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Persephone had had but one flaw in her pseudo-ruling of Athenia in her father’s stead. She had performed all duties and roles admirably, to the point of administrative perfection and the easy flow of day to day existence. She ran the Court events with an authority that was never needed to be absolute, for her role in life as the king’s daughter could never be threatened. And she spoke in the Senate as her father’s mouthpiece, unable to be disregarded because her verdicts came from over all of their heads.
Persephone had been an adequate - even great - ruler, based on her choices and decisions never being her own. She had stood with the strength of a throne behind her and no difficult choices to be made in her own name. She had never had to stand under threat, nor fight for what she thought to be true. Her decisions were, more often than not, correct and valid. They could not fail to be after a life dedicated to political and economic study. She had just never had to prove that fact herself.
In short, her one flaw in her ability to rule the kingdom had been a lack of courage. She had no tenacity. A calm sea never made a fine sailor, regardless of how well she knew the ship.
Now, with her newfound decision to claim her crown, Persephone would have to find some form of backbone. She would have to grow the thick skin that had so far been entirely unnecessary.
In the bedchamber of one of Hector’s daughters, Persephone practically ripped her chiton away from her skin. It smelt of smoke and held the acrid stench of violence. There were a few locks of her hair that had been curled and frayed by the heat and she felt a dirty clamminess over her skin. She was ashy, sweating and rough around every edge. There were burnt specks in the cloth of her gown that she bundled into a heap and discarded to the corner of the room with an angry throw.
She stood there, in the centre of the room, naked bar her skin, muscles clenched and back defined in sharp shoulder blades of tension. She had had enough.
Despite her choice to fight for the throne being newly burnt into her blood, Persephone had had the conviction cemented mere moments later when Elias had arranged for the province of Aetaea to be burnt. It wasn’t solely the fact that such a place was Iris’s home but the entirety of the province itself. Aetaea made up the majority of timber grown supple for bows and weapons in all of Athenia. A war was building with Egypt. They would need those weapons.
The sheer arrogance, stupidity, and egotistical destruction of something so necessary, beautiful and economically valuable simply for a personal ambition was what poisoned the taste in Perse’s mouth. It didn’t matter if she stepped aside now. It didn’t matter if she permitted him to have the crown. There would be someone else. There would be another issue or hindrance to Elias’ ambition somewhere along the line. And this would be the childish reaction to such a threat, each time. This wasn’t a choice over a single argument. But whether Persephone permitted Athenia to fall to the whims of a child on a throne.
She would not have it.
After she and Iason had settled themselves and established that they were both still alive she had asked to be alone to bathe. In this moment, she didn’t yet bother. Instead, she took a robe that had been provided by Ariadne and wrapped it around her frame, dirt, sweat and all. She was too tall for the garment but thin enough for it to wrap securely around her waist. She tied the sash and then looked up upon a knock on the door. It was tentative enough to appear female but her own ladies’ maids would not knock. Which left it to being Iris. Which was exactly whom she needed to see.
“Come in, Iris.” She called through the door. There was little in the room besides a bed and separate chair but she didn’t intend to sit for this conversation, regardless...
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Persephone had had but one flaw in her pseudo-ruling of Athenia in her father’s stead. She had performed all duties and roles admirably, to the point of administrative perfection and the easy flow of day to day existence. She ran the Court events with an authority that was never needed to be absolute, for her role in life as the king’s daughter could never be threatened. And she spoke in the Senate as her father’s mouthpiece, unable to be disregarded because her verdicts came from over all of their heads.
Persephone had been an adequate - even great - ruler, based on her choices and decisions never being her own. She had stood with the strength of a throne behind her and no difficult choices to be made in her own name. She had never had to stand under threat, nor fight for what she thought to be true. Her decisions were, more often than not, correct and valid. They could not fail to be after a life dedicated to political and economic study. She had just never had to prove that fact herself.
In short, her one flaw in her ability to rule the kingdom had been a lack of courage. She had no tenacity. A calm sea never made a fine sailor, regardless of how well she knew the ship.
Now, with her newfound decision to claim her crown, Persephone would have to find some form of backbone. She would have to grow the thick skin that had so far been entirely unnecessary.
In the bedchamber of one of Hector’s daughters, Persephone practically ripped her chiton away from her skin. It smelt of smoke and held the acrid stench of violence. There were a few locks of her hair that had been curled and frayed by the heat and she felt a dirty clamminess over her skin. She was ashy, sweating and rough around every edge. There were burnt specks in the cloth of her gown that she bundled into a heap and discarded to the corner of the room with an angry throw.
She stood there, in the centre of the room, naked bar her skin, muscles clenched and back defined in sharp shoulder blades of tension. She had had enough.
Despite her choice to fight for the throne being newly burnt into her blood, Persephone had had the conviction cemented mere moments later when Elias had arranged for the province of Aetaea to be burnt. It wasn’t solely the fact that such a place was Iris’s home but the entirety of the province itself. Aetaea made up the majority of timber grown supple for bows and weapons in all of Athenia. A war was building with Egypt. They would need those weapons.
The sheer arrogance, stupidity, and egotistical destruction of something so necessary, beautiful and economically valuable simply for a personal ambition was what poisoned the taste in Perse’s mouth. It didn’t matter if she stepped aside now. It didn’t matter if she permitted him to have the crown. There would be someone else. There would be another issue or hindrance to Elias’ ambition somewhere along the line. And this would be the childish reaction to such a threat, each time. This wasn’t a choice over a single argument. But whether Persephone permitted Athenia to fall to the whims of a child on a throne.
She would not have it.
After she and Iason had settled themselves and established that they were both still alive she had asked to be alone to bathe. In this moment, she didn’t yet bother. Instead, she took a robe that had been provided by Ariadne and wrapped it around her frame, dirt, sweat and all. She was too tall for the garment but thin enough for it to wrap securely around her waist. She tied the sash and then looked up upon a knock on the door. It was tentative enough to appear female but her own ladies’ maids would not knock. Which left it to being Iris. Which was exactly whom she needed to see.
“Come in, Iris.” She called through the door. There was little in the room besides a bed and separate chair but she didn’t intend to sit for this conversation, regardless...
Persephone had had but one flaw in her pseudo-ruling of Athenia in her father’s stead. She had performed all duties and roles admirably, to the point of administrative perfection and the easy flow of day to day existence. She ran the Court events with an authority that was never needed to be absolute, for her role in life as the king’s daughter could never be threatened. And she spoke in the Senate as her father’s mouthpiece, unable to be disregarded because her verdicts came from over all of their heads.
Persephone had been an adequate - even great - ruler, based on her choices and decisions never being her own. She had stood with the strength of a throne behind her and no difficult choices to be made in her own name. She had never had to stand under threat, nor fight for what she thought to be true. Her decisions were, more often than not, correct and valid. They could not fail to be after a life dedicated to political and economic study. She had just never had to prove that fact herself.
In short, her one flaw in her ability to rule the kingdom had been a lack of courage. She had no tenacity. A calm sea never made a fine sailor, regardless of how well she knew the ship.
Now, with her newfound decision to claim her crown, Persephone would have to find some form of backbone. She would have to grow the thick skin that had so far been entirely unnecessary.
In the bedchamber of one of Hector’s daughters, Persephone practically ripped her chiton away from her skin. It smelt of smoke and held the acrid stench of violence. There were a few locks of her hair that had been curled and frayed by the heat and she felt a dirty clamminess over her skin. She was ashy, sweating and rough around every edge. There were burnt specks in the cloth of her gown that she bundled into a heap and discarded to the corner of the room with an angry throw.
She stood there, in the centre of the room, naked bar her skin, muscles clenched and back defined in sharp shoulder blades of tension. She had had enough.
Despite her choice to fight for the throne being newly burnt into her blood, Persephone had had the conviction cemented mere moments later when Elias had arranged for the province of Aetaea to be burnt. It wasn’t solely the fact that such a place was Iris’s home but the entirety of the province itself. Aetaea made up the majority of timber grown supple for bows and weapons in all of Athenia. A war was building with Egypt. They would need those weapons.
The sheer arrogance, stupidity, and egotistical destruction of something so necessary, beautiful and economically valuable simply for a personal ambition was what poisoned the taste in Perse’s mouth. It didn’t matter if she stepped aside now. It didn’t matter if she permitted him to have the crown. There would be someone else. There would be another issue or hindrance to Elias’ ambition somewhere along the line. And this would be the childish reaction to such a threat, each time. This wasn’t a choice over a single argument. But whether Persephone permitted Athenia to fall to the whims of a child on a throne.
She would not have it.
After she and Iason had settled themselves and established that they were both still alive she had asked to be alone to bathe. In this moment, she didn’t yet bother. Instead, she took a robe that had been provided by Ariadne and wrapped it around her frame, dirt, sweat and all. She was too tall for the garment but thin enough for it to wrap securely around her waist. She tied the sash and then looked up upon a knock on the door. It was tentative enough to appear female but her own ladies’ maids would not knock. Which left it to being Iris. Which was exactly whom she needed to see.
“Come in, Iris.” She called through the door. There was little in the room besides a bed and separate chair but she didn’t intend to sit for this conversation, regardless...
Iris had never expected the scent of smoke to make her so uneasy. She had seen many fires. She had started many in her own hearth. There had been smaller forest fires in the past, but they had always started from one singular location and were taken care of quickly by the people. That was the intention, at the very least, and none of the past forest fires, expected in a drought, had ever come so close to the Argyris manor. That was what was so entirely different about this one.
It wasn't just a forest fire, it had been intentionally set. It had been started by human hands. Human hands, Athenian hands, had leant themselves to the absolute destruction of her home. Of houses other than her own. Of families, of Athenia's largest export, of wild game and vital food sources for people who were struggling through a famine. What would her people do now? How many of them would die because hands of greed had taken away their lives with the flicker of a flame in the night?
Her gown was singed and soot clung to her cheeks. She smelled like the dying forest of her home, and though trees often grew back stronger after a forest fire, Iris couldn't help but feel anything but grief for her home. Athenia depended on the timber trade for much of their export wealth. There were other provinces that thrived off of the export of timber, but they were both Stravos and Marikas provinces. Aetaea was Antonis' stronghold when it came to their own grip on the timber economy. Athenia depended on wood for houses, for boats, for weapons of war. War. What would they do now, knowing that one of their most abundant raw materials had been reduced to ash and dust?
There were so many questions drifting through her mind that night, and despite the comfort and openness that Ariadne's family met the small group of survivors with, Iris had hardly moved since they settled down. Persephone was, of course, given one of the rooms in the home, but Iris did not expect that of their hosts for herself or her husband.
The feelings of intense grief had not fully hit the Baroness of Aetaea, though her rage was simmering just beneath the surface of her skin. She thought she herself might burst into flames and burn up in the destruction she caused. She quietly willed Artemis to give her the strength she needed to turn back toward Aetaea and defend her forests, as Iris had always seen herself as doing for most of her life. Landmarks that Iris knew like the back of her hand were gone, replaced by crumbling wood and blackened soot. The baroness had settled herself on a stool long ago, staring into the flames of the hearth inside of Hector's house and thinking back through every single action she had taken up until that point.
Gaios was out safe, and he had taken the book and Iris' more valuable belongings in the direction of Athenia under the guise that it was likely the lady would soon join him. There were many things that Iris needed to see to now, but with so many contingencies in place, past and present, she was sure that Praxiteles, the Captain of the Foxlights, was already putting plans into motion. That was what would be expected of him, and he knew it as well as she did.
That gave her only the slightest bit of comfort.
What didn't sit well with her was the fact that the arsonists would likely get away with their burning of Aetaea. Unless they could find proof, though Iris was sure she already knew who had commanded such a fire to be lit. For such destruction to come to Athenia.
For the first time that night, her expression trailed away from the flames and to one of Persephone's ladies maids carrying the basin of hot water for the queen's bathing needs. "Wait," Iris commanded slowly, "I'll assist the queen," she said lightly, getting up from her stool and crossing the room to take the basin from the girl. Some days she wondered if she would have been better off becoming Persephone's retainer long ago instead of reaching for her own ambitions. Where would she be now? Likely not married to Aimias, likely without a province to mourn or worry about. Would she have been happy? No. Despite the loss Aetaea was suffering, she would have always been unhappy to be so parted from her lands.
She breathed them as fully and intensely as the queen breathed her love for all of Athenia.
Bracing the warmed basin against the door with her body, Iris knocked upon the wood and waited for the permission to enter. It was... relieving to know that the queen was already thinking along the same lines of herself, and Iris pushed the door open, carefully carrying the basin of water into the room for the queen. She closed the door delicately behind her with just her foot, crossing further into the room to set the basin down on the very small table that was pressed against the wall. Then she turned to Persephone, fell into a delicate bow, and then shifted herself back upward.
"I know that you have so many more things to think about now, my queen," Iris started slowly, "But I think I need guidance now. I need direction."
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.
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Iris had never expected the scent of smoke to make her so uneasy. She had seen many fires. She had started many in her own hearth. There had been smaller forest fires in the past, but they had always started from one singular location and were taken care of quickly by the people. That was the intention, at the very least, and none of the past forest fires, expected in a drought, had ever come so close to the Argyris manor. That was what was so entirely different about this one.
It wasn't just a forest fire, it had been intentionally set. It had been started by human hands. Human hands, Athenian hands, had leant themselves to the absolute destruction of her home. Of houses other than her own. Of families, of Athenia's largest export, of wild game and vital food sources for people who were struggling through a famine. What would her people do now? How many of them would die because hands of greed had taken away their lives with the flicker of a flame in the night?
Her gown was singed and soot clung to her cheeks. She smelled like the dying forest of her home, and though trees often grew back stronger after a forest fire, Iris couldn't help but feel anything but grief for her home. Athenia depended on the timber trade for much of their export wealth. There were other provinces that thrived off of the export of timber, but they were both Stravos and Marikas provinces. Aetaea was Antonis' stronghold when it came to their own grip on the timber economy. Athenia depended on wood for houses, for boats, for weapons of war. War. What would they do now, knowing that one of their most abundant raw materials had been reduced to ash and dust?
There were so many questions drifting through her mind that night, and despite the comfort and openness that Ariadne's family met the small group of survivors with, Iris had hardly moved since they settled down. Persephone was, of course, given one of the rooms in the home, but Iris did not expect that of their hosts for herself or her husband.
The feelings of intense grief had not fully hit the Baroness of Aetaea, though her rage was simmering just beneath the surface of her skin. She thought she herself might burst into flames and burn up in the destruction she caused. She quietly willed Artemis to give her the strength she needed to turn back toward Aetaea and defend her forests, as Iris had always seen herself as doing for most of her life. Landmarks that Iris knew like the back of her hand were gone, replaced by crumbling wood and blackened soot. The baroness had settled herself on a stool long ago, staring into the flames of the hearth inside of Hector's house and thinking back through every single action she had taken up until that point.
Gaios was out safe, and he had taken the book and Iris' more valuable belongings in the direction of Athenia under the guise that it was likely the lady would soon join him. There were many things that Iris needed to see to now, but with so many contingencies in place, past and present, she was sure that Praxiteles, the Captain of the Foxlights, was already putting plans into motion. That was what would be expected of him, and he knew it as well as she did.
That gave her only the slightest bit of comfort.
What didn't sit well with her was the fact that the arsonists would likely get away with their burning of Aetaea. Unless they could find proof, though Iris was sure she already knew who had commanded such a fire to be lit. For such destruction to come to Athenia.
For the first time that night, her expression trailed away from the flames and to one of Persephone's ladies maids carrying the basin of hot water for the queen's bathing needs. "Wait," Iris commanded slowly, "I'll assist the queen," she said lightly, getting up from her stool and crossing the room to take the basin from the girl. Some days she wondered if she would have been better off becoming Persephone's retainer long ago instead of reaching for her own ambitions. Where would she be now? Likely not married to Aimias, likely without a province to mourn or worry about. Would she have been happy? No. Despite the loss Aetaea was suffering, she would have always been unhappy to be so parted from her lands.
She breathed them as fully and intensely as the queen breathed her love for all of Athenia.
Bracing the warmed basin against the door with her body, Iris knocked upon the wood and waited for the permission to enter. It was... relieving to know that the queen was already thinking along the same lines of herself, and Iris pushed the door open, carefully carrying the basin of water into the room for the queen. She closed the door delicately behind her with just her foot, crossing further into the room to set the basin down on the very small table that was pressed against the wall. Then she turned to Persephone, fell into a delicate bow, and then shifted herself back upward.
"I know that you have so many more things to think about now, my queen," Iris started slowly, "But I think I need guidance now. I need direction."
Iris had never expected the scent of smoke to make her so uneasy. She had seen many fires. She had started many in her own hearth. There had been smaller forest fires in the past, but they had always started from one singular location and were taken care of quickly by the people. That was the intention, at the very least, and none of the past forest fires, expected in a drought, had ever come so close to the Argyris manor. That was what was so entirely different about this one.
It wasn't just a forest fire, it had been intentionally set. It had been started by human hands. Human hands, Athenian hands, had leant themselves to the absolute destruction of her home. Of houses other than her own. Of families, of Athenia's largest export, of wild game and vital food sources for people who were struggling through a famine. What would her people do now? How many of them would die because hands of greed had taken away their lives with the flicker of a flame in the night?
Her gown was singed and soot clung to her cheeks. She smelled like the dying forest of her home, and though trees often grew back stronger after a forest fire, Iris couldn't help but feel anything but grief for her home. Athenia depended on the timber trade for much of their export wealth. There were other provinces that thrived off of the export of timber, but they were both Stravos and Marikas provinces. Aetaea was Antonis' stronghold when it came to their own grip on the timber economy. Athenia depended on wood for houses, for boats, for weapons of war. War. What would they do now, knowing that one of their most abundant raw materials had been reduced to ash and dust?
There were so many questions drifting through her mind that night, and despite the comfort and openness that Ariadne's family met the small group of survivors with, Iris had hardly moved since they settled down. Persephone was, of course, given one of the rooms in the home, but Iris did not expect that of their hosts for herself or her husband.
The feelings of intense grief had not fully hit the Baroness of Aetaea, though her rage was simmering just beneath the surface of her skin. She thought she herself might burst into flames and burn up in the destruction she caused. She quietly willed Artemis to give her the strength she needed to turn back toward Aetaea and defend her forests, as Iris had always seen herself as doing for most of her life. Landmarks that Iris knew like the back of her hand were gone, replaced by crumbling wood and blackened soot. The baroness had settled herself on a stool long ago, staring into the flames of the hearth inside of Hector's house and thinking back through every single action she had taken up until that point.
Gaios was out safe, and he had taken the book and Iris' more valuable belongings in the direction of Athenia under the guise that it was likely the lady would soon join him. There were many things that Iris needed to see to now, but with so many contingencies in place, past and present, she was sure that Praxiteles, the Captain of the Foxlights, was already putting plans into motion. That was what would be expected of him, and he knew it as well as she did.
That gave her only the slightest bit of comfort.
What didn't sit well with her was the fact that the arsonists would likely get away with their burning of Aetaea. Unless they could find proof, though Iris was sure she already knew who had commanded such a fire to be lit. For such destruction to come to Athenia.
For the first time that night, her expression trailed away from the flames and to one of Persephone's ladies maids carrying the basin of hot water for the queen's bathing needs. "Wait," Iris commanded slowly, "I'll assist the queen," she said lightly, getting up from her stool and crossing the room to take the basin from the girl. Some days she wondered if she would have been better off becoming Persephone's retainer long ago instead of reaching for her own ambitions. Where would she be now? Likely not married to Aimias, likely without a province to mourn or worry about. Would she have been happy? No. Despite the loss Aetaea was suffering, she would have always been unhappy to be so parted from her lands.
She breathed them as fully and intensely as the queen breathed her love for all of Athenia.
Bracing the warmed basin against the door with her body, Iris knocked upon the wood and waited for the permission to enter. It was... relieving to know that the queen was already thinking along the same lines of herself, and Iris pushed the door open, carefully carrying the basin of water into the room for the queen. She closed the door delicately behind her with just her foot, crossing further into the room to set the basin down on the very small table that was pressed against the wall. Then she turned to Persephone, fell into a delicate bow, and then shifted herself back upward.
"I know that you have so many more things to think about now, my queen," Iris started slowly, "But I think I need guidance now. I need direction."
Persephone had known it to be Iris from the timbre of her knock but she had not expected the woman to enter the room with a basin of cleansing water in her arms. The cloth that hung over the edge of the tub was clear enough of purpose - it had been brought to wash her of the soot and grime of the night. As this was neither Iris' duty nor requirement, she could only assume that the woman had waylaid one of the servants or Persephone's lady's maids to claim the tub for her own. Perhaps as an excuse to come and speak with Persephone alone.
When the woman pushed inside and then set the tub upon a nearby stool, Persephone watched the dexterity of the woman as she knocked the door shut and settled the wooden basin in the same elegant movement. Iris had always been more physical than most noble ladies - a huntress and an archer. It was of little surprise to her that her grace and dexterity were strong because of it. On the opposite side of this, Persephone was as flexible and easy in motion as a pretty vase. Her lines were all elegance and her surface polished to a high shine and yet she could not move as Iris did. She was only beautiful when she moved as a princess should. Anything more complex and her body had to rely upon the apparent gift from Aphrodite for its grace and poise.
Trying to piece together the right words that she might offer to the Lady Iris as she entered the room, Persephone was saved from stumbling through her own opening to a conversation when her friend and confidante reached out with her own pleading for aid.
After assuring Persephone that she knew the would-be Queen to be dealing with other issues at the time, she beseeched her for her support and guidance in a manner that had Persephone feeling shame down to her very core.
Iris wished for guidance and direction from her? The woman who had brought ruin and flame down upon her lands and home? It was true that Elias had lit the match - through someone else no doubt, as he was too cowardly to do the dead himself - but it had been Persephone's presence that had drawn the arrow to the target. It had been her existence in Aetaea that had brought the fire and destruction down upon Iris' home. Burning the household that her father had lived in, destroying the library that had held her mother's books.
Persephone felt the deepest of regrets and the darkest of guilts that this woman now turned to her - the cause of all her ruin - to ask her for help.
"Speak your mind, Iris." Persephone said. She stood, her hands demure before her pelvis and her back fine and straight. her hair was long and loose down her back the robe was thin and elegant over her frame. Despite being dirty, sweaty and a little blistered around the edges of the heat of the fires, Persephone was every appearance a Queen. "Whatever guidance you require, I am here to offer but perhaps it would help to unburden yourself first?"
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.
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Persephone had known it to be Iris from the timbre of her knock but she had not expected the woman to enter the room with a basin of cleansing water in her arms. The cloth that hung over the edge of the tub was clear enough of purpose - it had been brought to wash her of the soot and grime of the night. As this was neither Iris' duty nor requirement, she could only assume that the woman had waylaid one of the servants or Persephone's lady's maids to claim the tub for her own. Perhaps as an excuse to come and speak with Persephone alone.
When the woman pushed inside and then set the tub upon a nearby stool, Persephone watched the dexterity of the woman as she knocked the door shut and settled the wooden basin in the same elegant movement. Iris had always been more physical than most noble ladies - a huntress and an archer. It was of little surprise to her that her grace and dexterity were strong because of it. On the opposite side of this, Persephone was as flexible and easy in motion as a pretty vase. Her lines were all elegance and her surface polished to a high shine and yet she could not move as Iris did. She was only beautiful when she moved as a princess should. Anything more complex and her body had to rely upon the apparent gift from Aphrodite for its grace and poise.
Trying to piece together the right words that she might offer to the Lady Iris as she entered the room, Persephone was saved from stumbling through her own opening to a conversation when her friend and confidante reached out with her own pleading for aid.
After assuring Persephone that she knew the would-be Queen to be dealing with other issues at the time, she beseeched her for her support and guidance in a manner that had Persephone feeling shame down to her very core.
Iris wished for guidance and direction from her? The woman who had brought ruin and flame down upon her lands and home? It was true that Elias had lit the match - through someone else no doubt, as he was too cowardly to do the dead himself - but it had been Persephone's presence that had drawn the arrow to the target. It had been her existence in Aetaea that had brought the fire and destruction down upon Iris' home. Burning the household that her father had lived in, destroying the library that had held her mother's books.
Persephone felt the deepest of regrets and the darkest of guilts that this woman now turned to her - the cause of all her ruin - to ask her for help.
"Speak your mind, Iris." Persephone said. She stood, her hands demure before her pelvis and her back fine and straight. her hair was long and loose down her back the robe was thin and elegant over her frame. Despite being dirty, sweaty and a little blistered around the edges of the heat of the fires, Persephone was every appearance a Queen. "Whatever guidance you require, I am here to offer but perhaps it would help to unburden yourself first?"
Persephone had known it to be Iris from the timbre of her knock but she had not expected the woman to enter the room with a basin of cleansing water in her arms. The cloth that hung over the edge of the tub was clear enough of purpose - it had been brought to wash her of the soot and grime of the night. As this was neither Iris' duty nor requirement, she could only assume that the woman had waylaid one of the servants or Persephone's lady's maids to claim the tub for her own. Perhaps as an excuse to come and speak with Persephone alone.
When the woman pushed inside and then set the tub upon a nearby stool, Persephone watched the dexterity of the woman as she knocked the door shut and settled the wooden basin in the same elegant movement. Iris had always been more physical than most noble ladies - a huntress and an archer. It was of little surprise to her that her grace and dexterity were strong because of it. On the opposite side of this, Persephone was as flexible and easy in motion as a pretty vase. Her lines were all elegance and her surface polished to a high shine and yet she could not move as Iris did. She was only beautiful when she moved as a princess should. Anything more complex and her body had to rely upon the apparent gift from Aphrodite for its grace and poise.
Trying to piece together the right words that she might offer to the Lady Iris as she entered the room, Persephone was saved from stumbling through her own opening to a conversation when her friend and confidante reached out with her own pleading for aid.
After assuring Persephone that she knew the would-be Queen to be dealing with other issues at the time, she beseeched her for her support and guidance in a manner that had Persephone feeling shame down to her very core.
Iris wished for guidance and direction from her? The woman who had brought ruin and flame down upon her lands and home? It was true that Elias had lit the match - through someone else no doubt, as he was too cowardly to do the dead himself - but it had been Persephone's presence that had drawn the arrow to the target. It had been her existence in Aetaea that had brought the fire and destruction down upon Iris' home. Burning the household that her father had lived in, destroying the library that had held her mother's books.
Persephone felt the deepest of regrets and the darkest of guilts that this woman now turned to her - the cause of all her ruin - to ask her for help.
"Speak your mind, Iris." Persephone said. She stood, her hands demure before her pelvis and her back fine and straight. her hair was long and loose down her back the robe was thin and elegant over her frame. Despite being dirty, sweaty and a little blistered around the edges of the heat of the fires, Persephone was every appearance a Queen. "Whatever guidance you require, I am here to offer but perhaps it would help to unburden yourself first?"
The lady hadn't expected such a welcome, nor the assertion that she should speak her mind. Truthfully, she wasn't sure that she should, or even could. The intensity of her feelings were terrifying even to Iris herself, and she'd never felt such rage or heartbreak in her entire life. The death of her father had been expected. Her breaking off from Elias had been chosen. But she didn't choose this. She hadn't chosen the burning of her home, her life, her past, and her future. Phillipa wouldn't grow up in that house. Her's and Aimias children? Neither would they.
All of her mother's books, save for one, had burned. She knew that in her heart and that was the most gutwrenching of all. But truth be told, she was angry. Angry with Persephone and her choices, but Iris also knew that her best friend likely understood the gravity of what had happened. She had to. She had experienced it the same as Iris.
Still standing before the washing basin that she had carried in herself, Iris stared down into the water for a moment. Her goal in that moment was to find her calm, find her center. For she did not actually want to unburden herself upon her friend. This was punishment enough. This exile. And though Iris could not and did not agree with the choices that the queen had made up to this point, she was not to bring true judgement down upon Persephone's shoulders.
Iris took in one deep breath, and then another, starting to feel the rush of tears flooding her eyes. "Why?" she suddenly breathed, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. "Why did they have to burn it?" her hand flew to her mouth and she braced her hand on the table, her head dipping slightly so that she could hide her face for a moment. "What do I do now? Where do I go? I have failed as a leader. I have failed my people, my family," Iris breathed, her voice low, not wanting the others to hear them speak from the other side of the door. "Now that I have been shamed, how do I face the court? The senators?" she continued to ask, "How do I face Lord Alehandros?"
And now she was turning to look at Persephone, her features split into both frustration and pure grief. But in the same instant, there was relief that flashed in her gaze. Moving across the small space to stand fully before the other woman, Iris did not hesitate in putting her arms around her friend in a hesitant hug. "I am asking you as my friend, not my queen," she whispered quietly, "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I feel like I don't understand my own world any longer," Iris whispered, dropping her head against Persephone's shoulder, her own shaking with the weight of the emotion settled between her shoulder blades. "Please..."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The lady hadn't expected such a welcome, nor the assertion that she should speak her mind. Truthfully, she wasn't sure that she should, or even could. The intensity of her feelings were terrifying even to Iris herself, and she'd never felt such rage or heartbreak in her entire life. The death of her father had been expected. Her breaking off from Elias had been chosen. But she didn't choose this. She hadn't chosen the burning of her home, her life, her past, and her future. Phillipa wouldn't grow up in that house. Her's and Aimias children? Neither would they.
All of her mother's books, save for one, had burned. She knew that in her heart and that was the most gutwrenching of all. But truth be told, she was angry. Angry with Persephone and her choices, but Iris also knew that her best friend likely understood the gravity of what had happened. She had to. She had experienced it the same as Iris.
Still standing before the washing basin that she had carried in herself, Iris stared down into the water for a moment. Her goal in that moment was to find her calm, find her center. For she did not actually want to unburden herself upon her friend. This was punishment enough. This exile. And though Iris could not and did not agree with the choices that the queen had made up to this point, she was not to bring true judgement down upon Persephone's shoulders.
Iris took in one deep breath, and then another, starting to feel the rush of tears flooding her eyes. "Why?" she suddenly breathed, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. "Why did they have to burn it?" her hand flew to her mouth and she braced her hand on the table, her head dipping slightly so that she could hide her face for a moment. "What do I do now? Where do I go? I have failed as a leader. I have failed my people, my family," Iris breathed, her voice low, not wanting the others to hear them speak from the other side of the door. "Now that I have been shamed, how do I face the court? The senators?" she continued to ask, "How do I face Lord Alehandros?"
And now she was turning to look at Persephone, her features split into both frustration and pure grief. But in the same instant, there was relief that flashed in her gaze. Moving across the small space to stand fully before the other woman, Iris did not hesitate in putting her arms around her friend in a hesitant hug. "I am asking you as my friend, not my queen," she whispered quietly, "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I feel like I don't understand my own world any longer," Iris whispered, dropping her head against Persephone's shoulder, her own shaking with the weight of the emotion settled between her shoulder blades. "Please..."
The lady hadn't expected such a welcome, nor the assertion that she should speak her mind. Truthfully, she wasn't sure that she should, or even could. The intensity of her feelings were terrifying even to Iris herself, and she'd never felt such rage or heartbreak in her entire life. The death of her father had been expected. Her breaking off from Elias had been chosen. But she didn't choose this. She hadn't chosen the burning of her home, her life, her past, and her future. Phillipa wouldn't grow up in that house. Her's and Aimias children? Neither would they.
All of her mother's books, save for one, had burned. She knew that in her heart and that was the most gutwrenching of all. But truth be told, she was angry. Angry with Persephone and her choices, but Iris also knew that her best friend likely understood the gravity of what had happened. She had to. She had experienced it the same as Iris.
Still standing before the washing basin that she had carried in herself, Iris stared down into the water for a moment. Her goal in that moment was to find her calm, find her center. For she did not actually want to unburden herself upon her friend. This was punishment enough. This exile. And though Iris could not and did not agree with the choices that the queen had made up to this point, she was not to bring true judgement down upon Persephone's shoulders.
Iris took in one deep breath, and then another, starting to feel the rush of tears flooding her eyes. "Why?" she suddenly breathed, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. "Why did they have to burn it?" her hand flew to her mouth and she braced her hand on the table, her head dipping slightly so that she could hide her face for a moment. "What do I do now? Where do I go? I have failed as a leader. I have failed my people, my family," Iris breathed, her voice low, not wanting the others to hear them speak from the other side of the door. "Now that I have been shamed, how do I face the court? The senators?" she continued to ask, "How do I face Lord Alehandros?"
And now she was turning to look at Persephone, her features split into both frustration and pure grief. But in the same instant, there was relief that flashed in her gaze. Moving across the small space to stand fully before the other woman, Iris did not hesitate in putting her arms around her friend in a hesitant hug. "I am asking you as my friend, not my queen," she whispered quietly, "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I feel like I don't understand my own world any longer," Iris whispered, dropping her head against Persephone's shoulder, her own shaking with the weight of the emotion settled between her shoulder blades. "Please..."