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From the outside of the house, there was no appearance of change. The trees rising up behind and around it stood as tall and stately as ever. A servant calmly swept the courtyard free of leaves and dirt, leaving the white limestone gleaming in the warm light cascading down from the sun as it prepared to set. A large brown dog lay stretched out beside the gate. His gray muzzle puffed up a bit when he breathed out, and sucked in when he inhaled. This too, was not an uncommon sight and the servant girl looked fondly at the retired hunting dog, nudging him with her broom to get him to move.
Inside of the house, it was controlled chaos. The feelings of all of the inhabitants, from the personal servants to the baron, to his brother, to his children, and their guests, were in constant flux. Gavriil had never been around so many people who were acting so strangely. Dorotheos was still on edge about last night, as he himself was just a bit, his son was night and day different from their conversation the previous evening. Dorothea had seemed as though she wasn’t quite her normal, composed self and Alexa? She didn’t like having to share her bed with her sister. Claimed that Dorothea was a blanket stealer and actually requested to use one of Gavriil’s own extra blankets.
He’d let her of course, but he didn’t like the trend. His family usually got along so well. Everything was peaceful and had its natural rhythm. When he’d walked through the halls of his house, he’d noted one servant girl crying, another two getting into a petty argument, and he’d found one of the younger men asleep in the stables. He hadn’t bothered to wake the young man, instead going to the horse master, who begged forgiveness and blamed it on the lateness of the hour they were all awake, rather than directly placing it on Persephone by name. That fixed it for Gavriil.
Queen, princess, his son’s intended - whatever she was at present- what she would not be doing was causing this much discord in his house. Never had one person upended his house so thoroughly in this short a period of time. He’d already resolved to speak with his house guest once they’d had to go hunt her down last night. After Iason’s conversation with him earlier in the morning, he was still determined to talk with her, though the subject was a little bit added to and amended.
Gavriil did not alter his morning routine, despite the late hour of the night. He went out into the forest before sunrise, prayed to Artemis, and took his usual walk. He came upon the same fawn he’d found yesterday but didn’t bother it. Its mother would be around shortly. Then he walked home and broke his fast with the family - this made larger by their guests. It was then that he told Persephone he’d like to see her in his study within the course of the morning. Iason had gotten to him right after that, but he hadn’t rescinded his request to the Queen.
He sat in the study now, wholly engrossed in the papers that were laid out on his desk for the morning. The Barony was constantly in need of attention. Missives, invitations, complaints, congratulations, requests, updates - If he did not see to this every single day, then the build up of papers would be overwhelming. He trimmed his quill, made ink, and then got to work.
When the door opened, he took a cursory glance up, smiled and then looked back down at the papers. They were not in Athenia and he was old. He wasn’t going to get up and bow every time the Athenian monarch entered the room. His back might break.
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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From the outside of the house, there was no appearance of change. The trees rising up behind and around it stood as tall and stately as ever. A servant calmly swept the courtyard free of leaves and dirt, leaving the white limestone gleaming in the warm light cascading down from the sun as it prepared to set. A large brown dog lay stretched out beside the gate. His gray muzzle puffed up a bit when he breathed out, and sucked in when he inhaled. This too, was not an uncommon sight and the servant girl looked fondly at the retired hunting dog, nudging him with her broom to get him to move.
Inside of the house, it was controlled chaos. The feelings of all of the inhabitants, from the personal servants to the baron, to his brother, to his children, and their guests, were in constant flux. Gavriil had never been around so many people who were acting so strangely. Dorotheos was still on edge about last night, as he himself was just a bit, his son was night and day different from their conversation the previous evening. Dorothea had seemed as though she wasn’t quite her normal, composed self and Alexa? She didn’t like having to share her bed with her sister. Claimed that Dorothea was a blanket stealer and actually requested to use one of Gavriil’s own extra blankets.
He’d let her of course, but he didn’t like the trend. His family usually got along so well. Everything was peaceful and had its natural rhythm. When he’d walked through the halls of his house, he’d noted one servant girl crying, another two getting into a petty argument, and he’d found one of the younger men asleep in the stables. He hadn’t bothered to wake the young man, instead going to the horse master, who begged forgiveness and blamed it on the lateness of the hour they were all awake, rather than directly placing it on Persephone by name. That fixed it for Gavriil.
Queen, princess, his son’s intended - whatever she was at present- what she would not be doing was causing this much discord in his house. Never had one person upended his house so thoroughly in this short a period of time. He’d already resolved to speak with his house guest once they’d had to go hunt her down last night. After Iason’s conversation with him earlier in the morning, he was still determined to talk with her, though the subject was a little bit added to and amended.
Gavriil did not alter his morning routine, despite the late hour of the night. He went out into the forest before sunrise, prayed to Artemis, and took his usual walk. He came upon the same fawn he’d found yesterday but didn’t bother it. Its mother would be around shortly. Then he walked home and broke his fast with the family - this made larger by their guests. It was then that he told Persephone he’d like to see her in his study within the course of the morning. Iason had gotten to him right after that, but he hadn’t rescinded his request to the Queen.
He sat in the study now, wholly engrossed in the papers that were laid out on his desk for the morning. The Barony was constantly in need of attention. Missives, invitations, complaints, congratulations, requests, updates - If he did not see to this every single day, then the build up of papers would be overwhelming. He trimmed his quill, made ink, and then got to work.
When the door opened, he took a cursory glance up, smiled and then looked back down at the papers. They were not in Athenia and he was old. He wasn’t going to get up and bow every time the Athenian monarch entered the room. His back might break.
From the outside of the house, there was no appearance of change. The trees rising up behind and around it stood as tall and stately as ever. A servant calmly swept the courtyard free of leaves and dirt, leaving the white limestone gleaming in the warm light cascading down from the sun as it prepared to set. A large brown dog lay stretched out beside the gate. His gray muzzle puffed up a bit when he breathed out, and sucked in when he inhaled. This too, was not an uncommon sight and the servant girl looked fondly at the retired hunting dog, nudging him with her broom to get him to move.
Inside of the house, it was controlled chaos. The feelings of all of the inhabitants, from the personal servants to the baron, to his brother, to his children, and their guests, were in constant flux. Gavriil had never been around so many people who were acting so strangely. Dorotheos was still on edge about last night, as he himself was just a bit, his son was night and day different from their conversation the previous evening. Dorothea had seemed as though she wasn’t quite her normal, composed self and Alexa? She didn’t like having to share her bed with her sister. Claimed that Dorothea was a blanket stealer and actually requested to use one of Gavriil’s own extra blankets.
He’d let her of course, but he didn’t like the trend. His family usually got along so well. Everything was peaceful and had its natural rhythm. When he’d walked through the halls of his house, he’d noted one servant girl crying, another two getting into a petty argument, and he’d found one of the younger men asleep in the stables. He hadn’t bothered to wake the young man, instead going to the horse master, who begged forgiveness and blamed it on the lateness of the hour they were all awake, rather than directly placing it on Persephone by name. That fixed it for Gavriil.
Queen, princess, his son’s intended - whatever she was at present- what she would not be doing was causing this much discord in his house. Never had one person upended his house so thoroughly in this short a period of time. He’d already resolved to speak with his house guest once they’d had to go hunt her down last night. After Iason’s conversation with him earlier in the morning, he was still determined to talk with her, though the subject was a little bit added to and amended.
Gavriil did not alter his morning routine, despite the late hour of the night. He went out into the forest before sunrise, prayed to Artemis, and took his usual walk. He came upon the same fawn he’d found yesterday but didn’t bother it. Its mother would be around shortly. Then he walked home and broke his fast with the family - this made larger by their guests. It was then that he told Persephone he’d like to see her in his study within the course of the morning. Iason had gotten to him right after that, but he hadn’t rescinded his request to the Queen.
He sat in the study now, wholly engrossed in the papers that were laid out on his desk for the morning. The Barony was constantly in need of attention. Missives, invitations, complaints, congratulations, requests, updates - If he did not see to this every single day, then the build up of papers would be overwhelming. He trimmed his quill, made ink, and then got to work.
When the door opened, he took a cursory glance up, smiled and then looked back down at the papers. They were not in Athenia and he was old. He wasn’t going to get up and bow every time the Athenian monarch entered the room. His back might break.
"Of course, Lord Gavriil..."
They had been the only words Persephone had spoken to the man since she had excused herself from the dining table the previous evening. After that, her embarrassing behaviour in the woodlands and the scene she had caused - not to mention the disruption of the entire household staff - had reduced her to a shivering mass of cold the next time she had been in his vicinity and, since then, Iason and Dorothea had been the only individuals in her company. The morning meal had been the first time she had been with the lord since she had recovered her wits from her moment of pique and it hadn't felt appropriate to express the required contrition over a meal in which the entire family partook. Instead, she had intended to beg a moment of the man's time later that day - at a time convenient to himself, of course - but he had beaten her to it. By expressing the firm desire to speak with her - in a manner that offered no out or refusal and yet still maintained a rough politeness, Persephone had done nothing to refuse the arrangement and simply acquiesced without complaint or further comment.
It had, curiously, been Iason to have postponed the arrangement, but insisting on the need to speak with his father first. Persephone had been able to restrain the blush that had been tempted to break out over her cheeks given the looks Dorothea cast in their direction when such a request was made. Speak to his father about what...? they clearly asked. Persephone had managed to act as if she hadn't noticed and return to her roasted fruits and toasted breads. She had enjoyed the cheese in this region and she had never tasted berries so tart.
It seemed silly to consider all the little things she now noticed - the cheese, the berries... but given that she had - that morning - confirmed with Iason that she would marry him; that she would stay within Taengea and live out her days here, it was as if her mind had suddenly switch gears. It was a sensation that Persephone was used to. She agonised and debated and argued over every decision she made; never once allowing anything to be decided upon her gut or instinct. But the moment a choice was finally passed and a conclusion reached, her thoughts and efforts were singularly focused. She never looked back and she never regretted.
She had decided to stay in Taengea. Which meant she needed to learn about Taengea. As if she were picking up a foreign language, Persephone had started to notice everything that she had missed in her period of emotional stupor. The taste of the food, the richness of the wine, the smooth and deeply dark polish of the wooden floors and panelling. Used to white marble and cool stone, the warm fires and deep earthy tones were a little encompassing and encroaching in places but were otherwise homey. She found that she wanted to step outdoors more here - to breath the fresh air and the open space. But that, upon coming back indoors, she was comfortable in the reach and engrossing feel of the Dimitrou decor.
She was even starting to grow used to the animal heads on walls and the furs before the hearths. Compared to her palace back in Athenia, the Dimitrou estate was practically a barbaric hunting lodge. But she was finding that the friendliness of its people and the Taengean way of life saved it from being a place of savages. Even Lord Gavriil had been remarkably understanding regarding the disruption she had caused in descending upon his household.
Which was why she was nervous to correct the impressions she had made upon the Dimitrou's at large. If she had offended and upset Iason - which it had been made clear the previous evening - a man who had known her before their arrival in his homeland, there was no possible conclusion in which she hadn't secured a horrendous impression in the eyes and minds of the other Dimitrou.
Nervous to correct such a thing, Persephone glanced at herself in the full-length looking glass in her borrowed chambers. The dress she had borrowed from Dorothea was a chiton style but where the Athenian fashion would be to fasten it around the waist, allowing the upper half to hang free, the lady’s maids of the Dimitrou home had fastened it with leather thongs around the torso, fitting it closer to shape. There were no arms to the gown which was disconcerting at first, until a himation was produced that was fastened tightly around the shoulders and upper arms before being secured at the back like a short cape. The item was securely with no brooch - just tied in place - but her hair had been braided into multiple braids that then fastened into a thick knot on the back of her head. There, several piece of silver ivy and buds of baby's breath were added to the side of the design. She wore no jewellery on her hands or wrists - for she now owned none and her feet were clad in simple leather sandals. The fabric, from head to toe, was a soft green and the leather an earthy brown. Besides the occasional dressing in black and white for her House colours, Persephone had never been clothed in something so dark... especially when she wasn't standing amongst alabaster pillars and archways of light.
Taking a steadying breath, she assessed herself once more, including the darkening shadow around her eyes that made her look pale compared to her clothes - when she normally appeared tan - and decided that if this was the Taengean look, then it was the appearance she was to adhere to from now on. Fashion was fashion, wherever you hailed from.
Turning her back on her reflection, Persephone moved to the door of her chambers where a servant awaited her on the other side. After the Lady Dorothea had been kind enough to entertain her for the morning, whilst Iason spoke with his father, Persephone had headed back to the chambers she had slept in, in order to change and make herself presentable to the man she hoped would become her future father-in-law. She had requested that the servant wait outside of the door so that she might be escorted to his study after - for she knew not where it was.
Dutiful in their responsibilities, the young girl had done just that and now led Persephone along several corridors and down a flight of stairs to the ground floor. She was guided to the back of the house where the Lord Gavriil was said to be already within the study and expecting her arrival.
Thanking the girl and setting her spine and shoulders into a position they remembered well - one of countenance, poise and grace - Persephone raised a hand and knocked upon the door, for she had no right to enter without permission. She was no Queen here.
When she was given directive to come in, Persephone secured her slender fingers around the door handle and - ignoring how thin her hands had become over the last week - entered the room.
The Lord Gavriil sat behind his desk and looked up with a polite smile at her entrance.
Shutting the door carefully behind her, Persephone returned the smile with one of her own, hoping that it offered the same polite camaraderie.
Stepping further into the room, she paused for a moment, realising that she probably needed to start as she went on and, feeling slightly awkward, Persephone offered a gracious curtsy and the lowering of her head.
"My Lord..." She offered to him in penitence. For, if being with Iason was to be her decision... she could no longer claim a higher rank than the man who had permitted her into his household. Upon rising, she kept her hands demurred paired over her pelvis and her back ramrod straight out of habit, but she tried to adjust a little to appear more casual. Whether it was a success or not was for others to decide. Grace she might have possessed from the Gods - so they said - but the ability to feign a casual air was still a skill she lacked. Among many others she was sure she would soon realise; in this new life she was attempting to prepare herself for...
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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"Of course, Lord Gavriil..."
They had been the only words Persephone had spoken to the man since she had excused herself from the dining table the previous evening. After that, her embarrassing behaviour in the woodlands and the scene she had caused - not to mention the disruption of the entire household staff - had reduced her to a shivering mass of cold the next time she had been in his vicinity and, since then, Iason and Dorothea had been the only individuals in her company. The morning meal had been the first time she had been with the lord since she had recovered her wits from her moment of pique and it hadn't felt appropriate to express the required contrition over a meal in which the entire family partook. Instead, she had intended to beg a moment of the man's time later that day - at a time convenient to himself, of course - but he had beaten her to it. By expressing the firm desire to speak with her - in a manner that offered no out or refusal and yet still maintained a rough politeness, Persephone had done nothing to refuse the arrangement and simply acquiesced without complaint or further comment.
It had, curiously, been Iason to have postponed the arrangement, but insisting on the need to speak with his father first. Persephone had been able to restrain the blush that had been tempted to break out over her cheeks given the looks Dorothea cast in their direction when such a request was made. Speak to his father about what...? they clearly asked. Persephone had managed to act as if she hadn't noticed and return to her roasted fruits and toasted breads. She had enjoyed the cheese in this region and she had never tasted berries so tart.
It seemed silly to consider all the little things she now noticed - the cheese, the berries... but given that she had - that morning - confirmed with Iason that she would marry him; that she would stay within Taengea and live out her days here, it was as if her mind had suddenly switch gears. It was a sensation that Persephone was used to. She agonised and debated and argued over every decision she made; never once allowing anything to be decided upon her gut or instinct. But the moment a choice was finally passed and a conclusion reached, her thoughts and efforts were singularly focused. She never looked back and she never regretted.
She had decided to stay in Taengea. Which meant she needed to learn about Taengea. As if she were picking up a foreign language, Persephone had started to notice everything that she had missed in her period of emotional stupor. The taste of the food, the richness of the wine, the smooth and deeply dark polish of the wooden floors and panelling. Used to white marble and cool stone, the warm fires and deep earthy tones were a little encompassing and encroaching in places but were otherwise homey. She found that she wanted to step outdoors more here - to breath the fresh air and the open space. But that, upon coming back indoors, she was comfortable in the reach and engrossing feel of the Dimitrou decor.
She was even starting to grow used to the animal heads on walls and the furs before the hearths. Compared to her palace back in Athenia, the Dimitrou estate was practically a barbaric hunting lodge. But she was finding that the friendliness of its people and the Taengean way of life saved it from being a place of savages. Even Lord Gavriil had been remarkably understanding regarding the disruption she had caused in descending upon his household.
Which was why she was nervous to correct the impressions she had made upon the Dimitrou's at large. If she had offended and upset Iason - which it had been made clear the previous evening - a man who had known her before their arrival in his homeland, there was no possible conclusion in which she hadn't secured a horrendous impression in the eyes and minds of the other Dimitrou.
Nervous to correct such a thing, Persephone glanced at herself in the full-length looking glass in her borrowed chambers. The dress she had borrowed from Dorothea was a chiton style but where the Athenian fashion would be to fasten it around the waist, allowing the upper half to hang free, the lady’s maids of the Dimitrou home had fastened it with leather thongs around the torso, fitting it closer to shape. There were no arms to the gown which was disconcerting at first, until a himation was produced that was fastened tightly around the shoulders and upper arms before being secured at the back like a short cape. The item was securely with no brooch - just tied in place - but her hair had been braided into multiple braids that then fastened into a thick knot on the back of her head. There, several piece of silver ivy and buds of baby's breath were added to the side of the design. She wore no jewellery on her hands or wrists - for she now owned none and her feet were clad in simple leather sandals. The fabric, from head to toe, was a soft green and the leather an earthy brown. Besides the occasional dressing in black and white for her House colours, Persephone had never been clothed in something so dark... especially when she wasn't standing amongst alabaster pillars and archways of light.
Taking a steadying breath, she assessed herself once more, including the darkening shadow around her eyes that made her look pale compared to her clothes - when she normally appeared tan - and decided that if this was the Taengean look, then it was the appearance she was to adhere to from now on. Fashion was fashion, wherever you hailed from.
Turning her back on her reflection, Persephone moved to the door of her chambers where a servant awaited her on the other side. After the Lady Dorothea had been kind enough to entertain her for the morning, whilst Iason spoke with his father, Persephone had headed back to the chambers she had slept in, in order to change and make herself presentable to the man she hoped would become her future father-in-law. She had requested that the servant wait outside of the door so that she might be escorted to his study after - for she knew not where it was.
Dutiful in their responsibilities, the young girl had done just that and now led Persephone along several corridors and down a flight of stairs to the ground floor. She was guided to the back of the house where the Lord Gavriil was said to be already within the study and expecting her arrival.
Thanking the girl and setting her spine and shoulders into a position they remembered well - one of countenance, poise and grace - Persephone raised a hand and knocked upon the door, for she had no right to enter without permission. She was no Queen here.
When she was given directive to come in, Persephone secured her slender fingers around the door handle and - ignoring how thin her hands had become over the last week - entered the room.
The Lord Gavriil sat behind his desk and looked up with a polite smile at her entrance.
Shutting the door carefully behind her, Persephone returned the smile with one of her own, hoping that it offered the same polite camaraderie.
Stepping further into the room, she paused for a moment, realising that she probably needed to start as she went on and, feeling slightly awkward, Persephone offered a gracious curtsy and the lowering of her head.
"My Lord..." She offered to him in penitence. For, if being with Iason was to be her decision... she could no longer claim a higher rank than the man who had permitted her into his household. Upon rising, she kept her hands demurred paired over her pelvis and her back ramrod straight out of habit, but she tried to adjust a little to appear more casual. Whether it was a success or not was for others to decide. Grace she might have possessed from the Gods - so they said - but the ability to feign a casual air was still a skill she lacked. Among many others she was sure she would soon realise; in this new life she was attempting to prepare herself for...
"Of course, Lord Gavriil..."
They had been the only words Persephone had spoken to the man since she had excused herself from the dining table the previous evening. After that, her embarrassing behaviour in the woodlands and the scene she had caused - not to mention the disruption of the entire household staff - had reduced her to a shivering mass of cold the next time she had been in his vicinity and, since then, Iason and Dorothea had been the only individuals in her company. The morning meal had been the first time she had been with the lord since she had recovered her wits from her moment of pique and it hadn't felt appropriate to express the required contrition over a meal in which the entire family partook. Instead, she had intended to beg a moment of the man's time later that day - at a time convenient to himself, of course - but he had beaten her to it. By expressing the firm desire to speak with her - in a manner that offered no out or refusal and yet still maintained a rough politeness, Persephone had done nothing to refuse the arrangement and simply acquiesced without complaint or further comment.
It had, curiously, been Iason to have postponed the arrangement, but insisting on the need to speak with his father first. Persephone had been able to restrain the blush that had been tempted to break out over her cheeks given the looks Dorothea cast in their direction when such a request was made. Speak to his father about what...? they clearly asked. Persephone had managed to act as if she hadn't noticed and return to her roasted fruits and toasted breads. She had enjoyed the cheese in this region and she had never tasted berries so tart.
It seemed silly to consider all the little things she now noticed - the cheese, the berries... but given that she had - that morning - confirmed with Iason that she would marry him; that she would stay within Taengea and live out her days here, it was as if her mind had suddenly switch gears. It was a sensation that Persephone was used to. She agonised and debated and argued over every decision she made; never once allowing anything to be decided upon her gut or instinct. But the moment a choice was finally passed and a conclusion reached, her thoughts and efforts were singularly focused. She never looked back and she never regretted.
She had decided to stay in Taengea. Which meant she needed to learn about Taengea. As if she were picking up a foreign language, Persephone had started to notice everything that she had missed in her period of emotional stupor. The taste of the food, the richness of the wine, the smooth and deeply dark polish of the wooden floors and panelling. Used to white marble and cool stone, the warm fires and deep earthy tones were a little encompassing and encroaching in places but were otherwise homey. She found that she wanted to step outdoors more here - to breath the fresh air and the open space. But that, upon coming back indoors, she was comfortable in the reach and engrossing feel of the Dimitrou decor.
She was even starting to grow used to the animal heads on walls and the furs before the hearths. Compared to her palace back in Athenia, the Dimitrou estate was practically a barbaric hunting lodge. But she was finding that the friendliness of its people and the Taengean way of life saved it from being a place of savages. Even Lord Gavriil had been remarkably understanding regarding the disruption she had caused in descending upon his household.
Which was why she was nervous to correct the impressions she had made upon the Dimitrou's at large. If she had offended and upset Iason - which it had been made clear the previous evening - a man who had known her before their arrival in his homeland, there was no possible conclusion in which she hadn't secured a horrendous impression in the eyes and minds of the other Dimitrou.
Nervous to correct such a thing, Persephone glanced at herself in the full-length looking glass in her borrowed chambers. The dress she had borrowed from Dorothea was a chiton style but where the Athenian fashion would be to fasten it around the waist, allowing the upper half to hang free, the lady’s maids of the Dimitrou home had fastened it with leather thongs around the torso, fitting it closer to shape. There were no arms to the gown which was disconcerting at first, until a himation was produced that was fastened tightly around the shoulders and upper arms before being secured at the back like a short cape. The item was securely with no brooch - just tied in place - but her hair had been braided into multiple braids that then fastened into a thick knot on the back of her head. There, several piece of silver ivy and buds of baby's breath were added to the side of the design. She wore no jewellery on her hands or wrists - for she now owned none and her feet were clad in simple leather sandals. The fabric, from head to toe, was a soft green and the leather an earthy brown. Besides the occasional dressing in black and white for her House colours, Persephone had never been clothed in something so dark... especially when she wasn't standing amongst alabaster pillars and archways of light.
Taking a steadying breath, she assessed herself once more, including the darkening shadow around her eyes that made her look pale compared to her clothes - when she normally appeared tan - and decided that if this was the Taengean look, then it was the appearance she was to adhere to from now on. Fashion was fashion, wherever you hailed from.
Turning her back on her reflection, Persephone moved to the door of her chambers where a servant awaited her on the other side. After the Lady Dorothea had been kind enough to entertain her for the morning, whilst Iason spoke with his father, Persephone had headed back to the chambers she had slept in, in order to change and make herself presentable to the man she hoped would become her future father-in-law. She had requested that the servant wait outside of the door so that she might be escorted to his study after - for she knew not where it was.
Dutiful in their responsibilities, the young girl had done just that and now led Persephone along several corridors and down a flight of stairs to the ground floor. She was guided to the back of the house where the Lord Gavriil was said to be already within the study and expecting her arrival.
Thanking the girl and setting her spine and shoulders into a position they remembered well - one of countenance, poise and grace - Persephone raised a hand and knocked upon the door, for she had no right to enter without permission. She was no Queen here.
When she was given directive to come in, Persephone secured her slender fingers around the door handle and - ignoring how thin her hands had become over the last week - entered the room.
The Lord Gavriil sat behind his desk and looked up with a polite smile at her entrance.
Shutting the door carefully behind her, Persephone returned the smile with one of her own, hoping that it offered the same polite camaraderie.
Stepping further into the room, she paused for a moment, realising that she probably needed to start as she went on and, feeling slightly awkward, Persephone offered a gracious curtsy and the lowering of her head.
"My Lord..." She offered to him in penitence. For, if being with Iason was to be her decision... she could no longer claim a higher rank than the man who had permitted her into his household. Upon rising, she kept her hands demurred paired over her pelvis and her back ramrod straight out of habit, but she tried to adjust a little to appear more casual. Whether it was a success or not was for others to decide. Grace she might have possessed from the Gods - so they said - but the ability to feign a casual air was still a skill she lacked. Among many others she was sure she would soon realise; in this new life she was attempting to prepare herself for...
"Come in," Gavriil extended his hand to one of the two wooden seats in front of his desk. Neither seat was particularly comfortable but then, neither had been carved with the intent for someone to sit in them for long periods of time. Despite the comfort level, the legs of the chairs were masterfully carved into woven vines, so that the seat of the chair looked to be cradled. The carved vines continued up and formed an intricate backing for a bit of support.
Gavriil's desk was fashioned in the same way, with wooden vines forming the legs of the desk and curving up and holding the flat slab of the desk's top. His own chair was rather more simple and entirely more comfortable. His father had used a chair identical to the ones that Persephone would sit in but once the barony was his, he'd commissioned his own, simpler one. It was made further better by the addition of a cushion and a deer pelt draped over the back.
For him, this was not the downright awful, uncomfortable conversation it probably should have been. This was delicate subject matter - explaining to a princess what she would and would not be doing. However, being that Iason had made up his mind, that Persephone did not have the might of Athenia at her disposal, he was viewing her as a daughter in law that needed reminded of a few things. This was a bit more of a 'barony' issue, an impersonal issue. Though it had affected them all on a personal level.
He did not speak until Persephone sat. To give her his undivided attention, he quietly lay down his quill, covered the ink, and put drying sand over his papers. Then he shifted them to the extreme side of the desk in an orderly manner, completely unhurried, before returning his hands to the center of the desk and folding them together.
He was not a courtier. His words were not fine or fancy, though he could meander through a conversation well enough when forced. "Taengea is very different to your Athenia, I believe?" He waited for her reply and then went on.
"Iason has no doubt told you about his mother." It wasn't a question. Gavriil had been holding Persephone's gaze steadily until then but now he looked past her. "Did he tell you how she came to be my wife?"
Despite the work he had left to do, despite that Persephone, no doubt, would be needed elsewhere, he did not hurry his speech. He spoke in the heavy Taegean accent native to his region and his voice was calm and deep. His description of seeing Sybil for the first time, of falling in love with a daughter of a man of no birth, was given in simple phrases. But as he spoke, he could see his young wife, the way she had been - all eyes and dark hair.
He told Persephone about Iason's birth, then Dorothea's. How happy Sybil was to be pregnant again with Alexa...and how that had ended. That Alexa was the last he had of his wife.
"I don't speak about it much," he said, finally bringing his steady gaze to meet hers. "She was my reason for everything I did." There was a long pause and as he considered the young woman before him. There were things he wanted to outright tell her but from what he'd seen last night, she was a walking shell. His preference was to be straightforward in conversations - to go straight to the point, but sometimes, to get to what he wanted, he had to go very quietly, and very carefully. In his experience, no deer was captured by force. They were shot down by calm and patience.
"I had my children and they needed me. My lands and my people needed me." He was not looking at her with pity or with judgement. His eyes simply rested on her face. "I did grieve. And I also woke up the next morning and I had breakfast with my children."
He sat forward a bit. "You had breakfast this morning. You will have lunch this afternoon, and you will sup with us this evening. Tonight, you'll pray with us to Artemis and then you'll sleep. And when you dream of your family, which you will, you may cry. But you will come to breakfast tomorrow."
These weren't commands he was giving but nor were they options. He was simply telling her, in his way, how to get through death. Nothing was going to change, even if she punished herself and those around her in her self pity and grief. What he wanted was for his son not to marry a ghost - or Iason's sake and her own.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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"Come in," Gavriil extended his hand to one of the two wooden seats in front of his desk. Neither seat was particularly comfortable but then, neither had been carved with the intent for someone to sit in them for long periods of time. Despite the comfort level, the legs of the chairs were masterfully carved into woven vines, so that the seat of the chair looked to be cradled. The carved vines continued up and formed an intricate backing for a bit of support.
Gavriil's desk was fashioned in the same way, with wooden vines forming the legs of the desk and curving up and holding the flat slab of the desk's top. His own chair was rather more simple and entirely more comfortable. His father had used a chair identical to the ones that Persephone would sit in but once the barony was his, he'd commissioned his own, simpler one. It was made further better by the addition of a cushion and a deer pelt draped over the back.
For him, this was not the downright awful, uncomfortable conversation it probably should have been. This was delicate subject matter - explaining to a princess what she would and would not be doing. However, being that Iason had made up his mind, that Persephone did not have the might of Athenia at her disposal, he was viewing her as a daughter in law that needed reminded of a few things. This was a bit more of a 'barony' issue, an impersonal issue. Though it had affected them all on a personal level.
He did not speak until Persephone sat. To give her his undivided attention, he quietly lay down his quill, covered the ink, and put drying sand over his papers. Then he shifted them to the extreme side of the desk in an orderly manner, completely unhurried, before returning his hands to the center of the desk and folding them together.
He was not a courtier. His words were not fine or fancy, though he could meander through a conversation well enough when forced. "Taengea is very different to your Athenia, I believe?" He waited for her reply and then went on.
"Iason has no doubt told you about his mother." It wasn't a question. Gavriil had been holding Persephone's gaze steadily until then but now he looked past her. "Did he tell you how she came to be my wife?"
Despite the work he had left to do, despite that Persephone, no doubt, would be needed elsewhere, he did not hurry his speech. He spoke in the heavy Taegean accent native to his region and his voice was calm and deep. His description of seeing Sybil for the first time, of falling in love with a daughter of a man of no birth, was given in simple phrases. But as he spoke, he could see his young wife, the way she had been - all eyes and dark hair.
He told Persephone about Iason's birth, then Dorothea's. How happy Sybil was to be pregnant again with Alexa...and how that had ended. That Alexa was the last he had of his wife.
"I don't speak about it much," he said, finally bringing his steady gaze to meet hers. "She was my reason for everything I did." There was a long pause and as he considered the young woman before him. There were things he wanted to outright tell her but from what he'd seen last night, she was a walking shell. His preference was to be straightforward in conversations - to go straight to the point, but sometimes, to get to what he wanted, he had to go very quietly, and very carefully. In his experience, no deer was captured by force. They were shot down by calm and patience.
"I had my children and they needed me. My lands and my people needed me." He was not looking at her with pity or with judgement. His eyes simply rested on her face. "I did grieve. And I also woke up the next morning and I had breakfast with my children."
He sat forward a bit. "You had breakfast this morning. You will have lunch this afternoon, and you will sup with us this evening. Tonight, you'll pray with us to Artemis and then you'll sleep. And when you dream of your family, which you will, you may cry. But you will come to breakfast tomorrow."
These weren't commands he was giving but nor were they options. He was simply telling her, in his way, how to get through death. Nothing was going to change, even if she punished herself and those around her in her self pity and grief. What he wanted was for his son not to marry a ghost - or Iason's sake and her own.
"Come in," Gavriil extended his hand to one of the two wooden seats in front of his desk. Neither seat was particularly comfortable but then, neither had been carved with the intent for someone to sit in them for long periods of time. Despite the comfort level, the legs of the chairs were masterfully carved into woven vines, so that the seat of the chair looked to be cradled. The carved vines continued up and formed an intricate backing for a bit of support.
Gavriil's desk was fashioned in the same way, with wooden vines forming the legs of the desk and curving up and holding the flat slab of the desk's top. His own chair was rather more simple and entirely more comfortable. His father had used a chair identical to the ones that Persephone would sit in but once the barony was his, he'd commissioned his own, simpler one. It was made further better by the addition of a cushion and a deer pelt draped over the back.
For him, this was not the downright awful, uncomfortable conversation it probably should have been. This was delicate subject matter - explaining to a princess what she would and would not be doing. However, being that Iason had made up his mind, that Persephone did not have the might of Athenia at her disposal, he was viewing her as a daughter in law that needed reminded of a few things. This was a bit more of a 'barony' issue, an impersonal issue. Though it had affected them all on a personal level.
He did not speak until Persephone sat. To give her his undivided attention, he quietly lay down his quill, covered the ink, and put drying sand over his papers. Then he shifted them to the extreme side of the desk in an orderly manner, completely unhurried, before returning his hands to the center of the desk and folding them together.
He was not a courtier. His words were not fine or fancy, though he could meander through a conversation well enough when forced. "Taengea is very different to your Athenia, I believe?" He waited for her reply and then went on.
"Iason has no doubt told you about his mother." It wasn't a question. Gavriil had been holding Persephone's gaze steadily until then but now he looked past her. "Did he tell you how she came to be my wife?"
Despite the work he had left to do, despite that Persephone, no doubt, would be needed elsewhere, he did not hurry his speech. He spoke in the heavy Taegean accent native to his region and his voice was calm and deep. His description of seeing Sybil for the first time, of falling in love with a daughter of a man of no birth, was given in simple phrases. But as he spoke, he could see his young wife, the way she had been - all eyes and dark hair.
He told Persephone about Iason's birth, then Dorothea's. How happy Sybil was to be pregnant again with Alexa...and how that had ended. That Alexa was the last he had of his wife.
"I don't speak about it much," he said, finally bringing his steady gaze to meet hers. "She was my reason for everything I did." There was a long pause and as he considered the young woman before him. There were things he wanted to outright tell her but from what he'd seen last night, she was a walking shell. His preference was to be straightforward in conversations - to go straight to the point, but sometimes, to get to what he wanted, he had to go very quietly, and very carefully. In his experience, no deer was captured by force. They were shot down by calm and patience.
"I had my children and they needed me. My lands and my people needed me." He was not looking at her with pity or with judgement. His eyes simply rested on her face. "I did grieve. And I also woke up the next morning and I had breakfast with my children."
He sat forward a bit. "You had breakfast this morning. You will have lunch this afternoon, and you will sup with us this evening. Tonight, you'll pray with us to Artemis and then you'll sleep. And when you dream of your family, which you will, you may cry. But you will come to breakfast tomorrow."
These weren't commands he was giving but nor were they options. He was simply telling her, in his way, how to get through death. Nothing was going to change, even if she punished herself and those around her in her self pity and grief. What he wanted was for his son not to marry a ghost - or Iason's sake and her own.
When he gave no reaction to a former (though technically still legal) Queen bowing to him in the middle of his study, Persephone simply inhaled calmly and moved to sit as she was directed. As Lord Gavriil made himself ready for conversation, finalising the tasks before him on the surface of his desk and doing it within his own time, Persephone sat ramrod straight in her seat. Her ankles were together, her heels slightly raised from the floor, her hands folded together neatly in her lap, her posture perfect, her head high, her chin parallel to the floor. From the crown of her head to the extremities of her tail bone she was perfectly straight and held in place by years of training and tutorship. Some might have taken her posture as an implication of defiance or arrogance but in truth this was simply - after years and years of habit - how Persephone sat. Because it was familiar to her muscles.
What were less familiar, were the nerves that played down her straight spine and trembled over her fingertips. Having lived her life walking the careful balance of always considering what others thought but never allowing those thoughts to dictate her own actions, Persephone mediated on such a thought as she kept her nervousness hidden away and awaited the Lord to begin the conversation, as was polite. Wondering only mildly if this was how her own visitors and guests felt when she held them in exactly the same situation with herself placed on the other side of the desk.
When the Lord Gavriil commented on Taengea and Athenia being different places, Persephone was fairly convinced that the man - who gave no indication that he enjoyed small talk or idle chatter - wasn't discussing the differences between Athenian sea views and Taengean foliage. Rather than commit to his assertions with any kind of detail, Persephone simply met the man's eye as he spoke and agreed to his statement of fact.
"It is."
When he mentioned and queried whether Iason had mentioned his maternal parent, Persephone offered only the same factual answers.
"Only that your union was one of affection over arrangement and that she passed." She commented, her tone dipping slightly at the end in a show of commiseration at his loss.
What followed between them was a tail of much love and much sadness that Persephone felt awkward listened to. In truth, the two of them were in a socially awkward position for they knew each other not at all and yet were expected to be considering the other family. It meant for personal conversations that - as he said, he didn't often share - with someone who was near enough a stranger.
To add pain to each moment of awkward revelation, Persephone knew the story to be going in a particular direction and, as an intelligent young woman, her mind was already there by the time Lord Gavriil came to his point.
The man was polite and calm and even a little poetic in how he expressed his concerns to Persephone, but his meaning would have been clear to those less experienced in play of words than herself. Her actions over the last twenty-four hours - since she had been within their household - had been disruptive and unacceptable. Her feelings, while valid, were to be respected at the appropriate time and in the appropriate way.
A mixture of stung pride and hurtful shame burned through Persephone but the only external evidence of it was a dusting of colour across her cheekbones that was hard to notice. The rest of her, stayed perfectly still, shrinking back into the icy princess shell that she knew so well and which was so effective and ensuring her emotions didn't show upon her face.
It was almost a relief when her instincts spoke up and brought the armour down over herself. It had been a while since she had felt the defensive layer, heavy on her shoulders but near impenetrable.
Her mind splitting into two, Persephone felt the anger and need to refute the man and his allegations. She had ever bit as much experience with handling grief as he - perhaps more if the loss of family could be equated to the loss of a wife. And yet he felt the need to give her the benefit of his wisdom over a situation so wholly different from her own. Such magnanimity.
The other side of her burned with shame. For her actions had been entirely wrong and she had known that to be the case - had intended to speak with Lord Gavriil regarding it and make the appropriate apologies. His beating her to that result was in equal parts aggravating and humbling.
After silence fell between them for a few moments, Persephone knew she had to say something to the man to ensure - at the very least - that she had heard him and his message and that she regretted her actions... but to find the words...
"If you'll permit me, Lord Gavriil..." She commented with a tone that was calm and responsible. "I offer you my sympathies on your loss." Her ivy mask cracked slightly as she offered him the flash of a sad smile and the brightening of her eyes. "It sounds as if the Lady Sybil was a fortunate woman to have been loved so truly." She took a calm breath. "My recent experience with death has not been my first, Lord Gavriil so allow me to assure you that I wholly agree with your... gastronomic analogy of the processing of grief. I can only offer my sincerest and most humble apologies that I was not able to show you such... stamina... since arriving at your estate."
Deciding that the Lord had gotten to the point he wanted to make - the defence of his son against a union with a woman who could not cope with the emotion of loss - Persephone rose to her feet in one fluid and graceful motion.
"As odd as it may sound, I wish we could have met under the terms of my mother's passing, my Lord." She told the man, her hands demurely folded in front of her. "I am prouder of my actions then than I have been now and feel you may have respected me more for it." Her expression turned harder. "In lieu of it I have only my word that I hold no intention of disturbing your home, household, self... or your son.... with any further unbecoming displays."
Moving to offer her skirts lower herself into another polite curtsy, Persephone's tone dropped a little to one of penitence.
"I hope I have assured you to the point that you might permit me to leave now, my Lord."
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Check out their information page here.
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When he gave no reaction to a former (though technically still legal) Queen bowing to him in the middle of his study, Persephone simply inhaled calmly and moved to sit as she was directed. As Lord Gavriil made himself ready for conversation, finalising the tasks before him on the surface of his desk and doing it within his own time, Persephone sat ramrod straight in her seat. Her ankles were together, her heels slightly raised from the floor, her hands folded together neatly in her lap, her posture perfect, her head high, her chin parallel to the floor. From the crown of her head to the extremities of her tail bone she was perfectly straight and held in place by years of training and tutorship. Some might have taken her posture as an implication of defiance or arrogance but in truth this was simply - after years and years of habit - how Persephone sat. Because it was familiar to her muscles.
What were less familiar, were the nerves that played down her straight spine and trembled over her fingertips. Having lived her life walking the careful balance of always considering what others thought but never allowing those thoughts to dictate her own actions, Persephone mediated on such a thought as she kept her nervousness hidden away and awaited the Lord to begin the conversation, as was polite. Wondering only mildly if this was how her own visitors and guests felt when she held them in exactly the same situation with herself placed on the other side of the desk.
When the Lord Gavriil commented on Taengea and Athenia being different places, Persephone was fairly convinced that the man - who gave no indication that he enjoyed small talk or idle chatter - wasn't discussing the differences between Athenian sea views and Taengean foliage. Rather than commit to his assertions with any kind of detail, Persephone simply met the man's eye as he spoke and agreed to his statement of fact.
"It is."
When he mentioned and queried whether Iason had mentioned his maternal parent, Persephone offered only the same factual answers.
"Only that your union was one of affection over arrangement and that she passed." She commented, her tone dipping slightly at the end in a show of commiseration at his loss.
What followed between them was a tail of much love and much sadness that Persephone felt awkward listened to. In truth, the two of them were in a socially awkward position for they knew each other not at all and yet were expected to be considering the other family. It meant for personal conversations that - as he said, he didn't often share - with someone who was near enough a stranger.
To add pain to each moment of awkward revelation, Persephone knew the story to be going in a particular direction and, as an intelligent young woman, her mind was already there by the time Lord Gavriil came to his point.
The man was polite and calm and even a little poetic in how he expressed his concerns to Persephone, but his meaning would have been clear to those less experienced in play of words than herself. Her actions over the last twenty-four hours - since she had been within their household - had been disruptive and unacceptable. Her feelings, while valid, were to be respected at the appropriate time and in the appropriate way.
A mixture of stung pride and hurtful shame burned through Persephone but the only external evidence of it was a dusting of colour across her cheekbones that was hard to notice. The rest of her, stayed perfectly still, shrinking back into the icy princess shell that she knew so well and which was so effective and ensuring her emotions didn't show upon her face.
It was almost a relief when her instincts spoke up and brought the armour down over herself. It had been a while since she had felt the defensive layer, heavy on her shoulders but near impenetrable.
Her mind splitting into two, Persephone felt the anger and need to refute the man and his allegations. She had ever bit as much experience with handling grief as he - perhaps more if the loss of family could be equated to the loss of a wife. And yet he felt the need to give her the benefit of his wisdom over a situation so wholly different from her own. Such magnanimity.
The other side of her burned with shame. For her actions had been entirely wrong and she had known that to be the case - had intended to speak with Lord Gavriil regarding it and make the appropriate apologies. His beating her to that result was in equal parts aggravating and humbling.
After silence fell between them for a few moments, Persephone knew she had to say something to the man to ensure - at the very least - that she had heard him and his message and that she regretted her actions... but to find the words...
"If you'll permit me, Lord Gavriil..." She commented with a tone that was calm and responsible. "I offer you my sympathies on your loss." Her ivy mask cracked slightly as she offered him the flash of a sad smile and the brightening of her eyes. "It sounds as if the Lady Sybil was a fortunate woman to have been loved so truly." She took a calm breath. "My recent experience with death has not been my first, Lord Gavriil so allow me to assure you that I wholly agree with your... gastronomic analogy of the processing of grief. I can only offer my sincerest and most humble apologies that I was not able to show you such... stamina... since arriving at your estate."
Deciding that the Lord had gotten to the point he wanted to make - the defence of his son against a union with a woman who could not cope with the emotion of loss - Persephone rose to her feet in one fluid and graceful motion.
"As odd as it may sound, I wish we could have met under the terms of my mother's passing, my Lord." She told the man, her hands demurely folded in front of her. "I am prouder of my actions then than I have been now and feel you may have respected me more for it." Her expression turned harder. "In lieu of it I have only my word that I hold no intention of disturbing your home, household, self... or your son.... with any further unbecoming displays."
Moving to offer her skirts lower herself into another polite curtsy, Persephone's tone dropped a little to one of penitence.
"I hope I have assured you to the point that you might permit me to leave now, my Lord."
When he gave no reaction to a former (though technically still legal) Queen bowing to him in the middle of his study, Persephone simply inhaled calmly and moved to sit as she was directed. As Lord Gavriil made himself ready for conversation, finalising the tasks before him on the surface of his desk and doing it within his own time, Persephone sat ramrod straight in her seat. Her ankles were together, her heels slightly raised from the floor, her hands folded together neatly in her lap, her posture perfect, her head high, her chin parallel to the floor. From the crown of her head to the extremities of her tail bone she was perfectly straight and held in place by years of training and tutorship. Some might have taken her posture as an implication of defiance or arrogance but in truth this was simply - after years and years of habit - how Persephone sat. Because it was familiar to her muscles.
What were less familiar, were the nerves that played down her straight spine and trembled over her fingertips. Having lived her life walking the careful balance of always considering what others thought but never allowing those thoughts to dictate her own actions, Persephone mediated on such a thought as she kept her nervousness hidden away and awaited the Lord to begin the conversation, as was polite. Wondering only mildly if this was how her own visitors and guests felt when she held them in exactly the same situation with herself placed on the other side of the desk.
When the Lord Gavriil commented on Taengea and Athenia being different places, Persephone was fairly convinced that the man - who gave no indication that he enjoyed small talk or idle chatter - wasn't discussing the differences between Athenian sea views and Taengean foliage. Rather than commit to his assertions with any kind of detail, Persephone simply met the man's eye as he spoke and agreed to his statement of fact.
"It is."
When he mentioned and queried whether Iason had mentioned his maternal parent, Persephone offered only the same factual answers.
"Only that your union was one of affection over arrangement and that she passed." She commented, her tone dipping slightly at the end in a show of commiseration at his loss.
What followed between them was a tail of much love and much sadness that Persephone felt awkward listened to. In truth, the two of them were in a socially awkward position for they knew each other not at all and yet were expected to be considering the other family. It meant for personal conversations that - as he said, he didn't often share - with someone who was near enough a stranger.
To add pain to each moment of awkward revelation, Persephone knew the story to be going in a particular direction and, as an intelligent young woman, her mind was already there by the time Lord Gavriil came to his point.
The man was polite and calm and even a little poetic in how he expressed his concerns to Persephone, but his meaning would have been clear to those less experienced in play of words than herself. Her actions over the last twenty-four hours - since she had been within their household - had been disruptive and unacceptable. Her feelings, while valid, were to be respected at the appropriate time and in the appropriate way.
A mixture of stung pride and hurtful shame burned through Persephone but the only external evidence of it was a dusting of colour across her cheekbones that was hard to notice. The rest of her, stayed perfectly still, shrinking back into the icy princess shell that she knew so well and which was so effective and ensuring her emotions didn't show upon her face.
It was almost a relief when her instincts spoke up and brought the armour down over herself. It had been a while since she had felt the defensive layer, heavy on her shoulders but near impenetrable.
Her mind splitting into two, Persephone felt the anger and need to refute the man and his allegations. She had ever bit as much experience with handling grief as he - perhaps more if the loss of family could be equated to the loss of a wife. And yet he felt the need to give her the benefit of his wisdom over a situation so wholly different from her own. Such magnanimity.
The other side of her burned with shame. For her actions had been entirely wrong and she had known that to be the case - had intended to speak with Lord Gavriil regarding it and make the appropriate apologies. His beating her to that result was in equal parts aggravating and humbling.
After silence fell between them for a few moments, Persephone knew she had to say something to the man to ensure - at the very least - that she had heard him and his message and that she regretted her actions... but to find the words...
"If you'll permit me, Lord Gavriil..." She commented with a tone that was calm and responsible. "I offer you my sympathies on your loss." Her ivy mask cracked slightly as she offered him the flash of a sad smile and the brightening of her eyes. "It sounds as if the Lady Sybil was a fortunate woman to have been loved so truly." She took a calm breath. "My recent experience with death has not been my first, Lord Gavriil so allow me to assure you that I wholly agree with your... gastronomic analogy of the processing of grief. I can only offer my sincerest and most humble apologies that I was not able to show you such... stamina... since arriving at your estate."
Deciding that the Lord had gotten to the point he wanted to make - the defence of his son against a union with a woman who could not cope with the emotion of loss - Persephone rose to her feet in one fluid and graceful motion.
"As odd as it may sound, I wish we could have met under the terms of my mother's passing, my Lord." She told the man, her hands demurely folded in front of her. "I am prouder of my actions then than I have been now and feel you may have respected me more for it." Her expression turned harder. "In lieu of it I have only my word that I hold no intention of disturbing your home, household, self... or your son.... with any further unbecoming displays."
Moving to offer her skirts lower herself into another polite curtsy, Persephone's tone dropped a little to one of penitence.
"I hope I have assured you to the point that you might permit me to leave now, my Lord."
It was like talking to the statue of Artemis in his courtyard. He was positive she could hear him. There just wasn’t a response. At least, there wasn’t right at first. Eventually, she gathered herself enough to compose some short sentences, all very polite, designed to prove that she was, in fact, taking in what he was saying, but ultimately she was still displaying the behavior he was trying to get around. It was perfectly alright for he, himself, to be stoic but it was not a desirable trait in either a Queen or a fiance for his boy. More importantly, it wasn’t a trait that many Taengeans would respond to positively at all.
She might not see it yet, but this was for her own good.
At last, she smiled a very quick, not overly pleased smile. To him, it looked almost sad and with the way her eyes glittered, he was becoming concerned that she might cry. He shifted in his chair and unfolded his hands before folding them again and shifting the other way, trying to decide what he would do if she actually did break into tears.
Thank the gods that she did not. Instead, she offered up an apology that she hadn’t been better able to deal with grief. Gavriil did not interrupt her and in fact, relaxed a fraction when he was sure that she was not going to break into tears. In this moment, he was appreciative of her ability to school herself. There were, of course, times to cry, and then there were times to be somber.
He did not stand when she did, and his grave expression did not shift when she promised not to embarrass herself or anyone else by tromping off into the woods at an ungodly hour of the night.
“I would have you stay, another moment, if you would,” he said, motioning for her to retake her seat. Waiting until she did so, he went on in his same unhurried manner. “I spoke with Iason this morning and he is saying that, despite the change of situation you find yourself in, he would still like to keep the engagement in tact.”
For a long moment, he looked her over, not in a critical way, just seeing how she bore this news. He was not thoroughly acquainted with all that had happened last night. Only the woman before him and Iason knew all, but he had enough to go on to make an educated guess.
“I will not pretend that I am joyous that my son will not be living so far away.” A small, half smile was about as much joy as his face was capable of at this hour of the morning. “To come back to what I said earlier, Taengea is very different than Athenia. Since you are to stay, it is my hope that you will find a new and…” he searched for the word again. Speeches of this kind were a little difficult for him because they required a delicate touch that wasn’t natural for him, as well as more words all in the space of a few breaths that he also didn’t like to do.
No. None of that was coming out right. He needed to start over.
“We are a close knit family here,” he said. “If you are to be my daughter soon, then I would prefer not to refer to you as ‘your majesty’ or ‘your highness’, unless that is offensive. May I use your name?”
He was trying to make a bridge between them. Something that could become comfortable with time. Since Iason wanted to marry this woman, he saw no reason to stand in the way of it or to make any sort of trouble or awkwardness. Now that Persephone understood what he would and would not tolerate, he felt it was time to at least make a foray into friendlier territory.
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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It was like talking to the statue of Artemis in his courtyard. He was positive she could hear him. There just wasn’t a response. At least, there wasn’t right at first. Eventually, she gathered herself enough to compose some short sentences, all very polite, designed to prove that she was, in fact, taking in what he was saying, but ultimately she was still displaying the behavior he was trying to get around. It was perfectly alright for he, himself, to be stoic but it was not a desirable trait in either a Queen or a fiance for his boy. More importantly, it wasn’t a trait that many Taengeans would respond to positively at all.
She might not see it yet, but this was for her own good.
At last, she smiled a very quick, not overly pleased smile. To him, it looked almost sad and with the way her eyes glittered, he was becoming concerned that she might cry. He shifted in his chair and unfolded his hands before folding them again and shifting the other way, trying to decide what he would do if she actually did break into tears.
Thank the gods that she did not. Instead, she offered up an apology that she hadn’t been better able to deal with grief. Gavriil did not interrupt her and in fact, relaxed a fraction when he was sure that she was not going to break into tears. In this moment, he was appreciative of her ability to school herself. There were, of course, times to cry, and then there were times to be somber.
He did not stand when she did, and his grave expression did not shift when she promised not to embarrass herself or anyone else by tromping off into the woods at an ungodly hour of the night.
“I would have you stay, another moment, if you would,” he said, motioning for her to retake her seat. Waiting until she did so, he went on in his same unhurried manner. “I spoke with Iason this morning and he is saying that, despite the change of situation you find yourself in, he would still like to keep the engagement in tact.”
For a long moment, he looked her over, not in a critical way, just seeing how she bore this news. He was not thoroughly acquainted with all that had happened last night. Only the woman before him and Iason knew all, but he had enough to go on to make an educated guess.
“I will not pretend that I am joyous that my son will not be living so far away.” A small, half smile was about as much joy as his face was capable of at this hour of the morning. “To come back to what I said earlier, Taengea is very different than Athenia. Since you are to stay, it is my hope that you will find a new and…” he searched for the word again. Speeches of this kind were a little difficult for him because they required a delicate touch that wasn’t natural for him, as well as more words all in the space of a few breaths that he also didn’t like to do.
No. None of that was coming out right. He needed to start over.
“We are a close knit family here,” he said. “If you are to be my daughter soon, then I would prefer not to refer to you as ‘your majesty’ or ‘your highness’, unless that is offensive. May I use your name?”
He was trying to make a bridge between them. Something that could become comfortable with time. Since Iason wanted to marry this woman, he saw no reason to stand in the way of it or to make any sort of trouble or awkwardness. Now that Persephone understood what he would and would not tolerate, he felt it was time to at least make a foray into friendlier territory.
It was like talking to the statue of Artemis in his courtyard. He was positive she could hear him. There just wasn’t a response. At least, there wasn’t right at first. Eventually, she gathered herself enough to compose some short sentences, all very polite, designed to prove that she was, in fact, taking in what he was saying, but ultimately she was still displaying the behavior he was trying to get around. It was perfectly alright for he, himself, to be stoic but it was not a desirable trait in either a Queen or a fiance for his boy. More importantly, it wasn’t a trait that many Taengeans would respond to positively at all.
She might not see it yet, but this was for her own good.
At last, she smiled a very quick, not overly pleased smile. To him, it looked almost sad and with the way her eyes glittered, he was becoming concerned that she might cry. He shifted in his chair and unfolded his hands before folding them again and shifting the other way, trying to decide what he would do if she actually did break into tears.
Thank the gods that she did not. Instead, she offered up an apology that she hadn’t been better able to deal with grief. Gavriil did not interrupt her and in fact, relaxed a fraction when he was sure that she was not going to break into tears. In this moment, he was appreciative of her ability to school herself. There were, of course, times to cry, and then there were times to be somber.
He did not stand when she did, and his grave expression did not shift when she promised not to embarrass herself or anyone else by tromping off into the woods at an ungodly hour of the night.
“I would have you stay, another moment, if you would,” he said, motioning for her to retake her seat. Waiting until she did so, he went on in his same unhurried manner. “I spoke with Iason this morning and he is saying that, despite the change of situation you find yourself in, he would still like to keep the engagement in tact.”
For a long moment, he looked her over, not in a critical way, just seeing how she bore this news. He was not thoroughly acquainted with all that had happened last night. Only the woman before him and Iason knew all, but he had enough to go on to make an educated guess.
“I will not pretend that I am joyous that my son will not be living so far away.” A small, half smile was about as much joy as his face was capable of at this hour of the morning. “To come back to what I said earlier, Taengea is very different than Athenia. Since you are to stay, it is my hope that you will find a new and…” he searched for the word again. Speeches of this kind were a little difficult for him because they required a delicate touch that wasn’t natural for him, as well as more words all in the space of a few breaths that he also didn’t like to do.
No. None of that was coming out right. He needed to start over.
“We are a close knit family here,” he said. “If you are to be my daughter soon, then I would prefer not to refer to you as ‘your majesty’ or ‘your highness’, unless that is offensive. May I use your name?”
He was trying to make a bridge between them. Something that could become comfortable with time. Since Iason wanted to marry this woman, he saw no reason to stand in the way of it or to make any sort of trouble or awkwardness. Now that Persephone understood what he would and would not tolerate, he felt it was time to at least make a foray into friendlier territory.
When the Lord Gavriil instructed her to sit back down, Persephone felt a very strange contradiction of emotions. First, was a bristling of pride. Before her very short tenure as Queen of Athenia, she had been a Princess for many years. Man following her instructions was significantly more common than she following theirs. In fact, there had only been one man within the kingdom that was of a higher rank than herself and to whom she had had to bow her head and obey. And he was now passed unto the other world.
To now be instructed - even as politely and pleasantly as it had been done - by man who was not only of a lower rank than she (if she were to still possess the title of Queen) but was near enough a complete stranger, was such a bizarre and foreign experience that along with shock came the natural rankling of pride that he should think himself in a position to command her thusly.
Her natural instinct was to straighten her back (if it could go any further), lift her chin and add a haughty expression to her features that would have turned any lord in the Athenian lands to a moment of concerned cowardice.
Instead, however, her reaction was tapered and subdued by the conflicting set of emotions that rushed to overpower her wounded ego.
The instruction to sit had been done in a polite tone, but it hadn't lacked a personal sensitivity for it. And when one was feeling decidedly lost at sea - as Persephone had done since she had arrived in Taengea - there was something very calming and... safe feeling... to have someone else take command and control of a situation. Like a child needing the security of a defiant and assuring parent.
Her emotions kept in balance by the differing reactions, Persephone did as she was bade and sat back in her seat, settling into her former position of dignity and good posture. She kept eye contact with Lord Gavriil, and said nothing as he spoke, determined to show that she was listening to that which he had to say. She had lost all hopes of a promising first impression with this man and was determined - if she could - to correct the image she had no doubt created in his mind.
When the baron of Meganea commented that his son wished to continue the engagement between himself and she, Persephone felt herself inhale a little stronger than usual, her chest seeming to swell at the idea. She broke eye contact to look down for just a moment, feeling a touch of embarrassment that Iason should choose her still - even after the events in Athenia - despite their conversations on the topic. Before his father, she felt awkward that his son might have made a choice to which he would disapprove.
When the man started speaking again, she looked up to meet his stare once more and listened intently. A slight crease appeared between her brows as she tried to think ahead upon what the Lord Gavriil was trying to say. Clearly, he found her lacking in some way with regards to living as a Taengea. She wonderful how atypical the Dimitrous were of this kingdom's people because on that point she could only agree: the way she and Iason had approached matters - the way the Lady Dorothea comported herself in comparison to Persephone. They lived very different lives; it was true.
Not able to give a response to a request that had no ending - for Lord Gavriil appeared to be struggling with finding the words he needed to properly articulate his meaning, Persephone simply said nothing until the man reached out to ask for the dropping the use of her title.
Persephone felt herself smile with more genuineness than she probably had since entering the room. The man was concerned for something she had no desire for anyway. The constant reminders of her former position were like fire to her ears and barbs to her heart. She would be thankful for them not to call her any such thing.
"I am no more a Queen now than you yourself, my Lord." She told the man, her tone light. "I have nothing now to my name besides just that. So, please..." She offered out a hand in a gesture of moving forwards. "Persephone."
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When the Lord Gavriil instructed her to sit back down, Persephone felt a very strange contradiction of emotions. First, was a bristling of pride. Before her very short tenure as Queen of Athenia, she had been a Princess for many years. Man following her instructions was significantly more common than she following theirs. In fact, there had only been one man within the kingdom that was of a higher rank than herself and to whom she had had to bow her head and obey. And he was now passed unto the other world.
To now be instructed - even as politely and pleasantly as it had been done - by man who was not only of a lower rank than she (if she were to still possess the title of Queen) but was near enough a complete stranger, was such a bizarre and foreign experience that along with shock came the natural rankling of pride that he should think himself in a position to command her thusly.
Her natural instinct was to straighten her back (if it could go any further), lift her chin and add a haughty expression to her features that would have turned any lord in the Athenian lands to a moment of concerned cowardice.
Instead, however, her reaction was tapered and subdued by the conflicting set of emotions that rushed to overpower her wounded ego.
The instruction to sit had been done in a polite tone, but it hadn't lacked a personal sensitivity for it. And when one was feeling decidedly lost at sea - as Persephone had done since she had arrived in Taengea - there was something very calming and... safe feeling... to have someone else take command and control of a situation. Like a child needing the security of a defiant and assuring parent.
Her emotions kept in balance by the differing reactions, Persephone did as she was bade and sat back in her seat, settling into her former position of dignity and good posture. She kept eye contact with Lord Gavriil, and said nothing as he spoke, determined to show that she was listening to that which he had to say. She had lost all hopes of a promising first impression with this man and was determined - if she could - to correct the image she had no doubt created in his mind.
When the baron of Meganea commented that his son wished to continue the engagement between himself and she, Persephone felt herself inhale a little stronger than usual, her chest seeming to swell at the idea. She broke eye contact to look down for just a moment, feeling a touch of embarrassment that Iason should choose her still - even after the events in Athenia - despite their conversations on the topic. Before his father, she felt awkward that his son might have made a choice to which he would disapprove.
When the man started speaking again, she looked up to meet his stare once more and listened intently. A slight crease appeared between her brows as she tried to think ahead upon what the Lord Gavriil was trying to say. Clearly, he found her lacking in some way with regards to living as a Taengea. She wonderful how atypical the Dimitrous were of this kingdom's people because on that point she could only agree: the way she and Iason had approached matters - the way the Lady Dorothea comported herself in comparison to Persephone. They lived very different lives; it was true.
Not able to give a response to a request that had no ending - for Lord Gavriil appeared to be struggling with finding the words he needed to properly articulate his meaning, Persephone simply said nothing until the man reached out to ask for the dropping the use of her title.
Persephone felt herself smile with more genuineness than she probably had since entering the room. The man was concerned for something she had no desire for anyway. The constant reminders of her former position were like fire to her ears and barbs to her heart. She would be thankful for them not to call her any such thing.
"I am no more a Queen now than you yourself, my Lord." She told the man, her tone light. "I have nothing now to my name besides just that. So, please..." She offered out a hand in a gesture of moving forwards. "Persephone."
When the Lord Gavriil instructed her to sit back down, Persephone felt a very strange contradiction of emotions. First, was a bristling of pride. Before her very short tenure as Queen of Athenia, she had been a Princess for many years. Man following her instructions was significantly more common than she following theirs. In fact, there had only been one man within the kingdom that was of a higher rank than herself and to whom she had had to bow her head and obey. And he was now passed unto the other world.
To now be instructed - even as politely and pleasantly as it had been done - by man who was not only of a lower rank than she (if she were to still possess the title of Queen) but was near enough a complete stranger, was such a bizarre and foreign experience that along with shock came the natural rankling of pride that he should think himself in a position to command her thusly.
Her natural instinct was to straighten her back (if it could go any further), lift her chin and add a haughty expression to her features that would have turned any lord in the Athenian lands to a moment of concerned cowardice.
Instead, however, her reaction was tapered and subdued by the conflicting set of emotions that rushed to overpower her wounded ego.
The instruction to sit had been done in a polite tone, but it hadn't lacked a personal sensitivity for it. And when one was feeling decidedly lost at sea - as Persephone had done since she had arrived in Taengea - there was something very calming and... safe feeling... to have someone else take command and control of a situation. Like a child needing the security of a defiant and assuring parent.
Her emotions kept in balance by the differing reactions, Persephone did as she was bade and sat back in her seat, settling into her former position of dignity and good posture. She kept eye contact with Lord Gavriil, and said nothing as he spoke, determined to show that she was listening to that which he had to say. She had lost all hopes of a promising first impression with this man and was determined - if she could - to correct the image she had no doubt created in his mind.
When the baron of Meganea commented that his son wished to continue the engagement between himself and she, Persephone felt herself inhale a little stronger than usual, her chest seeming to swell at the idea. She broke eye contact to look down for just a moment, feeling a touch of embarrassment that Iason should choose her still - even after the events in Athenia - despite their conversations on the topic. Before his father, she felt awkward that his son might have made a choice to which he would disapprove.
When the man started speaking again, she looked up to meet his stare once more and listened intently. A slight crease appeared between her brows as she tried to think ahead upon what the Lord Gavriil was trying to say. Clearly, he found her lacking in some way with regards to living as a Taengea. She wonderful how atypical the Dimitrous were of this kingdom's people because on that point she could only agree: the way she and Iason had approached matters - the way the Lady Dorothea comported herself in comparison to Persephone. They lived very different lives; it was true.
Not able to give a response to a request that had no ending - for Lord Gavriil appeared to be struggling with finding the words he needed to properly articulate his meaning, Persephone simply said nothing until the man reached out to ask for the dropping the use of her title.
Persephone felt herself smile with more genuineness than she probably had since entering the room. The man was concerned for something she had no desire for anyway. The constant reminders of her former position were like fire to her ears and barbs to her heart. She would be thankful for them not to call her any such thing.
"I am no more a Queen now than you yourself, my Lord." She told the man, her tone light. "I have nothing now to my name besides just that. So, please..." She offered out a hand in a gesture of moving forwards. "Persephone."
The smile was the thing he’d been wanting to see and hadn’t had the foggiest clue how to draw from her. It wasn’t just that he’d wanted to be sure she could still create one, much less feel one, but it proved that she was human. If he could make her smile, then he was certain that his son could definitely make her smile. That was what was important to him. Despite Persephone being all that was beautiful and graceful, he wanted more for Iason. He wanted him to have a partner. Not a ghost.
It was also an incredible relief to him that she was not obsessed with her lost title and did not expect to be treated like the queen she had been. For starters, it wasn’t possible to keep her in the life of luxury and of comfort that she was, no doubt, used to. Secondly, he knew his family. Their manners would not always be on this level and they’d drop them sooner, rather than later. It was better that she be open to the rougher, less courtly side of things that his clan enjoyed. They were not a smooth, charismatic people. Not like the ones she’d find in Vasiliadon.
He leaned forward a bit when she mentioned that she had nothing to her name and he shook his head. “Had,” he corrected gently. “You are here now. And, as you’ve met us and not gone running out into the woods twice, and are still willing to marry Iason, I see no reason you should have to share clothes with Dorothea for much longer.”
A smile of his own was offered then and he gestured to her person. “You will have your own things and your own house with Iason. I will personally ensure that you will have a dress of your own choosing on your wedding day. And, though it is not a surprise, but I will make the gift of a horse to you. Do not dwell on your sorrows any longer, Persephone. You are safe here, with us.”
He rose from his desk and came around to where she sat, leaning on the desk and looking down at her with a softer expression than he’d used before, though, on his face it still looked fairly grave. Time had not been particularly kind to his once handsome features. “I cannot replace the father you lost,” he said. “But I hope you will come to me, nevertheless, for anything you might need. Just as my own children do.”
If she wanted to leave now, he wouldn’t stop her this time. He’d said his piece to her, done his best to assure her that, now that Iason had made his final choice, she did indeed have a permanent place here, and that she was accepted into the family. None of them were perfect and her little smile had done enough to assure the patriarch that his son was not blinded and had made the proper and moral choice.
Gavriil felt a little guilty that he’d ever doubted Iason and he wasn’t sorry for the feeling. It was his just dessert for doubting the best man in Taengea. For Persephone could have no finer husband than his son. He’d lay money on that bet any day.
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The smile was the thing he’d been wanting to see and hadn’t had the foggiest clue how to draw from her. It wasn’t just that he’d wanted to be sure she could still create one, much less feel one, but it proved that she was human. If he could make her smile, then he was certain that his son could definitely make her smile. That was what was important to him. Despite Persephone being all that was beautiful and graceful, he wanted more for Iason. He wanted him to have a partner. Not a ghost.
It was also an incredible relief to him that she was not obsessed with her lost title and did not expect to be treated like the queen she had been. For starters, it wasn’t possible to keep her in the life of luxury and of comfort that she was, no doubt, used to. Secondly, he knew his family. Their manners would not always be on this level and they’d drop them sooner, rather than later. It was better that she be open to the rougher, less courtly side of things that his clan enjoyed. They were not a smooth, charismatic people. Not like the ones she’d find in Vasiliadon.
He leaned forward a bit when she mentioned that she had nothing to her name and he shook his head. “Had,” he corrected gently. “You are here now. And, as you’ve met us and not gone running out into the woods twice, and are still willing to marry Iason, I see no reason you should have to share clothes with Dorothea for much longer.”
A smile of his own was offered then and he gestured to her person. “You will have your own things and your own house with Iason. I will personally ensure that you will have a dress of your own choosing on your wedding day. And, though it is not a surprise, but I will make the gift of a horse to you. Do not dwell on your sorrows any longer, Persephone. You are safe here, with us.”
He rose from his desk and came around to where she sat, leaning on the desk and looking down at her with a softer expression than he’d used before, though, on his face it still looked fairly grave. Time had not been particularly kind to his once handsome features. “I cannot replace the father you lost,” he said. “But I hope you will come to me, nevertheless, for anything you might need. Just as my own children do.”
If she wanted to leave now, he wouldn’t stop her this time. He’d said his piece to her, done his best to assure her that, now that Iason had made his final choice, she did indeed have a permanent place here, and that she was accepted into the family. None of them were perfect and her little smile had done enough to assure the patriarch that his son was not blinded and had made the proper and moral choice.
Gavriil felt a little guilty that he’d ever doubted Iason and he wasn’t sorry for the feeling. It was his just dessert for doubting the best man in Taengea. For Persephone could have no finer husband than his son. He’d lay money on that bet any day.
The smile was the thing he’d been wanting to see and hadn’t had the foggiest clue how to draw from her. It wasn’t just that he’d wanted to be sure she could still create one, much less feel one, but it proved that she was human. If he could make her smile, then he was certain that his son could definitely make her smile. That was what was important to him. Despite Persephone being all that was beautiful and graceful, he wanted more for Iason. He wanted him to have a partner. Not a ghost.
It was also an incredible relief to him that she was not obsessed with her lost title and did not expect to be treated like the queen she had been. For starters, it wasn’t possible to keep her in the life of luxury and of comfort that she was, no doubt, used to. Secondly, he knew his family. Their manners would not always be on this level and they’d drop them sooner, rather than later. It was better that she be open to the rougher, less courtly side of things that his clan enjoyed. They were not a smooth, charismatic people. Not like the ones she’d find in Vasiliadon.
He leaned forward a bit when she mentioned that she had nothing to her name and he shook his head. “Had,” he corrected gently. “You are here now. And, as you’ve met us and not gone running out into the woods twice, and are still willing to marry Iason, I see no reason you should have to share clothes with Dorothea for much longer.”
A smile of his own was offered then and he gestured to her person. “You will have your own things and your own house with Iason. I will personally ensure that you will have a dress of your own choosing on your wedding day. And, though it is not a surprise, but I will make the gift of a horse to you. Do not dwell on your sorrows any longer, Persephone. You are safe here, with us.”
He rose from his desk and came around to where she sat, leaning on the desk and looking down at her with a softer expression than he’d used before, though, on his face it still looked fairly grave. Time had not been particularly kind to his once handsome features. “I cannot replace the father you lost,” he said. “But I hope you will come to me, nevertheless, for anything you might need. Just as my own children do.”
If she wanted to leave now, he wouldn’t stop her this time. He’d said his piece to her, done his best to assure her that, now that Iason had made his final choice, she did indeed have a permanent place here, and that she was accepted into the family. None of them were perfect and her little smile had done enough to assure the patriarch that his son was not blinded and had made the proper and moral choice.
Gavriil felt a little guilty that he’d ever doubted Iason and he wasn’t sorry for the feeling. It was his just dessert for doubting the best man in Taengea. For Persephone could have no finer husband than his son. He’d lay money on that bet any day.
With each word that left Lord Gavriil's mouth, he pushed Persephone towards the reaction that he had previously so feared. She felt her chest tighten as he swore that she would have clothes of her own. A lump appeared in her throat when he confirmed that she would have her own things - including a wedding gown. Her shoulders drew in as if suddenly sensitive when he mentioned the house she and Iason would be granted and her teeth ground together in order to keep her expression calm when he mentioned the gift of a horse.
The items he promised were material and the acquiring of them wasn't what had Persephone becoming emotional. What was triggering her stronger sensitivities - including a great rush of relief and security - was that he was volunteering them out of selflessness and genuine kindness. There was nothing in the man's expression that suggested pity. Instead, he simply offered her these things out of an open acceptance of her as the woman Iason had chosen to marry.
This was an olive branch. A welcoming into his family that Persephone felt both undeserving of and incredibly thankful for. And the mix up of those two emotions was taking her in a strangle hold.
When the man got up, moved around the desk and commented to her that she should use him as she work a paternal figure; that she might come to him with any difficulties or issues, in the same way that his own blooded offspring might, Persephone's gaze was fixed on her lap, her eyes damp and her fingers curling into tiny fists upon her skirts.
She found herself taking a few deep breathes - shallowly so that they weren't obvious - and kept her fingers tight and her jaw clenched, utterly refusing to allow the tears to fall. She was raised to be a princess and a queen. She would not humiliate herself before this man who was being so kind.
In all her teachings back in Athenia, no-one had been there to remind her that - despite all of her privileges and responsibilities - Persephone was, at the end of the day, a twenty-two-year-old girl. And she was allowed to cry.
But not now and not in front of this man. This was neither the place nor moment. He had asked her to show her ability to know when was right to become victim to your emotions and when was not. So, in order to prove that she had heard him; that she was determined to prove her worth and ability to do exactly what he had instructed, Persephone rose gracefully from her seat, released her fingers in a manner that saw them shake for only a moment, and then looked up into the face of her future father in law.
Her eyes were likely bright and shiny with unshed tears, but she had kept them at bay enough that they no long threatened to fall.
"I thank you, Lord Gavriil." She told the man before dipping her head, and offering him and formal and low curtsy - possibly the lowest and offering the most respect of any she had ever performed before - and then rose back to standing, her expression one of genuine openness. "I will do my best to prove to you that your kindness is not wasted." She vowed.
And then, as the conversation seemed to have come to a natural end, Persephone offered another lowering of herself - one to simply seek her leave-taking, and then turned to cross the room, open the door and leave the baron of Meganea to his own thoughts. The last thing she did, upon exiting the room, was to look back and smile at the man. The baron was a good and honourable sort. And if Iason grew older and into half the man his father was, Persephone suspected she would be much honoured to call him husband...
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With each word that left Lord Gavriil's mouth, he pushed Persephone towards the reaction that he had previously so feared. She felt her chest tighten as he swore that she would have clothes of her own. A lump appeared in her throat when he confirmed that she would have her own things - including a wedding gown. Her shoulders drew in as if suddenly sensitive when he mentioned the house she and Iason would be granted and her teeth ground together in order to keep her expression calm when he mentioned the gift of a horse.
The items he promised were material and the acquiring of them wasn't what had Persephone becoming emotional. What was triggering her stronger sensitivities - including a great rush of relief and security - was that he was volunteering them out of selflessness and genuine kindness. There was nothing in the man's expression that suggested pity. Instead, he simply offered her these things out of an open acceptance of her as the woman Iason had chosen to marry.
This was an olive branch. A welcoming into his family that Persephone felt both undeserving of and incredibly thankful for. And the mix up of those two emotions was taking her in a strangle hold.
When the man got up, moved around the desk and commented to her that she should use him as she work a paternal figure; that she might come to him with any difficulties or issues, in the same way that his own blooded offspring might, Persephone's gaze was fixed on her lap, her eyes damp and her fingers curling into tiny fists upon her skirts.
She found herself taking a few deep breathes - shallowly so that they weren't obvious - and kept her fingers tight and her jaw clenched, utterly refusing to allow the tears to fall. She was raised to be a princess and a queen. She would not humiliate herself before this man who was being so kind.
In all her teachings back in Athenia, no-one had been there to remind her that - despite all of her privileges and responsibilities - Persephone was, at the end of the day, a twenty-two-year-old girl. And she was allowed to cry.
But not now and not in front of this man. This was neither the place nor moment. He had asked her to show her ability to know when was right to become victim to your emotions and when was not. So, in order to prove that she had heard him; that she was determined to prove her worth and ability to do exactly what he had instructed, Persephone rose gracefully from her seat, released her fingers in a manner that saw them shake for only a moment, and then looked up into the face of her future father in law.
Her eyes were likely bright and shiny with unshed tears, but she had kept them at bay enough that they no long threatened to fall.
"I thank you, Lord Gavriil." She told the man before dipping her head, and offering him and formal and low curtsy - possibly the lowest and offering the most respect of any she had ever performed before - and then rose back to standing, her expression one of genuine openness. "I will do my best to prove to you that your kindness is not wasted." She vowed.
And then, as the conversation seemed to have come to a natural end, Persephone offered another lowering of herself - one to simply seek her leave-taking, and then turned to cross the room, open the door and leave the baron of Meganea to his own thoughts. The last thing she did, upon exiting the room, was to look back and smile at the man. The baron was a good and honourable sort. And if Iason grew older and into half the man his father was, Persephone suspected she would be much honoured to call him husband...
With each word that left Lord Gavriil's mouth, he pushed Persephone towards the reaction that he had previously so feared. She felt her chest tighten as he swore that she would have clothes of her own. A lump appeared in her throat when he confirmed that she would have her own things - including a wedding gown. Her shoulders drew in as if suddenly sensitive when he mentioned the house she and Iason would be granted and her teeth ground together in order to keep her expression calm when he mentioned the gift of a horse.
The items he promised were material and the acquiring of them wasn't what had Persephone becoming emotional. What was triggering her stronger sensitivities - including a great rush of relief and security - was that he was volunteering them out of selflessness and genuine kindness. There was nothing in the man's expression that suggested pity. Instead, he simply offered her these things out of an open acceptance of her as the woman Iason had chosen to marry.
This was an olive branch. A welcoming into his family that Persephone felt both undeserving of and incredibly thankful for. And the mix up of those two emotions was taking her in a strangle hold.
When the man got up, moved around the desk and commented to her that she should use him as she work a paternal figure; that she might come to him with any difficulties or issues, in the same way that his own blooded offspring might, Persephone's gaze was fixed on her lap, her eyes damp and her fingers curling into tiny fists upon her skirts.
She found herself taking a few deep breathes - shallowly so that they weren't obvious - and kept her fingers tight and her jaw clenched, utterly refusing to allow the tears to fall. She was raised to be a princess and a queen. She would not humiliate herself before this man who was being so kind.
In all her teachings back in Athenia, no-one had been there to remind her that - despite all of her privileges and responsibilities - Persephone was, at the end of the day, a twenty-two-year-old girl. And she was allowed to cry.
But not now and not in front of this man. This was neither the place nor moment. He had asked her to show her ability to know when was right to become victim to your emotions and when was not. So, in order to prove that she had heard him; that she was determined to prove her worth and ability to do exactly what he had instructed, Persephone rose gracefully from her seat, released her fingers in a manner that saw them shake for only a moment, and then looked up into the face of her future father in law.
Her eyes were likely bright and shiny with unshed tears, but she had kept them at bay enough that they no long threatened to fall.
"I thank you, Lord Gavriil." She told the man before dipping her head, and offering him and formal and low curtsy - possibly the lowest and offering the most respect of any she had ever performed before - and then rose back to standing, her expression one of genuine openness. "I will do my best to prove to you that your kindness is not wasted." She vowed.
And then, as the conversation seemed to have come to a natural end, Persephone offered another lowering of herself - one to simply seek her leave-taking, and then turned to cross the room, open the door and leave the baron of Meganea to his own thoughts. The last thing she did, upon exiting the room, was to look back and smile at the man. The baron was a good and honourable sort. And if Iason grew older and into half the man his father was, Persephone suspected she would be much honoured to call him husband...
