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Honestly, it was hard to imagine someone less suited for this sort of task than Daniil. Abrasive, blunt, and far too forward with thoughts most would leave alone to their own inner dialogues, she made far more enemies than friends. And yet, here she was inside her families gardens, about to tour some royal cousin she had never met. This was a task better suited for Elena or Agathe, not her. And yet, here she was, annoyance already clearly written across her face. Sometimes, even Daniil could not refuse a task after enough pestering and withering glares.
If they were to meet with a foreign cousin of noble blood, most courtiers would have taken plenty of time to ensure they looked their best. Fine dresses, powdered faces, and bubbly attitudes galore. Not Daniil. She was no slob, and took the time to make sure that she met the bare minimum of beauty standards, but nothing beyond that. Her cropped hair was loose, her attire consisting of a man's chiton, shortened to end at her knees in the masculine style. She cared little for how others viewed her, and less if they found her desirable. After all, were beauty standards not just one of the many ways in which the men of this world had taken control of women everywhere?
Just minutes ago, she had sent one of the Marikas servants to find Ophelia, wherever she may be in the morning, and bring her to the gardens. That particular servant had expressed concern at interrupting the royal woman, but one of Daniil's rather infamous heated glares sent the man running fast enough. She was already in a less than pleasant mood to begin with. Being questioned by a man about the particulars of the task which she did not particularly wish to do in the first place was just about the exact opposite of what she wanted in that exact moment. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her lips pursed into a frown.
Hopefully Lady Ophelia would prove to be the sort of company that would improve her mood instead of souring it further.
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Honestly, it was hard to imagine someone less suited for this sort of task than Daniil. Abrasive, blunt, and far too forward with thoughts most would leave alone to their own inner dialogues, she made far more enemies than friends. And yet, here she was inside her families gardens, about to tour some royal cousin she had never met. This was a task better suited for Elena or Agathe, not her. And yet, here she was, annoyance already clearly written across her face. Sometimes, even Daniil could not refuse a task after enough pestering and withering glares.
If they were to meet with a foreign cousin of noble blood, most courtiers would have taken plenty of time to ensure they looked their best. Fine dresses, powdered faces, and bubbly attitudes galore. Not Daniil. She was no slob, and took the time to make sure that she met the bare minimum of beauty standards, but nothing beyond that. Her cropped hair was loose, her attire consisting of a man's chiton, shortened to end at her knees in the masculine style. She cared little for how others viewed her, and less if they found her desirable. After all, were beauty standards not just one of the many ways in which the men of this world had taken control of women everywhere?
Just minutes ago, she had sent one of the Marikas servants to find Ophelia, wherever she may be in the morning, and bring her to the gardens. That particular servant had expressed concern at interrupting the royal woman, but one of Daniil's rather infamous heated glares sent the man running fast enough. She was already in a less than pleasant mood to begin with. Being questioned by a man about the particulars of the task which she did not particularly wish to do in the first place was just about the exact opposite of what she wanted in that exact moment. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her lips pursed into a frown.
Hopefully Lady Ophelia would prove to be the sort of company that would improve her mood instead of souring it further.
Honestly, it was hard to imagine someone less suited for this sort of task than Daniil. Abrasive, blunt, and far too forward with thoughts most would leave alone to their own inner dialogues, she made far more enemies than friends. And yet, here she was inside her families gardens, about to tour some royal cousin she had never met. This was a task better suited for Elena or Agathe, not her. And yet, here she was, annoyance already clearly written across her face. Sometimes, even Daniil could not refuse a task after enough pestering and withering glares.
If they were to meet with a foreign cousin of noble blood, most courtiers would have taken plenty of time to ensure they looked their best. Fine dresses, powdered faces, and bubbly attitudes galore. Not Daniil. She was no slob, and took the time to make sure that she met the bare minimum of beauty standards, but nothing beyond that. Her cropped hair was loose, her attire consisting of a man's chiton, shortened to end at her knees in the masculine style. She cared little for how others viewed her, and less if they found her desirable. After all, were beauty standards not just one of the many ways in which the men of this world had taken control of women everywhere?
Just minutes ago, she had sent one of the Marikas servants to find Ophelia, wherever she may be in the morning, and bring her to the gardens. That particular servant had expressed concern at interrupting the royal woman, but one of Daniil's rather infamous heated glares sent the man running fast enough. She was already in a less than pleasant mood to begin with. Being questioned by a man about the particulars of the task which she did not particularly wish to do in the first place was just about the exact opposite of what she wanted in that exact moment. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her lips pursed into a frown.
Hopefully Lady Ophelia would prove to be the sort of company that would improve her mood instead of souring it further.
She had absolutely no idea what she was doing here. Master Panos had proved himself amicable, but she was under no illusion of being his favourite person. Still, when word has reached the Marikas that she intended to travel to Athenia for the grand market -- which had not taken long at all -- Lord Pavlos had graciously extended an invitation to her, and she now found herself a guest at the palatial Marikas archontiko.
Not only that, but they had gifted her and her ladies the temporary use of an extensive suite that seemed to stretch on for miles, with lush carpets, marble walls and finely crafted pillars. The room she currently occupied had quickly become one of her favourites. The floor and walls were of rose pink marble. In the centre of the room stood a fountain, silvery waters pouring from the sat upon the outstretched hands of the Goddess Aphrodite, and tumbling from her sculpted tresses. Rose gold pillars held up a ceiling that depicted a mosaic of the female Olympians: Hestia at her hearth, Athena at her loom, Artemis with her bow and Hera presiding over all on a throne of gold. A curtain of golden beads separated the room from a rather lavish balcony, but for the time being Ophelia was seated upon a highly comfortable kline, carefully turning the pages of an academic tome she had obtained permission to borrow from the clan’s extensive library.
Engrossed in reading about the different religions of the faraway lands, she did not hear the knock that came at the door of her outer chamber -- understandable, considering the fact she was quite absorbed in her reading, and the lodgings were extensive. Fortunately, one of her handmaids, a girl named Aglaia with ears as sharp as a dagger, happened to catch the sound.
“My Lady, I believe there is a person entreating entry to these rooms,” she murmured quietly. The White Rose lifted her head, closing the book with a measure of reluctance and nodding her ascent. “Go then and welcome them.” Aglaia rose, making her way to the outer door to admit the visitor.
A moment later, a young man in the livery of her host’s great household was standing before her, bowing respectfully. “If it pleases My Lady of Condos to follow me, Her Ladyship, The Lady Daniil of Marikas, seeks an audience with you in the gardens; she wishes to know if you would like her to give you a tour.” Ophelia’s emerald orbs immediately lit with excitement, for she had heard that the Marikas gardens were second to none, but having only arrived the previous day -- and taken that time to rest from her voyage -- she had not yet been given the opportunity to explore them. It would be much more fun with a tour guide however, and she had yet to meet the youngest grandchild of the enigmatic Master Panos. Would she be anything like her grandfather, the Lady wondered.
“It would please me very much to take the Lady’s tour,” she replied, climbing immediately to her feet. Fortunately, she was dressed appropriately for the occasion and did not need to beg a moment to change. Her peplos was of the palest yellow, almost fading into the realms of cream. It left almost everything to the imagination, exposing only her swan-like neck. It was tied in place by thin cords of rose gold rather than fibulae. The waist was cinched, the skirt long, flowing and pleated. Half of her hair was pinned into a braided bun with tiny silk faux-flowers of the palest pink wrapped artfully around the design. Beautiful as she was, she deemed the look not quite suitable for a first meeting with a Royal Lady of Athenia. “Aglaia, fetch my matching epiblema, and my rose gold broach; Aoide, my rose gold diadem, please.” The girls scurried to do her bidding, returning a moment later with the objects she had sought. Aglaia wrapped the thin silk epiblema, in the exact colouring of the peplos, around her mistress’s shoulders in the style of the shawl, then fastened it in place with a rose gold broach in the shape of that very flower. Aoide returned a moment later, crowning her head with a diadem of rose gold twisted into an olive branch design. Nodding her appreciation, she turned once more to the man. “Kindly escort me to Her Ladyship.”
He gave a nod, leading the Taengean beauty down a series of winding corridors and a seemingly endless spiral staircase, until they eventually emerged into a paradisical haven. The sky was as blue as a sapphire, the sun warm without being overly so. Everywhere she looked, flora and fauna waved gently in the subtle breeze, their ambrosial aromas stirring her senses to life.
As she turned to admire yet another patch of flowers, her gaze caught that of another, and her emerald eyes widened. The girl who stood before her was at all the kind of girl one would expect to be associated with Dynesteia Marikas. Her hair was cropped shockingly short, reaching only to her chin. In comparison to most she had seen, this girl hardly had any hair at all, which was a great shame. The hair she did have was rather beautiful. But more startling even than that was her choice of attire, a man’s tunic cut short at the knees that left bare her slender legs. Given the conservative nature of her grandfather and her kingdom in general, Ophelia could not help but wonder if the girl was mad to appear in such a thing. Did she not fear the repercussions? The ire of her clan? The punishment that could, and likely would, follow such a display? Of course, they would hear nothing of it from her, but she suspected that the knowledge would make it back to the men of Daniil’s household regardless of whether she held her tongue.
“Lady Ophelia of Condos,” the man announced, bowing low at the waist to Daniil. He stood still then, freezing in a statuesque position as he awaited further instructions. Having realized that she had been staring, Ophelia blinked and sank into a respectful curtsy, lowering her head in a bow.
“Your Ladyship, it is both a pleasure and honour to make your acquaintance,” her words were pronounced with sweet sincerity, and though she spoke quietly, her words carried with dignity. “I am most grateful that you have offered me this tour. Do forgive me if I gave a bad impression, I did not mean to stare at you. Your hairstyle is very…” she thought for a moment, tilting her head to the side. “...I have not seen many women in Athenia, or indeed in Taengea, wear such a look, though it seems to be rather more popular in Colchis,” she observed, deciding upon honestly as her best course of action. “I have recently departed from Colchis, and could not help but think that your appearance rather reminded me of some of the women I ran into there.”
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She had absolutely no idea what she was doing here. Master Panos had proved himself amicable, but she was under no illusion of being his favourite person. Still, when word has reached the Marikas that she intended to travel to Athenia for the grand market -- which had not taken long at all -- Lord Pavlos had graciously extended an invitation to her, and she now found herself a guest at the palatial Marikas archontiko.
Not only that, but they had gifted her and her ladies the temporary use of an extensive suite that seemed to stretch on for miles, with lush carpets, marble walls and finely crafted pillars. The room she currently occupied had quickly become one of her favourites. The floor and walls were of rose pink marble. In the centre of the room stood a fountain, silvery waters pouring from the sat upon the outstretched hands of the Goddess Aphrodite, and tumbling from her sculpted tresses. Rose gold pillars held up a ceiling that depicted a mosaic of the female Olympians: Hestia at her hearth, Athena at her loom, Artemis with her bow and Hera presiding over all on a throne of gold. A curtain of golden beads separated the room from a rather lavish balcony, but for the time being Ophelia was seated upon a highly comfortable kline, carefully turning the pages of an academic tome she had obtained permission to borrow from the clan’s extensive library.
Engrossed in reading about the different religions of the faraway lands, she did not hear the knock that came at the door of her outer chamber -- understandable, considering the fact she was quite absorbed in her reading, and the lodgings were extensive. Fortunately, one of her handmaids, a girl named Aglaia with ears as sharp as a dagger, happened to catch the sound.
“My Lady, I believe there is a person entreating entry to these rooms,” she murmured quietly. The White Rose lifted her head, closing the book with a measure of reluctance and nodding her ascent. “Go then and welcome them.” Aglaia rose, making her way to the outer door to admit the visitor.
A moment later, a young man in the livery of her host’s great household was standing before her, bowing respectfully. “If it pleases My Lady of Condos to follow me, Her Ladyship, The Lady Daniil of Marikas, seeks an audience with you in the gardens; she wishes to know if you would like her to give you a tour.” Ophelia’s emerald orbs immediately lit with excitement, for she had heard that the Marikas gardens were second to none, but having only arrived the previous day -- and taken that time to rest from her voyage -- she had not yet been given the opportunity to explore them. It would be much more fun with a tour guide however, and she had yet to meet the youngest grandchild of the enigmatic Master Panos. Would she be anything like her grandfather, the Lady wondered.
“It would please me very much to take the Lady’s tour,” she replied, climbing immediately to her feet. Fortunately, she was dressed appropriately for the occasion and did not need to beg a moment to change. Her peplos was of the palest yellow, almost fading into the realms of cream. It left almost everything to the imagination, exposing only her swan-like neck. It was tied in place by thin cords of rose gold rather than fibulae. The waist was cinched, the skirt long, flowing and pleated. Half of her hair was pinned into a braided bun with tiny silk faux-flowers of the palest pink wrapped artfully around the design. Beautiful as she was, she deemed the look not quite suitable for a first meeting with a Royal Lady of Athenia. “Aglaia, fetch my matching epiblema, and my rose gold broach; Aoide, my rose gold diadem, please.” The girls scurried to do her bidding, returning a moment later with the objects she had sought. Aglaia wrapped the thin silk epiblema, in the exact colouring of the peplos, around her mistress’s shoulders in the style of the shawl, then fastened it in place with a rose gold broach in the shape of that very flower. Aoide returned a moment later, crowning her head with a diadem of rose gold twisted into an olive branch design. Nodding her appreciation, she turned once more to the man. “Kindly escort me to Her Ladyship.”
He gave a nod, leading the Taengean beauty down a series of winding corridors and a seemingly endless spiral staircase, until they eventually emerged into a paradisical haven. The sky was as blue as a sapphire, the sun warm without being overly so. Everywhere she looked, flora and fauna waved gently in the subtle breeze, their ambrosial aromas stirring her senses to life.
As she turned to admire yet another patch of flowers, her gaze caught that of another, and her emerald eyes widened. The girl who stood before her was at all the kind of girl one would expect to be associated with Dynesteia Marikas. Her hair was cropped shockingly short, reaching only to her chin. In comparison to most she had seen, this girl hardly had any hair at all, which was a great shame. The hair she did have was rather beautiful. But more startling even than that was her choice of attire, a man’s tunic cut short at the knees that left bare her slender legs. Given the conservative nature of her grandfather and her kingdom in general, Ophelia could not help but wonder if the girl was mad to appear in such a thing. Did she not fear the repercussions? The ire of her clan? The punishment that could, and likely would, follow such a display? Of course, they would hear nothing of it from her, but she suspected that the knowledge would make it back to the men of Daniil’s household regardless of whether she held her tongue.
“Lady Ophelia of Condos,” the man announced, bowing low at the waist to Daniil. He stood still then, freezing in a statuesque position as he awaited further instructions. Having realized that she had been staring, Ophelia blinked and sank into a respectful curtsy, lowering her head in a bow.
“Your Ladyship, it is both a pleasure and honour to make your acquaintance,” her words were pronounced with sweet sincerity, and though she spoke quietly, her words carried with dignity. “I am most grateful that you have offered me this tour. Do forgive me if I gave a bad impression, I did not mean to stare at you. Your hairstyle is very…” she thought for a moment, tilting her head to the side. “...I have not seen many women in Athenia, or indeed in Taengea, wear such a look, though it seems to be rather more popular in Colchis,” she observed, deciding upon honestly as her best course of action. “I have recently departed from Colchis, and could not help but think that your appearance rather reminded me of some of the women I ran into there.”
She had absolutely no idea what she was doing here. Master Panos had proved himself amicable, but she was under no illusion of being his favourite person. Still, when word has reached the Marikas that she intended to travel to Athenia for the grand market -- which had not taken long at all -- Lord Pavlos had graciously extended an invitation to her, and she now found herself a guest at the palatial Marikas archontiko.
Not only that, but they had gifted her and her ladies the temporary use of an extensive suite that seemed to stretch on for miles, with lush carpets, marble walls and finely crafted pillars. The room she currently occupied had quickly become one of her favourites. The floor and walls were of rose pink marble. In the centre of the room stood a fountain, silvery waters pouring from the sat upon the outstretched hands of the Goddess Aphrodite, and tumbling from her sculpted tresses. Rose gold pillars held up a ceiling that depicted a mosaic of the female Olympians: Hestia at her hearth, Athena at her loom, Artemis with her bow and Hera presiding over all on a throne of gold. A curtain of golden beads separated the room from a rather lavish balcony, but for the time being Ophelia was seated upon a highly comfortable kline, carefully turning the pages of an academic tome she had obtained permission to borrow from the clan’s extensive library.
Engrossed in reading about the different religions of the faraway lands, she did not hear the knock that came at the door of her outer chamber -- understandable, considering the fact she was quite absorbed in her reading, and the lodgings were extensive. Fortunately, one of her handmaids, a girl named Aglaia with ears as sharp as a dagger, happened to catch the sound.
“My Lady, I believe there is a person entreating entry to these rooms,” she murmured quietly. The White Rose lifted her head, closing the book with a measure of reluctance and nodding her ascent. “Go then and welcome them.” Aglaia rose, making her way to the outer door to admit the visitor.
A moment later, a young man in the livery of her host’s great household was standing before her, bowing respectfully. “If it pleases My Lady of Condos to follow me, Her Ladyship, The Lady Daniil of Marikas, seeks an audience with you in the gardens; she wishes to know if you would like her to give you a tour.” Ophelia’s emerald orbs immediately lit with excitement, for she had heard that the Marikas gardens were second to none, but having only arrived the previous day -- and taken that time to rest from her voyage -- she had not yet been given the opportunity to explore them. It would be much more fun with a tour guide however, and she had yet to meet the youngest grandchild of the enigmatic Master Panos. Would she be anything like her grandfather, the Lady wondered.
“It would please me very much to take the Lady’s tour,” she replied, climbing immediately to her feet. Fortunately, she was dressed appropriately for the occasion and did not need to beg a moment to change. Her peplos was of the palest yellow, almost fading into the realms of cream. It left almost everything to the imagination, exposing only her swan-like neck. It was tied in place by thin cords of rose gold rather than fibulae. The waist was cinched, the skirt long, flowing and pleated. Half of her hair was pinned into a braided bun with tiny silk faux-flowers of the palest pink wrapped artfully around the design. Beautiful as she was, she deemed the look not quite suitable for a first meeting with a Royal Lady of Athenia. “Aglaia, fetch my matching epiblema, and my rose gold broach; Aoide, my rose gold diadem, please.” The girls scurried to do her bidding, returning a moment later with the objects she had sought. Aglaia wrapped the thin silk epiblema, in the exact colouring of the peplos, around her mistress’s shoulders in the style of the shawl, then fastened it in place with a rose gold broach in the shape of that very flower. Aoide returned a moment later, crowning her head with a diadem of rose gold twisted into an olive branch design. Nodding her appreciation, she turned once more to the man. “Kindly escort me to Her Ladyship.”
He gave a nod, leading the Taengean beauty down a series of winding corridors and a seemingly endless spiral staircase, until they eventually emerged into a paradisical haven. The sky was as blue as a sapphire, the sun warm without being overly so. Everywhere she looked, flora and fauna waved gently in the subtle breeze, their ambrosial aromas stirring her senses to life.
As she turned to admire yet another patch of flowers, her gaze caught that of another, and her emerald eyes widened. The girl who stood before her was at all the kind of girl one would expect to be associated with Dynesteia Marikas. Her hair was cropped shockingly short, reaching only to her chin. In comparison to most she had seen, this girl hardly had any hair at all, which was a great shame. The hair she did have was rather beautiful. But more startling even than that was her choice of attire, a man’s tunic cut short at the knees that left bare her slender legs. Given the conservative nature of her grandfather and her kingdom in general, Ophelia could not help but wonder if the girl was mad to appear in such a thing. Did she not fear the repercussions? The ire of her clan? The punishment that could, and likely would, follow such a display? Of course, they would hear nothing of it from her, but she suspected that the knowledge would make it back to the men of Daniil’s household regardless of whether she held her tongue.
“Lady Ophelia of Condos,” the man announced, bowing low at the waist to Daniil. He stood still then, freezing in a statuesque position as he awaited further instructions. Having realized that she had been staring, Ophelia blinked and sank into a respectful curtsy, lowering her head in a bow.
“Your Ladyship, it is both a pleasure and honour to make your acquaintance,” her words were pronounced with sweet sincerity, and though she spoke quietly, her words carried with dignity. “I am most grateful that you have offered me this tour. Do forgive me if I gave a bad impression, I did not mean to stare at you. Your hairstyle is very…” she thought for a moment, tilting her head to the side. “...I have not seen many women in Athenia, or indeed in Taengea, wear such a look, though it seems to be rather more popular in Colchis,” she observed, deciding upon honestly as her best course of action. “I have recently departed from Colchis, and could not help but think that your appearance rather reminded me of some of the women I ran into there.”
Out of all the words that could be used to describe Daniil, patient was far from one of them. The moment the serving man had gone, what little she had left for this task began to drain from her being. Encased inside of its sandal, her foot tapped against the floor of the gardens, her arms crossed over her chest. Why was she doing this? Was the gardens really so damned important? Of course it was. Her dearest grandfather practically dripped with smirking glee every time he even thought of them, let alone when someone saw them for the first time. Yet, even with that assumption in mind, that would be much more pleasing for him in person, would it not? Surely even one of her sisters would be more suited. Agathe and Elena lived for social interaction, Agathe in particular. But they had not been sent. No, it was her. Part of Daniil wondered if this was meant as an insult to the young Condos, but dismissed that thought after only a moment of foolish consideration. It did not warrant further pondering, after all. The Marikas were proud, but not arrogant as a rule. Such an action would distance a potential ally. And for those at the top of the family of owls, it always came down to politics.
By the time the serving man entered with the young woman in tow, Daniil had worked herself into a angry mess. Her brows furrowed, her lips pursed tightly, the grip on her arms becoming white-knuckled. It was only the announcement of the man that brought her from her own thoughts, green eyes coming to stare at her guest. Ophelia of Condos was not what she had been expecting. In her experience, royals were haughty creatures, primped and preened until all they understood was their own importance, be it deserved or not. One had only to look at them to know that. Ophelia was beautiful, to be certain, but not in the same way. There was a demureness to her, a certain innocence to the way she spoke and the respect in her movements that drew Daniil's eyes longer than it should have. She cleared her throat, forcefully drawing her gaze away from the exposed neckline to stare at the serving man.
"Do you expect a standing ovation for doing your duty? Leave us, before I give you more perfunctory tasks you can perform with adequate results and expect great praise for."
His face reddening, the man did as he was bid, used to the brusque and irritated manner of speaking common to the youngest of Pavlos' daughters. Once he was gone, she properly put all her attention to the Condos girl. Ophelia was the epitome of respect and class. A flawless curtsy, her words so pretty, clear, and pronounced without flaw. A royal to the bone. Daniil watched her, listened to her words, and for a few moments, silence stretched between them.
Then her pursed lips stretched into an amused smile, and she laughed, her voice clearly ringing and echoing throughout the gardens. It was amusing. The girl was treating her like she was some pampered bedtoy, and clearly had no idea what to make of her. She uncrossed her arms, still laughing, and smiled at Ophelia.
"If you listened to the wrinkled sack of bones that calls himself my grandfather, he would say I belonged in a savage land like Colchis." Her eyes glittered with amusement as she regarded the woman, still smiling like a wolf in its den. "You can leave the Ladyships at the door. I have a name, and I would prefer you used it and only it. Daniil." Ignoring the curtsy that was usually customary for an encounter like this, she stepped forward, extending her forearm for Ophelia to grasp in greeting.
"Come now. Surely among us women, there is no need for such formality forced upon us at court?"
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Out of all the words that could be used to describe Daniil, patient was far from one of them. The moment the serving man had gone, what little she had left for this task began to drain from her being. Encased inside of its sandal, her foot tapped against the floor of the gardens, her arms crossed over her chest. Why was she doing this? Was the gardens really so damned important? Of course it was. Her dearest grandfather practically dripped with smirking glee every time he even thought of them, let alone when someone saw them for the first time. Yet, even with that assumption in mind, that would be much more pleasing for him in person, would it not? Surely even one of her sisters would be more suited. Agathe and Elena lived for social interaction, Agathe in particular. But they had not been sent. No, it was her. Part of Daniil wondered if this was meant as an insult to the young Condos, but dismissed that thought after only a moment of foolish consideration. It did not warrant further pondering, after all. The Marikas were proud, but not arrogant as a rule. Such an action would distance a potential ally. And for those at the top of the family of owls, it always came down to politics.
By the time the serving man entered with the young woman in tow, Daniil had worked herself into a angry mess. Her brows furrowed, her lips pursed tightly, the grip on her arms becoming white-knuckled. It was only the announcement of the man that brought her from her own thoughts, green eyes coming to stare at her guest. Ophelia of Condos was not what she had been expecting. In her experience, royals were haughty creatures, primped and preened until all they understood was their own importance, be it deserved or not. One had only to look at them to know that. Ophelia was beautiful, to be certain, but not in the same way. There was a demureness to her, a certain innocence to the way she spoke and the respect in her movements that drew Daniil's eyes longer than it should have. She cleared her throat, forcefully drawing her gaze away from the exposed neckline to stare at the serving man.
"Do you expect a standing ovation for doing your duty? Leave us, before I give you more perfunctory tasks you can perform with adequate results and expect great praise for."
His face reddening, the man did as he was bid, used to the brusque and irritated manner of speaking common to the youngest of Pavlos' daughters. Once he was gone, she properly put all her attention to the Condos girl. Ophelia was the epitome of respect and class. A flawless curtsy, her words so pretty, clear, and pronounced without flaw. A royal to the bone. Daniil watched her, listened to her words, and for a few moments, silence stretched between them.
Then her pursed lips stretched into an amused smile, and she laughed, her voice clearly ringing and echoing throughout the gardens. It was amusing. The girl was treating her like she was some pampered bedtoy, and clearly had no idea what to make of her. She uncrossed her arms, still laughing, and smiled at Ophelia.
"If you listened to the wrinkled sack of bones that calls himself my grandfather, he would say I belonged in a savage land like Colchis." Her eyes glittered with amusement as she regarded the woman, still smiling like a wolf in its den. "You can leave the Ladyships at the door. I have a name, and I would prefer you used it and only it. Daniil." Ignoring the curtsy that was usually customary for an encounter like this, she stepped forward, extending her forearm for Ophelia to grasp in greeting.
"Come now. Surely among us women, there is no need for such formality forced upon us at court?"
Out of all the words that could be used to describe Daniil, patient was far from one of them. The moment the serving man had gone, what little she had left for this task began to drain from her being. Encased inside of its sandal, her foot tapped against the floor of the gardens, her arms crossed over her chest. Why was she doing this? Was the gardens really so damned important? Of course it was. Her dearest grandfather practically dripped with smirking glee every time he even thought of them, let alone when someone saw them for the first time. Yet, even with that assumption in mind, that would be much more pleasing for him in person, would it not? Surely even one of her sisters would be more suited. Agathe and Elena lived for social interaction, Agathe in particular. But they had not been sent. No, it was her. Part of Daniil wondered if this was meant as an insult to the young Condos, but dismissed that thought after only a moment of foolish consideration. It did not warrant further pondering, after all. The Marikas were proud, but not arrogant as a rule. Such an action would distance a potential ally. And for those at the top of the family of owls, it always came down to politics.
By the time the serving man entered with the young woman in tow, Daniil had worked herself into a angry mess. Her brows furrowed, her lips pursed tightly, the grip on her arms becoming white-knuckled. It was only the announcement of the man that brought her from her own thoughts, green eyes coming to stare at her guest. Ophelia of Condos was not what she had been expecting. In her experience, royals were haughty creatures, primped and preened until all they understood was their own importance, be it deserved or not. One had only to look at them to know that. Ophelia was beautiful, to be certain, but not in the same way. There was a demureness to her, a certain innocence to the way she spoke and the respect in her movements that drew Daniil's eyes longer than it should have. She cleared her throat, forcefully drawing her gaze away from the exposed neckline to stare at the serving man.
"Do you expect a standing ovation for doing your duty? Leave us, before I give you more perfunctory tasks you can perform with adequate results and expect great praise for."
His face reddening, the man did as he was bid, used to the brusque and irritated manner of speaking common to the youngest of Pavlos' daughters. Once he was gone, she properly put all her attention to the Condos girl. Ophelia was the epitome of respect and class. A flawless curtsy, her words so pretty, clear, and pronounced without flaw. A royal to the bone. Daniil watched her, listened to her words, and for a few moments, silence stretched between them.
Then her pursed lips stretched into an amused smile, and she laughed, her voice clearly ringing and echoing throughout the gardens. It was amusing. The girl was treating her like she was some pampered bedtoy, and clearly had no idea what to make of her. She uncrossed her arms, still laughing, and smiled at Ophelia.
"If you listened to the wrinkled sack of bones that calls himself my grandfather, he would say I belonged in a savage land like Colchis." Her eyes glittered with amusement as she regarded the woman, still smiling like a wolf in its den. "You can leave the Ladyships at the door. I have a name, and I would prefer you used it and only it. Daniil." Ignoring the curtsy that was usually customary for an encounter like this, she stepped forward, extending her forearm for Ophelia to grasp in greeting.
"Come now. Surely among us women, there is no need for such formality forced upon us at court?"
Oh dear. The girl looked angry. Her knuckles were almost white, her arms folded, her brows drawn together in a furrow. Ophelia had not meant to keep her waiting so long; she had only meant to ensure that her arms were properly covered, lest the Lady take offense from her bare arms. She had, after all, taken most Athenians to be highly conservative. Her dear friend Rene appeared to be an exception to that rule, but she could clearly tell from Daniil’s appearance that she was more than an exception. She had taken that rule and tossed it to the winds.
Upon the man’s announcement of her arrival, however, the Lady gazed upon her. Ophelia met her eyes with warmth and openness, a soft smile gracing her rosebud lips. When she rose from her obeisance, she noticed that the girl was studying her, but she minded not at all -- she had, after all, afforded herself the same luxury upon first setting eyes on Daniil.
The Marikas’ gaze suddenly tore from hers, and she turned with unexpected ferocity upon the man who bore her house’s livery. Do you expect a standing ovation for doing your duty? Leave us, before I give you more perfunctory tasks you can perform with adequate results and expect great praise for.’ Ophelia drew in a sharp breath, shocked by the appalling manner in which she had addressed the poor man, who hastened away with a face red as flame. Lady Nethis had spoken thusly to her servants also, though perhaps the viper had been slightly more cruel than the owl.
“Please, My Lady,” Ophelia began cautiously, not wishing to offend her host but unwilling to remain silent either. She had done so in the Thanasi household when a servant had been mistreated on her behalf and the encounter had haunted her. Ever one to learn from her mistakes, she was not inclined to make the same one twice. “Do forgive me for speaking out of turn, for it will almost certainly seem as if I am, but I must beg you not to blame him. If you are angry with him for the delay, the fault was mine. Many of the Athenians I have met are highly conservative, and so I requested a moment to cover my shoulders lest you be offended by my bare flesh,” she gestured then to her epiblema, draped over her arms like a shawl. “If you are angry with anyone, I entreat you to be so with me.”
A moment of silence passed between them, during which time Daniil seemed to be gathering her thoughts, or simply observing her. Again not minding, Ophelia offered a shy, tentative smile. It was not like her to be uneasy in social situations, but she had never quite come across a Lady such as this before. Clearly she had a temper, but that was all Ophelia knew. Aside from that, Daniil of Marikas was an utter mystery, but one she was suddenly very eager to solve.
And then the laughing began. Sudden, unexpected and surprisingly musical. It caught her so much by surprise that, despite not knowing why her tour guide was laughing, the young Condos found herself unable to do anything other than join her. Soon, their laughter was blending together, drowning out the morning chorus.
‘If you listened to the wrinkled sack of bones that calls himself my grandfather, he would say I belonged in a savage land like Colchis,’ the strange youth grinned as she spoke, her eyes gleaming brightly as they caught the rays of the sun above. Ophelia ought to have been shocked at the irreverent manner in which she spoke of her stately grandfather, but somehow she found herself smiling along with her, for the girl’s flippant manner seemed to suit her. Ophelia truly believed that she would be more shocked now to see the girl execute a perfect curtsy and speak well of a person such as the formidable Master Panos, rather than what she had done. Calling him ‘an old sack of bones,’ seemed utterly appropriate for her.
“I do not believe you so savage as all of that,” again, her words were true. “I will admit, you are unconventional, but then perhaps so am I. I do not believe your grandfather was best pleased with me when I called upon him in Colchis without first writing to announce my intentions,” she laughed a little. “He seemed to warm slightly to me in the end though...well, as much as ‘an old sack of bones’ who speaks as little as he can warm to one such as I, with a terrible habit of prattling on about everything under the sun.”
‘You can leave the Ladyships at the door. I have a name, and I would prefer you used it and only it. Daniil,’ Ophelia did not contest this. In fact, her eyes lit up with hope. Could there be, in this girl, an ally? She certainly defied convention. Perhaps it was more than a mere statement of anger towards her grandfather; perhaps, beneath that tunic, the heart of a freedom fighter beat true and strong. As Daniil extended her forearm, Ophelia grasped it lightly without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Come now. Surely among us women, there is no need for such formality forced upon us at court?’ “You are right, of course,” the Condos replied. “I would be more than happy to concede to your request. And in return, I hope you will call me Ophelia, as my friends already do. I tend to save titles only for Court, and for when I am uncertain if a person wishes to adopt a more formal manner of address or not. Now that I know you are a person comfortable with informality, it will please me greatly to simply talk as women with you, and not as courtiers.”
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Oh dear. The girl looked angry. Her knuckles were almost white, her arms folded, her brows drawn together in a furrow. Ophelia had not meant to keep her waiting so long; she had only meant to ensure that her arms were properly covered, lest the Lady take offense from her bare arms. She had, after all, taken most Athenians to be highly conservative. Her dear friend Rene appeared to be an exception to that rule, but she could clearly tell from Daniil’s appearance that she was more than an exception. She had taken that rule and tossed it to the winds.
Upon the man’s announcement of her arrival, however, the Lady gazed upon her. Ophelia met her eyes with warmth and openness, a soft smile gracing her rosebud lips. When she rose from her obeisance, she noticed that the girl was studying her, but she minded not at all -- she had, after all, afforded herself the same luxury upon first setting eyes on Daniil.
The Marikas’ gaze suddenly tore from hers, and she turned with unexpected ferocity upon the man who bore her house’s livery. Do you expect a standing ovation for doing your duty? Leave us, before I give you more perfunctory tasks you can perform with adequate results and expect great praise for.’ Ophelia drew in a sharp breath, shocked by the appalling manner in which she had addressed the poor man, who hastened away with a face red as flame. Lady Nethis had spoken thusly to her servants also, though perhaps the viper had been slightly more cruel than the owl.
“Please, My Lady,” Ophelia began cautiously, not wishing to offend her host but unwilling to remain silent either. She had done so in the Thanasi household when a servant had been mistreated on her behalf and the encounter had haunted her. Ever one to learn from her mistakes, she was not inclined to make the same one twice. “Do forgive me for speaking out of turn, for it will almost certainly seem as if I am, but I must beg you not to blame him. If you are angry with him for the delay, the fault was mine. Many of the Athenians I have met are highly conservative, and so I requested a moment to cover my shoulders lest you be offended by my bare flesh,” she gestured then to her epiblema, draped over her arms like a shawl. “If you are angry with anyone, I entreat you to be so with me.”
A moment of silence passed between them, during which time Daniil seemed to be gathering her thoughts, or simply observing her. Again not minding, Ophelia offered a shy, tentative smile. It was not like her to be uneasy in social situations, but she had never quite come across a Lady such as this before. Clearly she had a temper, but that was all Ophelia knew. Aside from that, Daniil of Marikas was an utter mystery, but one she was suddenly very eager to solve.
And then the laughing began. Sudden, unexpected and surprisingly musical. It caught her so much by surprise that, despite not knowing why her tour guide was laughing, the young Condos found herself unable to do anything other than join her. Soon, their laughter was blending together, drowning out the morning chorus.
‘If you listened to the wrinkled sack of bones that calls himself my grandfather, he would say I belonged in a savage land like Colchis,’ the strange youth grinned as she spoke, her eyes gleaming brightly as they caught the rays of the sun above. Ophelia ought to have been shocked at the irreverent manner in which she spoke of her stately grandfather, but somehow she found herself smiling along with her, for the girl’s flippant manner seemed to suit her. Ophelia truly believed that she would be more shocked now to see the girl execute a perfect curtsy and speak well of a person such as the formidable Master Panos, rather than what she had done. Calling him ‘an old sack of bones,’ seemed utterly appropriate for her.
“I do not believe you so savage as all of that,” again, her words were true. “I will admit, you are unconventional, but then perhaps so am I. I do not believe your grandfather was best pleased with me when I called upon him in Colchis without first writing to announce my intentions,” she laughed a little. “He seemed to warm slightly to me in the end though...well, as much as ‘an old sack of bones’ who speaks as little as he can warm to one such as I, with a terrible habit of prattling on about everything under the sun.”
‘You can leave the Ladyships at the door. I have a name, and I would prefer you used it and only it. Daniil,’ Ophelia did not contest this. In fact, her eyes lit up with hope. Could there be, in this girl, an ally? She certainly defied convention. Perhaps it was more than a mere statement of anger towards her grandfather; perhaps, beneath that tunic, the heart of a freedom fighter beat true and strong. As Daniil extended her forearm, Ophelia grasped it lightly without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Come now. Surely among us women, there is no need for such formality forced upon us at court?’ “You are right, of course,” the Condos replied. “I would be more than happy to concede to your request. And in return, I hope you will call me Ophelia, as my friends already do. I tend to save titles only for Court, and for when I am uncertain if a person wishes to adopt a more formal manner of address or not. Now that I know you are a person comfortable with informality, it will please me greatly to simply talk as women with you, and not as courtiers.”
Oh dear. The girl looked angry. Her knuckles were almost white, her arms folded, her brows drawn together in a furrow. Ophelia had not meant to keep her waiting so long; she had only meant to ensure that her arms were properly covered, lest the Lady take offense from her bare arms. She had, after all, taken most Athenians to be highly conservative. Her dear friend Rene appeared to be an exception to that rule, but she could clearly tell from Daniil’s appearance that she was more than an exception. She had taken that rule and tossed it to the winds.
Upon the man’s announcement of her arrival, however, the Lady gazed upon her. Ophelia met her eyes with warmth and openness, a soft smile gracing her rosebud lips. When she rose from her obeisance, she noticed that the girl was studying her, but she minded not at all -- she had, after all, afforded herself the same luxury upon first setting eyes on Daniil.
The Marikas’ gaze suddenly tore from hers, and she turned with unexpected ferocity upon the man who bore her house’s livery. Do you expect a standing ovation for doing your duty? Leave us, before I give you more perfunctory tasks you can perform with adequate results and expect great praise for.’ Ophelia drew in a sharp breath, shocked by the appalling manner in which she had addressed the poor man, who hastened away with a face red as flame. Lady Nethis had spoken thusly to her servants also, though perhaps the viper had been slightly more cruel than the owl.
“Please, My Lady,” Ophelia began cautiously, not wishing to offend her host but unwilling to remain silent either. She had done so in the Thanasi household when a servant had been mistreated on her behalf and the encounter had haunted her. Ever one to learn from her mistakes, she was not inclined to make the same one twice. “Do forgive me for speaking out of turn, for it will almost certainly seem as if I am, but I must beg you not to blame him. If you are angry with him for the delay, the fault was mine. Many of the Athenians I have met are highly conservative, and so I requested a moment to cover my shoulders lest you be offended by my bare flesh,” she gestured then to her epiblema, draped over her arms like a shawl. “If you are angry with anyone, I entreat you to be so with me.”
A moment of silence passed between them, during which time Daniil seemed to be gathering her thoughts, or simply observing her. Again not minding, Ophelia offered a shy, tentative smile. It was not like her to be uneasy in social situations, but she had never quite come across a Lady such as this before. Clearly she had a temper, but that was all Ophelia knew. Aside from that, Daniil of Marikas was an utter mystery, but one she was suddenly very eager to solve.
And then the laughing began. Sudden, unexpected and surprisingly musical. It caught her so much by surprise that, despite not knowing why her tour guide was laughing, the young Condos found herself unable to do anything other than join her. Soon, their laughter was blending together, drowning out the morning chorus.
‘If you listened to the wrinkled sack of bones that calls himself my grandfather, he would say I belonged in a savage land like Colchis,’ the strange youth grinned as she spoke, her eyes gleaming brightly as they caught the rays of the sun above. Ophelia ought to have been shocked at the irreverent manner in which she spoke of her stately grandfather, but somehow she found herself smiling along with her, for the girl’s flippant manner seemed to suit her. Ophelia truly believed that she would be more shocked now to see the girl execute a perfect curtsy and speak well of a person such as the formidable Master Panos, rather than what she had done. Calling him ‘an old sack of bones,’ seemed utterly appropriate for her.
“I do not believe you so savage as all of that,” again, her words were true. “I will admit, you are unconventional, but then perhaps so am I. I do not believe your grandfather was best pleased with me when I called upon him in Colchis without first writing to announce my intentions,” she laughed a little. “He seemed to warm slightly to me in the end though...well, as much as ‘an old sack of bones’ who speaks as little as he can warm to one such as I, with a terrible habit of prattling on about everything under the sun.”
‘You can leave the Ladyships at the door. I have a name, and I would prefer you used it and only it. Daniil,’ Ophelia did not contest this. In fact, her eyes lit up with hope. Could there be, in this girl, an ally? She certainly defied convention. Perhaps it was more than a mere statement of anger towards her grandfather; perhaps, beneath that tunic, the heart of a freedom fighter beat true and strong. As Daniil extended her forearm, Ophelia grasped it lightly without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Come now. Surely among us women, there is no need for such formality forced upon us at court?’ “You are right, of course,” the Condos replied. “I would be more than happy to concede to your request. And in return, I hope you will call me Ophelia, as my friends already do. I tend to save titles only for Court, and for when I am uncertain if a person wishes to adopt a more formal manner of address or not. Now that I know you are a person comfortable with informality, it will please me greatly to simply talk as women with you, and not as courtiers.”
Well, well. This woman presented a far more intriguing individual than she had first taken her for. Daniil had begun this task assuming she would escorting a vapid and prattling harpy of a woman only interested in advancing her own gain. But now? Now she was unsure that was the conclusion she should be coming to about Ophelia of Condos. Unsure of her motivations. Perhaps she was as she seemed: a pleasant woman. But there was something about her that gave Daniil pause in that regard. Something that told her there was more underneath the surface of the words and curtsies and musical laughter that was more than that. And now she was desperately curious to find it.
Even acknowledging Daniil's tongue lashing of the servant gave her pause. She had not even considered that Ophelia would assume her anger was directed at her. It wasn't of course. It had not even truly been anger, only mere irritation. Honestly, the moment the man had left her sight, he had left her mind. The reminder of his presence brought the semblance of a frown back to her lips, but it was only a shadow of what was present before.
"Pay no mind to the man." The word was spat out like venom. "Whatever feelings of shame he may be feeling shall pass. I am only angered that you should feel the need to cover any part of you on my behalf."
The story about her grandfather was so amusing to her that Daniil barked out another round of laughter, reaching up to wipe a tear from her eye. It was too funny. "Oh, I know exactly the kind of look he must have given you for such a daring and salacious action as that!" She then proceeded to do an imitation of Panos' infamous glare, setting her face into an unamused stare. But she could not hold it for long, once more reduced to giggles. Once the laughing fit passed, she could give her full attention to this woman, who it seemed truly did deserve it after all.
"Ophelia it is." As they grasped each others forearms, Daniil squeezed warmly, all smiles. Though the mention of court and titles once more brought a storm to her eyes, and a frown to her lips. A fury overtook her then, a slow-burning and passive anger built up over a young lifetime of court life. "Nothing could displease me further than the continuation of such vile things as court formality. Such vain games as those played in court sicken me. To watch as women just like ourselves prostitute themselves, both literally and figuratively, for the vile men that call themselves rulers is an insult to women across the Aegean and beyond." She let go of Ophelia's arm, her face still bearing a twisted expression of anger. "The men of Greece believe us to be demure, weak, and suitable only for what lays between our legs. To use the terms and titles forced upon us by them, now that I would consider an insult."
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Well, well. This woman presented a far more intriguing individual than she had first taken her for. Daniil had begun this task assuming she would escorting a vapid and prattling harpy of a woman only interested in advancing her own gain. But now? Now she was unsure that was the conclusion she should be coming to about Ophelia of Condos. Unsure of her motivations. Perhaps she was as she seemed: a pleasant woman. But there was something about her that gave Daniil pause in that regard. Something that told her there was more underneath the surface of the words and curtsies and musical laughter that was more than that. And now she was desperately curious to find it.
Even acknowledging Daniil's tongue lashing of the servant gave her pause. She had not even considered that Ophelia would assume her anger was directed at her. It wasn't of course. It had not even truly been anger, only mere irritation. Honestly, the moment the man had left her sight, he had left her mind. The reminder of his presence brought the semblance of a frown back to her lips, but it was only a shadow of what was present before.
"Pay no mind to the man." The word was spat out like venom. "Whatever feelings of shame he may be feeling shall pass. I am only angered that you should feel the need to cover any part of you on my behalf."
The story about her grandfather was so amusing to her that Daniil barked out another round of laughter, reaching up to wipe a tear from her eye. It was too funny. "Oh, I know exactly the kind of look he must have given you for such a daring and salacious action as that!" She then proceeded to do an imitation of Panos' infamous glare, setting her face into an unamused stare. But she could not hold it for long, once more reduced to giggles. Once the laughing fit passed, she could give her full attention to this woman, who it seemed truly did deserve it after all.
"Ophelia it is." As they grasped each others forearms, Daniil squeezed warmly, all smiles. Though the mention of court and titles once more brought a storm to her eyes, and a frown to her lips. A fury overtook her then, a slow-burning and passive anger built up over a young lifetime of court life. "Nothing could displease me further than the continuation of such vile things as court formality. Such vain games as those played in court sicken me. To watch as women just like ourselves prostitute themselves, both literally and figuratively, for the vile men that call themselves rulers is an insult to women across the Aegean and beyond." She let go of Ophelia's arm, her face still bearing a twisted expression of anger. "The men of Greece believe us to be demure, weak, and suitable only for what lays between our legs. To use the terms and titles forced upon us by them, now that I would consider an insult."
Well, well. This woman presented a far more intriguing individual than she had first taken her for. Daniil had begun this task assuming she would escorting a vapid and prattling harpy of a woman only interested in advancing her own gain. But now? Now she was unsure that was the conclusion she should be coming to about Ophelia of Condos. Unsure of her motivations. Perhaps she was as she seemed: a pleasant woman. But there was something about her that gave Daniil pause in that regard. Something that told her there was more underneath the surface of the words and curtsies and musical laughter that was more than that. And now she was desperately curious to find it.
Even acknowledging Daniil's tongue lashing of the servant gave her pause. She had not even considered that Ophelia would assume her anger was directed at her. It wasn't of course. It had not even truly been anger, only mere irritation. Honestly, the moment the man had left her sight, he had left her mind. The reminder of his presence brought the semblance of a frown back to her lips, but it was only a shadow of what was present before.
"Pay no mind to the man." The word was spat out like venom. "Whatever feelings of shame he may be feeling shall pass. I am only angered that you should feel the need to cover any part of you on my behalf."
The story about her grandfather was so amusing to her that Daniil barked out another round of laughter, reaching up to wipe a tear from her eye. It was too funny. "Oh, I know exactly the kind of look he must have given you for such a daring and salacious action as that!" She then proceeded to do an imitation of Panos' infamous glare, setting her face into an unamused stare. But she could not hold it for long, once more reduced to giggles. Once the laughing fit passed, she could give her full attention to this woman, who it seemed truly did deserve it after all.
"Ophelia it is." As they grasped each others forearms, Daniil squeezed warmly, all smiles. Though the mention of court and titles once more brought a storm to her eyes, and a frown to her lips. A fury overtook her then, a slow-burning and passive anger built up over a young lifetime of court life. "Nothing could displease me further than the continuation of such vile things as court formality. Such vain games as those played in court sicken me. To watch as women just like ourselves prostitute themselves, both literally and figuratively, for the vile men that call themselves rulers is an insult to women across the Aegean and beyond." She let go of Ophelia's arm, her face still bearing a twisted expression of anger. "The men of Greece believe us to be demure, weak, and suitable only for what lays between our legs. To use the terms and titles forced upon us by them, now that I would consider an insult."
A frown came once more to darken the expression of her strange new acquaintance, but it was a mere shadow of what it had been. Still, Ophelia took note, and wondered whether it had been wise to intervene in her treatment of the servants. Yes, she told herself, remaining firm in her resolve, conjuring once more the image of Lady Nethis’s dejected attendant fleeing her ire. That had been on her account also, for he had permitted her access to the inner sanctums of the Thanasi’s second home without first consulting with the woman. Nethis had then gone on, albeit in a subtle way, to make it quite apparent that her presence was far from desired. The image of that servant’s frightened expression had haunted her since the encounter, and she had sworn since that never again would she permit such a thing to happen on her account. Daniil seemed much kinder than Nethis, but she dared not take her chances.
‘Pay no mind to the man.’
Ophelia blinked at the venom in the Lady’s tone. The word ‘man’ in particular was spoken with such ferocity that it was all she could do not to shudder. ‘Whatever feelings of shame he may be feeling shall pass -- ‘ she certainly hoped so, but decided to make a point of seeking him out and apologizing later on. Hopefully Daniil would not find out, for she did not wish to give offense to anyone. Still, it seemed only right that she check on him. ‘I am only angered that you should feel the need to cover any part of you on my behalf.’ Again, another odd statement, but one that set her oddly at her ease. Until this moment, her muscles had been tensed with concern, but she found them relaxing at these words. “In truth, I usually forego the epiblema, though my outfits are rather convervative by my own choice. I actually make most of them myself,” Ophelia had no idea why she was saying this. She did not wish Daniil to think her a braggart, though the manner in which she spoke the words was so quiet and tentative that only the harshest individual could have possibly come to such a conclusion. “I wanted to cover my arms in case I caused you discomfort, as I know how conservative most Athenians can be, though I will admit it was a rather foolish choice of mine given the weather today,” at these words, she permitted a bright smile to grace her lovely face. “I am sensible of the great honour you are doing me today, and wished not to offend you in any way. That is why I am very sorry that I kept you waiting; I thought perhaps that may have been the cause of your irritation towards your attendant. He was very gracious to me.”
Although Ophelia had not found favour with Master Panos, it seemed that her recollection of their first meeting had found favour with Daniil, for the girl began to laugh once more. It was not a delicate, musical laugh like Ophelia’s, but a louder, more boisterous laugh, the kind that invited others to laugh along. Ophelia grinned in response, eager to hear what the girl would say. To her surprise, Daniil actually reached up to wipe a tear from her eye before responding. This only caused her grin to widen further. ‘Oh, I know exactly the kind of look he must have given you for such a daring and salacious action as that!’ the girl exclaimed, before setting her face in a near perfect imitation of her grandfather’s. She was unable to maintain the icy disposition, however, and soon subsided into giggles once again. “That is exactly it!” she exclaimed. “He has a look that seems to pierce right through you, does he not? I had heard that he could cut diamonds with his cheekbones, but I had thought it an impossibility. Now that I have gazed upon the sharpness of those features, however, I am not so certain,” she winked, momentarily debating whether she ought to tell Daniil about the picture she had seen. Deciding that the girl would find it amusing, she lowered her voice to a hushed murmur. “In Taengea, there is an anonymous artist who creates artwork of a political nature. Last year, I came upon a painting of your grandfather doing just that -- cutting a diamond with his cheekbone, while fixing any who view it with a stare that clearly says ‘I am not amuse.’ I had never met him then, but now that I have, I swear upon my honour that it is one of the most accurate depictions I have ever seen of anyone.”
Oh, she liked this girl. Perhaps that was her problem; she was quick to love and quick to loathe, quick to trust and easy to hurt. It left her heart vulnerable to attack, but made it easy for her to cherish moments such as these, with interesting company and the sweet smell of flora floating through the air.
‘Ophelia it is,’ Daniil pronounced, warmly squeezing her forearm. Ophelia returned the gesture, noting that the tempest in her companion’s eyes warred with her smile. Soon, a frown replaced that lovely smile, and Ophelia’s brows knit together in concern. Ophelia peered at her, noting the changes that were slowly occurring. Then, quite without warning, Daniil exploded.
‘Nothing could displease me further than the continuation of such vile things as court formality. Such vain games as those played in court sicken me. To watch as women just like ourselves prostitute themselves, both literally and figuratively, for the vile men that call themselves rulers is an insult to women across the Aegean and beyond.”
Expression twisted in anger, the volcano of a woman released her arm and continued her tirade. Ophelia stood very still, emerald eyes fixed upon that anguished face, drinking in every impassioned word with a mixture of awe, fear and reverence.
‘The men of Greece believe us to be demure, weak, and suitable only for what lays between our legs. To use the terms and titles forced upon us by them, now that I would consider an insult.’
“I was right, then…” she whispered quietly, her eyes growing wide as drachmae. Her lips thinned in thought as she cast a furtive glance around the garden, seeking any sign of a disturbance. Before she spoke again, she had to be certain that they were truly alone. Having satisfied herself on that point, she turned back to the girl and took a step toward her. When she spoke again, her voice was once more a mere octave above a whisper.
“I assure you, I play no games. Not frivolous ones, anyway; my schemes are for the greater good. I agree with much of what you have said, but none can learn of that. My goal is to benefit the lives of women as much as I possibly can, but I know that in order to do that, I must do so quietly,” With slight trepidation, she reached once more for the young owl’s arm, giving it another squeeze. “Your grandfather is a lawmaster, therefore you must know a great deal about loopholes. It is my way to find the loophole in as many things as I can, so that I might place women on as much of an equal footing as is possible with men. Sometimes, we must make compromises, sacrifices even...you are right in what you say, many men do terrible things, and in order to avenge themselves, some women have turned into monsters. I will not become a monster, but nor will I permit myself to allow a man to use me as he will without giving me something in return. The title are, in my opinion, the least that they owe us, and I will take all that is my right to claim from this little bargain between the sexes. I will say, however, that not all men are as evil as you think. I had the pleasure of meeting one good soul in Colchis who I now consider a dear friend.”
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A frown came once more to darken the expression of her strange new acquaintance, but it was a mere shadow of what it had been. Still, Ophelia took note, and wondered whether it had been wise to intervene in her treatment of the servants. Yes, she told herself, remaining firm in her resolve, conjuring once more the image of Lady Nethis’s dejected attendant fleeing her ire. That had been on her account also, for he had permitted her access to the inner sanctums of the Thanasi’s second home without first consulting with the woman. Nethis had then gone on, albeit in a subtle way, to make it quite apparent that her presence was far from desired. The image of that servant’s frightened expression had haunted her since the encounter, and she had sworn since that never again would she permit such a thing to happen on her account. Daniil seemed much kinder than Nethis, but she dared not take her chances.
‘Pay no mind to the man.’
Ophelia blinked at the venom in the Lady’s tone. The word ‘man’ in particular was spoken with such ferocity that it was all she could do not to shudder. ‘Whatever feelings of shame he may be feeling shall pass -- ‘ she certainly hoped so, but decided to make a point of seeking him out and apologizing later on. Hopefully Daniil would not find out, for she did not wish to give offense to anyone. Still, it seemed only right that she check on him. ‘I am only angered that you should feel the need to cover any part of you on my behalf.’ Again, another odd statement, but one that set her oddly at her ease. Until this moment, her muscles had been tensed with concern, but she found them relaxing at these words. “In truth, I usually forego the epiblema, though my outfits are rather convervative by my own choice. I actually make most of them myself,” Ophelia had no idea why she was saying this. She did not wish Daniil to think her a braggart, though the manner in which she spoke the words was so quiet and tentative that only the harshest individual could have possibly come to such a conclusion. “I wanted to cover my arms in case I caused you discomfort, as I know how conservative most Athenians can be, though I will admit it was a rather foolish choice of mine given the weather today,” at these words, she permitted a bright smile to grace her lovely face. “I am sensible of the great honour you are doing me today, and wished not to offend you in any way. That is why I am very sorry that I kept you waiting; I thought perhaps that may have been the cause of your irritation towards your attendant. He was very gracious to me.”
Although Ophelia had not found favour with Master Panos, it seemed that her recollection of their first meeting had found favour with Daniil, for the girl began to laugh once more. It was not a delicate, musical laugh like Ophelia’s, but a louder, more boisterous laugh, the kind that invited others to laugh along. Ophelia grinned in response, eager to hear what the girl would say. To her surprise, Daniil actually reached up to wipe a tear from her eye before responding. This only caused her grin to widen further. ‘Oh, I know exactly the kind of look he must have given you for such a daring and salacious action as that!’ the girl exclaimed, before setting her face in a near perfect imitation of her grandfather’s. She was unable to maintain the icy disposition, however, and soon subsided into giggles once again. “That is exactly it!” she exclaimed. “He has a look that seems to pierce right through you, does he not? I had heard that he could cut diamonds with his cheekbones, but I had thought it an impossibility. Now that I have gazed upon the sharpness of those features, however, I am not so certain,” she winked, momentarily debating whether she ought to tell Daniil about the picture she had seen. Deciding that the girl would find it amusing, she lowered her voice to a hushed murmur. “In Taengea, there is an anonymous artist who creates artwork of a political nature. Last year, I came upon a painting of your grandfather doing just that -- cutting a diamond with his cheekbone, while fixing any who view it with a stare that clearly says ‘I am not amuse.’ I had never met him then, but now that I have, I swear upon my honour that it is one of the most accurate depictions I have ever seen of anyone.”
Oh, she liked this girl. Perhaps that was her problem; she was quick to love and quick to loathe, quick to trust and easy to hurt. It left her heart vulnerable to attack, but made it easy for her to cherish moments such as these, with interesting company and the sweet smell of flora floating through the air.
‘Ophelia it is,’ Daniil pronounced, warmly squeezing her forearm. Ophelia returned the gesture, noting that the tempest in her companion’s eyes warred with her smile. Soon, a frown replaced that lovely smile, and Ophelia’s brows knit together in concern. Ophelia peered at her, noting the changes that were slowly occurring. Then, quite without warning, Daniil exploded.
‘Nothing could displease me further than the continuation of such vile things as court formality. Such vain games as those played in court sicken me. To watch as women just like ourselves prostitute themselves, both literally and figuratively, for the vile men that call themselves rulers is an insult to women across the Aegean and beyond.”
Expression twisted in anger, the volcano of a woman released her arm and continued her tirade. Ophelia stood very still, emerald eyes fixed upon that anguished face, drinking in every impassioned word with a mixture of awe, fear and reverence.
‘The men of Greece believe us to be demure, weak, and suitable only for what lays between our legs. To use the terms and titles forced upon us by them, now that I would consider an insult.’
“I was right, then…” she whispered quietly, her eyes growing wide as drachmae. Her lips thinned in thought as she cast a furtive glance around the garden, seeking any sign of a disturbance. Before she spoke again, she had to be certain that they were truly alone. Having satisfied herself on that point, she turned back to the girl and took a step toward her. When she spoke again, her voice was once more a mere octave above a whisper.
“I assure you, I play no games. Not frivolous ones, anyway; my schemes are for the greater good. I agree with much of what you have said, but none can learn of that. My goal is to benefit the lives of women as much as I possibly can, but I know that in order to do that, I must do so quietly,” With slight trepidation, she reached once more for the young owl’s arm, giving it another squeeze. “Your grandfather is a lawmaster, therefore you must know a great deal about loopholes. It is my way to find the loophole in as many things as I can, so that I might place women on as much of an equal footing as is possible with men. Sometimes, we must make compromises, sacrifices even...you are right in what you say, many men do terrible things, and in order to avenge themselves, some women have turned into monsters. I will not become a monster, but nor will I permit myself to allow a man to use me as he will without giving me something in return. The title are, in my opinion, the least that they owe us, and I will take all that is my right to claim from this little bargain between the sexes. I will say, however, that not all men are as evil as you think. I had the pleasure of meeting one good soul in Colchis who I now consider a dear friend.”
A frown came once more to darken the expression of her strange new acquaintance, but it was a mere shadow of what it had been. Still, Ophelia took note, and wondered whether it had been wise to intervene in her treatment of the servants. Yes, she told herself, remaining firm in her resolve, conjuring once more the image of Lady Nethis’s dejected attendant fleeing her ire. That had been on her account also, for he had permitted her access to the inner sanctums of the Thanasi’s second home without first consulting with the woman. Nethis had then gone on, albeit in a subtle way, to make it quite apparent that her presence was far from desired. The image of that servant’s frightened expression had haunted her since the encounter, and she had sworn since that never again would she permit such a thing to happen on her account. Daniil seemed much kinder than Nethis, but she dared not take her chances.
‘Pay no mind to the man.’
Ophelia blinked at the venom in the Lady’s tone. The word ‘man’ in particular was spoken with such ferocity that it was all she could do not to shudder. ‘Whatever feelings of shame he may be feeling shall pass -- ‘ she certainly hoped so, but decided to make a point of seeking him out and apologizing later on. Hopefully Daniil would not find out, for she did not wish to give offense to anyone. Still, it seemed only right that she check on him. ‘I am only angered that you should feel the need to cover any part of you on my behalf.’ Again, another odd statement, but one that set her oddly at her ease. Until this moment, her muscles had been tensed with concern, but she found them relaxing at these words. “In truth, I usually forego the epiblema, though my outfits are rather convervative by my own choice. I actually make most of them myself,” Ophelia had no idea why she was saying this. She did not wish Daniil to think her a braggart, though the manner in which she spoke the words was so quiet and tentative that only the harshest individual could have possibly come to such a conclusion. “I wanted to cover my arms in case I caused you discomfort, as I know how conservative most Athenians can be, though I will admit it was a rather foolish choice of mine given the weather today,” at these words, she permitted a bright smile to grace her lovely face. “I am sensible of the great honour you are doing me today, and wished not to offend you in any way. That is why I am very sorry that I kept you waiting; I thought perhaps that may have been the cause of your irritation towards your attendant. He was very gracious to me.”
Although Ophelia had not found favour with Master Panos, it seemed that her recollection of their first meeting had found favour with Daniil, for the girl began to laugh once more. It was not a delicate, musical laugh like Ophelia’s, but a louder, more boisterous laugh, the kind that invited others to laugh along. Ophelia grinned in response, eager to hear what the girl would say. To her surprise, Daniil actually reached up to wipe a tear from her eye before responding. This only caused her grin to widen further. ‘Oh, I know exactly the kind of look he must have given you for such a daring and salacious action as that!’ the girl exclaimed, before setting her face in a near perfect imitation of her grandfather’s. She was unable to maintain the icy disposition, however, and soon subsided into giggles once again. “That is exactly it!” she exclaimed. “He has a look that seems to pierce right through you, does he not? I had heard that he could cut diamonds with his cheekbones, but I had thought it an impossibility. Now that I have gazed upon the sharpness of those features, however, I am not so certain,” she winked, momentarily debating whether she ought to tell Daniil about the picture she had seen. Deciding that the girl would find it amusing, she lowered her voice to a hushed murmur. “In Taengea, there is an anonymous artist who creates artwork of a political nature. Last year, I came upon a painting of your grandfather doing just that -- cutting a diamond with his cheekbone, while fixing any who view it with a stare that clearly says ‘I am not amuse.’ I had never met him then, but now that I have, I swear upon my honour that it is one of the most accurate depictions I have ever seen of anyone.”
Oh, she liked this girl. Perhaps that was her problem; she was quick to love and quick to loathe, quick to trust and easy to hurt. It left her heart vulnerable to attack, but made it easy for her to cherish moments such as these, with interesting company and the sweet smell of flora floating through the air.
‘Ophelia it is,’ Daniil pronounced, warmly squeezing her forearm. Ophelia returned the gesture, noting that the tempest in her companion’s eyes warred with her smile. Soon, a frown replaced that lovely smile, and Ophelia’s brows knit together in concern. Ophelia peered at her, noting the changes that were slowly occurring. Then, quite without warning, Daniil exploded.
‘Nothing could displease me further than the continuation of such vile things as court formality. Such vain games as those played in court sicken me. To watch as women just like ourselves prostitute themselves, both literally and figuratively, for the vile men that call themselves rulers is an insult to women across the Aegean and beyond.”
Expression twisted in anger, the volcano of a woman released her arm and continued her tirade. Ophelia stood very still, emerald eyes fixed upon that anguished face, drinking in every impassioned word with a mixture of awe, fear and reverence.
‘The men of Greece believe us to be demure, weak, and suitable only for what lays between our legs. To use the terms and titles forced upon us by them, now that I would consider an insult.’
“I was right, then…” she whispered quietly, her eyes growing wide as drachmae. Her lips thinned in thought as she cast a furtive glance around the garden, seeking any sign of a disturbance. Before she spoke again, she had to be certain that they were truly alone. Having satisfied herself on that point, she turned back to the girl and took a step toward her. When she spoke again, her voice was once more a mere octave above a whisper.
“I assure you, I play no games. Not frivolous ones, anyway; my schemes are for the greater good. I agree with much of what you have said, but none can learn of that. My goal is to benefit the lives of women as much as I possibly can, but I know that in order to do that, I must do so quietly,” With slight trepidation, she reached once more for the young owl’s arm, giving it another squeeze. “Your grandfather is a lawmaster, therefore you must know a great deal about loopholes. It is my way to find the loophole in as many things as I can, so that I might place women on as much of an equal footing as is possible with men. Sometimes, we must make compromises, sacrifices even...you are right in what you say, many men do terrible things, and in order to avenge themselves, some women have turned into monsters. I will not become a monster, but nor will I permit myself to allow a man to use me as he will without giving me something in return. The title are, in my opinion, the least that they owe us, and I will take all that is my right to claim from this little bargain between the sexes. I will say, however, that not all men are as evil as you think. I had the pleasure of meeting one good soul in Colchis who I now consider a dear friend.”
Daniil listened to Ophelia's response about the delay and her attitudes carefully. The words themselves could perhaps have been interpreted to have been those of a braggart, but the tone behind them was nothing of the sort. Only one deaf to meaning and blind to the context of the individual could have taken away such a meaning. That, or someone purposefully searching for something to criticize the woman on. If Ophelia had been a man, Daniil may have interpreted it that way, for she saw the evil in all men. But luckily for both of them, Ophelia was not a man, and such unpleasantness could be avoided. As it was, she simply smiled at her, and nodded in acknowledgement of the words.
Honestly, Daniil should not have been surprised to learn that there was such an artist. After all, Panos was a larger than life man, both in politics and in his day to day interactions. It was inevitable that there would be those displeased with the way Panos conducted himself and his affairs, especially with his rather impersonal mannerisms and conversational patterns. However, the fact that not only did such a piece of art exist, but it perfectly depicted her grandfather and this woman of all women knew about it, was probably the funniest thing that she had ever heard. Perhaps not, but in the moment it certainly seemed like it. Accordingly, the round of laughter that she let out was only increased in volume and more raucous than the previous, tears falling from her eyes. It was too much. Too ridiculous, too perfect. When she calmed down, she eyed Ophelia with mirth.
"I shall have to inquire about acquiring this painting."
During her rants and tirades, Daniil was not known for paying attention to those around her. While she went on and on, she was only vaguely aware of Ophelia's actions. When she finished, her chest heaving for air that was expelled by her words, she finally placed her attention back to the other woman. Watched her. Waited. And she was not disappointed. Ophelia did indeed speak, though in hushed tones, as if afraid someone might overhear. Squeezed Daniil's arm as she explained their similar views. But something was bothering Daniil. Something she said. One word, ringing in her mind over and over again, echoing through her own thoughts.
Sacrifices.
Her lips were still pursed into a frown. There was no fury in her green eyes, no anger. Only a bitterness. An understanding, though reluctant. And she said the cursed word aloud: "Sacrifices." It was poison on her tongue, though she did not spit it out. Only tasted it, testing the flavor and feel of it through her lips. And decided she did not care for it.
"Sacrifices, you say. Sacrifices must be made. For every inch we gain, we must give a mile." She squeezed the other woman's arm in return, through the warmth did not return to her eyes. "I respect your goal. We are sisters in arms, in that regard. But your methods? Those, I do not agree with. Have we not sacrificed enough? Have we not suffered enough as it is? Have we not already given them everything? Is there anything left for us to give? Even now, speaking your words of freedom and equality, you skulk in the shadows, afraid someone might hear."
She raised her arm, the one Ophelia was not holding, gesturing to the gardens around them. "Let them hear! Let them hear our words, and tremble that there are some of us who will not be cowed, who will not be set aside simply because we are women. Nothing would terrify them more. Sacrifice? Compromise? Nay. I say that the time for compromise is over. Even in our own Aegean, even in Greece, the women of Colchis may hold weapons to defend their country. But it is not enough. Not until every free woman in Greece is not overlooked simply on the basis of their sex. Inch by inch we have wormed our way from nothing, and what precious few gains it has given us are not enough. We work towards the same goal, and in that we are allies, it is true. But I will not give another inch."
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Daniil listened to Ophelia's response about the delay and her attitudes carefully. The words themselves could perhaps have been interpreted to have been those of a braggart, but the tone behind them was nothing of the sort. Only one deaf to meaning and blind to the context of the individual could have taken away such a meaning. That, or someone purposefully searching for something to criticize the woman on. If Ophelia had been a man, Daniil may have interpreted it that way, for she saw the evil in all men. But luckily for both of them, Ophelia was not a man, and such unpleasantness could be avoided. As it was, she simply smiled at her, and nodded in acknowledgement of the words.
Honestly, Daniil should not have been surprised to learn that there was such an artist. After all, Panos was a larger than life man, both in politics and in his day to day interactions. It was inevitable that there would be those displeased with the way Panos conducted himself and his affairs, especially with his rather impersonal mannerisms and conversational patterns. However, the fact that not only did such a piece of art exist, but it perfectly depicted her grandfather and this woman of all women knew about it, was probably the funniest thing that she had ever heard. Perhaps not, but in the moment it certainly seemed like it. Accordingly, the round of laughter that she let out was only increased in volume and more raucous than the previous, tears falling from her eyes. It was too much. Too ridiculous, too perfect. When she calmed down, she eyed Ophelia with mirth.
"I shall have to inquire about acquiring this painting."
During her rants and tirades, Daniil was not known for paying attention to those around her. While she went on and on, she was only vaguely aware of Ophelia's actions. When she finished, her chest heaving for air that was expelled by her words, she finally placed her attention back to the other woman. Watched her. Waited. And she was not disappointed. Ophelia did indeed speak, though in hushed tones, as if afraid someone might overhear. Squeezed Daniil's arm as she explained their similar views. But something was bothering Daniil. Something she said. One word, ringing in her mind over and over again, echoing through her own thoughts.
Sacrifices.
Her lips were still pursed into a frown. There was no fury in her green eyes, no anger. Only a bitterness. An understanding, though reluctant. And she said the cursed word aloud: "Sacrifices." It was poison on her tongue, though she did not spit it out. Only tasted it, testing the flavor and feel of it through her lips. And decided she did not care for it.
"Sacrifices, you say. Sacrifices must be made. For every inch we gain, we must give a mile." She squeezed the other woman's arm in return, through the warmth did not return to her eyes. "I respect your goal. We are sisters in arms, in that regard. But your methods? Those, I do not agree with. Have we not sacrificed enough? Have we not suffered enough as it is? Have we not already given them everything? Is there anything left for us to give? Even now, speaking your words of freedom and equality, you skulk in the shadows, afraid someone might hear."
She raised her arm, the one Ophelia was not holding, gesturing to the gardens around them. "Let them hear! Let them hear our words, and tremble that there are some of us who will not be cowed, who will not be set aside simply because we are women. Nothing would terrify them more. Sacrifice? Compromise? Nay. I say that the time for compromise is over. Even in our own Aegean, even in Greece, the women of Colchis may hold weapons to defend their country. But it is not enough. Not until every free woman in Greece is not overlooked simply on the basis of their sex. Inch by inch we have wormed our way from nothing, and what precious few gains it has given us are not enough. We work towards the same goal, and in that we are allies, it is true. But I will not give another inch."
Daniil listened to Ophelia's response about the delay and her attitudes carefully. The words themselves could perhaps have been interpreted to have been those of a braggart, but the tone behind them was nothing of the sort. Only one deaf to meaning and blind to the context of the individual could have taken away such a meaning. That, or someone purposefully searching for something to criticize the woman on. If Ophelia had been a man, Daniil may have interpreted it that way, for she saw the evil in all men. But luckily for both of them, Ophelia was not a man, and such unpleasantness could be avoided. As it was, she simply smiled at her, and nodded in acknowledgement of the words.
Honestly, Daniil should not have been surprised to learn that there was such an artist. After all, Panos was a larger than life man, both in politics and in his day to day interactions. It was inevitable that there would be those displeased with the way Panos conducted himself and his affairs, especially with his rather impersonal mannerisms and conversational patterns. However, the fact that not only did such a piece of art exist, but it perfectly depicted her grandfather and this woman of all women knew about it, was probably the funniest thing that she had ever heard. Perhaps not, but in the moment it certainly seemed like it. Accordingly, the round of laughter that she let out was only increased in volume and more raucous than the previous, tears falling from her eyes. It was too much. Too ridiculous, too perfect. When she calmed down, she eyed Ophelia with mirth.
"I shall have to inquire about acquiring this painting."
During her rants and tirades, Daniil was not known for paying attention to those around her. While she went on and on, she was only vaguely aware of Ophelia's actions. When she finished, her chest heaving for air that was expelled by her words, she finally placed her attention back to the other woman. Watched her. Waited. And she was not disappointed. Ophelia did indeed speak, though in hushed tones, as if afraid someone might overhear. Squeezed Daniil's arm as she explained their similar views. But something was bothering Daniil. Something she said. One word, ringing in her mind over and over again, echoing through her own thoughts.
Sacrifices.
Her lips were still pursed into a frown. There was no fury in her green eyes, no anger. Only a bitterness. An understanding, though reluctant. And she said the cursed word aloud: "Sacrifices." It was poison on her tongue, though she did not spit it out. Only tasted it, testing the flavor and feel of it through her lips. And decided she did not care for it.
"Sacrifices, you say. Sacrifices must be made. For every inch we gain, we must give a mile." She squeezed the other woman's arm in return, through the warmth did not return to her eyes. "I respect your goal. We are sisters in arms, in that regard. But your methods? Those, I do not agree with. Have we not sacrificed enough? Have we not suffered enough as it is? Have we not already given them everything? Is there anything left for us to give? Even now, speaking your words of freedom and equality, you skulk in the shadows, afraid someone might hear."
She raised her arm, the one Ophelia was not holding, gesturing to the gardens around them. "Let them hear! Let them hear our words, and tremble that there are some of us who will not be cowed, who will not be set aside simply because we are women. Nothing would terrify them more. Sacrifice? Compromise? Nay. I say that the time for compromise is over. Even in our own Aegean, even in Greece, the women of Colchis may hold weapons to defend their country. But it is not enough. Not until every free woman in Greece is not overlooked simply on the basis of their sex. Inch by inch we have wormed our way from nothing, and what precious few gains it has given us are not enough. We work towards the same goal, and in that we are allies, it is true. But I will not give another inch."
Ophelia’s lateness was soon forgotten, as was the serving man -- well, not entirely; Ophelia had stowed his face in a compartment in the back of her mind, fully intending to see to him when the meeting was over -- and they soon found themselves speaking of her grandfather, or rather the unnamed artist who had rendered him so perfectly. Judging by the tears of mirth that glistened on her cheeks and the raucous laughter that burst unchecked from her lips, Daniil thought this all very funny and Ophelia could hardly blame her. “Oh, you simply must find a way to see it!” the Condos concurred. “Though I would advise you to hide it away should you find a way to procure it. Imagine if its subject were to see it!” she gave an exaggerated shudder. “Those cheekbones might slice US apart!”
And then the girl seemed to disappear into a world of her own, her chest heaving, her breaths uneven. Daniil seemed not even to see her at all as she passionately proclaimed her hatred for the patriarchy, declaring all men to be monsters. Ophelia dared barely breathe as the woman spoke, frightened she would miss a syllable. When eventually Daniil came back to herself, the Condos Rose wasted no time in taking her arm and explaining her own philosophy. Anxiously she fixed her eyes on the youthful Marikas, awaiting her reaction.
‘Sacrifice,’ the word tasted bitter on the tongue of the owl, not hateful but resentful. Ophelia felt instinctively that this vitriol was not directed towards her, but gooseflesh rose on her arms nonetheless, and she found herself glad of her epiblema’s coverage, for they shielded them from the other woman’s sight.
Daniil’s lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed. Ophelia read no loathing in them, and she had to admit that she was relieved. She had not been certain whether confiding in this explosive individual was a wise decision, but she had wanted Daniil to know that she was not alone in her opinions that men -- as a generalized rule -- were hypocritical, power-hungry and most definitely not as intelligent as they claimed. Unlike Daniil, however, The White Rose knew that there were exceptions to this rule. Alexandros, for example, and Zacharias. Neither were perfect, but what human was? Only the divine had a right to perfection.
‘Sacrifices, you say. Sacrifices must be made. For every inch we gain, we must give a mile,’ Daniil squeezed her arm in return, but there was no warmth in those jade green eyes now. Ophelia lowered hers, bowing her head almost in shame. She could not agree with Daniil that they had made so little progress, but she could sense a new rant brewing, and so she held her tongue. ‘I respect your goal. We are sisters in arms, in that regard. But your methods? Those, I do not agree with.’ Nor did she agree with Daniil’s, not because she thought they lacked principal, but because she knew they would not work. Of course, she would lend her aid to any sensible endeavour the girl might choose to embark upon, but Ophelia was wise enough to know that constantly making a scene would only get one branded as a hysteric. In the end, Daniil’s word would be worth nothing, for all would think her mad, her words -- even her wisest -- the ramblings of a cursed and feral child, a lunatic. ‘Have we not sacrificed enough? Have we not suffered enough as it is? Have we not already given them everything? Is there anything left for us to give? Even now, speaking your words of freedom and equality, you skulk in the shadows, afraid someone might hear.’
These words admittedly struck a chord with the youthful Taengean, whose mind cast instantly to her greatest sacrifice. Were she a man, she would have admitted her feelings to Eva by now. If she were a man and Eva a woman, she could have paid honourable court to Eva and sought her hand in marriage. Were Eva too a man, the people of Greece would have thought them mere experimentalists, for it was not so uncommon for soldiers to indulge in play with one another while away from their wives and children. But women were held to higher standards. Women who engaged in such activities were heathens. They were unnatural, unclean, a disgrace to Hera’s name. Evanthe had been her greatest sacrifice. She had sworn that this would not be so any longer, but in order to court Evanthe, she would still need to find a husband to protect both of their reputations. That husband could be cruel, or old; indifferent, impatient...it mattered not, and yet it should. She would be expected to give him children, at least one son, and if she failed in that then the court would whisper about her. ‘Cursed,’ they would say, just as they occasionally whispered about the Leventi’s. Was it truly worth it? Evanthe was worth anything. She would have married the three-headed hound of Hades if it meant securing her reputation as an honest, heterosexual virgin and Evanthe’s as the same, but she dearly wished she could live in a world where the same rules applied to women as they did to men. Men could flaunt their mistresses in public without shame, take multiple wives, enjoy the company of whomever they chose. All she wished to do was give Evanthe the joy of an honest and open courtship in which their love would not be a scandalous secret that could lead to the ruination of them both.
And yet her way was effective. Stealth and secrecy accomplished much, whether Daniil wished to admit it or not. And no, they had not given the men of Greece everything, not according to Gianna, for as her wise friend had said, ‘they can have our bodies, but they may never have our hearts.’
She blinked once more as Daniil suddenly threw up her free arm and swung it around in an arc, gesturing to the sky, the grass, the flora and fauna around them. Her voice was raised higher than before, and Ophelia found herself at a total loss, frozen still in the grasp of her companion as her own eyes darted around like those of a deer caught in the headlights of a fast approaching carriage. ‘Let them hear!” Daniil proclaimed. Bad idea… “Daniil…” the girl’s name left her lips as a choked whisper. She swallowed, but her tongue felt heavy as led, and before she could try again, the woman had launched once more into her passionate orate. “Let them hear our words, and tremble that there are some of us who will not be cowed, who will not be set aside simply because we are women. Nothing would terrify them more. Sacrifice? Compromise? Nay. I say that the time for compromise is over. Even in our own Aegean, even in Greece, the women of Colchis may hold weapons to defend their country. But it is not enough. Not until every free woman in Greece is not overlooked simply on the basis of their sex. Inch by inch we have wormed our way from nothing, and what precious few gains it has given us are not enough. We work towards the same goal, and in that we are allies, it is true. But I will not give another inch.’
Silence. For what seemed like eternity, it stretched on.
Ophelia stared ahead at nothing, her eyes glassy and unfocussed as she reached time and time again for her equilibrium, only for it to slip away. Grasping for it a final time, she seized hold of the metaphorical crystal of serenity and clutched it tightly to her chest. In reality, it was only that her free hand had formed a tight fist. Her nails dug painfully into her palms, but this gave her something to focus on, grounding her.
“Daniil, I beg you to hear me,” she murmured softly. “They will never have our hearts, they will never have our souls; those are ours alone to possess. But my dear, I fear for you. The men of your household do have the power to devalue your words, wise as they may be. If you speak them quietly and to the right people, they may not hear of them and your message will travel further. I understand that you do not approve of my methods, and so I shan’t ask you to adopt them, merely to consider their usefulness.” She took a deep, shaky breath, her anxious gaze once more sweeping the garden. “There are many I wish to help, and so I dare not adopt your methods lest I find myself...unable to lend assistance to those who need me, but I hope you know that should you ever find yourself in serious trouble, or there be an endeavour in which you believe I can help, you can feel free to call upon me, for as you say, we are sisters in arms. I admire you greatly, Daniil, I hope you know that. I shall always admire you. I cannot say that I believe all men are evil, but it is my goal to aid any individual in distress or danger. I understand that you might think me weak, but I promise you that I have done good, and will continue to do so.”
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Ophelia’s lateness was soon forgotten, as was the serving man -- well, not entirely; Ophelia had stowed his face in a compartment in the back of her mind, fully intending to see to him when the meeting was over -- and they soon found themselves speaking of her grandfather, or rather the unnamed artist who had rendered him so perfectly. Judging by the tears of mirth that glistened on her cheeks and the raucous laughter that burst unchecked from her lips, Daniil thought this all very funny and Ophelia could hardly blame her. “Oh, you simply must find a way to see it!” the Condos concurred. “Though I would advise you to hide it away should you find a way to procure it. Imagine if its subject were to see it!” she gave an exaggerated shudder. “Those cheekbones might slice US apart!”
And then the girl seemed to disappear into a world of her own, her chest heaving, her breaths uneven. Daniil seemed not even to see her at all as she passionately proclaimed her hatred for the patriarchy, declaring all men to be monsters. Ophelia dared barely breathe as the woman spoke, frightened she would miss a syllable. When eventually Daniil came back to herself, the Condos Rose wasted no time in taking her arm and explaining her own philosophy. Anxiously she fixed her eyes on the youthful Marikas, awaiting her reaction.
‘Sacrifice,’ the word tasted bitter on the tongue of the owl, not hateful but resentful. Ophelia felt instinctively that this vitriol was not directed towards her, but gooseflesh rose on her arms nonetheless, and she found herself glad of her epiblema’s coverage, for they shielded them from the other woman’s sight.
Daniil’s lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed. Ophelia read no loathing in them, and she had to admit that she was relieved. She had not been certain whether confiding in this explosive individual was a wise decision, but she had wanted Daniil to know that she was not alone in her opinions that men -- as a generalized rule -- were hypocritical, power-hungry and most definitely not as intelligent as they claimed. Unlike Daniil, however, The White Rose knew that there were exceptions to this rule. Alexandros, for example, and Zacharias. Neither were perfect, but what human was? Only the divine had a right to perfection.
‘Sacrifices, you say. Sacrifices must be made. For every inch we gain, we must give a mile,’ Daniil squeezed her arm in return, but there was no warmth in those jade green eyes now. Ophelia lowered hers, bowing her head almost in shame. She could not agree with Daniil that they had made so little progress, but she could sense a new rant brewing, and so she held her tongue. ‘I respect your goal. We are sisters in arms, in that regard. But your methods? Those, I do not agree with.’ Nor did she agree with Daniil’s, not because she thought they lacked principal, but because she knew they would not work. Of course, she would lend her aid to any sensible endeavour the girl might choose to embark upon, but Ophelia was wise enough to know that constantly making a scene would only get one branded as a hysteric. In the end, Daniil’s word would be worth nothing, for all would think her mad, her words -- even her wisest -- the ramblings of a cursed and feral child, a lunatic. ‘Have we not sacrificed enough? Have we not suffered enough as it is? Have we not already given them everything? Is there anything left for us to give? Even now, speaking your words of freedom and equality, you skulk in the shadows, afraid someone might hear.’
These words admittedly struck a chord with the youthful Taengean, whose mind cast instantly to her greatest sacrifice. Were she a man, she would have admitted her feelings to Eva by now. If she were a man and Eva a woman, she could have paid honourable court to Eva and sought her hand in marriage. Were Eva too a man, the people of Greece would have thought them mere experimentalists, for it was not so uncommon for soldiers to indulge in play with one another while away from their wives and children. But women were held to higher standards. Women who engaged in such activities were heathens. They were unnatural, unclean, a disgrace to Hera’s name. Evanthe had been her greatest sacrifice. She had sworn that this would not be so any longer, but in order to court Evanthe, she would still need to find a husband to protect both of their reputations. That husband could be cruel, or old; indifferent, impatient...it mattered not, and yet it should. She would be expected to give him children, at least one son, and if she failed in that then the court would whisper about her. ‘Cursed,’ they would say, just as they occasionally whispered about the Leventi’s. Was it truly worth it? Evanthe was worth anything. She would have married the three-headed hound of Hades if it meant securing her reputation as an honest, heterosexual virgin and Evanthe’s as the same, but she dearly wished she could live in a world where the same rules applied to women as they did to men. Men could flaunt their mistresses in public without shame, take multiple wives, enjoy the company of whomever they chose. All she wished to do was give Evanthe the joy of an honest and open courtship in which their love would not be a scandalous secret that could lead to the ruination of them both.
And yet her way was effective. Stealth and secrecy accomplished much, whether Daniil wished to admit it or not. And no, they had not given the men of Greece everything, not according to Gianna, for as her wise friend had said, ‘they can have our bodies, but they may never have our hearts.’
She blinked once more as Daniil suddenly threw up her free arm and swung it around in an arc, gesturing to the sky, the grass, the flora and fauna around them. Her voice was raised higher than before, and Ophelia found herself at a total loss, frozen still in the grasp of her companion as her own eyes darted around like those of a deer caught in the headlights of a fast approaching carriage. ‘Let them hear!” Daniil proclaimed. Bad idea… “Daniil…” the girl’s name left her lips as a choked whisper. She swallowed, but her tongue felt heavy as led, and before she could try again, the woman had launched once more into her passionate orate. “Let them hear our words, and tremble that there are some of us who will not be cowed, who will not be set aside simply because we are women. Nothing would terrify them more. Sacrifice? Compromise? Nay. I say that the time for compromise is over. Even in our own Aegean, even in Greece, the women of Colchis may hold weapons to defend their country. But it is not enough. Not until every free woman in Greece is not overlooked simply on the basis of their sex. Inch by inch we have wormed our way from nothing, and what precious few gains it has given us are not enough. We work towards the same goal, and in that we are allies, it is true. But I will not give another inch.’
Silence. For what seemed like eternity, it stretched on.
Ophelia stared ahead at nothing, her eyes glassy and unfocussed as she reached time and time again for her equilibrium, only for it to slip away. Grasping for it a final time, she seized hold of the metaphorical crystal of serenity and clutched it tightly to her chest. In reality, it was only that her free hand had formed a tight fist. Her nails dug painfully into her palms, but this gave her something to focus on, grounding her.
“Daniil, I beg you to hear me,” she murmured softly. “They will never have our hearts, they will never have our souls; those are ours alone to possess. But my dear, I fear for you. The men of your household do have the power to devalue your words, wise as they may be. If you speak them quietly and to the right people, they may not hear of them and your message will travel further. I understand that you do not approve of my methods, and so I shan’t ask you to adopt them, merely to consider their usefulness.” She took a deep, shaky breath, her anxious gaze once more sweeping the garden. “There are many I wish to help, and so I dare not adopt your methods lest I find myself...unable to lend assistance to those who need me, but I hope you know that should you ever find yourself in serious trouble, or there be an endeavour in which you believe I can help, you can feel free to call upon me, for as you say, we are sisters in arms. I admire you greatly, Daniil, I hope you know that. I shall always admire you. I cannot say that I believe all men are evil, but it is my goal to aid any individual in distress or danger. I understand that you might think me weak, but I promise you that I have done good, and will continue to do so.”
Ophelia’s lateness was soon forgotten, as was the serving man -- well, not entirely; Ophelia had stowed his face in a compartment in the back of her mind, fully intending to see to him when the meeting was over -- and they soon found themselves speaking of her grandfather, or rather the unnamed artist who had rendered him so perfectly. Judging by the tears of mirth that glistened on her cheeks and the raucous laughter that burst unchecked from her lips, Daniil thought this all very funny and Ophelia could hardly blame her. “Oh, you simply must find a way to see it!” the Condos concurred. “Though I would advise you to hide it away should you find a way to procure it. Imagine if its subject were to see it!” she gave an exaggerated shudder. “Those cheekbones might slice US apart!”
And then the girl seemed to disappear into a world of her own, her chest heaving, her breaths uneven. Daniil seemed not even to see her at all as she passionately proclaimed her hatred for the patriarchy, declaring all men to be monsters. Ophelia dared barely breathe as the woman spoke, frightened she would miss a syllable. When eventually Daniil came back to herself, the Condos Rose wasted no time in taking her arm and explaining her own philosophy. Anxiously she fixed her eyes on the youthful Marikas, awaiting her reaction.
‘Sacrifice,’ the word tasted bitter on the tongue of the owl, not hateful but resentful. Ophelia felt instinctively that this vitriol was not directed towards her, but gooseflesh rose on her arms nonetheless, and she found herself glad of her epiblema’s coverage, for they shielded them from the other woman’s sight.
Daniil’s lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed. Ophelia read no loathing in them, and she had to admit that she was relieved. She had not been certain whether confiding in this explosive individual was a wise decision, but she had wanted Daniil to know that she was not alone in her opinions that men -- as a generalized rule -- were hypocritical, power-hungry and most definitely not as intelligent as they claimed. Unlike Daniil, however, The White Rose knew that there were exceptions to this rule. Alexandros, for example, and Zacharias. Neither were perfect, but what human was? Only the divine had a right to perfection.
‘Sacrifices, you say. Sacrifices must be made. For every inch we gain, we must give a mile,’ Daniil squeezed her arm in return, but there was no warmth in those jade green eyes now. Ophelia lowered hers, bowing her head almost in shame. She could not agree with Daniil that they had made so little progress, but she could sense a new rant brewing, and so she held her tongue. ‘I respect your goal. We are sisters in arms, in that regard. But your methods? Those, I do not agree with.’ Nor did she agree with Daniil’s, not because she thought they lacked principal, but because she knew they would not work. Of course, she would lend her aid to any sensible endeavour the girl might choose to embark upon, but Ophelia was wise enough to know that constantly making a scene would only get one branded as a hysteric. In the end, Daniil’s word would be worth nothing, for all would think her mad, her words -- even her wisest -- the ramblings of a cursed and feral child, a lunatic. ‘Have we not sacrificed enough? Have we not suffered enough as it is? Have we not already given them everything? Is there anything left for us to give? Even now, speaking your words of freedom and equality, you skulk in the shadows, afraid someone might hear.’
These words admittedly struck a chord with the youthful Taengean, whose mind cast instantly to her greatest sacrifice. Were she a man, she would have admitted her feelings to Eva by now. If she were a man and Eva a woman, she could have paid honourable court to Eva and sought her hand in marriage. Were Eva too a man, the people of Greece would have thought them mere experimentalists, for it was not so uncommon for soldiers to indulge in play with one another while away from their wives and children. But women were held to higher standards. Women who engaged in such activities were heathens. They were unnatural, unclean, a disgrace to Hera’s name. Evanthe had been her greatest sacrifice. She had sworn that this would not be so any longer, but in order to court Evanthe, she would still need to find a husband to protect both of their reputations. That husband could be cruel, or old; indifferent, impatient...it mattered not, and yet it should. She would be expected to give him children, at least one son, and if she failed in that then the court would whisper about her. ‘Cursed,’ they would say, just as they occasionally whispered about the Leventi’s. Was it truly worth it? Evanthe was worth anything. She would have married the three-headed hound of Hades if it meant securing her reputation as an honest, heterosexual virgin and Evanthe’s as the same, but she dearly wished she could live in a world where the same rules applied to women as they did to men. Men could flaunt their mistresses in public without shame, take multiple wives, enjoy the company of whomever they chose. All she wished to do was give Evanthe the joy of an honest and open courtship in which their love would not be a scandalous secret that could lead to the ruination of them both.
And yet her way was effective. Stealth and secrecy accomplished much, whether Daniil wished to admit it or not. And no, they had not given the men of Greece everything, not according to Gianna, for as her wise friend had said, ‘they can have our bodies, but they may never have our hearts.’
She blinked once more as Daniil suddenly threw up her free arm and swung it around in an arc, gesturing to the sky, the grass, the flora and fauna around them. Her voice was raised higher than before, and Ophelia found herself at a total loss, frozen still in the grasp of her companion as her own eyes darted around like those of a deer caught in the headlights of a fast approaching carriage. ‘Let them hear!” Daniil proclaimed. Bad idea… “Daniil…” the girl’s name left her lips as a choked whisper. She swallowed, but her tongue felt heavy as led, and before she could try again, the woman had launched once more into her passionate orate. “Let them hear our words, and tremble that there are some of us who will not be cowed, who will not be set aside simply because we are women. Nothing would terrify them more. Sacrifice? Compromise? Nay. I say that the time for compromise is over. Even in our own Aegean, even in Greece, the women of Colchis may hold weapons to defend their country. But it is not enough. Not until every free woman in Greece is not overlooked simply on the basis of their sex. Inch by inch we have wormed our way from nothing, and what precious few gains it has given us are not enough. We work towards the same goal, and in that we are allies, it is true. But I will not give another inch.’
Silence. For what seemed like eternity, it stretched on.
Ophelia stared ahead at nothing, her eyes glassy and unfocussed as she reached time and time again for her equilibrium, only for it to slip away. Grasping for it a final time, she seized hold of the metaphorical crystal of serenity and clutched it tightly to her chest. In reality, it was only that her free hand had formed a tight fist. Her nails dug painfully into her palms, but this gave her something to focus on, grounding her.
“Daniil, I beg you to hear me,” she murmured softly. “They will never have our hearts, they will never have our souls; those are ours alone to possess. But my dear, I fear for you. The men of your household do have the power to devalue your words, wise as they may be. If you speak them quietly and to the right people, they may not hear of them and your message will travel further. I understand that you do not approve of my methods, and so I shan’t ask you to adopt them, merely to consider their usefulness.” She took a deep, shaky breath, her anxious gaze once more sweeping the garden. “There are many I wish to help, and so I dare not adopt your methods lest I find myself...unable to lend assistance to those who need me, but I hope you know that should you ever find yourself in serious trouble, or there be an endeavour in which you believe I can help, you can feel free to call upon me, for as you say, we are sisters in arms. I admire you greatly, Daniil, I hope you know that. I shall always admire you. I cannot say that I believe all men are evil, but it is my goal to aid any individual in distress or danger. I understand that you might think me weak, but I promise you that I have done good, and will continue to do so.”
At this point in the discourse, it was customary for her conversation partner to simply make a hasty exit and endeavor to never speak with Daniil again for fear of being subjected to more of her fiery oratory. During her speech, Daniil could not help but expect that to occur here, as well. After all, most looked upon her as a radical. A feral child. A madwoman reaching above her station and place to challenge the ideals of Greece itself, and few wanted anything to do with it or her. Who could blame them? There was comfort in tradition. Comfort in adherence to the rules that had kept them all bound for centuries, kept the world safe and in order. It was far more simple to look the other way and accept injustice, or even become a proponent of it, than to confront and challenge it. This was the way of the world, and anyone with wisdom would simply accept it.
But wisdom had never been one of Daniil's strengths, and she could not find it within herself to simply accept her place in life. There was no greater insult to her, or womankind, than to be overlooked and ignored simply because of her sex. After all, what other reason could there be for her family to slight her in this fashion? Was she not everything one could want in a royal child? Intelligent, athletic, brave, commanding? Had she been born with a cock, she would be lorded as the best hope for the Marikas by Panos himself. However, she had done them all the grave injustice of being born a woman, instead. And for this grievous crime, she had been sentenced to a lifetime as the black owl of the family, the outlier, the least important, the cursed child. And that she could never accept. There was no place in her heart to forgive such an injustice against her, and she would never let it lay.
And yet, despite all of this, despite her impassioned speech and elevated volume, Ophelia did not leave. She did not flee like Daniil had been infected with a great plague, or had grown wings and transformed into the Fury that some chose to compare her to. She stayed. Listened. It was true that the woman looked similar to one that had just seen the risen spirit of a member of their dynasty long thought to have been deceased, but still she remained. That gave the young Marikas pause. And she listened intently as Ophelia pleaded with her, clearly disturbed. Though every instinct within her called for her to scream all the louder, she did not. Daniil swallowed down those instincts, as grueling a task as that was, and her harsh gaze softened. The storm in her eyes calmed, though only slightly, and she lowered the volume of her voice when she did speak, though it was only after patiently listening to the entirety of Ophelia's words.
"I do hear you, Ophelia. Your words do not fall on deaf ears. Before I speak again, know that I do admire you as well. Your task is that of an artist with a needle, weaving intricate threads where none can see them. I have no stomach for such things, and would only make a mockery of them. You do things I could never, and for that I applaud you, cousin. Should you ever have need of me, you have but to call upon me, and I will carve a path through Greece at your direction."
But since this was a speech coming from Daniil, there could be no simply letting it lay there. It was not in her nature. And would anyone know it was even Daniil if she were anything but what she was?
"You say they will never have our hearts, nor our souls. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps a woman could live her life in servitude to a man she does not love and even bear him children. Perhaps she could even love those children. Perhaps she could even paint a smile onto her face, and look out upon the life that has been decided for her, and tell herself and all those around her that she is satisfied, for she has not given him her soul, nor her heart. But I will not accept that. Such injustice is nothing short of cruel. Were the entire scenario reversed, a man would face little consequences for refusing her, or finding a way to sever ties. Some would even murder their wives, and so long as they are not caught outright, they could get away with it. Perhaps some will be satisfied with such a life, but I am not. I am the mistress of my own fate, and there is no force on heaven nor earth that can move me down a path I do not choose for myself."
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Check out their information page here.
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At this point in the discourse, it was customary for her conversation partner to simply make a hasty exit and endeavor to never speak with Daniil again for fear of being subjected to more of her fiery oratory. During her speech, Daniil could not help but expect that to occur here, as well. After all, most looked upon her as a radical. A feral child. A madwoman reaching above her station and place to challenge the ideals of Greece itself, and few wanted anything to do with it or her. Who could blame them? There was comfort in tradition. Comfort in adherence to the rules that had kept them all bound for centuries, kept the world safe and in order. It was far more simple to look the other way and accept injustice, or even become a proponent of it, than to confront and challenge it. This was the way of the world, and anyone with wisdom would simply accept it.
But wisdom had never been one of Daniil's strengths, and she could not find it within herself to simply accept her place in life. There was no greater insult to her, or womankind, than to be overlooked and ignored simply because of her sex. After all, what other reason could there be for her family to slight her in this fashion? Was she not everything one could want in a royal child? Intelligent, athletic, brave, commanding? Had she been born with a cock, she would be lorded as the best hope for the Marikas by Panos himself. However, she had done them all the grave injustice of being born a woman, instead. And for this grievous crime, she had been sentenced to a lifetime as the black owl of the family, the outlier, the least important, the cursed child. And that she could never accept. There was no place in her heart to forgive such an injustice against her, and she would never let it lay.
And yet, despite all of this, despite her impassioned speech and elevated volume, Ophelia did not leave. She did not flee like Daniil had been infected with a great plague, or had grown wings and transformed into the Fury that some chose to compare her to. She stayed. Listened. It was true that the woman looked similar to one that had just seen the risen spirit of a member of their dynasty long thought to have been deceased, but still she remained. That gave the young Marikas pause. And she listened intently as Ophelia pleaded with her, clearly disturbed. Though every instinct within her called for her to scream all the louder, she did not. Daniil swallowed down those instincts, as grueling a task as that was, and her harsh gaze softened. The storm in her eyes calmed, though only slightly, and she lowered the volume of her voice when she did speak, though it was only after patiently listening to the entirety of Ophelia's words.
"I do hear you, Ophelia. Your words do not fall on deaf ears. Before I speak again, know that I do admire you as well. Your task is that of an artist with a needle, weaving intricate threads where none can see them. I have no stomach for such things, and would only make a mockery of them. You do things I could never, and for that I applaud you, cousin. Should you ever have need of me, you have but to call upon me, and I will carve a path through Greece at your direction."
But since this was a speech coming from Daniil, there could be no simply letting it lay there. It was not in her nature. And would anyone know it was even Daniil if she were anything but what she was?
"You say they will never have our hearts, nor our souls. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps a woman could live her life in servitude to a man she does not love and even bear him children. Perhaps she could even love those children. Perhaps she could even paint a smile onto her face, and look out upon the life that has been decided for her, and tell herself and all those around her that she is satisfied, for she has not given him her soul, nor her heart. But I will not accept that. Such injustice is nothing short of cruel. Were the entire scenario reversed, a man would face little consequences for refusing her, or finding a way to sever ties. Some would even murder their wives, and so long as they are not caught outright, they could get away with it. Perhaps some will be satisfied with such a life, but I am not. I am the mistress of my own fate, and there is no force on heaven nor earth that can move me down a path I do not choose for myself."
At this point in the discourse, it was customary for her conversation partner to simply make a hasty exit and endeavor to never speak with Daniil again for fear of being subjected to more of her fiery oratory. During her speech, Daniil could not help but expect that to occur here, as well. After all, most looked upon her as a radical. A feral child. A madwoman reaching above her station and place to challenge the ideals of Greece itself, and few wanted anything to do with it or her. Who could blame them? There was comfort in tradition. Comfort in adherence to the rules that had kept them all bound for centuries, kept the world safe and in order. It was far more simple to look the other way and accept injustice, or even become a proponent of it, than to confront and challenge it. This was the way of the world, and anyone with wisdom would simply accept it.
But wisdom had never been one of Daniil's strengths, and she could not find it within herself to simply accept her place in life. There was no greater insult to her, or womankind, than to be overlooked and ignored simply because of her sex. After all, what other reason could there be for her family to slight her in this fashion? Was she not everything one could want in a royal child? Intelligent, athletic, brave, commanding? Had she been born with a cock, she would be lorded as the best hope for the Marikas by Panos himself. However, she had done them all the grave injustice of being born a woman, instead. And for this grievous crime, she had been sentenced to a lifetime as the black owl of the family, the outlier, the least important, the cursed child. And that she could never accept. There was no place in her heart to forgive such an injustice against her, and she would never let it lay.
And yet, despite all of this, despite her impassioned speech and elevated volume, Ophelia did not leave. She did not flee like Daniil had been infected with a great plague, or had grown wings and transformed into the Fury that some chose to compare her to. She stayed. Listened. It was true that the woman looked similar to one that had just seen the risen spirit of a member of their dynasty long thought to have been deceased, but still she remained. That gave the young Marikas pause. And she listened intently as Ophelia pleaded with her, clearly disturbed. Though every instinct within her called for her to scream all the louder, she did not. Daniil swallowed down those instincts, as grueling a task as that was, and her harsh gaze softened. The storm in her eyes calmed, though only slightly, and she lowered the volume of her voice when she did speak, though it was only after patiently listening to the entirety of Ophelia's words.
"I do hear you, Ophelia. Your words do not fall on deaf ears. Before I speak again, know that I do admire you as well. Your task is that of an artist with a needle, weaving intricate threads where none can see them. I have no stomach for such things, and would only make a mockery of them. You do things I could never, and for that I applaud you, cousin. Should you ever have need of me, you have but to call upon me, and I will carve a path through Greece at your direction."
But since this was a speech coming from Daniil, there could be no simply letting it lay there. It was not in her nature. And would anyone know it was even Daniil if she were anything but what she was?
"You say they will never have our hearts, nor our souls. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps a woman could live her life in servitude to a man she does not love and even bear him children. Perhaps she could even love those children. Perhaps she could even paint a smile onto her face, and look out upon the life that has been decided for her, and tell herself and all those around her that she is satisfied, for she has not given him her soul, nor her heart. But I will not accept that. Such injustice is nothing short of cruel. Were the entire scenario reversed, a man would face little consequences for refusing her, or finding a way to sever ties. Some would even murder their wives, and so long as they are not caught outright, they could get away with it. Perhaps some will be satisfied with such a life, but I am not. I am the mistress of my own fate, and there is no force on heaven nor earth that can move me down a path I do not choose for myself."
Despite his station as master of the house, Panos had a penchant for remaining as stealthy and quiet as possible, gliding smoothly against the marbled floors with effortless grace as he tended to his affairs with the dignity and elegance of a royal. He was in his right to strut around as loudly as he wished and announce his presence wherever he went, but this was not something he did, nor indeed, find useful. There was power in remaining shadowy, obscure and unseen, a reality that frankly none of his descendants seemed to have acknowledged, save for Elena, who could scantly be called a commanding presence in her own right.
No, tragically, most of his blood enjoyed the bluster and fury and limelight that came with attention, failing to acknowledge the value in golden silence and profitable opportunity. This was why he walked in languid steps with light, barely audible shoes that snuffed out his footsteps, why he wore lighter, less ostentatious robes, why he kept his image as subtle and unnoticeable as possible, contrary to what others may believe. It wasn’t a matter of pride, for he knew that by his birthright he was one of the most powerful men in all of Greece, and was self-assured enough in his position so as to not have to parade around in an effort to remind others of his eminence. No, it was a matter of practicality, of strategy, one that allowed him to be as guileful as he wanted without having to resort to force or gaudy displays of authority. Most definitely, their were times when such methods were needed, such as when punishment was needed, and order was to be imposed, but, given that right then and now, he was at his homestead, he had neither reason nor cause to embellish himself.
Which is why he had found his winding hours from his schedule most opportune, for it let him check-on one of the little missions he had assigned to one of his own in the hopes of possibly delegating them with more responsibility. Against the better half of wisdom, he had decided to go against his instincts and give Daniil the task of entertaining their newest guest, the mysterious Ophelia of Condos, once more around his presence, like the thorny rose that had pricked him at Colchis not long last. It was a simple enough task, one that, perhaps either of her sisters, or, mayhaps, even his own daughter, Sofia, were better prepared for, one that he did not believe would be too difficult, especially given how his youngest granddaughter had so longed for better-suited purpose and role in the family. Plus, this assignment would see to it whether or not he could trust her in future endeavors like he did with the other womenfolk of the House. Thus, there was ample worth in this quite insignificant mission, which is why he had suggested that, if she wanted to exceed his already low expectations, she could assist in trying to learn more about the Taengean’s motives for her visit.
Oh he knew that at face value the Condos woman’s words would sound innocent and childlike, but that was why Panos was concerned. Everyone had a reason for doing what they did, and Ophelia was no different. Every instinct of his told him that her stay was not as innocuous as she purported. Alas, he would not force the matter, for little would be gained from a direct interrogation. He wanted to believe that Daniil was up to this task, he truly did, but even still, a part of him sensed that not all was as it should be. And so, when time became available to him, Panos traveled to the gardens, accompanied by no one but his soundless steps. In contradiction to his usual manner of announcing his arrival, he instructed the ushers to keep to themselves and merely open the gates of the verdurous paradise as unceremoniously as possible, allowing Panos the gift of secrecy and surreptitiousness. He had no need of guides around the grounds, for he knew them like the back of his hand. It did not take long for him to find his granddaughter and the Lady Ophelia, but still he kept his distance, observing the development of the conversation so as to see how things had flowed.
Oh how wrong he had been. How true his instincts were in trying to prevent him from making a judgement best made out of love than logic. He tasked Daniil with one single objective, removing from goal all matter of espionage and secrecy so as to play along with her virtues even better, but even that had not sufficed for now. There, in what he only had to surmise was the shallow comfort that his grandchild thought safe and wise to pontificate about, she stood, brazenly making bold as if words had no consequence, as if actions had no weight. He felt his shoulders stiffen, and could detect the furrows of his brow deepen, a tall-tale sign of his immense displeasure. With his steps still inaudible, Panos stepped forward, revealing himself from the distance of the gardens. His posture was tall and statuesque, and his poise highlighted the seriousness of his tone.
“Are you done making speeches….Daniil?” Said Panos, his voice ancient, unnerving and unemotional, less like that belonging to a man and more belonging to a primordial being who had existed for centuries before. His eyes were bereft of their usual aloofness, now replaced with directed frigidness. This was the look of utter disappointment, the very look that had made lesser men cower and bend the knee in less than a second, a look that every single member of the family knew and understood. He did not cross his arms. He did not raise his voice. He merely stared, channeling a crushing coldness that would have frozen even the hottest of flames with the chilled winds of antiquity. "You will present yourself to my chambers in brief…” he decreed, sounding less like a grandfather and more like a king, lending credence to the fact that, once upon a time, he had been designated heir to the throne. Their was no room to debate. No ifs. No buts. Only an order, and as he left and turned his head towards other matters, silence took over, reflecting the graveness of the situation. This was not a request, it was a command, plain and simple.
He did not offer any words of comfort or presence to Ophelia, but still regale her with the same unrestrained coldness that he had directed towards, Daniil, making it as a blizzard had been channeled on that very room through long forgotten magics that none had ever enacted before. “Lady Ophelia…” he said, forgoing the warmth he had used before by calling upon her as cousin. “I do prey you may find your chambers to your liking, for I am afraid the gardens will be shut momentarily…” He announced, his piercing, hollow eyes making it abundantly clear that he was neither pleased nor satisfied with anything that had transpired in that brief moment. Without being her very own lord father he had just instructed that the Taengean be returned to her suite of rooms like a punished child. Afterwards, without sharing not another word to either, he turned his head from both and walked away, leaving the two so they could comprehend the gravity of what had just transpired. There would be words to be had later on the day, but for now, he had other matters to tend to, affairs that, maybe, would reduce the anger he felt on that one moment.
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Despite his station as master of the house, Panos had a penchant for remaining as stealthy and quiet as possible, gliding smoothly against the marbled floors with effortless grace as he tended to his affairs with the dignity and elegance of a royal. He was in his right to strut around as loudly as he wished and announce his presence wherever he went, but this was not something he did, nor indeed, find useful. There was power in remaining shadowy, obscure and unseen, a reality that frankly none of his descendants seemed to have acknowledged, save for Elena, who could scantly be called a commanding presence in her own right.
No, tragically, most of his blood enjoyed the bluster and fury and limelight that came with attention, failing to acknowledge the value in golden silence and profitable opportunity. This was why he walked in languid steps with light, barely audible shoes that snuffed out his footsteps, why he wore lighter, less ostentatious robes, why he kept his image as subtle and unnoticeable as possible, contrary to what others may believe. It wasn’t a matter of pride, for he knew that by his birthright he was one of the most powerful men in all of Greece, and was self-assured enough in his position so as to not have to parade around in an effort to remind others of his eminence. No, it was a matter of practicality, of strategy, one that allowed him to be as guileful as he wanted without having to resort to force or gaudy displays of authority. Most definitely, their were times when such methods were needed, such as when punishment was needed, and order was to be imposed, but, given that right then and now, he was at his homestead, he had neither reason nor cause to embellish himself.
Which is why he had found his winding hours from his schedule most opportune, for it let him check-on one of the little missions he had assigned to one of his own in the hopes of possibly delegating them with more responsibility. Against the better half of wisdom, he had decided to go against his instincts and give Daniil the task of entertaining their newest guest, the mysterious Ophelia of Condos, once more around his presence, like the thorny rose that had pricked him at Colchis not long last. It was a simple enough task, one that, perhaps either of her sisters, or, mayhaps, even his own daughter, Sofia, were better prepared for, one that he did not believe would be too difficult, especially given how his youngest granddaughter had so longed for better-suited purpose and role in the family. Plus, this assignment would see to it whether or not he could trust her in future endeavors like he did with the other womenfolk of the House. Thus, there was ample worth in this quite insignificant mission, which is why he had suggested that, if she wanted to exceed his already low expectations, she could assist in trying to learn more about the Taengean’s motives for her visit.
Oh he knew that at face value the Condos woman’s words would sound innocent and childlike, but that was why Panos was concerned. Everyone had a reason for doing what they did, and Ophelia was no different. Every instinct of his told him that her stay was not as innocuous as she purported. Alas, he would not force the matter, for little would be gained from a direct interrogation. He wanted to believe that Daniil was up to this task, he truly did, but even still, a part of him sensed that not all was as it should be. And so, when time became available to him, Panos traveled to the gardens, accompanied by no one but his soundless steps. In contradiction to his usual manner of announcing his arrival, he instructed the ushers to keep to themselves and merely open the gates of the verdurous paradise as unceremoniously as possible, allowing Panos the gift of secrecy and surreptitiousness. He had no need of guides around the grounds, for he knew them like the back of his hand. It did not take long for him to find his granddaughter and the Lady Ophelia, but still he kept his distance, observing the development of the conversation so as to see how things had flowed.
Oh how wrong he had been. How true his instincts were in trying to prevent him from making a judgement best made out of love than logic. He tasked Daniil with one single objective, removing from goal all matter of espionage and secrecy so as to play along with her virtues even better, but even that had not sufficed for now. There, in what he only had to surmise was the shallow comfort that his grandchild thought safe and wise to pontificate about, she stood, brazenly making bold as if words had no consequence, as if actions had no weight. He felt his shoulders stiffen, and could detect the furrows of his brow deepen, a tall-tale sign of his immense displeasure. With his steps still inaudible, Panos stepped forward, revealing himself from the distance of the gardens. His posture was tall and statuesque, and his poise highlighted the seriousness of his tone.
“Are you done making speeches….Daniil?” Said Panos, his voice ancient, unnerving and unemotional, less like that belonging to a man and more belonging to a primordial being who had existed for centuries before. His eyes were bereft of their usual aloofness, now replaced with directed frigidness. This was the look of utter disappointment, the very look that had made lesser men cower and bend the knee in less than a second, a look that every single member of the family knew and understood. He did not cross his arms. He did not raise his voice. He merely stared, channeling a crushing coldness that would have frozen even the hottest of flames with the chilled winds of antiquity. "You will present yourself to my chambers in brief…” he decreed, sounding less like a grandfather and more like a king, lending credence to the fact that, once upon a time, he had been designated heir to the throne. Their was no room to debate. No ifs. No buts. Only an order, and as he left and turned his head towards other matters, silence took over, reflecting the graveness of the situation. This was not a request, it was a command, plain and simple.
He did not offer any words of comfort or presence to Ophelia, but still regale her with the same unrestrained coldness that he had directed towards, Daniil, making it as a blizzard had been channeled on that very room through long forgotten magics that none had ever enacted before. “Lady Ophelia…” he said, forgoing the warmth he had used before by calling upon her as cousin. “I do prey you may find your chambers to your liking, for I am afraid the gardens will be shut momentarily…” He announced, his piercing, hollow eyes making it abundantly clear that he was neither pleased nor satisfied with anything that had transpired in that brief moment. Without being her very own lord father he had just instructed that the Taengean be returned to her suite of rooms like a punished child. Afterwards, without sharing not another word to either, he turned his head from both and walked away, leaving the two so they could comprehend the gravity of what had just transpired. There would be words to be had later on the day, but for now, he had other matters to tend to, affairs that, maybe, would reduce the anger he felt on that one moment.
Despite his station as master of the house, Panos had a penchant for remaining as stealthy and quiet as possible, gliding smoothly against the marbled floors with effortless grace as he tended to his affairs with the dignity and elegance of a royal. He was in his right to strut around as loudly as he wished and announce his presence wherever he went, but this was not something he did, nor indeed, find useful. There was power in remaining shadowy, obscure and unseen, a reality that frankly none of his descendants seemed to have acknowledged, save for Elena, who could scantly be called a commanding presence in her own right.
No, tragically, most of his blood enjoyed the bluster and fury and limelight that came with attention, failing to acknowledge the value in golden silence and profitable opportunity. This was why he walked in languid steps with light, barely audible shoes that snuffed out his footsteps, why he wore lighter, less ostentatious robes, why he kept his image as subtle and unnoticeable as possible, contrary to what others may believe. It wasn’t a matter of pride, for he knew that by his birthright he was one of the most powerful men in all of Greece, and was self-assured enough in his position so as to not have to parade around in an effort to remind others of his eminence. No, it was a matter of practicality, of strategy, one that allowed him to be as guileful as he wanted without having to resort to force or gaudy displays of authority. Most definitely, their were times when such methods were needed, such as when punishment was needed, and order was to be imposed, but, given that right then and now, he was at his homestead, he had neither reason nor cause to embellish himself.
Which is why he had found his winding hours from his schedule most opportune, for it let him check-on one of the little missions he had assigned to one of his own in the hopes of possibly delegating them with more responsibility. Against the better half of wisdom, he had decided to go against his instincts and give Daniil the task of entertaining their newest guest, the mysterious Ophelia of Condos, once more around his presence, like the thorny rose that had pricked him at Colchis not long last. It was a simple enough task, one that, perhaps either of her sisters, or, mayhaps, even his own daughter, Sofia, were better prepared for, one that he did not believe would be too difficult, especially given how his youngest granddaughter had so longed for better-suited purpose and role in the family. Plus, this assignment would see to it whether or not he could trust her in future endeavors like he did with the other womenfolk of the House. Thus, there was ample worth in this quite insignificant mission, which is why he had suggested that, if she wanted to exceed his already low expectations, she could assist in trying to learn more about the Taengean’s motives for her visit.
Oh he knew that at face value the Condos woman’s words would sound innocent and childlike, but that was why Panos was concerned. Everyone had a reason for doing what they did, and Ophelia was no different. Every instinct of his told him that her stay was not as innocuous as she purported. Alas, he would not force the matter, for little would be gained from a direct interrogation. He wanted to believe that Daniil was up to this task, he truly did, but even still, a part of him sensed that not all was as it should be. And so, when time became available to him, Panos traveled to the gardens, accompanied by no one but his soundless steps. In contradiction to his usual manner of announcing his arrival, he instructed the ushers to keep to themselves and merely open the gates of the verdurous paradise as unceremoniously as possible, allowing Panos the gift of secrecy and surreptitiousness. He had no need of guides around the grounds, for he knew them like the back of his hand. It did not take long for him to find his granddaughter and the Lady Ophelia, but still he kept his distance, observing the development of the conversation so as to see how things had flowed.
Oh how wrong he had been. How true his instincts were in trying to prevent him from making a judgement best made out of love than logic. He tasked Daniil with one single objective, removing from goal all matter of espionage and secrecy so as to play along with her virtues even better, but even that had not sufficed for now. There, in what he only had to surmise was the shallow comfort that his grandchild thought safe and wise to pontificate about, she stood, brazenly making bold as if words had no consequence, as if actions had no weight. He felt his shoulders stiffen, and could detect the furrows of his brow deepen, a tall-tale sign of his immense displeasure. With his steps still inaudible, Panos stepped forward, revealing himself from the distance of the gardens. His posture was tall and statuesque, and his poise highlighted the seriousness of his tone.
“Are you done making speeches….Daniil?” Said Panos, his voice ancient, unnerving and unemotional, less like that belonging to a man and more belonging to a primordial being who had existed for centuries before. His eyes were bereft of their usual aloofness, now replaced with directed frigidness. This was the look of utter disappointment, the very look that had made lesser men cower and bend the knee in less than a second, a look that every single member of the family knew and understood. He did not cross his arms. He did not raise his voice. He merely stared, channeling a crushing coldness that would have frozen even the hottest of flames with the chilled winds of antiquity. "You will present yourself to my chambers in brief…” he decreed, sounding less like a grandfather and more like a king, lending credence to the fact that, once upon a time, he had been designated heir to the throne. Their was no room to debate. No ifs. No buts. Only an order, and as he left and turned his head towards other matters, silence took over, reflecting the graveness of the situation. This was not a request, it was a command, plain and simple.
He did not offer any words of comfort or presence to Ophelia, but still regale her with the same unrestrained coldness that he had directed towards, Daniil, making it as a blizzard had been channeled on that very room through long forgotten magics that none had ever enacted before. “Lady Ophelia…” he said, forgoing the warmth he had used before by calling upon her as cousin. “I do prey you may find your chambers to your liking, for I am afraid the gardens will be shut momentarily…” He announced, his piercing, hollow eyes making it abundantly clear that he was neither pleased nor satisfied with anything that had transpired in that brief moment. Without being her very own lord father he had just instructed that the Taengean be returned to her suite of rooms like a punished child. Afterwards, without sharing not another word to either, he turned his head from both and walked away, leaving the two so they could comprehend the gravity of what had just transpired. There would be words to be had later on the day, but for now, he had other matters to tend to, affairs that, maybe, would reduce the anger he felt on that one moment.
Even if she had wished to, fleeing was quite out of the question for Ophelia. She never would have been able to navigate the sprawling Marikas archontiko without the assistance of an attendant, with its many floors and labyrinthine corridors. And anyway, she was far too well bred to run away. It would have shamed her Lord Father to hear reports of her racing down a marble hall of her host’s grand estate as though Cerberus were snapping at her heels, and she doubted the Lady would have presented her with a more gentile opportunity to extricate herself. Even if such an opportunity had been presented to her however, she would not have taken it, for the simple fact of the matter was that -- against all better judgement -- she was beginning to rather like this strange and fascinating creature who loathed the very sex she emulated. She projected a distinctly masculine aura, and yet the youngest Marikas appeared to be of the firm belief that all men were monsters. Why, then, she would wish to dress in their clothing, Ophelia could not imagine. Would it not scorn them more to fully embrace her femininity? To grow out her hair, wear beautiful gowns and tempt them with a treasure they knew they could never possess? Daniil was beautiful, of that there could be no doubt. Were she in the other’s position, she would have taken her vengeance by making herself as lovely in appearance as she could, yet swearing herself to chastity. After all, there could be no greater control for a female than holding dominion over man’s basest desires.
This seemed not to have accrued to Daniil, however, and Ophelia wondered if perhaps she should suggest it. Not now, of course, for the two did not yet know each other well enough to discuss such intimate things, but later, when they were on more familiar terms. She certainly hoped that they would be, for it would be nice to call one who thought as she did ‘friend,’ despite the fact that her own opinions were not quite so extreme.
Extreme or not, the girl spoke eloquently, and she made a valid point with her speeches. Ophelia momentarily pictured Daniil raised high on a dais, her voice slicing through the murmurs of a crowd. In vivid detail she envisioned all eyes turning upon the youngest owl as she began to speak: capturing the audience with her words, calling them to attention, stirring their hearts and souls and forever changing the world as they knew it.
Would that be such a terrible thing?
A few changes here and there would certainly be for the better. She cared little for weaponry and had no mind to hold a sword, but she might like to be able to own property, control her own finances, marry the one she truly loved…
She bit down on her lower lip to stifle a sigh. This was wishful thinking, and allowing her thoughts to travel this path would only lead to sorrow. She had chosen her route, and it did not call her to revolution, but to secrecy. Her golden heart illuminated a path of tact and subtlety, of political intrigue and subtle manipulation, all for the greater good.
Daniil seemed to understand this, however, for when she spoke again her voice had gentled. The tempest that had previously raged in her emerald eyes had also calmed, though they could hardly be compared to still waters. Those jade green orbs were still intense, but Ophelia could sense no rage within them as they fixed upon her, and relief overcame her as the Lady spoke.
‘I do hear you, Ophelia. Your words do not fall on deaf ears. Before I speak again, know that I do admire you as well. Your task is that of an artist with a needle, weaving intricate threads where none can see them. I have no stomach for such things, and would only make a mockery of them. You do things I could never, and for that I applaud you, cousin. Should you ever have need of me, you have but to call upon me, and I will carve a path through Greece at your direction.’
In gratitude, the Condos Rose took both her hands, beaming brightly at her sister in arms. “I shall not forget this!” she exclaimed. “You are dear to my heart already, and though your ways are not mine, I do admire them, and think you one of the most courageous women I have ever had the honour of meeting.”
A short silence passed, during which Ophelia bestowed upon her newest ally a smile as warm as the sun. Then, Daniil spoke again. Ophelia did not hear the opening of the gate, nor the silent tread that followed. So absorbed was she in the oration of her companion that she was entirely unaware of the fact that they were no longer alone. This was highly unusual for her, for she was known to be very observant, but she attributed the slight prickle on the back of her neck to the gentle breeze that lent a pleasant aura to the morn. How wrong she was to do so…
‘You say they will never have our hearts, nor our souls. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps a woman could live her life in servitude to a man she does not love and even bear him children. Perhaps she could even love those children. Perhaps she could even paint a smile onto her face, and look out upon the life that has been decided for her, and tell herself and all those around her that she is satisfied, for she has not given him her soul, nor her heart. But I will not accept that. Such injustice is nothing short of cruel. Were the entire scenario reversed, a man would face little consequences for refusing her, or finding a way to sever ties. Some would even murder their wives, and so long as they are not caught outright, they could get away with it. Perhaps some will be satisfied with such a life, but I am not. I am the mistress of my own fate, and there is no force on heaven nor earth that can move me down a path I do not choose for myself.’
It had been her intention to tell Daniil that she would never presume to force her into such a life, that should Daniil wish never to marry then she should stick firmly by that decision; it had been her intention to praise the woman’s bravery once more and state categorically that though marriage was the path Ophelia intended to pursue, she knew it was not for everyone. A jest about the potential of Daniil taking a husband of her own so that he could give her a child whom she could raise on her ideals, then murdering said husband when his usefulness was spent, was on the tip of her tongue, when a shadow fell upon them.
“Perhaps you could -- “
That was as far as she got before the imposing figure made his presence known. He towered above them like a giant of legend, his presence far greater than his height. Ophelia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her tongue suddenly feeling like a dead weight inside it. He was staring at Daniil with a gaze as cold as a glacier, and when he addressed her it was in a tone so unnaturally even that it induced from her a violent shudder. Contrary to the coldness of his gaze, his tone was utterly without emotion. Never had she heard anyone speak thus, as though feeling were a foreign concept, or a thing of which they were somehow incapable. Surely he had to be angry, and yet she could sense none within him; that made him all the more terrifying.
‘Are you done making speeches….Daniil?’
She had the strangest urge to fall to her knees before him and humbly beg his pardon. She had come to Athenia to clear his name, but all she had succeeded in doing was causing a rift between he and his granddaughter, and probably securing his hatred. The thought sent bile rising to the back of her throat, and she was forced to swallow it back as quietly and daintily as she could. ‘You will present yourself to my chambers in brief…’ he instructed, making clear by the manner in which he spoke that this was a command, not a request, and he expected to be obeyed. In that moment, he was not a grandfather but a patriarch. Despite not ruling the household officially, it was clear to Ophelia that one would have to be extremely foolish to disobey the Great Owl, for he was the very essence of the Marikas and the standard to which, undoubtedly, most other patriarchs held themselves.
He turned his gaze on her, then, and her breath caught in her throat. She felt her legs begin to tremble beneath her pleated skirt, and was immensely glad of its length. The pleats of butterfly fabric would conceal her fear from the Master and her cowardice from Daniil. She wanted to raise her chin and look him directly in the eye, but she could meet his gaze for only a moment. Her emerald eyes were filled with shame, remorse and terror, and soon she found them lowering of their own accord to the ground.
His words were not gentle, but they were not the harsh reprimand they might have been. ‘Lady Ophelia…’ he had forgeone calling her cousin, reverting back to her formal title. Ophelia dipped a low curtsy, bowing her head as she did so. She dared not rise from this position until he had finished his address. ‘I do prey you may find your chambers to your liking, for I am afraid the gardens will be shut momentarily…’
She rose slowly from her ovascience, considering what she might say to him. Dare she apologize in front of Daniil? Would this act be considered a traitorous one on her part? Before she could make up her mind, the man turned, disappearing with silent steps back into the house.
Ophelia lifted her eyes to watch his departure, her expression crumbling as she lost sight of him. Sinking defeatedly onto one of the stone benches, she wrung her delicate hands in distress, blinking back the tears that had misted her eyes.
“He hates me, he is going to hate me…” she murmured mournfully, more to herself than Daniil. “I came all this way to help him, and now -- “
Realizing she had spoken private thoughts aloud -- thoughts she ought to have kept to herself -- she quickly choked off her sentence. She had travelled to Athenia on her father’s bidding, but her true intention had been to prove the innocence of the Lord. Daniil, however, would not be pleased to hear that, and should she learn that Lord Condos had sent her here in chase of a rumour, she may think Ophelia her father’s creature. Worse, she might think Ophelia some insipid admirer of her grandfather’s, as she had truly come to prove her father wrong about him.
Would either be inaccurate, though? She did admire Lord Panos’s intelligence. She had been awed by him when they had met in Colchis, and it was that meeting that had made her all the more determined to prove the innocence of her distant kin. As to her being her father’s creature, family was important to her, and she liked to consider herself a loyal and loving daughter.
Was there anything so wrong with that?
“He hates me…” she sighed again, despairing at their ill fortune. “And I am so sorry Daniil, I did not mean to land you in a quarrel with your grandfather.”
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Even if she had wished to, fleeing was quite out of the question for Ophelia. She never would have been able to navigate the sprawling Marikas archontiko without the assistance of an attendant, with its many floors and labyrinthine corridors. And anyway, she was far too well bred to run away. It would have shamed her Lord Father to hear reports of her racing down a marble hall of her host’s grand estate as though Cerberus were snapping at her heels, and she doubted the Lady would have presented her with a more gentile opportunity to extricate herself. Even if such an opportunity had been presented to her however, she would not have taken it, for the simple fact of the matter was that -- against all better judgement -- she was beginning to rather like this strange and fascinating creature who loathed the very sex she emulated. She projected a distinctly masculine aura, and yet the youngest Marikas appeared to be of the firm belief that all men were monsters. Why, then, she would wish to dress in their clothing, Ophelia could not imagine. Would it not scorn them more to fully embrace her femininity? To grow out her hair, wear beautiful gowns and tempt them with a treasure they knew they could never possess? Daniil was beautiful, of that there could be no doubt. Were she in the other’s position, she would have taken her vengeance by making herself as lovely in appearance as she could, yet swearing herself to chastity. After all, there could be no greater control for a female than holding dominion over man’s basest desires.
This seemed not to have accrued to Daniil, however, and Ophelia wondered if perhaps she should suggest it. Not now, of course, for the two did not yet know each other well enough to discuss such intimate things, but later, when they were on more familiar terms. She certainly hoped that they would be, for it would be nice to call one who thought as she did ‘friend,’ despite the fact that her own opinions were not quite so extreme.
Extreme or not, the girl spoke eloquently, and she made a valid point with her speeches. Ophelia momentarily pictured Daniil raised high on a dais, her voice slicing through the murmurs of a crowd. In vivid detail she envisioned all eyes turning upon the youngest owl as she began to speak: capturing the audience with her words, calling them to attention, stirring their hearts and souls and forever changing the world as they knew it.
Would that be such a terrible thing?
A few changes here and there would certainly be for the better. She cared little for weaponry and had no mind to hold a sword, but she might like to be able to own property, control her own finances, marry the one she truly loved…
She bit down on her lower lip to stifle a sigh. This was wishful thinking, and allowing her thoughts to travel this path would only lead to sorrow. She had chosen her route, and it did not call her to revolution, but to secrecy. Her golden heart illuminated a path of tact and subtlety, of political intrigue and subtle manipulation, all for the greater good.
Daniil seemed to understand this, however, for when she spoke again her voice had gentled. The tempest that had previously raged in her emerald eyes had also calmed, though they could hardly be compared to still waters. Those jade green orbs were still intense, but Ophelia could sense no rage within them as they fixed upon her, and relief overcame her as the Lady spoke.
‘I do hear you, Ophelia. Your words do not fall on deaf ears. Before I speak again, know that I do admire you as well. Your task is that of an artist with a needle, weaving intricate threads where none can see them. I have no stomach for such things, and would only make a mockery of them. You do things I could never, and for that I applaud you, cousin. Should you ever have need of me, you have but to call upon me, and I will carve a path through Greece at your direction.’
In gratitude, the Condos Rose took both her hands, beaming brightly at her sister in arms. “I shall not forget this!” she exclaimed. “You are dear to my heart already, and though your ways are not mine, I do admire them, and think you one of the most courageous women I have ever had the honour of meeting.”
A short silence passed, during which Ophelia bestowed upon her newest ally a smile as warm as the sun. Then, Daniil spoke again. Ophelia did not hear the opening of the gate, nor the silent tread that followed. So absorbed was she in the oration of her companion that she was entirely unaware of the fact that they were no longer alone. This was highly unusual for her, for she was known to be very observant, but she attributed the slight prickle on the back of her neck to the gentle breeze that lent a pleasant aura to the morn. How wrong she was to do so…
‘You say they will never have our hearts, nor our souls. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps a woman could live her life in servitude to a man she does not love and even bear him children. Perhaps she could even love those children. Perhaps she could even paint a smile onto her face, and look out upon the life that has been decided for her, and tell herself and all those around her that she is satisfied, for she has not given him her soul, nor her heart. But I will not accept that. Such injustice is nothing short of cruel. Were the entire scenario reversed, a man would face little consequences for refusing her, or finding a way to sever ties. Some would even murder their wives, and so long as they are not caught outright, they could get away with it. Perhaps some will be satisfied with such a life, but I am not. I am the mistress of my own fate, and there is no force on heaven nor earth that can move me down a path I do not choose for myself.’
It had been her intention to tell Daniil that she would never presume to force her into such a life, that should Daniil wish never to marry then she should stick firmly by that decision; it had been her intention to praise the woman’s bravery once more and state categorically that though marriage was the path Ophelia intended to pursue, she knew it was not for everyone. A jest about the potential of Daniil taking a husband of her own so that he could give her a child whom she could raise on her ideals, then murdering said husband when his usefulness was spent, was on the tip of her tongue, when a shadow fell upon them.
“Perhaps you could -- “
That was as far as she got before the imposing figure made his presence known. He towered above them like a giant of legend, his presence far greater than his height. Ophelia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her tongue suddenly feeling like a dead weight inside it. He was staring at Daniil with a gaze as cold as a glacier, and when he addressed her it was in a tone so unnaturally even that it induced from her a violent shudder. Contrary to the coldness of his gaze, his tone was utterly without emotion. Never had she heard anyone speak thus, as though feeling were a foreign concept, or a thing of which they were somehow incapable. Surely he had to be angry, and yet she could sense none within him; that made him all the more terrifying.
‘Are you done making speeches….Daniil?’
She had the strangest urge to fall to her knees before him and humbly beg his pardon. She had come to Athenia to clear his name, but all she had succeeded in doing was causing a rift between he and his granddaughter, and probably securing his hatred. The thought sent bile rising to the back of her throat, and she was forced to swallow it back as quietly and daintily as she could. ‘You will present yourself to my chambers in brief…’ he instructed, making clear by the manner in which he spoke that this was a command, not a request, and he expected to be obeyed. In that moment, he was not a grandfather but a patriarch. Despite not ruling the household officially, it was clear to Ophelia that one would have to be extremely foolish to disobey the Great Owl, for he was the very essence of the Marikas and the standard to which, undoubtedly, most other patriarchs held themselves.
He turned his gaze on her, then, and her breath caught in her throat. She felt her legs begin to tremble beneath her pleated skirt, and was immensely glad of its length. The pleats of butterfly fabric would conceal her fear from the Master and her cowardice from Daniil. She wanted to raise her chin and look him directly in the eye, but she could meet his gaze for only a moment. Her emerald eyes were filled with shame, remorse and terror, and soon she found them lowering of their own accord to the ground.
His words were not gentle, but they were not the harsh reprimand they might have been. ‘Lady Ophelia…’ he had forgeone calling her cousin, reverting back to her formal title. Ophelia dipped a low curtsy, bowing her head as she did so. She dared not rise from this position until he had finished his address. ‘I do prey you may find your chambers to your liking, for I am afraid the gardens will be shut momentarily…’
She rose slowly from her ovascience, considering what she might say to him. Dare she apologize in front of Daniil? Would this act be considered a traitorous one on her part? Before she could make up her mind, the man turned, disappearing with silent steps back into the house.
Ophelia lifted her eyes to watch his departure, her expression crumbling as she lost sight of him. Sinking defeatedly onto one of the stone benches, she wrung her delicate hands in distress, blinking back the tears that had misted her eyes.
“He hates me, he is going to hate me…” she murmured mournfully, more to herself than Daniil. “I came all this way to help him, and now -- “
Realizing she had spoken private thoughts aloud -- thoughts she ought to have kept to herself -- she quickly choked off her sentence. She had travelled to Athenia on her father’s bidding, but her true intention had been to prove the innocence of the Lord. Daniil, however, would not be pleased to hear that, and should she learn that Lord Condos had sent her here in chase of a rumour, she may think Ophelia her father’s creature. Worse, she might think Ophelia some insipid admirer of her grandfather’s, as she had truly come to prove her father wrong about him.
Would either be inaccurate, though? She did admire Lord Panos’s intelligence. She had been awed by him when they had met in Colchis, and it was that meeting that had made her all the more determined to prove the innocence of her distant kin. As to her being her father’s creature, family was important to her, and she liked to consider herself a loyal and loving daughter.
Was there anything so wrong with that?
“He hates me…” she sighed again, despairing at their ill fortune. “And I am so sorry Daniil, I did not mean to land you in a quarrel with your grandfather.”
Even if she had wished to, fleeing was quite out of the question for Ophelia. She never would have been able to navigate the sprawling Marikas archontiko without the assistance of an attendant, with its many floors and labyrinthine corridors. And anyway, she was far too well bred to run away. It would have shamed her Lord Father to hear reports of her racing down a marble hall of her host’s grand estate as though Cerberus were snapping at her heels, and she doubted the Lady would have presented her with a more gentile opportunity to extricate herself. Even if such an opportunity had been presented to her however, she would not have taken it, for the simple fact of the matter was that -- against all better judgement -- she was beginning to rather like this strange and fascinating creature who loathed the very sex she emulated. She projected a distinctly masculine aura, and yet the youngest Marikas appeared to be of the firm belief that all men were monsters. Why, then, she would wish to dress in their clothing, Ophelia could not imagine. Would it not scorn them more to fully embrace her femininity? To grow out her hair, wear beautiful gowns and tempt them with a treasure they knew they could never possess? Daniil was beautiful, of that there could be no doubt. Were she in the other’s position, she would have taken her vengeance by making herself as lovely in appearance as she could, yet swearing herself to chastity. After all, there could be no greater control for a female than holding dominion over man’s basest desires.
This seemed not to have accrued to Daniil, however, and Ophelia wondered if perhaps she should suggest it. Not now, of course, for the two did not yet know each other well enough to discuss such intimate things, but later, when they were on more familiar terms. She certainly hoped that they would be, for it would be nice to call one who thought as she did ‘friend,’ despite the fact that her own opinions were not quite so extreme.
Extreme or not, the girl spoke eloquently, and she made a valid point with her speeches. Ophelia momentarily pictured Daniil raised high on a dais, her voice slicing through the murmurs of a crowd. In vivid detail she envisioned all eyes turning upon the youngest owl as she began to speak: capturing the audience with her words, calling them to attention, stirring their hearts and souls and forever changing the world as they knew it.
Would that be such a terrible thing?
A few changes here and there would certainly be for the better. She cared little for weaponry and had no mind to hold a sword, but she might like to be able to own property, control her own finances, marry the one she truly loved…
She bit down on her lower lip to stifle a sigh. This was wishful thinking, and allowing her thoughts to travel this path would only lead to sorrow. She had chosen her route, and it did not call her to revolution, but to secrecy. Her golden heart illuminated a path of tact and subtlety, of political intrigue and subtle manipulation, all for the greater good.
Daniil seemed to understand this, however, for when she spoke again her voice had gentled. The tempest that had previously raged in her emerald eyes had also calmed, though they could hardly be compared to still waters. Those jade green orbs were still intense, but Ophelia could sense no rage within them as they fixed upon her, and relief overcame her as the Lady spoke.
‘I do hear you, Ophelia. Your words do not fall on deaf ears. Before I speak again, know that I do admire you as well. Your task is that of an artist with a needle, weaving intricate threads where none can see them. I have no stomach for such things, and would only make a mockery of them. You do things I could never, and for that I applaud you, cousin. Should you ever have need of me, you have but to call upon me, and I will carve a path through Greece at your direction.’
In gratitude, the Condos Rose took both her hands, beaming brightly at her sister in arms. “I shall not forget this!” she exclaimed. “You are dear to my heart already, and though your ways are not mine, I do admire them, and think you one of the most courageous women I have ever had the honour of meeting.”
A short silence passed, during which Ophelia bestowed upon her newest ally a smile as warm as the sun. Then, Daniil spoke again. Ophelia did not hear the opening of the gate, nor the silent tread that followed. So absorbed was she in the oration of her companion that she was entirely unaware of the fact that they were no longer alone. This was highly unusual for her, for she was known to be very observant, but she attributed the slight prickle on the back of her neck to the gentle breeze that lent a pleasant aura to the morn. How wrong she was to do so…
‘You say they will never have our hearts, nor our souls. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps a woman could live her life in servitude to a man she does not love and even bear him children. Perhaps she could even love those children. Perhaps she could even paint a smile onto her face, and look out upon the life that has been decided for her, and tell herself and all those around her that she is satisfied, for she has not given him her soul, nor her heart. But I will not accept that. Such injustice is nothing short of cruel. Were the entire scenario reversed, a man would face little consequences for refusing her, or finding a way to sever ties. Some would even murder their wives, and so long as they are not caught outright, they could get away with it. Perhaps some will be satisfied with such a life, but I am not. I am the mistress of my own fate, and there is no force on heaven nor earth that can move me down a path I do not choose for myself.’
It had been her intention to tell Daniil that she would never presume to force her into such a life, that should Daniil wish never to marry then she should stick firmly by that decision; it had been her intention to praise the woman’s bravery once more and state categorically that though marriage was the path Ophelia intended to pursue, she knew it was not for everyone. A jest about the potential of Daniil taking a husband of her own so that he could give her a child whom she could raise on her ideals, then murdering said husband when his usefulness was spent, was on the tip of her tongue, when a shadow fell upon them.
“Perhaps you could -- “
That was as far as she got before the imposing figure made his presence known. He towered above them like a giant of legend, his presence far greater than his height. Ophelia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her tongue suddenly feeling like a dead weight inside it. He was staring at Daniil with a gaze as cold as a glacier, and when he addressed her it was in a tone so unnaturally even that it induced from her a violent shudder. Contrary to the coldness of his gaze, his tone was utterly without emotion. Never had she heard anyone speak thus, as though feeling were a foreign concept, or a thing of which they were somehow incapable. Surely he had to be angry, and yet she could sense none within him; that made him all the more terrifying.
‘Are you done making speeches….Daniil?’
She had the strangest urge to fall to her knees before him and humbly beg his pardon. She had come to Athenia to clear his name, but all she had succeeded in doing was causing a rift between he and his granddaughter, and probably securing his hatred. The thought sent bile rising to the back of her throat, and she was forced to swallow it back as quietly and daintily as she could. ‘You will present yourself to my chambers in brief…’ he instructed, making clear by the manner in which he spoke that this was a command, not a request, and he expected to be obeyed. In that moment, he was not a grandfather but a patriarch. Despite not ruling the household officially, it was clear to Ophelia that one would have to be extremely foolish to disobey the Great Owl, for he was the very essence of the Marikas and the standard to which, undoubtedly, most other patriarchs held themselves.
He turned his gaze on her, then, and her breath caught in her throat. She felt her legs begin to tremble beneath her pleated skirt, and was immensely glad of its length. The pleats of butterfly fabric would conceal her fear from the Master and her cowardice from Daniil. She wanted to raise her chin and look him directly in the eye, but she could meet his gaze for only a moment. Her emerald eyes were filled with shame, remorse and terror, and soon she found them lowering of their own accord to the ground.
His words were not gentle, but they were not the harsh reprimand they might have been. ‘Lady Ophelia…’ he had forgeone calling her cousin, reverting back to her formal title. Ophelia dipped a low curtsy, bowing her head as she did so. She dared not rise from this position until he had finished his address. ‘I do prey you may find your chambers to your liking, for I am afraid the gardens will be shut momentarily…’
She rose slowly from her ovascience, considering what she might say to him. Dare she apologize in front of Daniil? Would this act be considered a traitorous one on her part? Before she could make up her mind, the man turned, disappearing with silent steps back into the house.
Ophelia lifted her eyes to watch his departure, her expression crumbling as she lost sight of him. Sinking defeatedly onto one of the stone benches, she wrung her delicate hands in distress, blinking back the tears that had misted her eyes.
“He hates me, he is going to hate me…” she murmured mournfully, more to herself than Daniil. “I came all this way to help him, and now -- “
Realizing she had spoken private thoughts aloud -- thoughts she ought to have kept to herself -- she quickly choked off her sentence. She had travelled to Athenia on her father’s bidding, but her true intention had been to prove the innocence of the Lord. Daniil, however, would not be pleased to hear that, and should she learn that Lord Condos had sent her here in chase of a rumour, she may think Ophelia her father’s creature. Worse, she might think Ophelia some insipid admirer of her grandfather’s, as she had truly come to prove her father wrong about him.
Would either be inaccurate, though? She did admire Lord Panos’s intelligence. She had been awed by him when they had met in Colchis, and it was that meeting that had made her all the more determined to prove the innocence of her distant kin. As to her being her father’s creature, family was important to her, and she liked to consider herself a loyal and loving daughter.
Was there anything so wrong with that?
“He hates me…” she sighed again, despairing at their ill fortune. “And I am so sorry Daniil, I did not mean to land you in a quarrel with your grandfather.”
Having an audience actually receptive to her message was a great change of pace from her normal social interactions, and her attention was entirely devoted to the woman in which she found her first sister in arms. Every small movement Ophelia made was observed and catalogued, never to be forgotten. Daniil was full to bursting with what she wished to say. When her courage was praised, Ophelia's affection for her new acquaintance stated clearly, her heart simply soared. Praise. How long had it been since she had heard honest praise of herself? How long since anything she had said or done had been interpreted as something positive? Something worthwhile? Something good, and worth doing?
She could not remember the last time. Could not remember the last time someone had even looked at her with anything short of disappointment. For that was what she was, was it not? The family disappointment. The death of the last hope of her father's line, an apocalyptic doom heralded by nothing short of her own birth. The beginning of her life was the end of her father's ambitions. How could any look upon her with anything aside from utter disappointment? How could she be anything short of the death of any hope her father had of measuring up to her grandfather's expectations?
And yet here this woman was in front of her now, telling her different. Telling Daniil that her life was not in vain. Her hopes, her aspirations, these visions so contrary to everything she had been taught, they were worth something. She was worth something. The feeling she was experiencing. . . indescribable. Joy. The pleasure of another's attention, and their affection towards her. Something unknown to her previously.
Perhaps that was why she did not see him. Did not feel his presence until it was too late. Under normal circumstances, she would have known her grandfather was near far before he spoke. Panos was a man of few words, but his presence was all-encompassing. One would have to be a fool to be near him and be unaware of his importance. And yet, here she was caught completely and utterly off guard. She did not even know he was there until he spoke.
His words cut through the air and into her like the point of a blade, slicing through that brief moment of happiness to expose her bare soul, so his fury might be clear, and experienced by her without protection. There could be no escaping it. Her blood ran cold as his eyes lay upon her, her heart running as fast as the horses that she loved, yet she did not waver. Did not back down. Her spine remained straight, her eyes once more becoming green storms as she stared at this man. This man that for so long had been the orchestrator of her family, and of her torment. The man that had poisoned her father against her. She did not use words to respond to his order, only nodded once. Curt. Direct. As he had taught them all.
Once he had gone, the gardens seemed far more empty than before. Warmth had returned, but she could not feel it. She only stared after where Panos had gone, only vaguely aware of Ophelia mumbling to herself. She could not allow herself to fall into despair. She was stronger than that. After all, in the end, Panos was no god. Only a man.
"Hates you?" Daniil allowed herself a small laugh. "Ophelia, darling, you give yourself far too much credit, I think. Panos cares for little, and hates less. The only one that has upset him is I."
She glanced over at Ophelia, that storm still in her eyes.
"It seems we must complete our conversations another time, sweetest Ophelia. I have an appointment to complete. May I find you in your chambers at another time?"
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Having an audience actually receptive to her message was a great change of pace from her normal social interactions, and her attention was entirely devoted to the woman in which she found her first sister in arms. Every small movement Ophelia made was observed and catalogued, never to be forgotten. Daniil was full to bursting with what she wished to say. When her courage was praised, Ophelia's affection for her new acquaintance stated clearly, her heart simply soared. Praise. How long had it been since she had heard honest praise of herself? How long since anything she had said or done had been interpreted as something positive? Something worthwhile? Something good, and worth doing?
She could not remember the last time. Could not remember the last time someone had even looked at her with anything short of disappointment. For that was what she was, was it not? The family disappointment. The death of the last hope of her father's line, an apocalyptic doom heralded by nothing short of her own birth. The beginning of her life was the end of her father's ambitions. How could any look upon her with anything aside from utter disappointment? How could she be anything short of the death of any hope her father had of measuring up to her grandfather's expectations?
And yet here this woman was in front of her now, telling her different. Telling Daniil that her life was not in vain. Her hopes, her aspirations, these visions so contrary to everything she had been taught, they were worth something. She was worth something. The feeling she was experiencing. . . indescribable. Joy. The pleasure of another's attention, and their affection towards her. Something unknown to her previously.
Perhaps that was why she did not see him. Did not feel his presence until it was too late. Under normal circumstances, she would have known her grandfather was near far before he spoke. Panos was a man of few words, but his presence was all-encompassing. One would have to be a fool to be near him and be unaware of his importance. And yet, here she was caught completely and utterly off guard. She did not even know he was there until he spoke.
His words cut through the air and into her like the point of a blade, slicing through that brief moment of happiness to expose her bare soul, so his fury might be clear, and experienced by her without protection. There could be no escaping it. Her blood ran cold as his eyes lay upon her, her heart running as fast as the horses that she loved, yet she did not waver. Did not back down. Her spine remained straight, her eyes once more becoming green storms as she stared at this man. This man that for so long had been the orchestrator of her family, and of her torment. The man that had poisoned her father against her. She did not use words to respond to his order, only nodded once. Curt. Direct. As he had taught them all.
Once he had gone, the gardens seemed far more empty than before. Warmth had returned, but she could not feel it. She only stared after where Panos had gone, only vaguely aware of Ophelia mumbling to herself. She could not allow herself to fall into despair. She was stronger than that. After all, in the end, Panos was no god. Only a man.
"Hates you?" Daniil allowed herself a small laugh. "Ophelia, darling, you give yourself far too much credit, I think. Panos cares for little, and hates less. The only one that has upset him is I."
She glanced over at Ophelia, that storm still in her eyes.
"It seems we must complete our conversations another time, sweetest Ophelia. I have an appointment to complete. May I find you in your chambers at another time?"
Having an audience actually receptive to her message was a great change of pace from her normal social interactions, and her attention was entirely devoted to the woman in which she found her first sister in arms. Every small movement Ophelia made was observed and catalogued, never to be forgotten. Daniil was full to bursting with what she wished to say. When her courage was praised, Ophelia's affection for her new acquaintance stated clearly, her heart simply soared. Praise. How long had it been since she had heard honest praise of herself? How long since anything she had said or done had been interpreted as something positive? Something worthwhile? Something good, and worth doing?
She could not remember the last time. Could not remember the last time someone had even looked at her with anything short of disappointment. For that was what she was, was it not? The family disappointment. The death of the last hope of her father's line, an apocalyptic doom heralded by nothing short of her own birth. The beginning of her life was the end of her father's ambitions. How could any look upon her with anything aside from utter disappointment? How could she be anything short of the death of any hope her father had of measuring up to her grandfather's expectations?
And yet here this woman was in front of her now, telling her different. Telling Daniil that her life was not in vain. Her hopes, her aspirations, these visions so contrary to everything she had been taught, they were worth something. She was worth something. The feeling she was experiencing. . . indescribable. Joy. The pleasure of another's attention, and their affection towards her. Something unknown to her previously.
Perhaps that was why she did not see him. Did not feel his presence until it was too late. Under normal circumstances, she would have known her grandfather was near far before he spoke. Panos was a man of few words, but his presence was all-encompassing. One would have to be a fool to be near him and be unaware of his importance. And yet, here she was caught completely and utterly off guard. She did not even know he was there until he spoke.
His words cut through the air and into her like the point of a blade, slicing through that brief moment of happiness to expose her bare soul, so his fury might be clear, and experienced by her without protection. There could be no escaping it. Her blood ran cold as his eyes lay upon her, her heart running as fast as the horses that she loved, yet she did not waver. Did not back down. Her spine remained straight, her eyes once more becoming green storms as she stared at this man. This man that for so long had been the orchestrator of her family, and of her torment. The man that had poisoned her father against her. She did not use words to respond to his order, only nodded once. Curt. Direct. As he had taught them all.
Once he had gone, the gardens seemed far more empty than before. Warmth had returned, but she could not feel it. She only stared after where Panos had gone, only vaguely aware of Ophelia mumbling to herself. She could not allow herself to fall into despair. She was stronger than that. After all, in the end, Panos was no god. Only a man.
"Hates you?" Daniil allowed herself a small laugh. "Ophelia, darling, you give yourself far too much credit, I think. Panos cares for little, and hates less. The only one that has upset him is I."
She glanced over at Ophelia, that storm still in her eyes.
"It seems we must complete our conversations another time, sweetest Ophelia. I have an appointment to complete. May I find you in your chambers at another time?"
Panos had departed, yet his presence weighed heavy on her heart. She found that her chest was constricting, and breathing was no easy thing. Each breath was a labor, yet she managed with some difficulty to force the crisp morning air in and out of her lungs. Her vision was blurring, her head in a spin, and for a moment she wondered if this had less to do with Lord Panos than all of the sea travel she had been doing recently. She had never been much good with sea travel, yet she did so enjoy moving between the kingdoms, and so considered it a necessary evil. Perhaps she simply needed rest. And tea. And perhaps some of those sweet pastries that always brought a smile to her lips.
‘Hates you?’
Daniil’s voice jarred her from her thoughts, causing her eyes to snap in the direction of the youngest Marikas. Throughout the entire encounter, Daniil had remained strong. She had faced him directly. Words had not been needed, only a straight spine and a gaze as defiant as his was frigid. Admiration warmed her heart as she met those eyes, her own filled with warmth, compassion and awe.
‘Ophelia, darling, you give yourself far too much credit, I think. Panos cares for little, and hates less. The only one that has upset him is I.’ “Perhaps I do give myself too much credit,” the Condos conceded. “You were very brave to stand up to him in the manner that you did. I fear you may suffer for it, and for our conversation, and for that I am very sorry, but I want you to know that my heart is with you, and I am not sorry for anything that transpired here today.”
Daniil seemed to be of the same mind, for although the tempest still raged in her eyes, her words were gentle in her next address. ‘It seems we must complete our conversations another time, sweetest Ophelia. I have an appointment to complete. May I find you in your chambers at another time?’ “Of course you can!” gushed the Taengean Rose, reaching out to squeeze both of the Marikas’ hands. “I should very much like to continue this conversation sometimes…” she gazed around then, letting out a light, awkward laugh. “Uh, Daniil...about those chambers of mine. Your house is so large that I have not quite acquainted myself with it yet. Do you think you could perhaps give me directions? Or point me in the direction of someone who can?” Her lips twisted upward into a sheepish grin. “This place is honestly like a labyrinth! I will be quite surprised if I do not find a Minatour by the end of my visit,” she winked, attempting to restore the good humour that Panod had shattered.
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Panos had departed, yet his presence weighed heavy on her heart. She found that her chest was constricting, and breathing was no easy thing. Each breath was a labor, yet she managed with some difficulty to force the crisp morning air in and out of her lungs. Her vision was blurring, her head in a spin, and for a moment she wondered if this had less to do with Lord Panos than all of the sea travel she had been doing recently. She had never been much good with sea travel, yet she did so enjoy moving between the kingdoms, and so considered it a necessary evil. Perhaps she simply needed rest. And tea. And perhaps some of those sweet pastries that always brought a smile to her lips.
‘Hates you?’
Daniil’s voice jarred her from her thoughts, causing her eyes to snap in the direction of the youngest Marikas. Throughout the entire encounter, Daniil had remained strong. She had faced him directly. Words had not been needed, only a straight spine and a gaze as defiant as his was frigid. Admiration warmed her heart as she met those eyes, her own filled with warmth, compassion and awe.
‘Ophelia, darling, you give yourself far too much credit, I think. Panos cares for little, and hates less. The only one that has upset him is I.’ “Perhaps I do give myself too much credit,” the Condos conceded. “You were very brave to stand up to him in the manner that you did. I fear you may suffer for it, and for our conversation, and for that I am very sorry, but I want you to know that my heart is with you, and I am not sorry for anything that transpired here today.”
Daniil seemed to be of the same mind, for although the tempest still raged in her eyes, her words were gentle in her next address. ‘It seems we must complete our conversations another time, sweetest Ophelia. I have an appointment to complete. May I find you in your chambers at another time?’ “Of course you can!” gushed the Taengean Rose, reaching out to squeeze both of the Marikas’ hands. “I should very much like to continue this conversation sometimes…” she gazed around then, letting out a light, awkward laugh. “Uh, Daniil...about those chambers of mine. Your house is so large that I have not quite acquainted myself with it yet. Do you think you could perhaps give me directions? Or point me in the direction of someone who can?” Her lips twisted upward into a sheepish grin. “This place is honestly like a labyrinth! I will be quite surprised if I do not find a Minatour by the end of my visit,” she winked, attempting to restore the good humour that Panod had shattered.
Panos had departed, yet his presence weighed heavy on her heart. She found that her chest was constricting, and breathing was no easy thing. Each breath was a labor, yet she managed with some difficulty to force the crisp morning air in and out of her lungs. Her vision was blurring, her head in a spin, and for a moment she wondered if this had less to do with Lord Panos than all of the sea travel she had been doing recently. She had never been much good with sea travel, yet she did so enjoy moving between the kingdoms, and so considered it a necessary evil. Perhaps she simply needed rest. And tea. And perhaps some of those sweet pastries that always brought a smile to her lips.
‘Hates you?’
Daniil’s voice jarred her from her thoughts, causing her eyes to snap in the direction of the youngest Marikas. Throughout the entire encounter, Daniil had remained strong. She had faced him directly. Words had not been needed, only a straight spine and a gaze as defiant as his was frigid. Admiration warmed her heart as she met those eyes, her own filled with warmth, compassion and awe.
‘Ophelia, darling, you give yourself far too much credit, I think. Panos cares for little, and hates less. The only one that has upset him is I.’ “Perhaps I do give myself too much credit,” the Condos conceded. “You were very brave to stand up to him in the manner that you did. I fear you may suffer for it, and for our conversation, and for that I am very sorry, but I want you to know that my heart is with you, and I am not sorry for anything that transpired here today.”
Daniil seemed to be of the same mind, for although the tempest still raged in her eyes, her words were gentle in her next address. ‘It seems we must complete our conversations another time, sweetest Ophelia. I have an appointment to complete. May I find you in your chambers at another time?’ “Of course you can!” gushed the Taengean Rose, reaching out to squeeze both of the Marikas’ hands. “I should very much like to continue this conversation sometimes…” she gazed around then, letting out a light, awkward laugh. “Uh, Daniil...about those chambers of mine. Your house is so large that I have not quite acquainted myself with it yet. Do you think you could perhaps give me directions? Or point me in the direction of someone who can?” Her lips twisted upward into a sheepish grin. “This place is honestly like a labyrinth! I will be quite surprised if I do not find a Minatour by the end of my visit,” she winked, attempting to restore the good humour that Panod had shattered.
If her own oratory had not scared away this woman, then Daniil was more than certain that her grandfather would have. And yet, she still stood. Admittedly, the woman seemed so frightened of the man Daniil feared that she may faint, but she did not flee. There was a great amount of courage in that, and it only made her admire Ophelia more. After all, what was courage if not to confront that which frightened oneself? Regardless, all of her attention was now focused on her newest acquaintance, ensuring that she did not end this interaction with too much damage to their future relationship.
"Brave?" She tested the word on her tongue, finding it odd. Daniil had never considered herself a courageous woman, and certainly had never been named as such by someone else. It was an odd feeling, one she was unsure of her own opinion on as of yet. She had never felt brave or courageous. She simply did what her instincts told her to. This was in her nature, and all creatures acted according to their nature, did they not? "I am not sure that is the word I would use to describe myself, but your words are appreciated."
The woman's worries about the form of punishment, if any, Daniil would face were more relevant to the Marikas woman. She was unsure of exactly what she would face when she entered her grandfather's chambers, but she could be damned certain that it was not going to be fun, whatever it was. Still, she felt no regret for what she had said or done, echoing the sentiments of her conversational partner, and so she expressed just that.
"Your fear is misplaced. I have no regrets for what I have said, nor to whom it was said. My heart beats with yours, dearest Ophelia, and rest assured I also have no apologies for our conversation. Nor for meeting you. You have proven to be a ray of light in the storms of this life I was not expecting, but are more than welcome."
Then there was the touch. When Ophelia reached out, their hands making contact, Daniil felt something she cursed herself for. Guilt ran through her as the skin of her hands tingled, feelings coursing through her she had tried so hard for so long to suppress. Attraction. Not to Ophelia specifically, for the woman seemed too sweet for such things, but just for the touch of another. It made her afraid. Excited. Doubtful. So many things at once it was difficult to explain. But she could not allow Ophelia to know of such things. It was her shame. Her greatest shame, for desire was the pitfall for all mortals, be they man or woman. Her own desires would lead her astray if she allowed them to.
So instead, she just smiled at the woman. "Of course, Ophelia. I would be happy to direct you." And she did just that, explaining to her in-depth how to return to her chambers. "If you should become lost, simply find one of the servants around. They know this manse well." She gave one last squeeze to Ophelia's hands. "I hope to speak with you again, soon."
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If her own oratory had not scared away this woman, then Daniil was more than certain that her grandfather would have. And yet, she still stood. Admittedly, the woman seemed so frightened of the man Daniil feared that she may faint, but she did not flee. There was a great amount of courage in that, and it only made her admire Ophelia more. After all, what was courage if not to confront that which frightened oneself? Regardless, all of her attention was now focused on her newest acquaintance, ensuring that she did not end this interaction with too much damage to their future relationship.
"Brave?" She tested the word on her tongue, finding it odd. Daniil had never considered herself a courageous woman, and certainly had never been named as such by someone else. It was an odd feeling, one she was unsure of her own opinion on as of yet. She had never felt brave or courageous. She simply did what her instincts told her to. This was in her nature, and all creatures acted according to their nature, did they not? "I am not sure that is the word I would use to describe myself, but your words are appreciated."
The woman's worries about the form of punishment, if any, Daniil would face were more relevant to the Marikas woman. She was unsure of exactly what she would face when she entered her grandfather's chambers, but she could be damned certain that it was not going to be fun, whatever it was. Still, she felt no regret for what she had said or done, echoing the sentiments of her conversational partner, and so she expressed just that.
"Your fear is misplaced. I have no regrets for what I have said, nor to whom it was said. My heart beats with yours, dearest Ophelia, and rest assured I also have no apologies for our conversation. Nor for meeting you. You have proven to be a ray of light in the storms of this life I was not expecting, but are more than welcome."
Then there was the touch. When Ophelia reached out, their hands making contact, Daniil felt something she cursed herself for. Guilt ran through her as the skin of her hands tingled, feelings coursing through her she had tried so hard for so long to suppress. Attraction. Not to Ophelia specifically, for the woman seemed too sweet for such things, but just for the touch of another. It made her afraid. Excited. Doubtful. So many things at once it was difficult to explain. But she could not allow Ophelia to know of such things. It was her shame. Her greatest shame, for desire was the pitfall for all mortals, be they man or woman. Her own desires would lead her astray if she allowed them to.
So instead, she just smiled at the woman. "Of course, Ophelia. I would be happy to direct you." And she did just that, explaining to her in-depth how to return to her chambers. "If you should become lost, simply find one of the servants around. They know this manse well." She gave one last squeeze to Ophelia's hands. "I hope to speak with you again, soon."
If her own oratory had not scared away this woman, then Daniil was more than certain that her grandfather would have. And yet, she still stood. Admittedly, the woman seemed so frightened of the man Daniil feared that she may faint, but she did not flee. There was a great amount of courage in that, and it only made her admire Ophelia more. After all, what was courage if not to confront that which frightened oneself? Regardless, all of her attention was now focused on her newest acquaintance, ensuring that she did not end this interaction with too much damage to their future relationship.
"Brave?" She tested the word on her tongue, finding it odd. Daniil had never considered herself a courageous woman, and certainly had never been named as such by someone else. It was an odd feeling, one she was unsure of her own opinion on as of yet. She had never felt brave or courageous. She simply did what her instincts told her to. This was in her nature, and all creatures acted according to their nature, did they not? "I am not sure that is the word I would use to describe myself, but your words are appreciated."
The woman's worries about the form of punishment, if any, Daniil would face were more relevant to the Marikas woman. She was unsure of exactly what she would face when she entered her grandfather's chambers, but she could be damned certain that it was not going to be fun, whatever it was. Still, she felt no regret for what she had said or done, echoing the sentiments of her conversational partner, and so she expressed just that.
"Your fear is misplaced. I have no regrets for what I have said, nor to whom it was said. My heart beats with yours, dearest Ophelia, and rest assured I also have no apologies for our conversation. Nor for meeting you. You have proven to be a ray of light in the storms of this life I was not expecting, but are more than welcome."
Then there was the touch. When Ophelia reached out, their hands making contact, Daniil felt something she cursed herself for. Guilt ran through her as the skin of her hands tingled, feelings coursing through her she had tried so hard for so long to suppress. Attraction. Not to Ophelia specifically, for the woman seemed too sweet for such things, but just for the touch of another. It made her afraid. Excited. Doubtful. So many things at once it was difficult to explain. But she could not allow Ophelia to know of such things. It was her shame. Her greatest shame, for desire was the pitfall for all mortals, be they man or woman. Her own desires would lead her astray if she allowed them to.
So instead, she just smiled at the woman. "Of course, Ophelia. I would be happy to direct you." And she did just that, explaining to her in-depth how to return to her chambers. "If you should become lost, simply find one of the servants around. They know this manse well." She gave one last squeeze to Ophelia's hands. "I hope to speak with you again, soon."
'Brave?'
The word sounded almost foreign on Daniil's tongue, as though she were tasting some new cuisine for the very first time. Ophelia nodded,her lips curving upwards into a tentative, but genuine, smile.
'I am not sure that is the word I would use to describe myself, but your words are appreciated.'
These words surprised her, momentarily stunning her into speechlessness. She would not have dared to call the other anything less than brave, and was shocked to learn that Daniil had never thought of herself as such. After all, it was no small feat to look the Great Owl in the eye, match his penetrating stare, and make known to him without need of a single utterance that you were unafraid, nor ashamed of the action for which he scorned you.
"I speak truly," Ophelia assured her. "I could never have imagined anyone with the strength to meet his glare as you did, but I am honoured to have met such a one."
She still feared for the girl however, not knowing what awful punishment lay in store for her behind the door of her grandfather's study. She did not know the Master of the Marikas. Was he a violent man, or were words his greatest weapon? Expressing her unease without divulging the true extent of her terror, she was met with a reassuring statement from her newest friend.
'Your fear is misplaced. I have no regrets for what I have said, nor to whom it was said. My heart beats with yours, dearest Ophelia, and rest assured I also have no apologies for our conversation. Nor for meeting you. You have proven to be a ray of light in the storms of this life I was not expecting, but are more than welcome.'
That was a comfort at least, and it filled her heart with a glow warm as the sun that beat down upon them to know that she Daniil felt as she did. Hopefully, in time, she could become as dear to the young Marikas as she was to Rene and Gianna, and together they would face the trials of this cruel world.
In answer to the gentle caress of her smooth, silken hands, Daniil seemed to tense, but only slightly. The movement was so subtle that Ophelia thought she might have imagined it, but instinct told her otherwise. Still, the girl made no move to pull away, so she did not either, keeping their hands joined together as Daniil proceeded to explain the easiest and quickest route back to her chambers. She listened carefully, bestowing a thankful smile on the girl before gently withdrawing her hands. Daniil bid her seek help from a servant should she lose her way, to which Ophelia gave a grateful nod.
'I hope to speak with you again, soon.' her new friend said by way of parting. "As do I," Ophelia murmured softly. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I sincerely hope that this will not be our last meeting."
And, with these words spoken, the Taengean Rose turned and made her way through the gate. As she traversed the many winding corridors of the palatial mansion, her thoughts drifted restlessly from the courageous orator to her indomitable grandfather. She would have to maintain good relations with the Master if she had any chance of proving his innocence, but she dared not lose the friendship of his granddaughter. Daniil was too important to her now.
Feeling her head begin to spin once more, she breathed a sigh of relief as the outer door of her chamber came into view. Sleep was most definitely what she needed now.
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'Brave?'
The word sounded almost foreign on Daniil's tongue, as though she were tasting some new cuisine for the very first time. Ophelia nodded,her lips curving upwards into a tentative, but genuine, smile.
'I am not sure that is the word I would use to describe myself, but your words are appreciated.'
These words surprised her, momentarily stunning her into speechlessness. She would not have dared to call the other anything less than brave, and was shocked to learn that Daniil had never thought of herself as such. After all, it was no small feat to look the Great Owl in the eye, match his penetrating stare, and make known to him without need of a single utterance that you were unafraid, nor ashamed of the action for which he scorned you.
"I speak truly," Ophelia assured her. "I could never have imagined anyone with the strength to meet his glare as you did, but I am honoured to have met such a one."
She still feared for the girl however, not knowing what awful punishment lay in store for her behind the door of her grandfather's study. She did not know the Master of the Marikas. Was he a violent man, or were words his greatest weapon? Expressing her unease without divulging the true extent of her terror, she was met with a reassuring statement from her newest friend.
'Your fear is misplaced. I have no regrets for what I have said, nor to whom it was said. My heart beats with yours, dearest Ophelia, and rest assured I also have no apologies for our conversation. Nor for meeting you. You have proven to be a ray of light in the storms of this life I was not expecting, but are more than welcome.'
That was a comfort at least, and it filled her heart with a glow warm as the sun that beat down upon them to know that she Daniil felt as she did. Hopefully, in time, she could become as dear to the young Marikas as she was to Rene and Gianna, and together they would face the trials of this cruel world.
In answer to the gentle caress of her smooth, silken hands, Daniil seemed to tense, but only slightly. The movement was so subtle that Ophelia thought she might have imagined it, but instinct told her otherwise. Still, the girl made no move to pull away, so she did not either, keeping their hands joined together as Daniil proceeded to explain the easiest and quickest route back to her chambers. She listened carefully, bestowing a thankful smile on the girl before gently withdrawing her hands. Daniil bid her seek help from a servant should she lose her way, to which Ophelia gave a grateful nod.
'I hope to speak with you again, soon.' her new friend said by way of parting. "As do I," Ophelia murmured softly. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I sincerely hope that this will not be our last meeting."
And, with these words spoken, the Taengean Rose turned and made her way through the gate. As she traversed the many winding corridors of the palatial mansion, her thoughts drifted restlessly from the courageous orator to her indomitable grandfather. She would have to maintain good relations with the Master if she had any chance of proving his innocence, but she dared not lose the friendship of his granddaughter. Daniil was too important to her now.
Feeling her head begin to spin once more, she breathed a sigh of relief as the outer door of her chamber came into view. Sleep was most definitely what she needed now.
'Brave?'
The word sounded almost foreign on Daniil's tongue, as though she were tasting some new cuisine for the very first time. Ophelia nodded,her lips curving upwards into a tentative, but genuine, smile.
'I am not sure that is the word I would use to describe myself, but your words are appreciated.'
These words surprised her, momentarily stunning her into speechlessness. She would not have dared to call the other anything less than brave, and was shocked to learn that Daniil had never thought of herself as such. After all, it was no small feat to look the Great Owl in the eye, match his penetrating stare, and make known to him without need of a single utterance that you were unafraid, nor ashamed of the action for which he scorned you.
"I speak truly," Ophelia assured her. "I could never have imagined anyone with the strength to meet his glare as you did, but I am honoured to have met such a one."
She still feared for the girl however, not knowing what awful punishment lay in store for her behind the door of her grandfather's study. She did not know the Master of the Marikas. Was he a violent man, or were words his greatest weapon? Expressing her unease without divulging the true extent of her terror, she was met with a reassuring statement from her newest friend.
'Your fear is misplaced. I have no regrets for what I have said, nor to whom it was said. My heart beats with yours, dearest Ophelia, and rest assured I also have no apologies for our conversation. Nor for meeting you. You have proven to be a ray of light in the storms of this life I was not expecting, but are more than welcome.'
That was a comfort at least, and it filled her heart with a glow warm as the sun that beat down upon them to know that she Daniil felt as she did. Hopefully, in time, she could become as dear to the young Marikas as she was to Rene and Gianna, and together they would face the trials of this cruel world.
In answer to the gentle caress of her smooth, silken hands, Daniil seemed to tense, but only slightly. The movement was so subtle that Ophelia thought she might have imagined it, but instinct told her otherwise. Still, the girl made no move to pull away, so she did not either, keeping their hands joined together as Daniil proceeded to explain the easiest and quickest route back to her chambers. She listened carefully, bestowing a thankful smile on the girl before gently withdrawing her hands. Daniil bid her seek help from a servant should she lose her way, to which Ophelia gave a grateful nod.
'I hope to speak with you again, soon.' her new friend said by way of parting. "As do I," Ophelia murmured softly. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I sincerely hope that this will not be our last meeting."
And, with these words spoken, the Taengean Rose turned and made her way through the gate. As she traversed the many winding corridors of the palatial mansion, her thoughts drifted restlessly from the courageous orator to her indomitable grandfather. She would have to maintain good relations with the Master if she had any chance of proving his innocence, but she dared not lose the friendship of his granddaughter. Daniil was too important to her now.
Feeling her head begin to spin once more, she breathed a sigh of relief as the outer door of her chamber came into view. Sleep was most definitely what she needed now.
