of a closing latch.
“Just what is it you think you are doing?” The question could hardly be called warm, but there was no bite to her words either; displeased a little, perhaps, but she knew Mihail could read the nuances of her tone well enough to understand this was more a curiosity than an introduction to chastisement.
The sudden voice frightened Mihail, as if it was Mother suddenly rising from the dead to punish him for going through her belongings without permission (something he swore he had only done the once). His fingers almost lost purchase on the pot he had grabbed, but they caught it again just before it slipped from the table, and he turned to face his sister fully, his expression poised as if ready to plead for any mercy she could offer him. Mihail might have had plenty of trust in his eldest sister to provide him with comfort in his moments of need, but he also trusted that few could be as terrifying as she. If he was in trouble for this, then he was in trouble, and he was right to be afraid.
Her tone did not imply great anger - though, sometimes, alleged calmness could be worse than outright fury - but he knew his sister well enough, and relaxed somewhat at the realisation that she was not about to throw him into a pit of snakes for daring to touch her belongings. "I..." he began, attempting to come up with some reasonable excuse why he might have been in her chambers and dressing up as a woman, before Mihail realised he was still gripping the pot of nail colouring, and took the opportunity that setting it down presented to attempt to formulate an appropriate response. This wasn't normal, he didn't think, and if it had been Dysius or Father who had caught him, then they would not have hesitated to tell him as such. Nethis might have been kinder, but there was no way of knowing.
But Nethis had always calmed him when he felt unsure. He took a gamble, lips pressed into a pout and eyebrows pushed together in frustration at his own words.
"I- I wanted to know what I would look like if I was a lady too...it's not fair that I have to be a boy, so I have to wear such boring things all the time, and you and Thea and Evras can dress up however you like, so I just wanted to see what it would be like if I was one of the Thanasi sisters too instead of a stupid boy." He neglected to mention that this was not the first time he had done such a thing, for if Nethis did react negatively to the news, then he hardly wanted to double his potential punishment. "I know I'm not supposed to and Mother always said that I have to learn to be a proper boy and not act like another daughter all the time but...but you have the nicest clothes - I think - and your jewels and..." Mihail could not help but spin around in the likely expensive outfit he had selected from her wardrobe, but the length of the chiton was too much for his small figure, and he stumbled, ruining the dramatic effect of the move. "Don't I look pretty?"
He didn't quite. Each item he had selected was beautiful in itself, and the red-and-black colours of the chiton and himation paired together well - at least, in a Thanasi eye - but he was still young, and the outfit clashed in the uncomfortable way of someone who didn't entirely know how best to wear its individual pieces. His jewellery didn't really match, and the makeup he wore had been applied haphazardly, so that his lips were too red and his cheeks looked more as if he had been thoroughly humiliated a moment before and less like he had daintily tinted them.
Mihail raised his gaze to meet his sister's, taking in her light eyes that were so sharply accentuated by her choice of makeup. He wished he was skilled enough to create the same effect around his own darker ones, and decided that because she didn't seem to have immediately chastised him on entry (even if there was still the possibility that she might snap at any moment and shoo him away), then perhaps she would be more open to helping him. "Net," he half-whispered, tentative about using the nickname in this situation. "Can you help me? I want to look like a proper princess, and I don't know how to do it. I want to do my face like yours, and paint my nails pretty." He wasn't really sure about his next question, and he was not anywhere near mature enough really to understand the implications of his own words. Mother had said his femininity was strange, and not what he was meant to do, and all the sons of other noble families commented on it, and now he wasn't sure about anything except what he liked, and that didn't mean it was the right thing. "Is that...wrong? Am I wrong?"
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The sudden voice frightened Mihail, as if it was Mother suddenly rising from the dead to punish him for going through her belongings without permission (something he swore he had only done the once). His fingers almost lost purchase on the pot he had grabbed, but they caught it again just before it slipped from the table, and he turned to face his sister fully, his expression poised as if ready to plead for any mercy she could offer him. Mihail might have had plenty of trust in his eldest sister to provide him with comfort in his moments of need, but he also trusted that few could be as terrifying as she. If he was in trouble for this, then he was in trouble, and he was right to be afraid.
Her tone did not imply great anger - though, sometimes, alleged calmness could be worse than outright fury - but he knew his sister well enough, and relaxed somewhat at the realisation that she was not about to throw him into a pit of snakes for daring to touch her belongings. "I..." he began, attempting to come up with some reasonable excuse why he might have been in her chambers and dressing up as a woman, before Mihail realised he was still gripping the pot of nail colouring, and took the opportunity that setting it down presented to attempt to formulate an appropriate response. This wasn't normal, he didn't think, and if it had been Dysius or Father who had caught him, then they would not have hesitated to tell him as such. Nethis might have been kinder, but there was no way of knowing.
But Nethis had always calmed him when he felt unsure. He took a gamble, lips pressed into a pout and eyebrows pushed together in frustration at his own words.
"I- I wanted to know what I would look like if I was a lady too...it's not fair that I have to be a boy, so I have to wear such boring things all the time, and you and Thea and Evras can dress up however you like, so I just wanted to see what it would be like if I was one of the Thanasi sisters too instead of a stupid boy." He neglected to mention that this was not the first time he had done such a thing, for if Nethis did react negatively to the news, then he hardly wanted to double his potential punishment. "I know I'm not supposed to and Mother always said that I have to learn to be a proper boy and not act like another daughter all the time but...but you have the nicest clothes - I think - and your jewels and..." Mihail could not help but spin around in the likely expensive outfit he had selected from her wardrobe, but the length of the chiton was too much for his small figure, and he stumbled, ruining the dramatic effect of the move. "Don't I look pretty?"
He didn't quite. Each item he had selected was beautiful in itself, and the red-and-black colours of the chiton and himation paired together well - at least, in a Thanasi eye - but he was still young, and the outfit clashed in the uncomfortable way of someone who didn't entirely know how best to wear its individual pieces. His jewellery didn't really match, and the makeup he wore had been applied haphazardly, so that his lips were too red and his cheeks looked more as if he had been thoroughly humiliated a moment before and less like he had daintily tinted them.
Mihail raised his gaze to meet his sister's, taking in her light eyes that were so sharply accentuated by her choice of makeup. He wished he was skilled enough to create the same effect around his own darker ones, and decided that because she didn't seem to have immediately chastised him on entry (even if there was still the possibility that she might snap at any moment and shoo him away), then perhaps she would be more open to helping him. "Net," he half-whispered, tentative about using the nickname in this situation. "Can you help me? I want to look like a proper princess, and I don't know how to do it. I want to do my face like yours, and paint my nails pretty." He wasn't really sure about his next question, and he was not anywhere near mature enough really to understand the implications of his own words. Mother had said his femininity was strange, and not what he was meant to do, and all the sons of other noble families commented on it, and now he wasn't sure about anything except what he liked, and that didn't mean it was the right thing. "Is that...wrong? Am I wrong?"
The sudden voice frightened Mihail, as if it was Mother suddenly rising from the dead to punish him for going through her belongings without permission (something he swore he had only done the once). His fingers almost lost purchase on the pot he had grabbed, but they caught it again just before it slipped from the table, and he turned to face his sister fully, his expression poised as if ready to plead for any mercy she could offer him. Mihail might have had plenty of trust in his eldest sister to provide him with comfort in his moments of need, but he also trusted that few could be as terrifying as she. If he was in trouble for this, then he was in trouble, and he was right to be afraid.
Her tone did not imply great anger - though, sometimes, alleged calmness could be worse than outright fury - but he knew his sister well enough, and relaxed somewhat at the realisation that she was not about to throw him into a pit of snakes for daring to touch her belongings. "I..." he began, attempting to come up with some reasonable excuse why he might have been in her chambers and dressing up as a woman, before Mihail realised he was still gripping the pot of nail colouring, and took the opportunity that setting it down presented to attempt to formulate an appropriate response. This wasn't normal, he didn't think, and if it had been Dysius or Father who had caught him, then they would not have hesitated to tell him as such. Nethis might have been kinder, but there was no way of knowing.
But Nethis had always calmed him when he felt unsure. He took a gamble, lips pressed into a pout and eyebrows pushed together in frustration at his own words.
"I- I wanted to know what I would look like if I was a lady too...it's not fair that I have to be a boy, so I have to wear such boring things all the time, and you and Thea and Evras can dress up however you like, so I just wanted to see what it would be like if I was one of the Thanasi sisters too instead of a stupid boy." He neglected to mention that this was not the first time he had done such a thing, for if Nethis did react negatively to the news, then he hardly wanted to double his potential punishment. "I know I'm not supposed to and Mother always said that I have to learn to be a proper boy and not act like another daughter all the time but...but you have the nicest clothes - I think - and your jewels and..." Mihail could not help but spin around in the likely expensive outfit he had selected from her wardrobe, but the length of the chiton was too much for his small figure, and he stumbled, ruining the dramatic effect of the move. "Don't I look pretty?"
He didn't quite. Each item he had selected was beautiful in itself, and the red-and-black colours of the chiton and himation paired together well - at least, in a Thanasi eye - but he was still young, and the outfit clashed in the uncomfortable way of someone who didn't entirely know how best to wear its individual pieces. His jewellery didn't really match, and the makeup he wore had been applied haphazardly, so that his lips were too red and his cheeks looked more as if he had been thoroughly humiliated a moment before and less like he had daintily tinted them.
Mihail raised his gaze to meet his sister's, taking in her light eyes that were so sharply accentuated by her choice of makeup. He wished he was skilled enough to create the same effect around his own darker ones, and decided that because she didn't seem to have immediately chastised him on entry (even if there was still the possibility that she might snap at any moment and shoo him away), then perhaps she would be more open to helping him. "Net," he half-whispered, tentative about using the nickname in this situation. "Can you help me? I want to look like a proper princess, and I don't know how to do it. I want to do my face like yours, and paint my nails pretty." He wasn't really sure about his next question, and he was not anywhere near mature enough really to understand the implications of his own words. Mother had said his femininity was strange, and not what he was meant to do, and all the sons of other noble families commented on it, and now he wasn't sure about anything except what he liked, and that didn't mean it was the right thing. "Is that...wrong? Am I wrong?"
Nethis had not known what she was expecting, but Gods, this was certainly not it. Yes, she had held her tongue and watched Mihail for much longer than she imagined he suspected for the sake of understanding (which she had failed to glean), yes she had asked toward the same end because it was the next step, and yes, she wasn’t entirely surprised by his initial reaction, but she had not expected so much elaboration nor for it to come in this form.
Despite the situational context and how his nerves played into his response to her—which was probably appropriate considering her temper and general demeanor—ultimately, he put into words something she understood profoundly, in a bone-deep way she had never quite articulated to anyone. She had known for years already that it wasn’t fair, that her potential was thoroughly squandered as a woman.
It wasn’t quite the same sentiment Mihail was trying to express, she didn’t think; she wouldn’t name her femininity wrong in a visceral sense so much as she would name it a hindrance for the world as it was. Or put differently, it was more dissatisfaction of circumstances rather than her state of being; being a woman left her in an impossible position born of unending, precise ambition she could not quiet, an acute grasp of how the world worked and an idiotic but unshakeable awareness that she would give nearly anything to change the one simple fundamental fact of her gender to better suit the world and what she wanted from it.
On some level, she could hardly wrap her mind around the fact that Mihail might feel opposite. It was hard to confront the notion that they were each other’s ideal, hard to know that it didn’t matter what they wanted because it was never going to change, and they were both doomed to some kind of perpetual unhappiness.
Wasted. They were both so wasted.
Still, the smart thing, the appropriate thing was to nip this in the bud and end it, tell him she didn’t want to catch him doing this ever again. No matter what she did or didn’t know, she knew it would be completely unacceptable to their father. Except it was also within her power to give him this instead. She could give herself no happiness on this subject, but she could give him an afternoon within his fantasy even as she knew she shouldn’t. Damn her traitorous heart for making her want to. Damn the fact that it hadn’t started out this way, but the older they grew, the more she realized it was better for her if at least one of her brothers cared for her because one never knew what the future held and no matter what she could do for herself, she would always be dependent on someone.
Even now sure what she would do, she gravitated toward answering the heaviest topic first. "If you are wrong, so am I, Mihail," Nethis said, nearly whispering these words because she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it louder, to own this the way she was learning to own other things. "There is almost nothing I would not give to switch with you." This was a selfish sentiment, but what did it matter? Were it possible they would both be happier for it.
Alas, an impossibility, that.
The confession hung in space for a long moment, before she sighed and let the momentary grief it caused go. She crossed to him then, closing distance to study him better. Kindness was not her strength, she had never quite known how to tame her tongue in favor of it, but Mihail treated all this with such earnestness—as displayed in the earlier spin and question, both of which had made her smile in the midst of all of it—so she tried. Instead of bluntly telling him he had managed to create an image of himself that was extraordinarily far from what he wanted, she said nothing until she could think of something smaller, something more concrete to say.
"Less is generally more with all of this, Mihail," Nethis offered as critique, but one made without cruelty. Her hand reached out, fingers resting against the side of his cheek, and her thumb gently rubbed at the splotch badly placed on his right cheek, both to remove some of the pigment since he had applied far too much and to spread it so that it appeared far less artificial. She glanced behind Mihail then and shifted to grab a spare bit of cloth left carelessly near her cosmetics for this express purpose, and wiped the excess from her fingers, before repeating the gesture in a similar fashion on the other side. There was no grand assent to helping him in this, if only because hardly knew what to say about it and gestures felt like they mattered more in this than words.
Once finished, she rocked back onto her heels and studied him once before nodding. "Better." That wasn’t necessarily saying much. The cloth was held out to him then. "Put it between your lips and press down." She’d tell him to simply press the cloth to his lips, but there was so much extra pigment that seemed pointless. She might have favored a darker tint, but there was such a thing as going too far. Plus, this way was easier.
She hesitated before doing anything else, though. She could change his jewelry, figure out which piece of clothing to exchange to create something that was more coherent than clashing, but there was a sticking point yet. "If I do your nails, promise me you will not flaunt it in front of Father or Dysius. They will not understand and I will deny I participated in this." Her kindness only went so far and she was wholly disinterested in earning their father’s ire for encouraging behavior he disapproved of. Being subject to his temper was something she tried to avoid.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Nethis had not known what she was expecting, but Gods, this was certainly not it. Yes, she had held her tongue and watched Mihail for much longer than she imagined he suspected for the sake of understanding (which she had failed to glean), yes she had asked toward the same end because it was the next step, and yes, she wasn’t entirely surprised by his initial reaction, but she had not expected so much elaboration nor for it to come in this form.
Despite the situational context and how his nerves played into his response to her—which was probably appropriate considering her temper and general demeanor—ultimately, he put into words something she understood profoundly, in a bone-deep way she had never quite articulated to anyone. She had known for years already that it wasn’t fair, that her potential was thoroughly squandered as a woman.
It wasn’t quite the same sentiment Mihail was trying to express, she didn’t think; she wouldn’t name her femininity wrong in a visceral sense so much as she would name it a hindrance for the world as it was. Or put differently, it was more dissatisfaction of circumstances rather than her state of being; being a woman left her in an impossible position born of unending, precise ambition she could not quiet, an acute grasp of how the world worked and an idiotic but unshakeable awareness that she would give nearly anything to change the one simple fundamental fact of her gender to better suit the world and what she wanted from it.
On some level, she could hardly wrap her mind around the fact that Mihail might feel opposite. It was hard to confront the notion that they were each other’s ideal, hard to know that it didn’t matter what they wanted because it was never going to change, and they were both doomed to some kind of perpetual unhappiness.
Wasted. They were both so wasted.
Still, the smart thing, the appropriate thing was to nip this in the bud and end it, tell him she didn’t want to catch him doing this ever again. No matter what she did or didn’t know, she knew it would be completely unacceptable to their father. Except it was also within her power to give him this instead. She could give herself no happiness on this subject, but she could give him an afternoon within his fantasy even as she knew she shouldn’t. Damn her traitorous heart for making her want to. Damn the fact that it hadn’t started out this way, but the older they grew, the more she realized it was better for her if at least one of her brothers cared for her because one never knew what the future held and no matter what she could do for herself, she would always be dependent on someone.
Even now sure what she would do, she gravitated toward answering the heaviest topic first. "If you are wrong, so am I, Mihail," Nethis said, nearly whispering these words because she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it louder, to own this the way she was learning to own other things. "There is almost nothing I would not give to switch with you." This was a selfish sentiment, but what did it matter? Were it possible they would both be happier for it.
Alas, an impossibility, that.
The confession hung in space for a long moment, before she sighed and let the momentary grief it caused go. She crossed to him then, closing distance to study him better. Kindness was not her strength, she had never quite known how to tame her tongue in favor of it, but Mihail treated all this with such earnestness—as displayed in the earlier spin and question, both of which had made her smile in the midst of all of it—so she tried. Instead of bluntly telling him he had managed to create an image of himself that was extraordinarily far from what he wanted, she said nothing until she could think of something smaller, something more concrete to say.
"Less is generally more with all of this, Mihail," Nethis offered as critique, but one made without cruelty. Her hand reached out, fingers resting against the side of his cheek, and her thumb gently rubbed at the splotch badly placed on his right cheek, both to remove some of the pigment since he had applied far too much and to spread it so that it appeared far less artificial. She glanced behind Mihail then and shifted to grab a spare bit of cloth left carelessly near her cosmetics for this express purpose, and wiped the excess from her fingers, before repeating the gesture in a similar fashion on the other side. There was no grand assent to helping him in this, if only because hardly knew what to say about it and gestures felt like they mattered more in this than words.
Once finished, she rocked back onto her heels and studied him once before nodding. "Better." That wasn’t necessarily saying much. The cloth was held out to him then. "Put it between your lips and press down." She’d tell him to simply press the cloth to his lips, but there was so much extra pigment that seemed pointless. She might have favored a darker tint, but there was such a thing as going too far. Plus, this way was easier.
She hesitated before doing anything else, though. She could change his jewelry, figure out which piece of clothing to exchange to create something that was more coherent than clashing, but there was a sticking point yet. "If I do your nails, promise me you will not flaunt it in front of Father or Dysius. They will not understand and I will deny I participated in this." Her kindness only went so far and she was wholly disinterested in earning their father’s ire for encouraging behavior he disapproved of. Being subject to his temper was something she tried to avoid.
Nethis had not known what she was expecting, but Gods, this was certainly not it. Yes, she had held her tongue and watched Mihail for much longer than she imagined he suspected for the sake of understanding (which she had failed to glean), yes she had asked toward the same end because it was the next step, and yes, she wasn’t entirely surprised by his initial reaction, but she had not expected so much elaboration nor for it to come in this form.
Despite the situational context and how his nerves played into his response to her—which was probably appropriate considering her temper and general demeanor—ultimately, he put into words something she understood profoundly, in a bone-deep way she had never quite articulated to anyone. She had known for years already that it wasn’t fair, that her potential was thoroughly squandered as a woman.
It wasn’t quite the same sentiment Mihail was trying to express, she didn’t think; she wouldn’t name her femininity wrong in a visceral sense so much as she would name it a hindrance for the world as it was. Or put differently, it was more dissatisfaction of circumstances rather than her state of being; being a woman left her in an impossible position born of unending, precise ambition she could not quiet, an acute grasp of how the world worked and an idiotic but unshakeable awareness that she would give nearly anything to change the one simple fundamental fact of her gender to better suit the world and what she wanted from it.
On some level, she could hardly wrap her mind around the fact that Mihail might feel opposite. It was hard to confront the notion that they were each other’s ideal, hard to know that it didn’t matter what they wanted because it was never going to change, and they were both doomed to some kind of perpetual unhappiness.
Wasted. They were both so wasted.
Still, the smart thing, the appropriate thing was to nip this in the bud and end it, tell him she didn’t want to catch him doing this ever again. No matter what she did or didn’t know, she knew it would be completely unacceptable to their father. Except it was also within her power to give him this instead. She could give herself no happiness on this subject, but she could give him an afternoon within his fantasy even as she knew she shouldn’t. Damn her traitorous heart for making her want to. Damn the fact that it hadn’t started out this way, but the older they grew, the more she realized it was better for her if at least one of her brothers cared for her because one never knew what the future held and no matter what she could do for herself, she would always be dependent on someone.
Even now sure what she would do, she gravitated toward answering the heaviest topic first. "If you are wrong, so am I, Mihail," Nethis said, nearly whispering these words because she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it louder, to own this the way she was learning to own other things. "There is almost nothing I would not give to switch with you." This was a selfish sentiment, but what did it matter? Were it possible they would both be happier for it.
Alas, an impossibility, that.
The confession hung in space for a long moment, before she sighed and let the momentary grief it caused go. She crossed to him then, closing distance to study him better. Kindness was not her strength, she had never quite known how to tame her tongue in favor of it, but Mihail treated all this with such earnestness—as displayed in the earlier spin and question, both of which had made her smile in the midst of all of it—so she tried. Instead of bluntly telling him he had managed to create an image of himself that was extraordinarily far from what he wanted, she said nothing until she could think of something smaller, something more concrete to say.
"Less is generally more with all of this, Mihail," Nethis offered as critique, but one made without cruelty. Her hand reached out, fingers resting against the side of his cheek, and her thumb gently rubbed at the splotch badly placed on his right cheek, both to remove some of the pigment since he had applied far too much and to spread it so that it appeared far less artificial. She glanced behind Mihail then and shifted to grab a spare bit of cloth left carelessly near her cosmetics for this express purpose, and wiped the excess from her fingers, before repeating the gesture in a similar fashion on the other side. There was no grand assent to helping him in this, if only because hardly knew what to say about it and gestures felt like they mattered more in this than words.
Once finished, she rocked back onto her heels and studied him once before nodding. "Better." That wasn’t necessarily saying much. The cloth was held out to him then. "Put it between your lips and press down." She’d tell him to simply press the cloth to his lips, but there was so much extra pigment that seemed pointless. She might have favored a darker tint, but there was such a thing as going too far. Plus, this way was easier.
She hesitated before doing anything else, though. She could change his jewelry, figure out which piece of clothing to exchange to create something that was more coherent than clashing, but there was a sticking point yet. "If I do your nails, promise me you will not flaunt it in front of Father or Dysius. They will not understand and I will deny I participated in this." Her kindness only went so far and she was wholly disinterested in earning their father’s ire for encouraging behavior he disapproved of. Being subject to his temper was something she tried to avoid.
Mihail was unsure what he had been expecting. This truth - this desire which took him over and overwhelmed his mind whenever he tried to understand it - was not something he had ever shared with another. Not directly, at least. It must have been implied through the unhappy childhood where he had never quite fit in with other, more rambunctious boys, and through the femininity which had tainted all his actions, but he had never openly said the words to another for fear of their reaction. Even Nethis, whom he adored in that strange way which was underpinned with a nervousness one should not hold for their own siblings, had never been privy to this truth, and gods forbid either Dysius or Father ever find out, else he was sure they would take the opportunity to be cruel.
Now, he stared at his eldest sister with wide eyes as he waited for a response of any sort. Even an explicit distaste for his admittance would have been preferred to silence, because silence could mean any number of things, and they were never necessarily good (he was already inclined to think the worst).
Her answer, when it came, was unexpected. There was no chastisement and no harsh statement of the fact that Mihail was a boy, whether he liked it or not, and that someday very soon, he would be a man, and he would have to start acting like it. There was no threat that Father would be informed of this nonsense, and no promise that it would be beaten out of him if nothing else would work. Instead, she seemed to agree, and his heart ached at the possibility that there should be someone so close to him who could understand that same suffering.
Why couldn't they switch? Why could the gods not muster enough kindness to answer their wishes? They were clearly not deaf to the requests of mortal men, and they had come to Mihail's aid in the past. This did not feel the most complex matter for beings who were all-powerful, for all they had to do was admit they had made an error in creating two of the Thanasi children, and switch them so that they were in the place they were meant to be and could have the lives they wanted. As it was, however, he did not think they would, no matter how often and how sincerely he prayed, and it was all Mihail could do to raise his gaze to meet Nethis's, gravity etched into his expression though he was still too young to display any genuine seriousness, and whisper: "I'm sorry."
He watched her as she crossed towards him, half-flinching as a hand reached for his face, as if a momentary lapse of judgement had assumed she would try to harm him as she never had before. But she only fixed the bright red pigment smeared so dramatically on either cheek, her actions softer than he would have expected from someone who had just caught their youngest brother misusing their belongings. Mihail let her do as she needed, nodding at the suggestion that he should use less of the substance on future occasions and following her instructions, deciding that, as she was helping him so openly (and dangerously, if either of them were caught), that he would not inform her that he had seen plenty of girls in Megaris with overly painted faces, and that the men there seemed to like them just fine.
Once his cheeks and lips were free of the excess paint, his eyes shifted naturally to try and catch his reflection in the mirror, and he grinned at the sight. Now, with all his jewels and the delicate crown sitting prettily amid his black curls, he felt like a proper princess. "Do you do this every single day?" he asked, lightly touching a hand to the adjusted makeup on his cheeks and admiring the way it somehow seemed to bring out the sharper lines of his jaw. He wished he could do it as often as that, but Father would have had a fit, and he did not wish to get his sister in trouble as well solely because she had been kind enough to help him. It would have to stay a silly secret, just like everything else in his life, until the day he could be himself without fear of another's wrath.
When Nethis asked about his nails, Mihail felt the smile spread across his features before he even intended it. "Please!" he exclaimed, one hand already sticking out in front of him to frown at the dullness of their plain look. "I promise I won't tell them, and I won't show them or anything. I just want to look as pretty as you or Thea or Evras, and they don't have to know ever." Perhaps that was a final exaggeration, brought on by his eagerness, but, for the time being, Mihail was more than happy to keep this another secret between the two of them. "I just want to be a princess, just for a little bit. Please, Net?"
She was a good sister, he thought — the best. Thea and Evras, they didn't know about this, and they couldn't know about it, else they might tell Dysius or Father and ruin everything. But Nethis was showing him promise, and kindness, and he could trust her, he thought. She would keep him safe today just like she always had. Now, she reached for his hand, and he took it gladly, gazing up at her with the sort of admiration a small child might have had for their mother and which he had never experienced out of maternal cruelty.
"We will do this in the baths, Mihail. I do not want a mess."
He nodded, because there was little else he could do when she was showing him such niceness, allowing her to lead him with no cause for complaint. Finally, she was going to make him a princess, and then, maybe, he would be fixed.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Mihail was unsure what he had been expecting. This truth - this desire which took him over and overwhelmed his mind whenever he tried to understand it - was not something he had ever shared with another. Not directly, at least. It must have been implied through the unhappy childhood where he had never quite fit in with other, more rambunctious boys, and through the femininity which had tainted all his actions, but he had never openly said the words to another for fear of their reaction. Even Nethis, whom he adored in that strange way which was underpinned with a nervousness one should not hold for their own siblings, had never been privy to this truth, and gods forbid either Dysius or Father ever find out, else he was sure they would take the opportunity to be cruel.
Now, he stared at his eldest sister with wide eyes as he waited for a response of any sort. Even an explicit distaste for his admittance would have been preferred to silence, because silence could mean any number of things, and they were never necessarily good (he was already inclined to think the worst).
Her answer, when it came, was unexpected. There was no chastisement and no harsh statement of the fact that Mihail was a boy, whether he liked it or not, and that someday very soon, he would be a man, and he would have to start acting like it. There was no threat that Father would be informed of this nonsense, and no promise that it would be beaten out of him if nothing else would work. Instead, she seemed to agree, and his heart ached at the possibility that there should be someone so close to him who could understand that same suffering.
Why couldn't they switch? Why could the gods not muster enough kindness to answer their wishes? They were clearly not deaf to the requests of mortal men, and they had come to Mihail's aid in the past. This did not feel the most complex matter for beings who were all-powerful, for all they had to do was admit they had made an error in creating two of the Thanasi children, and switch them so that they were in the place they were meant to be and could have the lives they wanted. As it was, however, he did not think they would, no matter how often and how sincerely he prayed, and it was all Mihail could do to raise his gaze to meet Nethis's, gravity etched into his expression though he was still too young to display any genuine seriousness, and whisper: "I'm sorry."
He watched her as she crossed towards him, half-flinching as a hand reached for his face, as if a momentary lapse of judgement had assumed she would try to harm him as she never had before. But she only fixed the bright red pigment smeared so dramatically on either cheek, her actions softer than he would have expected from someone who had just caught their youngest brother misusing their belongings. Mihail let her do as she needed, nodding at the suggestion that he should use less of the substance on future occasions and following her instructions, deciding that, as she was helping him so openly (and dangerously, if either of them were caught), that he would not inform her that he had seen plenty of girls in Megaris with overly painted faces, and that the men there seemed to like them just fine.
Once his cheeks and lips were free of the excess paint, his eyes shifted naturally to try and catch his reflection in the mirror, and he grinned at the sight. Now, with all his jewels and the delicate crown sitting prettily amid his black curls, he felt like a proper princess. "Do you do this every single day?" he asked, lightly touching a hand to the adjusted makeup on his cheeks and admiring the way it somehow seemed to bring out the sharper lines of his jaw. He wished he could do it as often as that, but Father would have had a fit, and he did not wish to get his sister in trouble as well solely because she had been kind enough to help him. It would have to stay a silly secret, just like everything else in his life, until the day he could be himself without fear of another's wrath.
When Nethis asked about his nails, Mihail felt the smile spread across his features before he even intended it. "Please!" he exclaimed, one hand already sticking out in front of him to frown at the dullness of their plain look. "I promise I won't tell them, and I won't show them or anything. I just want to look as pretty as you or Thea or Evras, and they don't have to know ever." Perhaps that was a final exaggeration, brought on by his eagerness, but, for the time being, Mihail was more than happy to keep this another secret between the two of them. "I just want to be a princess, just for a little bit. Please, Net?"
She was a good sister, he thought — the best. Thea and Evras, they didn't know about this, and they couldn't know about it, else they might tell Dysius or Father and ruin everything. But Nethis was showing him promise, and kindness, and he could trust her, he thought. She would keep him safe today just like she always had. Now, she reached for his hand, and he took it gladly, gazing up at her with the sort of admiration a small child might have had for their mother and which he had never experienced out of maternal cruelty.
"We will do this in the baths, Mihail. I do not want a mess."
He nodded, because there was little else he could do when she was showing him such niceness, allowing her to lead him with no cause for complaint. Finally, she was going to make him a princess, and then, maybe, he would be fixed.
Mihail was unsure what he had been expecting. This truth - this desire which took him over and overwhelmed his mind whenever he tried to understand it - was not something he had ever shared with another. Not directly, at least. It must have been implied through the unhappy childhood where he had never quite fit in with other, more rambunctious boys, and through the femininity which had tainted all his actions, but he had never openly said the words to another for fear of their reaction. Even Nethis, whom he adored in that strange way which was underpinned with a nervousness one should not hold for their own siblings, had never been privy to this truth, and gods forbid either Dysius or Father ever find out, else he was sure they would take the opportunity to be cruel.
Now, he stared at his eldest sister with wide eyes as he waited for a response of any sort. Even an explicit distaste for his admittance would have been preferred to silence, because silence could mean any number of things, and they were never necessarily good (he was already inclined to think the worst).
Her answer, when it came, was unexpected. There was no chastisement and no harsh statement of the fact that Mihail was a boy, whether he liked it or not, and that someday very soon, he would be a man, and he would have to start acting like it. There was no threat that Father would be informed of this nonsense, and no promise that it would be beaten out of him if nothing else would work. Instead, she seemed to agree, and his heart ached at the possibility that there should be someone so close to him who could understand that same suffering.
Why couldn't they switch? Why could the gods not muster enough kindness to answer their wishes? They were clearly not deaf to the requests of mortal men, and they had come to Mihail's aid in the past. This did not feel the most complex matter for beings who were all-powerful, for all they had to do was admit they had made an error in creating two of the Thanasi children, and switch them so that they were in the place they were meant to be and could have the lives they wanted. As it was, however, he did not think they would, no matter how often and how sincerely he prayed, and it was all Mihail could do to raise his gaze to meet Nethis's, gravity etched into his expression though he was still too young to display any genuine seriousness, and whisper: "I'm sorry."
He watched her as she crossed towards him, half-flinching as a hand reached for his face, as if a momentary lapse of judgement had assumed she would try to harm him as she never had before. But she only fixed the bright red pigment smeared so dramatically on either cheek, her actions softer than he would have expected from someone who had just caught their youngest brother misusing their belongings. Mihail let her do as she needed, nodding at the suggestion that he should use less of the substance on future occasions and following her instructions, deciding that, as she was helping him so openly (and dangerously, if either of them were caught), that he would not inform her that he had seen plenty of girls in Megaris with overly painted faces, and that the men there seemed to like them just fine.
Once his cheeks and lips were free of the excess paint, his eyes shifted naturally to try and catch his reflection in the mirror, and he grinned at the sight. Now, with all his jewels and the delicate crown sitting prettily amid his black curls, he felt like a proper princess. "Do you do this every single day?" he asked, lightly touching a hand to the adjusted makeup on his cheeks and admiring the way it somehow seemed to bring out the sharper lines of his jaw. He wished he could do it as often as that, but Father would have had a fit, and he did not wish to get his sister in trouble as well solely because she had been kind enough to help him. It would have to stay a silly secret, just like everything else in his life, until the day he could be himself without fear of another's wrath.
When Nethis asked about his nails, Mihail felt the smile spread across his features before he even intended it. "Please!" he exclaimed, one hand already sticking out in front of him to frown at the dullness of their plain look. "I promise I won't tell them, and I won't show them or anything. I just want to look as pretty as you or Thea or Evras, and they don't have to know ever." Perhaps that was a final exaggeration, brought on by his eagerness, but, for the time being, Mihail was more than happy to keep this another secret between the two of them. "I just want to be a princess, just for a little bit. Please, Net?"
She was a good sister, he thought — the best. Thea and Evras, they didn't know about this, and they couldn't know about it, else they might tell Dysius or Father and ruin everything. But Nethis was showing him promise, and kindness, and he could trust her, he thought. She would keep him safe today just like she always had. Now, she reached for his hand, and he took it gladly, gazing up at her with the sort of admiration a small child might have had for their mother and which he had never experienced out of maternal cruelty.
"We will do this in the baths, Mihail. I do not want a mess."
He nodded, because there was little else he could do when she was showing him such niceness, allowing her to lead him with no cause for complaint. Finally, she was going to make him a princess, and then, maybe, he would be fixed.