Margarete Jaeger

Lady Margarete Jaeger (a.k.a. Peg)

Margarete Jaeger is the daughter of a judge and grew up in a noble family in the Duchy of Rosebrier with her twin brother Dieter. Both of them are currently in attendance at the Academia Casus. She is a frequent face in noble circles, though she has some reputation as being a bit odd.

Physical Description

Identifying Characteristics

She has a crown of roses that grows from around the top of her head.

Physical quirks

She has some unusual mannerisms. They aren't terribly noticeable at all times, but if someone is paying close attention, she tends to have an unusual tilt to her head, as though she is listening to something no one else can hear.

Apparel & Accessories

Margaret is usually well-dressed with her red hair worn in a braided bun. Her outfits often include some accent of bright pink.

Mental characteristics

Personal history

Margaret was born and raised in the Duchy of Rosebrier in Eisen. She lived in her family estate with her mother and father (a local judge) and her twin brother Dieter. As a hexblood in a family of humans, she has always been a bit of an outcast in her family, outside of her brother and parents.

Education

She attends the Academia Casus where she studies various aspects of adventuring and magical arts. She has been in attendance there for the last 5 years.

Morality & Philosophy

1. Don't be a dick to people below your station. 2. Never pick the boring choice when you can pick the interesting choice. 3. Always serve what is just...unless it will be really fun not to. 4. Doing a bad thing for a good reason is better than doing a good thing for a bad reason.

Personality Characteristics

Motivation

Margarete is driven by two main (and often competing) motivations: to uphold her family role and to live her life fully and without apology.

Savvies & Ineptitudes

She is good at getting people to do what she wants, by one means or another.

Likes & Dislikes

Peg enjoys new experiences and challenging herself. She has a strong dislike of bullies and those who place themselves above others.

Virtues & Personality perks

She is very protective of those she cares about and will stand up readily for what she believes is right.

Vices & Personality flaws

She is short-tempered and easily bored. She is prone to making mischief just for its own sake.

Personality Quirks

She has some reputation for being too blunt in her speech and occassionally rather odd.

Hygiene

Margarete tends to be well-kempt.

Social

Family Ties

Her family is nobility in the Duchy of Rosebrier, where her father serves as a judge. She has a twin brother, Deiter Jaeger.

Religious Views

She is a follower of Eriu and Gorath.

Social Aptitude

Growing up amongst the nobility, Margarete is adept at navigating the social settings of the upper class. However, she doesn't always choose to do so well. Whether it is because something rubs her the wrong way or she simply gets bored, she does have a tendency to get herself into trouble with a wrong word or turn of phrase.

Mannerisms

She moves her hands and fingers frequently as she speaks and often tilts her head as though listening to something that isn't there.

Speech

Her speech tends to be cultured and her tone warm and rich. However, this can change quickly when something disturbs her and take on a harsher quality.

Wealth & Financial state

She is quite well-off due to her family and splits her time between her family estate and the Academia Casus.

Daughter of a noble family in the Duchy of Rosebrier. She is a familiar face in noble circles, though she has a reputation of being a bit odd.

View Character Profile
Honorary & Occupational Titles
Lady
Age
21
Date of Birth
February 9, 1861
Birthplace
Duchy of Rosebrier
Children
Current Residence
Novandria
Gender
Female
Eyes
Brown
Hair
Red
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Pale green
Height
5ft 8in
Weight
148lbs

Scars and Gaping Wounds

Bruised eyes. Broken bones. Faces acting like they do not care.   It's a performance.   Blood and cuts. Gaping wounds. Faces acting like they do not care.   It's for Sareena, you can't look away.   Lashes. Scars. Faces acting like they do not care.   She is freeing herself. Focus on that.   The newspaper clippings helped. She knew what this was and what this meant to Cardinal. It was well-crafted. Brilliant really. Peg finally managed to release her grip on Aloysius' arm. The singed shape of her fingers on his jacket could stay. The thought made her smile a little. She looked over at her husband, calm, steady, ready for a fight if one was required. She was glad he could enjoy the spectacle for what it was. She wanted to cheer for her friend and revel in this sweet taste of justice. But she couldn't.   A flash of anger. Breathe.   People gasped, shocked and horrified. Sounds of murmured outrage filled the room.   Would they feel the same way if it were only one? Would I want them to? Would they be right to? Would the scars matter more than the deception?   Her head swam, thoughts crashing into one another. She was too aware of her skin. Her left shoulder, her throat, her stomach. Her hands. Always her hands. She thought she might be sick. Aloysius shifted subtly next to her and the reminder of his presence stilled her.   And then Baron Johannes Windermere was punched squarely in the face and for one brief, beautiful moment everything quieted and Peg smiled. It wouldn't last, she could already feel her mind filling back up with questions and doubts, anger and pain at years of bruised eyes and broken bones, of blood and cuts and gaping wounds, of lashes and scars and her own face pretending she did not care.   That steadying hand around her and a glass of champagne in her hand. She managed to raise it to Sareena, proud, victorious, free in a new and profound way.   And then she was in the one place she knew everything was okay, in her husband's arms. Dancing.

Of Bravery and Cowardice

The last thing Peg remembers is the grip around her neck and the heat tearing through her belly. And then, darkness.   When she next blinks, she is laying on a plush velvet sofa, the pain gone, and the soft sound of a guitar playing nearby.   She wakes with a start, hands going to her neck and stomach. She sits up, looking around.   "That was stupid," Nick says from his place in an armchair nearby. It's a dark, grand sitting room, but Nick looks completely out of place in his slacks and suspenders. "Brave, though. Brave, but stupid.”   She quirks a smile. She is clearly disoriented from the getting killed, but trying to gather herself. "Your place makes you look like a confidant." She manages after a moment.   "Rude," he replies. "This isn't normally how I'd meet you, but..." His eyes narrow, wisps of black smoke at the edges. "We're going to have company in a minute.”   She sits up a little more, eyes narrowing a bit. "Are we?”   "Unfortunately.”   "Ah..." She straightens, setting herself for whatever is coming next. "Well. In case I don't get a chance then... thanks.”   He gives her a sideways glance and a wink, and then the guitar turns into a scythe, his casual clothes turning into elegant garb of all black, something rich and regal.   She watches him transform with an expression that is a mix of curiosity, pride, and sadness.   A moment later, the door opens, and in strides probably the last person Peg wants to see right now. Tanith looks terrifying, regal and commanding and so, so dripping with malice. "Good evening, Nicky, Peg.”   Peg groans. Somehow she wasn't expecting this. Aloysius was. But she really, truly wasn't. "Tanith. You are looking especially...a lot.”   "And you, my darling, are dead," she grins in absolute wicked delight.   "Tanith," Nick greets coldly. "Have a seat.”   "That does seem to be what happens when one has their throat and entrails ripped out, yes." She returns, somehow still finding Tanith weirdly comforting.   Tanith drapes herself into a chair, kicking her feet over the side. "I love that you think your interference means anything here, Nicodemus. She belongs to me.”   Peg clicks her tongue. "I thought we had covered that I am neither possession nor plaything.”   "Oh, that's all well and good while you're alive, of course," Tanith drawls. "But now you're not.”   Nick just glares at his aunt. "You have no claim on her.”   "Oh, come now, Tanith darling, where's the fun in that?" Peg counters, relaxing into her seat.   Tanith smiles, all sharp teeth and malice. "Her soul is closest to my domain, Nicky. You cannot deny my claim.”   Peg tilts her head looking at Tanith and then, finally, to Nicodemus who she has rather been avoiding looking at. She looks back to Tanith. "Closest how, Tanith? Closer to you, as a person, than anyone else? That I will grant because who else have you been willing to share even a moment with? But if you think my soul is cruel, then I am afraid you have not been paying attention.”   "Have I not?" Tanith asks, tilting her head. "You can deny it all you want, little manticore.”   She shrugs, smiling. "Violence, danger, pain...yes. Those are all a part of me. They always will be. Depravity, even, perhaps? But not cruelty. Not like my mother or the hag who pretended to be my aunt. Not like a goddess who had a child with someone she detests and then left that child to suffer under that unbelievable cruelty. In fact, do you know what, that isn't even why I'm not like you. Do you know why you can't have me, Tanith? It's because you're a fucking coward. Too weak to protect your son from true cruelty. Too weak even to hit Akmon in the fucking face, which fuck me, even he did," she gestures at Nicodemus. "Can't even talk about Morwen. You are a coward Tanith and I may be a lot of gods be damned fucking things, but I am not that.”   Tanith pulls a face like she's swallowed an entire lemon.   Nick just bursts into laughter, sharp and biting. "Oh, she's got your number, doesn't she?" he smirks.   Peg just waits, looking levelly back at Tanith. She said what she needed to.   The goddess rises in a flash of shadow and flame and fury, grabbing Peg by the neck and slamming her to the couch. "You wretched little--" she snarls.   Nick moves in an instant, the scythe coming up to rest against Tanith's throat. "Let her go.”   Peg looks back up at her, eyes full of fire. "Do you know why I'm not afraid of you, Tanith?”   "Shut up shut up--" she snarls, her form starting to twist and blur at the edges, bleeding into smoke the color of a fresh bruise, a sickly purple-crimson.   She blinks a little, shooting a quick look to Nick before looking back at the blurring, twisting form of Tanith. "Because you are all the petty, scared, nobility that I have known all my life, clinging desperately to the power you think you have. You are my mother, broken and empty, beating me because I am full of life you can't imagine. And," she smirks at Nicodemus, the God of Death, defending her life "because when you care about people, they have your back.”   Tanith roars in fury, her form warping further until she is a nightmare, a twisted vision of everything dark and violent and cruel in the world. "*You -will- be mine, Margarete Jaeger," she snarls, acid pouring from her mouth to sizzle against the couch. "Just wait and see." And then she cackles madly, dissolving into a puddle of vitriol.   "Well. That...was disgusting." She says, staring at the acidic puddle the remains. "I would replace that sofa, if I were you.”   Nick blinks a few times, the black smoke fading from his eyes. "Yeah. You okay?”   The question hits her visibly. It isn't that the bravado of moments ago was all an act. It's just that Tanith isn't what scares her. She turns to Nick, tears suddenly filling her eyes. She grabs his shoulders. "Do I get to go home?”   "Whoa, whoa," he says, the scythe vanishing so he can catch her arms gently. "That's up to you, Peg.”   "Take me home, Nick. He's waiting for me. I promised. By his side. I need... I need to be by his side, Nick." Tears pour down her face. "That's where I'm okay.”   He clicks his tongue, wrapping her in a gentle hug for a moment. "He's already calling for you," he says quietly.   She hugs him back a brief moment. "I am never going to forget this." Something about her tone comes across as both a deeply sincere thank you and something of a threat.   "That fight is not over,' he replies, his voice echoing for a moment before it softens. "But I've got your back, as best I can.”   "I'm not afraid of her." She says evenly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "And neither I nor you is alone.”   "No," he agrees. "We're not. Alright, get out of here. I'll see you around.”   She hugs him again, tightly for a brief moment before letting go. "Dinner. With your boys. Change your sofa. It wasn't a good look for you anyway." She winks.   He laughs, showing her to a black door set in the wall -- when he opens it, there's just darkness beyond. "Dinner," he agrees. "Oh, by the way, ran into Red at the park, he looks good. See you later, Peg." And then before she can respond, he shoves her through the door.   Rude words are drowned out as she's shoved through the door.            

Heroes and Villians

There is fire all around her. The air is stifling, thick with smoke and the smell of burning flesh. It will be okay, we are here to rescue them. Heroes.   You caused this. Villains.   She doesn't know what to do. People to heal, fires to put out. This is not what she does. People to kill, fires to start. That is what she does. She looks to find him, seeking her balance. Needing him to remind her that she can be a hero too.   He tears through the people around them with precision and grace, blood soaking his clothes. –Gods, but he does look good like that.-- She is filled with lust and pride, knowing that she helped mold him into what he is. She releases a fireball into the room, watching him dance around and through the flames…the last of the ‘innocents’ screams dying with them in flame. Villains kiss in blood and ash.   They were helping. Keeping people alive. Away from brutal, senseless murder…torture…worse. Heroes. “I would burn the entire world to the ground were someone to take my husband from me. But I hope I would be honest that I had become the villain in that.”   She watched the world burn for the sheer fun of it. For knowing that she held the power of life and death in her hands. For the look of fear in people's eyes when they saw her. For knowing that the perfect blond man at her side would follow her to whatever depths of shadow she cared to bring him to, following her fair face and her dark heart.   They tried to do the right thing…the heroes. And yet everything burned…the villains.

Eyes

She almost doesn't recognize him at first. He is thinner and more muscular, but it is not just that. There is something in his manner that has changed. He strikes her as…stiller, somehow, less arrogant, quieter.   “Hello, Father,” Peg greets him warmly. Here his eyes take on a look that is not new, but that she is still not used to seeing. It is the fatherly look of love that she remembered from her childhood. It is a look that carried her through many darker moments. She smiles at him as they embrace.   Karl Jaeger looks over his daughter. They have not seen each other since she burned the estate and he ended his pact with Gertrude. His gaze is so intense and long that Peg shifts uncomfortably before it breaks.   “You look well, Rosenknospe.” He says, finally. “Happy.”   She can't help the smile that spreads across her face. She is, she realizes, very happy.   “The Esch boy has managed to stay in your favor, then?” Peg starts to prickle. It is the type of question that would have been directed at her with disdain, but she realizes that is not what this is. There is something in her father's voice, but it is not disdain. She is not sure what it is, but she does not feel she must defend herself against it. She nods.   “Very much so.” She replies.   Her father nods. “Your last letter noted seriousness in your relationship.”   She runs her hand over the flower of garnets and diamonds on her finger, twisting the gold band. She takes a deep breath and holds her hand out for him to see. Karl takes his daughter’s hand and looks at the ring it bears. Peg cannot read his expression. Her desire to pull back her hand, to protect herself, her heart, and her love from whatever comes next is strong. The moment seems to drag out interminably before Karl lets her hand go.   “It is beautiful, my child. You have my congratulations and my blessings.” He kisses her cheek.   She blinks in surprise and then hugs him tightly. “Thank you, Father.”   “You would have gone on without it, I am certain.” His voice is not chiding or judgemental, simply stating fact. She nods.   “Yes,” is her quiet reply. “But we would like you to be there.”   “Your brash young man can wait for this?” He asks, his voice serious, but hinting at some amusement. Peg smiles at the description of Aloysius.   “My ‘brash young man' is terribly smitten and will do as I ask of him.” She smirks before her expression softens. “And family is important to him. He would like you there as well.”   Karl’s look is thoughtful, but he smiles. “I do not know what this new life will hold for me, but I will see that I am there for your wedding. My only daughter.”   Peg frowns softly. “Your last letter was not as informative as one might have hoped. What is it exactly that you are doing?” She asks.   “I did not wish to say too much that could be seen by other eyes,” he replies. “I have been training, as you know, since we parted ways last. You opened my eyes, Margarete, to what I had done and, more importantly, to what I had become. You asked me to do better, to find a way to help. This is what I am doing.”   Peg listens to her father speak, her lips forming into a soft, proud smile. He continues.   “I am taking the Oath of the Watcher to become a Paladin to Caelus.” Her eyebrows go up slightly. “The reason that I sent for you has to do with my trial to take the oath and join the Order of the Open Eye.”   She tilts her head, curiously. “The Order of the Open Eye?”   “It is a sect devoted to protecting the mortal realms from the influence of the Fey creatures that would seek to disrupt and harm it.” He replies. It takes a monumental force of will for Peg not to react. The voice in her head screams. How long would it be before this new path set her and her father against each other? The Paladin of The Order of the Open Eye and his Hexblood daughter…who had thought more than once to help the hags. She pushes the thoughts and feelings down, as deep as they will go…and deeper yet.   She gives him a nod to go on. “I have been tasked with finding and destroying a hag that has been roosting in a small village along the border here to free the people of the village from her evil influence.” Karl’s voice has an edge to it, not of anger, but of determination. Peg looks at her father, thoughtfully.   “Father, I…” she trails off, the emotion catching the words in her throat. Karl touches his fingers gently to his father’s cheek. “Will you help me in this task, my child?” He asks. Peg nods, mutely, not trusting her voice.   The next several hours of the day are spent over tea and sandwiches, with Karl sharing his knowledge about the hag and the village in which she has taken up residence. Peg asks some about this, more about his journey to becoming a Paladin. He talks about vigilance, loyalty, and discipline. He speaks of being alert to the corruption of otherworldly threats, of never accepting gifts of favors from those who truck with the creatures he stands against, of being a shield against the endless terrors that lie beyond the stars. He speaks with pride, with purpose. She sees her father as the noble he should always have been…driven to help others, to protect them, to shine light in the world. She sits there listening, his daughter, filled with shadow, drawing power from otherworldly forces she does not truly understand. Somewhere in her mind, she longs for her mother to be there to tell her how awful she is, how worthless, to give her something to fight against. But across the table was only her father, eyes shining with purpose and pride. She loses his words in the noise of her own mind.     “...my inspiration.” They come crashing back, his fingers on her cheek, fatherly pride in his eyes. She catches his hand and squeezes it before letting go.   You are making a mistake. This is a mistake. I am a mistake.   Emotions are pushed away. There is a task at hand.       The journey to the village takes some time, but is largely uneventful. Karl and Peg are both quiet, content to focus on their shared task, except when Peg inevitably gets bored and entertains herself by plucking items from her father’s bag with her mage hand. He is not amused. She settles for picking flowers as they ride. The two of them do encounter some ruffians on the road, but the bandits are quickly dissuaded from their worse intentions.   Finding the hag proves harder. It is clear she has been living among the villagers and they do not know there is a hag among them. Several frustrating days are spent about town, talking with people and trying to gather information or any clues. It is not until they learn of nightmares the townsfolk have been experiencing that they are able to begin putting clues together. The hag, it seems, has been posing as a human woman by the name of Beatrice who has been offering her services as a healer. It seems this has given her a great deal of access to the people of the town, especially once the nightmares began afflicting them.   “Create a problem, and then offer yourself as a solution.” Karl makes a disgusted expression. “It isn’t a new approach, but it is effective.” Peg nods. The duo does not have to wait long for nightfall. Peg and her father wait near the house where “Beatrice” lives. When the sun fades from view, they approach. Peg can sense the hag inside. They move quickly and, if not precisely quietly, then at least stealthily enough not to arouse suspicion from the townspeople in their homes. There is a side door to the house, which opens into a small and mostly hidden alley. Their examination of it reveals that it is magically trapped. Karl breaks the sigil and nods to Peg. She opens the door…and it quickly becomes apparent that they missed something. A net drops down from the top of the doorframe, snaring Peg. She falls forward and is caught in the net. Karl’s sword is out immediately.   “Tut, tut.” A voice chides from a doorway further inside the house. The hag, in her human form, leans against the doorframe. “Paladins,” she scoffs.   “I am not a paladin.” Peg growls, flame burning through the net as she scrambles to her feet. The hag’s eyes grow wide as she shifts to her true form and a predatory grin spreads across her face. “So I see.” She cackles and a ray of magic shoots from her hands at Karl. The Paladin dodges quickly out of the way, and the magic harmlessly impacts the wall behind him. The movement sets him enough off balance that he is unprepared to return an attack and the swing of his sword goes wide. Peg, now on her feet once more, focuses her attention on the hag attacking her father and sends a psychic lance at her. She makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a laugh, as she takes the damage, but keeps moving. She strikes out with claws at Karl, catching him in the arm. He returns the blow with one from her sword. Peg can feel her magic swelling and burning inside her. She sends three quick blasts of fire at the hag, but while they hit her full on, some of the fire seems to be absorbed into her. Peg is reminded of her connection to the hags, her fire burning and bubbling within her. Her attention is nearly lost from what is going on in front of her, but she manages to focus again, seeing the hag’s claws tear once more into her father, whose sword lights with magic and cuts into the hag in return. Peg’s head pounds. In the light of her father’s sword, her own darkness feels darker. Otherworldly tentacles try to break free from her. She can feel them pushing. She doesn’t want to let them out. Not here with her father. She sends another psychic lance at the hag instead. Still the woman…creature?...keeps moving. But the hurt has thrown her off. She claws uselessly at Karl and he counters the strikes easily, taking the opportunity to cut her with his sword again. Peg knows they are winning the fight on the outside, but she feels like she is losing the one within. Desperately, she sends twinned chaos bolts at the hag, hoping to end things before her father sees her magic in all of its otherworldly hagish glory. The bolts of poison and acid are effective. The hag stumbles, slashing wildly at Karl, and he strikes her down cleanly. He wipes his blade and seathes it, turning to look at his daughter.   “You are unhurt?” She doesn’t realize at first that she hasn’t answered, until her father’s face grows concerned. “Margarete. Are you hurt?” She shakes her head.   “No, no I am fine.” She manages a smile. “Well done, Father.” He returns the smile and nods.   “You as well. It is good to see this part of you.” Is it, Father? She wonders silently. “Come, we need to clean up this mess and inform the town officials of what has occurred.” Peg nods, falling into step with him, glad for him to take the lead on this part, wishing she felt more joy in assisting her father and less…what was it? Fear? Guilt? Shame.   The Order of the Open Eye would have its newest Paladin and Peg would be proud of her father. She closes her own eyes tightly, thinking of the eye that Gertrude sought, the path on which her father had placed his feet, and her own role in it all. She opens her eyes again. Whatever comes next, she would go into it with open eyes and a heart that searched for the next right thing.      

Home

“MY house.” “Her home.”     Peg sits in the empty parlor. It is quiet now. No Vera. No Aloysius. Just her. Alone. In a house that isn't hers. She hears the ticking of a clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.   She considers following Aloysius, but it feels wrong somehow to go to him now after the spat with Vera. Surely she would see it as taking his side. Tick. Tick. Tick.   And why shouldn't she? Wasn't it right to take the side of her fiance?   And yet…how could she leave Vera? Wouldn't any hurt push her closer to Akmon? Tick. Tick. Tick.   So, Peg sits in an empty parlor, in a house that isn't hers. She's not sure how long she sits. Tick. Tick. Tick.   Eventually, Zelene inquires if she needs anything. She declines. No, wait. A carriage. To where, m’lady? I don't know. Just have it ready.   The carriage ride ends at the site of the once glamorous Jaeger Estate. The land had mostly been cleared now, leaving it empty but not the burned out shell it had been.   Peg wanders the property. She touches the ground and the scarred trees that yet stand. She isn't sure how long she's there. This is not home either. She returns to the carriage. To where, my lady? The Esch Townhouse.   The building is so familiar now, but it also isn't home. The key fits into the lock, but the house is still not hers. But inside, upstairs in the slender frame tucked away under blankets in bed, is the place where her heart lives. And that place is home.

Adventures in Avalon

(Joint writing in conjunction with Todd)     The ship, Griffin’s Pride, skimmed into port as the gulls screamed at the fishmongers who were preparing the day’s sales. The docks were busy as they were every morning, though the piers for the passenger liners were blessedly less crowded than the commercial piers or fishing docks. Vera and Peg disembarked from the schooner, walking down the gangplank with a tight hand on the guide rope to stop anyone from pitching off during the windy egress. With efficiency, Vera summoned up a carriage for rent and had their luggage stowed aboard so they could head towards the hotel up on the Rise.   Vera bounced in her seat, giddy with anticipation as the carriage wended its way up the streets towards the walled portion of the capital. The morning bustle seemed charged from the cold air as people ran about their morning tasks. The sun was rising and adding some scarce warmth to the situation, but not enough yet to stop the breaths of passersby from pouring out of them like little steam engines. The approach through the East Gate was largely uneventful, with the guards allowing them through after Vera and Peg presented their title. There was a pause as they checked Vera’s name against a special list, but once Peg’s name was verified, the carriage was waved through without further hindrance.   After a short trip towards one of the larger squares, the carriage was brought to a halt by its driver, and the duo was deposited in front of Victoria’s Grace, a large hotel with grand architecture. The building itself stood at over 8 stories tall, and Peg could see that the marbled tile on the steps was mirrored along the building’s surface as the footmen came to gather the ladies’ luggage. The concierge made sure that their bags were taken to their rooms once signed in, and soon the duo was once again out on the streets ready for adventure!   “So, things to do today. I need to go check the postal box for evening invitations. But after that, I think we should be available to skirt around town. I saw an advertisement in the paper about someone conducting tours of the murder sites of Ilnnsaira’s famous serial killer. I don’t even think they have caught him yet. I think he is known as the Leather Apron Killer?” Vera inflects the last as a question.   Peg takes all the sites in with interest and enthusiasm. She smiles brightly at Vera’s suggestion. “Ooh…that sounds like quite an unusual diversion!”   “Or, we could go and volunteer at the Adventurer’s guild here and see if there is anything that needs doing,” Vera offers. She hops out of the carriage like a sprite and heads into the postal office where the carriage stopped.   “Usually I would go for that, but I am intrigued by the serial killer.” Peg replies, following Vera.   Vera nods as she heads up to the counter and gives her postal box information. The worker goes and fetches a packet of cards and envelopes tied with a red ribbon, which Vera takes, turning and walking back towards the carriage. “I’ll send a runner then to see if we can get into the tour today or tomorrow, unless you want to stay in town longer?”   Peg looks at the packet of cards and envelopes with interest. “You must have made quite the impression when you were here last,” she notes. “Today or tomorrow sounds good. We can extend longer if we want, but this way we have options.”   Vera nods and puts the packet in her bag to look at momentarily. She summons a runner to get reservations, then sits back. “I don’t suppose you are interested in looking at Avalonian fashion this morning? I was thinking of looking for some of the new furs. Perhaps they have some Almiraj furs. I have heard they are very sought after this year. Or Wulpertinger.”   “I am delighted to do whatever suits you this morning!” Peg replies cheerfully.     And so the duo spent the morning running around to the various shops on the Rise, looking at new trends, and purchasing various sundry of clothing items to enhance their wardrobes back in Eisen. Vera was extra delighted in finding a Russian fur hat in a bright yellow. The millner claimed it was from a yellow fox from the new world.   Peg seemed less interested in purchasing clothes for herself, but more than willing to fuss over Vera, most particularly over how well she looked in her new yellow fox fur hat.   The afternoon arrived and Vera guided the carriage to a street corner in the Valley. There, she and Peg disembarked and met with a stately goblin, dressed in a nice suit and cap, who introduced themselves as Garag the Silver Tongued Grogger. Garag led them about the streets in the lower city, showing them various sites and talking in colloquial lingo about the history of the various buildings. Included, of course, were the sites of the grisly murders of the Leather Apron Killer.   “Ohh! How interesting. How many murders have there been?” Peg asks Garag curiously.   “Oy, there have been thirteen that were attributed to the killer. Might be others, but they didn’t have the ‘signature marks’ if you know what I mean. At this site, for instance, the body of Margarete Jayger was found,” he continues, describing the gruesome scene.   Peg blinks and looks over to Vera, then back to their tour guide. “Pardon me, what did you say was the name of the victim here?”   “Margarete Jayger,” The goblin replies. “Pretty little redhead from what I remember about the headlines,” he gives a toothy smile.   “Right. Well.” Peg coughs. “That’s not at all concerning.” She shakes her head. “You said the killer has signature marks?”   “Yes, M'lady.” He describes several oddities that were published in the papers, including how the women seem to have been stalked in close proximity to public locations without anyone hearing it.   “I wonder if magic was used as part of the modus operandi,” Vera exclaims, looking somewhat squeamish but trying to hold up with Peg seeming so interested.   She nods to Vera and diverts Garag from his explanations, in an attempt to keep Vera from turning green. “I think that is quite likely.”   Garag takes the hint and moves them along to a different location, other than to fish out a picture of ‘Margarete’ to pass to Peg. The victim in the newspaper looks remarkably like Peg, were she to wear her hair differently.   Peg looks at the newspaper and then to Vera. “Did you set this up?”   “What are you talking about?” Vera gestures, clutching her pearls.   She squints at her best friend, but lets it go, following their guide to the next location.   The rest of the tour passes without issue. Peg is regaled with stories of the Leather Apron killer, and Vera gamely attends as well. After the tour is over, Vera pays Garag, who doffs his hat at the gentle ladies before heading off. From there, Vera directs them back to the rise, where they have dinner at a prestigious restaurant called the Avalonan. The two story restaurant boasts a grand staircase at the entryway, where many of the social elite are paraded down like at a gala. Uniformed waiters whisk around with flair, making sure each person is made to feel like a prince. The duo attain a small table near the back of the main room.   Peg looks around the restaurant, delighted, as she follows to their table. “This is marvelous, Vera! You have really outdone yourself. Did you find this place on your last trip?”   Vera nods. “Yes. It is quite the scene, isn’t it? Much more high polish than the Platinum crown. It makes me think that the aristocracy is more vibrant here.” Vera seems to mentally set herself before taking off her mask and setting it to the side, as if putting on another before. “Though because we arrived so quickly, I did not get us dance partners to come with. We shall have to either forego dancing, or dance with each other.” She laughs.   “Well, you know that I am always delighted to dance with you!” Peg laughs brightly. “Did you meet many people you would want to dance with when you visited before? Perhaps you could introduce me before we leave.”   “You know I’m very choosy,” she replies loftily. The waiter delivers menus, though they recommend the special of swordfish steaks with a medley of rare vegetables doused in a variety of thick sauces. Vera orders the special after little consideration.   Peg orders herself some food and a glass of wine. “No one that met your exacting standards?” She laughs.   “Exactly,” Vera gives a quirky smile and looks around at the bustling restaurant.   “I see.” Peg looks at her best friend with both amusement and suspicion, but doesn’t push further.   Vera listens to the band playing and watching her partner attentively. Her smile turns into a show smile as she keeps a passive eye on the tide of other patrons. She idly names off several of the more notable guests as they arrive.   Peg listens to the band and to Vera naming off the guests, though if you asked her to recall any of the names later, she probably wouldn’t be able to. When the food arrives she turns her attention to that. “Oh! This is wonderful.” She exclaims.   Vera nods happily, and picks up a spoonful of caviar, the only thing she ordered for the night. After a couple of moments she excuses herself, grabbing her mask and walking purposefully towards the bathroom.   Peg watches her go with concern, waiting impatiently for her to return. She is just about to get up and follow when Vera returns to the table. She takes a seat, having once again donned her mask. She makes a motion with her hand to show Peg a smile. “I am sorry about that. I think I might have a blemish near my nose, so best to cover up.” She points towards Peg’s dish,” How is your plate? Is it delicious? Anything odd with Avalonian cooking?”   The statement and questions are greeted with a squint of Peg’s eyes. “My food is marvelous. And you did not have anything wrong with your nose. Are you feeling unwell? We can go.”   “I’m fine. We have to stay in fact. We didn’t have our dance. I just don’t think I am hungry. Your food looks delicious though. May I keep you company until you finish it? Then we can dance.”   “I do not believe you, Veronika Orlov.” Peg protests, but sighs. “Fine. Only because I want to dance with you.”   Vera looks down, as though abashed, then looks out to the dance floor to wait. Once Peg finishes her meal, the duo go and dance a couple of rounds before heading back towards the hotel. The carriage ride is quiet, with Vera watching out the window in contented silence. When they arrive at the room, Vera claims a headache, heading towards her own room to lay down.   “Do you want me to make you a cup of tea? Or a glass of water?” Peg asks, worried. “Or just sit with you for a while? Are you sure you’re okay? What is going on that you aren’t telling me? Cup of tea?” She tries to come back around to something more soothing and less accusatory.   “I think… alright.” she nods, undoing her mask and going to put it down. “Can you make it a nettle tea? And put some of this in it?” She pulls out a small vial of a dark purple liquid. “Three drops.” She looks tired. She goes and takes up one of the seats in the sitting room, curling into it.   “What is this?” She asks, taking the vial.   “Alkenberry extract. It is supposed to pull out residual substances from the belly to stop it from seizing.”   Peg shrugs and goes off to fix Vera’s tea, as directed, bringing it back to her a short time later. “Here you go, Vera dear.”   She drinks it, sighing into the cup. “I’m sorry I’ve been a dreadful companion this trip. We should have brought more people with us to entertain you.”   Peg shakes her head. “It has been perfectly delightful and you can’t help it that your dinner didn’t sit right with you. Anyway, you are all the entertainment I need.”   “I think it was poisoned,” she shrugs and takes another sip. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”   “Oh, I think my food was poisoned, what do you want to do tomorrow? VERA! Why are people in fucking AVALON poisoning your food?”   “They either don’t like me, want to kill me, or both. That is why most poisonings occur. I thought I tasted Ninevar Root, which is pretty easy to pick out on something like caviar. The poisoner likely doesn’t know that, so bought the poison rather than brewing up the poison themselves. I excused myself to take the antidote,” Vera confesses. “I was thinking a promenade?”   “No! How about I poison you unless you tell me what is actually going on?!” Peg shouts, exasperated.   “People will hear if you shout, Peg,” she admonishes her. “That would be improper.” She tries to stiffen herself to be more imposing.   “You are infuriating and I will be as loud as I want and make a terrible racket until you tell me what is going on!” She gets louder and louder.   Vera glances to the side, evaluating whether the throw pillow will fill Peg’s mouth, then sighs. “I’ve been trying to make inroads with the nobility here. Someone doesn’t like it. I think they’ve figured out that I can’t go to the embassy for support, so they want to eliminate me. Or stop me. Or just hurt or maim me. Something like that.”   Peg’s eyes flash angrily. “Who hurt you? What did they do?” She demands.   “They’re stalking me. I don’t know who,” she says tiredly. She pulls out the bundle of mail and tosses it on the table nearby. “Last time I was here, they hired some men to ambush and assault me. I fought my way clear. I still ended up in the gaol here to spend the night before being seen by a magistrate. I thought I was making inroads, but now I am being cut out. It is like starting over in Eisen again.”   Peg looks through the mail, growling angrily. “This is awful, Vera. You should have told me. I can find out who it is. They don't get to treat you like this!” She snarls.   “Why not? They treated me like this in Novandria for years.” Vera pulls her legs close and sets her chin to her knees. “It is how you gain acceptance. I have to prove that I want to be a part of them.”   “I know they did. And still sometimes do. At least there I can *do* something sometimes.” She puts the mail down and walks behind Vera, stroking her hair. “I'm sorry I wasn't here for you.”   “I have to learn to be on my own, Peg. It’s alright. You… you are finding a new life. You have lots of stuff going on.” She rolls over like an egg to lean on the side of the chair.   “Stop doing that!” She huffs in frustration. “I'm not going to let you just…suffer. And neither is Aloysius.”   “Doing what? I’m fighting against them. I am showing them that they can’t ruffle me. When they try to poison me, I stay at the table instead of leaving. Stay a day longer when they attack me. I can’t be driven off.” She lifts her head and looks up at Peg.   “Not that. Acting like I'm going to abandon you.”   “You are not abandoning me, Peg. You are creating your family. Soon you’ll have children and be more interested in suckling and swaddling than galas and gourmets. You protected me in Eisen. Your responsibilities to me are done,” Vera sighs. “This trip wasn’t supposed to be about this. It was supposed to be fun and light-hearted. I’m sorry.”   Peg makes a gagging sound as Vera describes “suckling and swaddling.” She frowns. “This isn't about responsibilities to you.” She sighs. “Fine. Pick something else fun to do then.”   “I know you are my friend, Peg. You’re my only close friend. But that doesn’t mean you have to put your life on hold whenever I’m in trouble. If you did that, you’d never have time for babies,” she giggles. “I think they’ll have your eyes.”   “I AM NOT GOING TO HAVE BABIES!!”   “Why not?” Vera looks at Peg in surprise.   Peg looks at her friend like she has lost her mind. “What about me leads you to believe I would ever want to care for a child?”   “You’d not have to care for it, Peg. That is what a governess is for. And you would want one to see what divine gift would be created of the union of two wonderful and talented people. You may want more once you see how magnificent the first one is.”   She shakes her head. “It is not what we want, Vera. Anyway, I don't think I would much like to bring a child into the world.”   Vera sighs and looks sad. “I think your children would be wonderful. You could send them to me to raise even.”   Peg frowns softly. “Have your own children, if you want them, Vera.”   “I will. I was thinking they could play together. Nevermind that, I suppose. Well, it is time for bed then, right?” She stands up, chipper and indomitable.   Peg sighs and nods. “I am sorry I cannot give you what you want, Vera. Your vision is lovely, if only I were someone other than who I am.”   “Alright then. Have a good night,” she singsongs as she goes towards her room.

Roses and Thorns Revisited

TW: self-harm, abuse           She’d done well. She’d been calm. Collected. Her grandmother had talked, told her a lot. It was good. A successful mission. She had told her so much. Too much, perhaps. Peg’s head pounded, too many thoughts pressing against her skull.   "No, dearest, he didn't want you at all."   Just when she was starting to think maybe she could make things better. Maybe her father could find a way to still love her. None of it was real.   Had her mother known? Is it why she hated her so?   Peg wrapped her arms around herself. It made so much sense. Her awful mother, the one she had come to despise, who she had learned to tell herself did not really know her…maybe she did afterall? Maybe she saw the destruction that her child could bring and she dealt with it the only way she knew how. Maybe it would have been better if one of those times her mother had beaten her, she had actually died.   She shivered, trying to wrap tighter around herself, folding herself smaller. She tried to breathe, but her chest felt tight and the air felt like fire.   The rose and thorn in one.   She tore at the sleeve of her dress, clawing at the tattoo of roses and thorns that ran up her arm. Fire flickered on her fingertips and burned her skin beneath them.   Her father. Her mind couldn’t even find a place to start…how much did he know? Why had he taken the eye? Why give it to her…   Dolly.   She felt sick.   One thing from home that always felt safe. Sure. Comforting. None of that was real either. Nothing. Nothing was real. Nothing could be trusted. Nothing.   Fair of face and black of heart…   She drew the dagger from her belt, slicing it across her face in one swift motion. Blood streamed from her forehead and her cheek, stinging her eye and creating an unpleasant taste in her mouth.   …and then she stopped. There, on her finger curled around the jeweled hilt of a dagger, a small faceted garnet set into hammered copper froze time.   Someday.   Whatever came next, she needed to make sure there was a someday.

Through a Glass Darkly, Part Two

Peg had told herself she wouldn’t be back. It was a foolish indulgence, a waste of time…the kind of noble extravagance she despised. But there she was…a lavender drink in hand, conversation floating around her like so many whispers on the wind. She stayed out of the private room this time…drinking alone was still as poor an idea as she had always said it was. But tonight the conversation grated on her. She found no pleasure in the academic discourse, no entertainment in the wordplay. She toyed with the dagger on her belt. She should go find Kevan. He was always good for these sorts of moods. So why was she here?   The answer came quickly and unbidden to her mind and she didn’t like it: because he cares about me. And I care about him.   None of this was light and joy and ease…things you want for people you love. Kevan. Aloysius. Vera. Her friends.   She inquired about the after-dinner menu and ended up in one of the back rooms watching a magic show that combined traditional stage magic with some small real magic, and a dazzling display of fire and sword work. The performers' costumes were revealing and the entire display created a tension of sexuality and danger Peg found appealing, if a bit…distant. She inquired after if they did private shows and was told they would, for a price. She told them she would keep it in mind.   It had been the right time to leave then…she’d had a bit to drink and seen a show…but it just wasn’t enough. She wanted more…needed it. More of what, she wasn’t quite sure. Something she could feel, she supposed. Something to silence her mind.   She saw a young couple as she was leaving. They whispered to each other, blushing and giggling. She should leave them be, let them enjoy their company. But…   It didn’t take as much to convince them to join her as one might have expected. She could be persuasive when she wanted to be. And young nobles, sheltered from life, were often eager to jump at the chance to be introduced to something scandalous. She took them to another show in the back. This one was a string quartet. At first, the young couple Peg had brought back with her looked disappointed.   “Don’t fret, dears, the show is about to get more interesting.” She promised them.   And it certainly did. They were brought drinks that enhanced the emotion of each piece and which Peg swore made her see the music in color. However, Peg watched the couple more than the show, smiling as they let themselves go little by little. Then another performer joined the stage and began a sensual dance, moving between the musicians and slowly removing their garments. The couple covered their mouths and turned toward each other giggling. Peg leaned over to them.   “There is space here for you to make use of. Private from other eyes. Except my own, of course.” She gives them a wicked grin and they both blush brightly, staring at Peg with mouths agape.   “Live a little, darlings. I’ll join you, if you’d like.” The staring turned into spluttering and Peg just grinned at them. They finally rather fled from the room, leaving Peg laughing. She turned her attention back to the stage where the musicians were now mostly naked. Everything felt distant again. She frowned, eyes scanning the room for more entertainment, but all the booths were very well situated for privacy. She gathered her things and left. Her search for more would have to continue elsewhere.

Choices and Actions

Everything is still. Quiet. No…silent. The moment stretches in that odd way things sometimes do where it goes on for an eternity, yet seemingly ends in an instant. Peg can feel it start to fade and she fights back against the ending, even as her lungs begin to burn and her body cries out for breath.   What would it take to just stay?   The single thought breaks the silence and in a rush, the cacophony of voices, ever-present in her mind, comes rushing back. She pulls her head up from the water of her tub, gasping for breath.   What was wrong with her? Life was nearly perfect. She and Vera were getting on well and spending so much time together. The Seekers were really coming together as a group. Her South Ward schools project was going better than she would have imagined. She was loved…and in love…both of which she still found utterly baffling. Why couldn't it be enough?   She had wanted so badly to join the fray at the protest. It would have been so easy to send shadow or fire into the crowd…to whisper into the minds of the workers and urge them to fight back…   Peg shivers despite her bath having not yet gone cold. She imagines Aloysius hurt, frightened, alone. No, not alone, she tries to remind herself, but the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach doesn't go away. How long would it be before he was with her and she hurt him…made him feel afraid…alone.   She clambers out of the tub, slipping and hitting her head into the nearby cabinet. She groans, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around her. She starts toward the door, but stops as she catches sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her red hair is a tangled mess around the crown of roses that grows from her head…a deceptive, superficial beauty that distracts from the reality of the hag beneath. She screams into the mirror, a deep guttural noise that sounds strange to her ears. A tendril of shadow emanates from her hand, shattering the mirror.   She runs from the bathroom to her bedroom, grabbing Dolly from her shelf and throwing herself onto the bed. Too much noise. Too many feelings.   Choice and action. What is she choosing? What has she chosen? She chose to calm the crowd. She had done that, hadn't she? That wasn't just a lie she was telling herself so that she'd feel better, right? She chose to help, not to fight. She chose and she did. Right? That was good, wasn't it?   The school. She'd chosen to help and she was…right? She was raising money and bringing awareness to the situation in the Warrens. That was good, wasn't it?   Wasn't it?   She clings to Dolly, her head pounding. Why couldn't she just be happy? Why couldn't she choose that? But it was never just that. Behind it, always more…anger at the injustice of the world…fear of the people she cared about being hurt or killed…the constant itch, scratching at the back of her mind to push things…anything…just a little bit farther…the thought that she tried to push away that life wasn't perfect right now, it was boring. For the first time in her life she feels safe and loved…and she doesn't know what to do with that.

The Younger Orlov Daughter

(Shared storytelling with Todd)   The carriage pulled up outside of the guest quarters of the Osterlind estate. Tall topiary trees lined the outside of the building, looking like green pennants or bars of a cage. The day was overcast, with promise of sun later in the day. However, for the time being, the spring rains held sway with their spits and drizzles. The coachman jumped down from the horse-drawn conveyance, pushing his cloak open as he walked up to the door and delivered a rap. Within moments, the door opened and a petite woman emerged, nodding to the doorman as she passed by and hurrying towards the carriage with the coachman. She barely got wet and as the coachman opened the door and helped her in, she was greeted by Vera and Peg.   “Good morning, Alia!” Vera leans forward and gives her a hug before settling back into the seat and letting Alia take one herself. Vera was dressed in a fine yellow silken dress with lace trim, which complimented her blue gloves and mask she had adorned for the occasion. “I am so glad you could join us on an outing. This is Lady Margarete Jaeger von Rosebrier. She is the one I write home about so often to father. Everything you likely think about her is true. She is honest to a fault, vivacious and a true companion when times are hard. And she bites.” Vera presents Peg to her sister in a sing-song voice.   “Oh yes. The Great “Peg” of the stories? It is a pleasure to meet someone that has attained such great esteem in the lands of Eisen already,” Alia’s accent is more pronounced than Vera’s, her voice higher pitched. She seems to still have an air of youth about her, an exuberance Peg hasn’t seen in Vera for a while. Her smile is large and genuine, and she reaches forward to clutch Peg’s hands in hers as she talks.   Peg is dressed in a deep blue dress with cream accents and a bright pink belt. She has looked somewhat nervous on the carriage ride over, but relaxes with Alia’s exuberance. “It is so wonderful to make your acquaintance! Vera speaks so fondly of home. And, my goodness, the resemblance between you two is absolutely striking!”   “You think so? Veronika never sends pictures of herself home. I can tell our hair is the same. But that is all she has let me see,” Alia exclaims, pulling her hands back and sitting properly as the carriage begins to move. “Veronika says there will be a wonderful tour of Novandria. We are going to the Garten Botanika, and to a restaurant called the Platinum Crown for lunch? A walk in front of the Parliament building if they are in session. She also mentioned perhaps even leaving the Island to see where you might live! There is so much to do,” she bounces. “Are you adding anything to the list?”   Vera watches her sister, as if entranced by her younger sibling after so long an absence. “The Temples to the Holy Trinity as well,” she adds. “Though I believe Margarete may leave us before we go exploring the religious institutions of Novandria.”   “Nonsense! I am here for as much of the day as you would like. Though I certainly would be more than happy to give you two some private time to catch up. How long has it been since you have seen one another? I miss my brother dreadfully, and it has barely been half a year.”   Before Vera can speak up, Alia spouts out, “Six years, two-hundred seventeen days. That is when she got on the airship,” she says fondly. ”She look over her shoulder, blew me a kiss, and then walked up the plank and never looked back again.”   “I can’t believe you remember it so vividly, Alia. It was just another day.”   “No. It might have been, but then we got the news. I thought it was my last memory of you,” her face turns sad a moment. “You laugh differently than I remember. But,” she gives a startled chuckle, “It HAS been six years. I hadn’t even kissed my first boy yet.”   Vera blinks in response, unsure how to handle this explosive news.   “That must have been a terrible moment when you received that news.” Peg frowns softly, looking over at Vera before shaking it off and looking back to Alia with a bright smile. “But now, one presumes, you have kissed your first boy?”   “I’m sure not!” Vera sounds exasperated.   “Oh, yes. His name is Karlov. He is a Hussar at the military Cavalry Officer school in Sterga. He has the most wonderful mustache.”   “He does not!” Vera gasps. “Мама знает об этом?!”   “Конечно, нет! Перестань быть таким занудой. Это Эйзен, и я в большинстве!” Alia snaps back, scowling, before putting on an angelic smile again as she looks back at Peg. “It was stiff and forward, like kissing an overeager goat.”   Peg looks between the sisters, lost by the conversation. She blinks a little at Alia’s description. “Well. That sounds…terrible.”   Alia laughs, “I am sure it could have been worse. Boys do not practice and need teaching, from what I have researched.”   “Surely you could study different things,” Vera asks. “Margarete is working on finishing her magistrate studies to take the test here.”   “Oh? How wonderful! Then you spend a lot of time at the Ironhold? How is it?” Alia gushes.   “I’m sure Alia studies quite hard where she needs to. Devoting a bit of study to kissing doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.” Peg smirks. She shifts a bit uncomfortably at the discussion of her own studies. “More time at the Academia Casus than anything else.”   “I have heard that about this place. In Ruskovia, all law goes through the temple, so any sort of judge would spend half their time there as well. How do you find this to work out?” Alia asks curiously.   “I don’t think Margarete wants to talk about her job, Alia. And we are at the gardens already,” Vera points out.   “We should go to the temples first if... Margarete? Is staying with us. I would rather see the gardens in the sun.”   “We can go see the temples first, if you would like. I am sure Vera and I would both like to help you see as much of Novandria as you want while you are here. Perhaps a stop first at the Ironhold?” She suggests.   “Wonderful!” Alia exclaims. As Vera informs the driver of the plan, Alia gives an excited bounce. “What is your favorite place, Miss Margarete?” Vera tries to sit back down as the carriage starts off again, but Alia giggles and slips into her seat so she can look forward. Vera cocks her head in admonishment, then gives an over-exaggerated sigh as she takes the rear-facing seat to let Alia sightsee. The approaching spires of Ten Tower Bridge can be seen ahead. Alia quickly matches proper posture as they go over the bridge, and the guards look in at them, then goes back to gazing. “Miss?”   “My favorite place in Novandria? Hmm.” Peg tilts her head, considering. “I quite enjoy Central Park. And the Opera House.” She says after a few moments.   “The Central Park? It is better than the Gartens?” Alia asks. “Oh, this bridge is so fascinating. The architecture is so old.”   Vera lets Peg answer, seemingly enjoying watching her sister react to the sights.   She shakes her head. “Not better, no. Just more…I’m not sure the word. Populace, I suppose. I enjoy people watching. The bridge is rather beautiful, isn’t it? I don’t often pay much attention to our architecture here. Is it very different from Ruskovich?”   “Oh yes. There are some dwarven ruins in the borderlands of our Duchy, but those are from the Modreonic Wars, when the Orc tribes and goblinoids destroyed the clan that was there. Sterga was still wooden buildings at the time, and was razed. Much of Sterga’s architecture is borrowed from the Winter Court or has neo-gothic influences. There are some dwarves starting to return, but not in the numbers to repopulate the ruins there.” She looks back at Vera and Peg both, grinning. “I thought you would be the only one in a mask, but many others wear them. Even your police. You do not think it odd? Is it to put fear in the populace? That is a novel concept.”   “It is more for the protection of the ROOKs when they are not at their duties, that they can live normal lives. It does serve that purpose as a secondary effect though. Yes, you even saw Merlinda wears a mask. I stood out a lot at the Academia, but within polite society, not as much,” Vera comments.   "Personally, I just think Vera is a trendsetter." Peg laughs, smiling brightly. "Although I still think it would be nice to see her face more often."   “You should push her then. She respects your advice,” Alia comments as the carriage stops. She doesn’t see Vera roll her eyes as she is the first out the door when the coachman opens it. The group steps out in front of the Ironhold with its angular architecture and grey plate adornments. “O Bozhe, this is like at home.” She makes sure she straightens her outfit before heading up the steps.   Vera walks up with her, happily talking about who the current high priest is, and some of her favorite parts of the temple itself. Alia listens and laughs with Vera when comparing the differences between Rus and Eisen schools of thought on Barasios’ Ten Laws, displayed on an iron scroll for all to read. “But surely Barsios meant that the head should be cut off cleanly, not that the head should be cleaned before being cut off?” Alia asks in confusion.   Peg contents herself to listen to the sisters, staying out of their way, though not so distant as to be rude. She looks around as they talk, rarely having taken the time before to appreciate the building. However, she mostly seems to be enjoying hearing Vera laugh and interact with Alia.   The visit at the temple goes smoothly, with Vera introducing her sister to the priests there and Alia getting a tour of the grounds. When Ankre Copperhide hears that Alia is from Rus, he has a small gift brought forth to be delivered to one of his contemporaries in the foreign nation along with a letter. He gives her a blessing which she happily accepts with Vera looking on. After about an hour, the three once again escape into the world beyond the Ironhold.   “It is good to see some consistency between the two sects of faith,” Alia says happily. “Even with the distance, there is a good spirit of connection with the Oath Binder,” she makes the scribal sign to give honor to him.   Vera lets out a breath, “I think we should have some fun to provide a counterpoint. Are you both hungry? The Platinum Crown?”   Alia gets a mischievous grin and looks at Peg with large eyes, “I think I am too hungry to go all the way back. Perhaps Miss Margarete could suggest a place? I am famished beyond measure.”   “Oh, I like her!” Peg returns the grin. “The Last Stop is not especially far, and is a place Vera rather likes. I would suggest the Bountiful Basket for something a little more...of the town, but it is somewhat out of our way.”   “The Last Stop should be fine,” *Vera nods.* “They have wonderful seating to look out over the rest of the people while we eat. I am actually surprised Peg doesn’t like it more.” Vera gives directions to the coachman for them to change direction again. “They have some very good ciders and juices.”   “Я здесь не для того, чтобы пить сок, мама” Alia gives Vera a glance, then settles” That sounds delightful. I am eager to try some of the local cuisine. You aren’t going to eat with us though?” She frowns.   “Just at home where I can take my mask off.” *Vera shrugs.* “If you are worried, I can go grab a bite and meet you at the Last Stand. It should not be a large break. Peg makes sure I eat four meals a day.”   “I like it fine.” Peg demurs. “We are fortunate to have many excellent eateries.” She raises her eyebrows a bit at the exchange between the other two. “We could get a private room perhaps?” She suggests. "It is all right. We are finding our place again. Isn't that right, солнышко? I am likely in need of some food too. I can meet you both at the last stand. Table 4 has the best view." Vera taps the side of the carriage, then steps out when it stops. She weighs it on.   Alia huffs as a carriage continues on its way. Then she looks out of the window and smiles, asking, "Were you amazed at how crowded this city is when you first moved here? There are so many people!"   “I grew up here, so I have never particularly known anything different. Though it is certainly more a bustle here in the city than at my parent’s estate. It is quite different from Ruskovich, I gather. Vera speaks quite fondly of your country. It must be quite beautiful.”   "Eh I have not known anything different," she laughs. "But even the Capitol does not have this many people, much less where my family rules. Does it get stinky, or are you used to it?"   Peg laughs. “I suppose I am used to it. Though if you were to go to the docks, there is an entirely different smell. I do like getting out of the city, sometimes, though.” She admits.   "Yes. My father makes the fish mongers work in a separate fishery area. My mother did not like the evening breeze coming up," she cackles. "I think he would move the city if she asked.   "And what am I calling you?"   Her expression grows briefly a bit sad before she smiles again. “Your family sounds so warm and wonderful. No wonder Vera has missed you all so terribly. Oh, and you may call me Margarete, if you’d like.”   "I can take you back with me," she smirks. "But only if you like work. Father makes us all work.   "Has Veronika always been like this here?" She asks curiously. "When she left she was looking forward to meeting the boys here. Now she acts like our mother."   Peg chuckles, though there is some sadness in it. “It comes and goes. People here have not always been kind to her. She works very hard to keep herself above reproach and to always be proper. Every once in a while, when it’s just us, I get to see her actually enjoy herself.”   "That is absurd. Why would they do that? She would have them flayed," she scowls. "This changes everything. You must make sure I kiss one of these soft boys before I leave."   "I was hoping she would have someone for a summer romance if some sort. I have designs before I go back home."   Peg blinks a little. “Alright. How long are you here Alia? I am certain we can find a…soft boy for you to kiss.”   “I think a week, unless there is a formal occasion the Osterlinds wish me to attend. I wish to spend as much of this time doing things. The Osterlinds are extremely kind, and I will be spending some time with them, but I want to spend time with Veronika as well as see as much as I can.” She grins broadly. “Perhaps I can get my hair cut short like some of those Rook people?”   “Top three wishes then, for your time in Novandria. What are they?”   "Kiss a boy, be in a duel, attend a Novandrian masque ball." She names them, as if already having a list.   “I am uncertain if there will be a ball in the time you are here, but I will inquire. Kissing a boy…very possible. Your sister will kill me if I let you be in a duel.”   “Hmm….” she gets a positively devilish look on her face. “Of course. No duels. You asked for a wish list is all,” her face smooths over, innocent as snow. “So, what now?”   Peg grins and shakes her head. “Now we go to the Last Stop and see if there is anyone your age about.”   “So fun. Let us do that.” She goes back to looking out the window, planning….   The two arrive at the Last Stop, getting table 4 as Vera suggested. Vera arrives shortly after, having broomed herself to the room for some celery and peanut butter and coming back. Alia is surprised at the turn around but delighted to see Vera, sisterly squabbles all but forgotten. The Last Stand is busy around lunch, and the ground floor is filled to capacity with patrons eating and talking about business or leisurely activities. A bard plays an accordion in the corner, entertaining those that sit too close.   “After we leave, we can swing by the house I have begun signing for,” Vera says. “I have many plans for it. Peg will even be renting a room.”   “And I will be able to rent one as well?” Alia asks.   “No, I am sure you will be going back to report to mother,” Vera tsks playfully at Alia, who gives a ‘how true’ roll of the eyes.   Peg smiles watching them and orders a spread of food for herself and Alia to give Alia a varied taste of the flavors of Eisen. She also takes a look around the room for other people that seem about Alia’s age and occasionally points someone out to her.   After about the third pointing, Vera gives Peg an odd look, squinting her eyes as she tries to figure out what is going on. Alia seems overjoyed to be people-watching, and happily comments on them, both good and bad. She seems to prefer tall people, pointing them out in turn to Peg. To distract her sister, Alia asks, “Veronika. I have heard that there are duels here? How do those happen?”   “Generally, when a dispute regarding someone’s honor cannot be resolved with words or in a diplomatic fashion, a Letter of Challenge is issued by the offended party, giving the person a final chance to rectify the situation. They are illegal here now though, so you likely won’t see one except at the Temple of Eriu.”   “Hmmm… how interesting,” she gives Peg a devilish smile.   “Your sister is quite a spitfire, Vera. Here only a short while and already prepared to duel.” Peg laughs brightly. “Has she always been so full of life? She says you were a bit more…carefree as well.”   Vera glances over at Alia in surprise. “I’m sure she isn’t looking to duel. That is what we would have a champion for.”   “I can duel if I wish. I am an Orlov, and cannot be held back!” Alia gives her a scowl.   “And yet, I am an older Orlov, and you will follow my rules until your majority,” Vera pointedly corrects Alia. Looking back to Peg, she says, “As to me being carefree, Eisen has a way of putting pressure on you. Though I think that Alia has done wonderfully in my absence, not having to worry about me blocking the sunlight,” she says in a warm tone.   “Hmm…” Peg frowns thoughtfully a moment and then looks to Alia with a wide grin. “Who would you pick out for Vera?”   “Pick out to duel?” She looks around, pursing her lips critically. She quickly centers on the largest humanoid she can find, a half-ogre who is drinking an ale and politely talking with his friends. “That one.” She picks up a muffin from her plate to fling.   “No, no. Not to duel. Although, I would never bet against Lady Orlov in any fight.” She laughs.   “Oh, to kiss?” She beings to point at the same person.   “I do not kiss people I am not being courted by,” Vera intercedes quickly. “Akmon will choose wisely, and I await his sign. I am not a peitho-addled moon-goggler,” she sniffs.   The waiter, delivering food, clears away their first course and begins to serve a second one.   “Relax, Vera. It’s just a bit of fun. Better than dueling, don’t you think?” Peg gives her a winning smile.   “I suppose you are right. My apologies, Alia,” Vera inclines her head to the side to show her contrition. “In that case, find me a prince,” She begins to look around the room.   “It should be someone big and strong,” Alia happily adds. “Dark hair, who can fight and has proper kingly virtues.”   “But also smart and wise, with the confidence to know when he should listen to me and when I am being a silly girl.” Vera shakes her head. ”I don’t think he will be here. They do not have princes in Eisen.”   “That is horrible!” Alia laughs. “Where can we find the nearest prince, Margarete?”   "Ugh. No one should call you a silly girl." Peg makes a disgusted face. "Probably not at This Last Stop, I'll grant. Alas, no kisses for Vera." She sighs dramatically.   “I wear a mask anyway. There would be no kisses if even a prince,” Vera points out as Alia begins eating again. “Perhaps they could sit next to me.”   “Oh, the intensity of it all,” Alia says in a droll tone. “No wonder the aristocracy here is stifled. They dance around like birds. Where is the excitement and war?”   "The excitement is mostly to be found by those willing to be adventurers. As for war…I think that is perhaps not the excitement I would prefer."   “Without war, how do you keep your people strong and lean? Your warriors keen and sharp?”   Vera nods at Alia’s comment. “They do not. They rely on their adventurers to deflect conflict.”   "Warriors can still train without war." Peg returns with a shrug. "What about that one, Alia?" She points to a tall, dark haired elf.   “He is rugged. I approve,” Alia nods, smiling. “Training is for nothing if it is not used.”   “I thought we agreed I was getting no kisses. Or is this for you, Peg?”   “For Alia, of course.” She replies.   “You cannot deny the gods, Veronika. You give a kiss for Peitho from time to time,” Alia reminds Vera.   “Oh… but you can,” Peg sees Vera stiffen up as Alia watches the elf with a playful smile.   Peg looks down at the young elf and whistles loudly. The young man looks up at them, startled.   Vera cocks her head oddly at Peg. “What are you doing?”   Alia cocks her head as well, but suggestively at the elf along with a winning smile.   The young man blushes to the tips of his ears and an older Elven woman, presumably his mother, gives him an admonishing look. He looks away and Peg giggles.   “I see I will have to keep an eye on you two,” Vera says with a playful tone. “Now hurry up and eat. I want to get back to having a relaxing day as quickly and efficiently as possible.”   Alia blinks and looks at Peg, digesting the words, then bursts out laughing.   Peg likewise dissolves into laughter. “What is next on our relaxation agenda?” She asks Vera after she recovers from her laughter.   “I know that you wanted to see where we will live, Alia. But I thought I might give a change to our agenda as far as visiting the gardens, and perhaps attend one of the spas? If we pack quickly and get to the train station, we could visit the Rodstock Hydropathy retreat and stay overnight. I have heard that they are very exclusive, and give healthy treatments for modern society’s ills.”   Peg looks delighted at this notion. “Oh, yes! That is a wonderful idea. Come on, we can go gather our things now.” She hurries Alia up.   Alia looks slightly stunned over the sudden turn of events, but quickly gloms onto Peg’s excitement. She stuffs some of the less portable food in her mouth and grabs a roll to go.       The packing is relatively swift, and Vera is nothing if not efficient when there is planning to do. In short order, the trio is on board a train heading East, and, after several arguments with train conductors, placed into a private cabin. Alia takes her cues from Vera and critically reviews their train cabin, but then settles in to delightedly watch the scenery go by while drinking some “Eisenfee,” as Vera calls it. Vera grabs one of the seats nearby after making sure her guard has the luggage stowed and pulls out some cards to play during the couple hour trip to Rodstock.   Vera pesters Alia for stories of home during the trip, wheedling out information about how life has changed for her since joining the Temple, how it was different once Vera left, and what is new with their mom and dad. Alia also talks some about current extra-familial events (aunts and uncles, etc.), while Vera listens. In return, Vera regales Alia about Peg and Vera’s dungeon crawling exploits as well as other, more suburban, adventures.   Peg does not seem remotely concerned about the state of the cabin and is instead content to watch the view and listen to Vera and Alia. When Vera starts to talk about the dungeon crawling, Peg adds a few more of the gorier or more intense details that Vera glosses over.   Rodstock is dominated by their port and by the governmental district that houses the Ducal seat of House Rosebrier. A castle overlooks much of the city, which bustles from the constant trade fostered by the merchant contracts and favorable tariff laws. The trio disembarks from the train and Vera has a carriage waiting for them to whisk them northward.         It is early evening by the time they reach the retreat situated on the coast to the north of Rodstock. The sounds of waves can be heard crashing against the shores, but most of the view is of open air, situated as it is on the cliffs of Northern Eisen. The retreat itself comprises a couple of buildings and small houses, with a decorative wall built around the area closest to the road. The carriage is greeted by a staff member, who, having gotten notice of their arrival via Radiophone, directs them to one of the houses. When they step out, a maid greets them and begins to direct the coachman to unloading their baggage. The house is a ‘quaint’ two story affair, with a natural feel. The maid introduces herself to the trio and informs them that ‘dinner’ is being served with the other guests in an hour at the main dining hall, or that she can get a private dinner set up. She then looks attentively at the group as Alia, Vera and Peg begin to settle in.   The house is set up to care for aristocracy, having amenities and elegant furnishings. The second floor is built as a giant sun room, with dividers and cloth walls set up to provide privacy, but also ways to open up most of the second floor to sun and fresh air.     Shortly after settling in, they are visited by Doktor Heinrich Schuffendorfer, the physician in charge of the retreat.The dwarven doctor happily gives a short explanation on the regimen, in where those races of taller stature are closer to the sun for a reason and need more of it. His research shows that humans and elves and other tall races need to eat mostly plant food and get lots of sun and fresh air to stay healthy, much like trees. He is happy to answer questions, but recommends they join everyone for dinner and dancing to ‘invigorate the appetites of the body.’   He frowns when he hears that they will likely only stay a day, telling them that a week is ‘much better, much better!’ but accedes to Vera’s requests once he has been told who his guests are. After reassuring the trio that they will have complete privacy while in the home, and pointing out the list of activities, he takes his leave.   “I am ready to grow tall like a tree.” Peg laughs, holding her arms out wide. “This really is quite lovely, though, I admit. What do you think, Alia?”   “I think that the physician reminds me of some of the priests of Fodla back at home. If he begins recommending I grow crops, I am leaving,” she giggles. “But this is a very nice retreat. Do many nobles come to places such as this?”   “Did the two of you want to go to dinner, or eat here? It sounds like they have nightly dancing as well. Or are you tired?” Vera looks between the two of them. “They do have wellness retreats that supposedly are able to treat people before the healers are needed, and beyond. I mostly came for the massage.”   “Definitely dancing. Dinner here is fine. We have had a lot of travel.” Peg suggests. “Massage sounds delightful.”   Alia claps her hands in delight. “I’ll go start getting prepared for the dancing then!” She scampers to the room she chose, slamming it behind her in her haste. Vera changes her travel outfit to one of the dresses stored in the shiftweave, making a sign for a smile at Peg, before exploring the house.   The dancing that evening is held in the main house, and has a variety of people not normally seen in Novandria. Rosebrier nobles are in the majority by far. Most of the people attending the retreat seem to take the dance as an invitation to enjoy a less restrained atmosphere, without the usual minders present while people talk and dance. Alia is immediately asked to dance, as is Peg. Vera gets some odd looks because of her attire, and instead begins introducing herself to some of the older nobility.   Peg seems quite enamored of the dancing and the generally less restrained atmosphere. However, she bristles visibly when people give Vera odd looks and quickly and curtly declines any offers to dance by those who seem disapproving of Vera in any way.   The night ends overall very nicely. Alia even gets to go on a moonlit walk with one of the young gentles, a Schalk trailing behind them. The fact that there were no owl attacks reported is a good sign. Vera does one or two dances later on in the evening before claiming exhaustion from the traveling and telling Peg she is going to retire for the night.   “Would you like us to turn in as well, or should I take this as you entrusting Alia to my care for the evening?” She asks Vera with a grin.   “Please keep her safe. I entrust her to you,” Vera says playfully. “I’ll see you both in the morning. I’m having breakfast delivered.”   Alia’s laughter can be heard over the music as she dances with someone else, gayly working through a waltz.   Peg looks somewhat surprised but smiles and nods. "Very well. Enjoy your relaxation. We will enjoy our dancing."         The next morning, Alia comes out of her room and looks around for everyone. Vera is up already, making a tray of food from a larger portion that was delivered to their house. There are several pastries for Peg, along with fresh fruit cuts and some vegetables. Alia begins to make herself a brotchen sandwich, with cheese and meat cuts, along with pouring herself a large glass of milk. “What is on the agenda?” she asks.   Vera replies “Morning sunlight. Then a massage to rub all the sunlight into your body.” She pours herself some juice to supplement her breakfast.   "That sounds nice." Peg murmurs, coming out of her room to join them. She picks up an apple tart. "The dancing was nice. I think Alia made quite the impression."   “Oh?” Vera questions, looking over at Alia, who blushes. “You were minding her though?”   “Yes, she was minding me. I was chaste as a snowflake,” Alia smirks behind Vera’s back.   “Oh yes. Very responsible. Definitely.” Peg agrees with a laugh.   Vera looks at the two of them suspiciously, then waves it off. “I’m heading up to the roof. They have some sort of sun catcher clothes you are supposed to wear.” She heads upstairs to the roof.   Alia bites into her sandwich and looks to Peg. “This is more fun than I was expecting. See you on the roof? Or do we sneak out?”   She grins at Alia. “Sneaking out does sound fun, but I am actually looking forward to the sun, I think.”    

A Little Better?

CW: trauma, suicidal ideation   "You're feeling a little better?"   There was something bright all around her. She couldn't tell what. She thought she could hear yelling, but she couldn't tell who was yelling or what they were saying. Were they yelling at her?   Waking up was worse. Waking up came with remembering. Remembering Cardinal being beaten unconscious in front of her. Remembering battering her friends and companions with her magic. Remembering setting the entirety of the place on fire. Waking up was worse.   The adventuring party was in a small room, Rooks were yelling, people were screaming, her mind felt on fire. Fire roaring, searing, burning its way through her skull and out of her eyes.   Waking up was worse. Waking up meant it wasn't a nightmare. Waking up meant being back in a mind that couldn't be trusted.   They were there: Maelie, Lorke, Igor, Scarlet, Cardinal. Together in a room. Laughing, talking, enjoying each other's company. She stood at the door, laughing as she lit them all on fire and listened to them scream.   Waking up was…better. A relief that none of them was dead. And worse…knowing that neither was she.   It was just Cardinal in the room. She lay crumpled on the ground, her body beaten and broken. Peg could see her, but couldn't move. She looked frantically to see what trapped her, but could see nothing. She willed her feet to move, but it was to no avail. The panic bubbled up inside her as she struggled to reach her friend, to help her. She couldn't. She couldn't. She…the fire surprised her as it burst forth from her hands, setting alight her friend's body as she stood there and watched it burn.   Waking up was…better. Worse. Everything at once. She shook violently, covered in sweat, and vomited over the side of her bed.   She shouldn't be here. Gone would be...a little better.

Through a Glass Darkly, Part One

She didn’t go back at first. She’d had fun with her aunt–that still sounded strange to say–but the place had not exactly been a revelation. No matter how avant garde the nobility thought they were, it seemed there were always some limits to the imagination. Still…it was good to know that there were those in her family who were trying to expand her experiences, rather than limit them. Peg didn’t think she’d ever had anyone look proudly at her for being less ladylike than anticipated. Ironically, May had done more to get her to engage with the other AC students than anyone else had ever managed. Maybe Grey’s could be a good compromise, she considered. It was somewhere respectable, frequented by people of her age and station. Vera would like that. But it also offered more…interesting…options for when she inevitably became bored with the types of conversations she was “supposed” to have. And it was certainly convenient.   So back she went.   At first, she enjoyed the cards and conversation. Especially when accompanied by a “specialty drink,” Peg found that the topics she was supposed to be engaging with at school were actually a great deal more interesting. She got particular enjoyment in helping the younger female students argue their points and in putting down, without preamble, the derivative ideas of young men who thought themselves the next great thinkers of Eisen.   For a few nights, it was enough. Relaxed company, some (mostly) friendly debate, an occasional opportunity to speak her mind, and even a few–she grudgingly admitted–interesting people to talk to. But they weren’t friends, and she could never truly drop her guard. And so she went from “Misty Mornings” to “Bittersweet Blisses” to “Sassy Sirens” searching for something to stimulate her, to keep her engaged…to imitate the feeling of being at ease.   One evening, she came in, and someone whose name she couldn’t remember and whose face she barely recognized called out to her and invited her to join their game of whist. She didn’t come back for several days after that.   And then…real adventure found her. The kind that she didn’t talk about when her delightfully bubbly Aunt May asked her what kind of entertainment she preferred. The kind that made her chest pound in her heart and her blood pump so hard she could hear it. The kind that threatened at any moment to rip her from her mortal coil. How could cards and drinks and displays of sex possibly compete?   The grey, strangely elongated form of the Bodak looked back at her with its empty, lifeless eyes. She saw it in her own reflection in the mirror, out of the corner of her eye, when she closed her eyes at night to sleep. It was, by all measures, a horrifying creature. Even to Peg, who enjoyed the grotesque, who was drawn to the demonic…even for her that gaze was…too much. And yet.   And yet, she would look again. Even knowing what it had done to her, she would do the same. For the curiosity…assuredly. For the hubris that perhaps this time she could look at it and not be overwhelmed…likely. But, she admitted to herself in the dark corners of her mind where no one else could hear her, for more than that…for the moment just before her body crumpled to the ground when she could feel her lifeforce being torn from her. She would look again for that moment.   Better, she mused, than the terrifying visage of the ghosts that brought her body to a feeble form, but failed to take her from the world. That…she shuddered. However she might finally leave the world, she would not let herself die of old age. A mind she didn’t trust in a body that could do nothing. That was not for her. She wondered if others would understand or if all they would see was their own pain at her dead body. She pushed away the image of Alyosius Esch laid out on a table, Katja beside him. It was selfish to make others go through that if you had the power not to. But she knew she would do it anyway.   Her next visit to Grey’s Social Club was…different. She stayed away from the cards and the academic debates. In fact, she stayed away from everything. She acquired a room designed for private entertaining and she broke her rule about never drinking alone. Whatever the bartender would bring her, she drank. It was a curated experience, Peg realized later, designed to heighten all of her sensations. She was offered a veritable menu of experiences to go along with her drinks, but she declined them all. Nothing was quite what she was looking for. She ended the evening feeling sick and decided she did not need to return.

Roses and Thorns

She had appreciated the dark humor of it all after she knew Vera was fine and the blood was nothing more than paint. It was clever payback for her earlier destruction. But somehow Peg couldn't move past that initial moment of fear, how her heart leapt into her throat…how she knew she was to blame for Vera's pain. That part was still true, even though the rest had been mere charade. But Vera was in pain and it was Peg's fault. She wondered if there would ever be a time when she would not hurt the people she cared about.   She should never have let Kevan court her. She was not the kind of woman that married. Maybe he would find someone better, though she knew he didn't seek that. It would be the kinder thing to push him there, wouldn't it? To Dona or Hayden or Arinelle…or even Victor. For all that she didn't much care for the man, he seemed to have exceedingly good taste in partners. Perhaps it was she that was the problem. Yet, Kevan loved her just as she was. Vera never blamed her for anything, even when she should. And all she could ever offer them was hurt. She surrounded it with layers, like petals on a flower, but once those fell away...   She felt the crushing need to get away. The voices in her head were strong, telling her she was not meant to be close to others. She was made to cause pain.   Give into it. Embrace it.   It had been a long time, she thought, since she broke something just to watch it break. Longer still since she had done that to a breathing feeling person. You are denying a part of yourself.   A part no one could…no one should love. It was selfish to keep people close, but she was too weak to push them away. Instead, she just kept pretending and telling herself this person that people loved...that she sometimes dared to like...was really her.   She ran her fingers along the scars on her left arm and shoulder, now covered by her barrier tattoo…roses and thorns of ink that protected her flesh. Flesh she had never cared about while she'd had thorns protecting her heart. She needed some moments with unprotected flesh and a heart encircled in a wreath of thorns until she felt herself again. She let the tattoo fade, put on a dress meant to draw attention in parts where attention ought to be avoided, and headed out.

A Normal Life

“I want you to have a normal life.”   What did that even mean…a normal life? Had her parents tried to talk to her about that? Surely they must have. Father was right, of course, she didn’t listen. It had never been her strength. She knew that. She tried to push away the thought that said of course that was why Mother hit her. She was fortunate to have a loving father who was willing to keep forgiving her despite all her missteps. And how did she repay him? Sneaking into his office, following him, disrupting his rituals.   She still couldn’t quite believe that her father, the upstanding Baron Karl Jaeger, was scamming the other nobles. The thought made her smile a bit despite herself. She wondered if Mother knew. Surely not. She couldn’t imagine that. Her father must feel so alone. She frowned softly. And what of her grandmother? Is this why she disliked him so? That hardly seemed to fit. Peg scrunched up her face, considering that. And what did any of this have to do with her powers? She had come no closer to understanding them, only becoming more certain that her father wished she did not have them. How else could she have a normal life besides setting them aside? Did he not see how impossible that was?   Her mind warred with…itself? She never was sure. Could she be the daughter he wanted, that he was trying so hard to create a life for? She owed it to him to try, didn’t she?   Owed it to him? For what? For standing by while her mother bruised and bloodied her? For trying to turn her into something she could never be? For hiding the source of her powers from her?   But he was the father that read to her, that inspired her sense of justice. Did he think it would all fade now that she knew about his scam? Surely he didn’t worry about what she thought…did he?   She should try harder. Do better. Or just…let it all burn around her. Wasn’t she happier away from them?   She imagined finding out who all the people were in the robes…the foolish nobles her father duped. She could reveal what he had done. Watch it all break. She grinned a bit maniacally at the thought.   But it was the easy way out, wasn’t it? Giving up because she knew that she didn’t have what it took to do anything that really mattered. Maybe that was why her father did all this to give her a normal life? He knew someday she would crumble under the weight of the world and this way she could fall back on the simple, undemanding life of a noblewoman.

To Trust Yourself

"If your magic comes from you, you still have to believe and trust, but in yourself."     And what if you do not know where your magic comes from? The question, unasked, burned in her mind as she left the theatre. What if it comes from somewhere dark?   It was easy to look at Cardinal and see the heart she brought to her magic. Even if it was not directed, it was pure. Helpful. Light. And, of course, Ama Illum whose magic was bestowed upon her by Lorelai. Healing. Helping. Light.   And then there she was. Temperamental, undirected. Magic fueled by anger and pain. And fear. There was no purity, no light in what she did. Her magic was fire and shadow and screams. She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter, that how she directed it and why was more important than where it came from or what it was. But she knew that was a lie…. maybe not a lie, she considered. Those things did matter. For all that she might doubt herself, she knew that she was not a cruel person. Her magic was never just to hurt. And it was never to keep down those upon whom society already tread. That had to count for something.   Gods…it does have to count for something, doesn’t it?   She could hear the voices playing just at the edge of her mind that laughed, that mocked, that pushed her to just let go. Forget the direction. Forget the control. How can you trust yourself when you do not even know whose voice speaks in your head?   She pushed down the thoughts, the voices, but she could feel the confusion they always left. Was it true that she wasn’t cruel? No matter how hard she tried not to, sometimes she just enjoyed watching things break. And she had to admit, there were people she just didn’t like, that she would toy with just to see their fear. How could you ever really trust someone like that?   Peg knew that Cardinal had pain, and neither her music nor her magic were devoid of that pain…but it was never bitter, never vindictive. She knew who she was, in spite of all that she had been through and she chose to treat the world gently.   But you are just a spoiled angry child.   She didn’t want to think the words–those she knew were her mother’s–but they came unbidden anyway. And how could she say they were wrong? A spoiled, angry child, pretending to be something more.   She frowned as she walked, trying to hold onto Cardinal’s words and Nel’s about her. She fought to give them space. Pretending until it was true…practicing to be who she wanted. She repeated the ideas over and over in her mind. Maybe some days it was true..she was more…even did good.   But she was never someone to be trusted.

Loved Until

"You're amazing and I love you."     The words rang in her ears as she all but ran from the park. The words a full and beautiful sentence. Except it wasn't complete. That was never the end. It's always the same…I love you until.   "I can't do this, meet with you, no more."   "Being close to me, trying to save me, is going to ruin your life."   "Please stay away from her."   I love you until you say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, think the wrong thing. I love you until you go too far, won't just stop, want too much.   You'll ruin your reputation, have nothing left to work with. How can you make a difference if you destroy your good name?   I love you until you're too controversial, too headstrong, dream too big.   You can't handle the demands of life. You'll end up with nothing.   I love you until you want different things than I do, have your own thoughts, want to fulfill your own desires.   Vera loved her…until. Her father loved her…until. Nel…she thought Nel saw her…understood her...but she had her limits too. She loved her…until.   She didn't know how she got back to her family's estate. She couldn't recall the trip. But the wrought iron gate and the heavy wooden door made her heart feel light for just a moment. Familiarity and clarity took the place of fear and the pain of disappointing someone else she loved.   Her mother's face had a moment of surprise, breaking her cold mask, when Peg told her she'd come to make peace.   "You've been talking to your father." Her mother's voice sounded smug, awaiting an apology Peg knew she'd never accept. She didn't even try to stop the grin when she told her mother "let me tell you of my sins to put it all behind us." She knew her mother knew in that moment she hadn't come to make peace. She'd never come to make peace. But this was a pain she knew how to handle…a mother's disappointment that broke skin, broke bones, but left her heart intact.   Half the words she told were true, the other half embellishments on embellishments. Neither of them cared. They both knew how this story went. Her mother promised that she'd break her. Peg dared her to do her best.   Only then her mother…didn't. She just sat there smirking. Smug.   "Little girl, begging to be punished. Pathetic." Her mother gave her that smile that said she knew she'd won. Peg's cheeks flushed with heat, her mother's eyes icy cold.   "You aren't even worth my time." It was that that finally pushed her over the edge. She screamed, sending an ice knife into the door as her mother turned to go. It exploded, sending shards of ice into her mother's arms. And then Peg knew that she had won. Her mother's icy mask broke and the force of her hand sent Peg reeling backward. Their familiar story again being told.   By the time the chapter finished, she'd been turned back out in the cold…black and blue…fingers shattered…one eye swollen shut. The footman at the carriage couldn't meet her gaze as he told her Baroness Jaeger wouldn't let him drive her back. She smiled softly at him and began the long walk…home. Where she'd have to face the harder pain again…of seeing people that she loved, love her…until.

Afraid to Die

Searing pain. Tearing flesh. Claws and teeth. Her arm being ripped from the rest of her body. Gnashing teeth. Slashing claws. Flesh being pulled from bone. Muscle shredded. Searing pain.   Sharp teeth. Wolves. Lions with too many eyes and too many legs. Knocked to the ground. Unable to move. Tearing flesh. Searing pain.   Screams in her head. Her screams? Her voice? She couldn't tell. Run away. Hide. Eyes looking. Don't move. Don't touch. What's wrong? Weak. Broken. They keep looking.   Can't move. Can't breathe. Should have died. Almost died. Don't want to die.   Don't want to die. Breathe. Move. Still alive. A wave of Violet's hand, no more ichor. No more blood. Outside is pristine. Inside…   Inside doesn't matter. Scarred. Broken. Scared. No. Not scared. Fine. Don't get scared.   Go forward. Smile. Pristine. Controlled. Fine.   Peg awoke in a cold sweat. It had been easier when she was not afraid to die.

Failure

“I might if you could handle both.”   She tried. She tried to handle it all. The voices, the anger, the expectations, school, society, people, darkness. Every moment of her life a tenuous walk on the tightrope between what she wanted to and what she would allow herself to do. Walk this far and no farther, lest she walk over the edge and fall. Could he not see it? The effort she spent to be who she was supposed to be. Or did he just not care? The thought cut deeply.   “You could try simply fitting in with society?”   Her father who had delighted in her inquisitiveness and taught her to form her own opinions…at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. He still wanted her to fit in, to make peace. Don’t ruffle feathers, leave the stones unturned. She knew that she would never be the daughter her mother wanted. She had thought, at least, that she could be the daughter her father wanted.   She could feel the tears and pain and rage building inside of her. Shadows spiraled around her hands and up her arms. She didn’t want to stop them. Maybe if she just let go, they would consume her.   Maybe her father was right. Maybe she couldn’t handle both. She had allowed herself to be happy, to find joy in life and people. Even to think she could love. Vera saw it too, that she couldn’t handle it, that she needed to be protected from herself. Society would never accept her. She would bring shame and pain to everyone close to her and what would she even have to show for it? Changes in laws? In society? She was fooling herself to think so.   Her grandmother was right. She couldn’t make the world she wanted by being a cog in the machine. She had to break the machine. Burn it to ash and start over.   Could she hold on long enough to obtain the power she needed? What would that look like? What if she couldn’t handle that either?   What if you can? What if you let yourself? Why are you holding back?   The thoughts made her head hurt. She should write them down, get them out like Muse suggested. She stumbled forward to her desk, the splitting pain behind her eyes making it difficult to move. She grabbed a piece of paper and dipped her pen in ink. She managed to write only one word before the searing pain of her headache was too much. With a cry, tendrils of dark energy shot from her hands and threw her writing desk over onto the floor with a crash. She took a deep breath and, smoothing her hands over her skirt, she bent to pick the desk back up. There on the floor next to it was the piece of paper with the one word she had managed to write: failure.

Childish Make-Believe

"Some things are worth touching with care."   The gentle voice, the soft touch. She couldn’t imagine him touching anything in anger. But her anger raged and boiled and bubbled, threatening to spill out at any moment and wreak havoc on the world. He told her she could feel it. That it was okay. That it was safe. She believed that he believed it. How could he not? He saw the world through soft eyes with hands that did things other than hurt. She was sure there was no way he could fathom breaking something–or someone– just to watch them break. Would those soft eyes find harshness if he knew? She could stand the look, she’d seen it a thousand times before. Could she stand to be the cause of it in those eyes?   It felt good, she thought, to pretend this time. To pretend that she could be a person who touches things with care. A builder, not a breaker. A lover, not a fighter. Maybe this was what Nel meant? The pretending gets easier…feels more real, less like a lie.   But it was a lie, wasn't it? Childish make-believe, furniture in doll houses. Like the last time the world felt easy. The last time it felt safe.   Could she have a corner of the world where she could pretend that life was easy? Where she could pretend she was the sort of person to touch the world with care?   Sometimes, she thought, sometimes she touched the world with care. Just for a moment. Maybe it's like Cardinal said. Maybe it just took practice. And a bit of childish make-believe.

Grim Things

CW: self-harm   --You can fill it with your grim things if you like. When it is dry, you can burn it, and all the grim things along with it. Maybe it will help, until you can talk about them instead.--   She read the note over. And over. And over. Fill it with your grim things. Where would she even start? She set paper and a pen out on her desk.   Fill it with your grim things. Maybe it will help.   Bella had been sent away from her family for trivialities...for politics...thinking herself terrible for...what?   Fill it with your grim things. Maybe it will help.   Nel felt terrible for accidentally hurting someone on a job...thinking herself terrible for...what?   Fill it with your grim things. Maybe it will help.   Schatzi felt bad for harm they had caused trying to make things better…thinking themself terrible for…what?   Fill it with your grim things. Maybe it will help.   Mr. Ramsey tried to end himself for something he didn't even know was happening…thinking himself terrible for…what?   Fill it with your grim things. Maybe it will help.   She could see them all. The flash of anger and then bodies, cowering or broken before her. The ones she hadn't meant to hurt. The ones she had.   Did you mean to kill him?Nevermore's voice echoed in her ear. And her response…I don't know.   But she did, didn't she? If she was honest with herself. It was a release she craved. One she sought. How could she ever tell any of them?   Fill it with your grim things. Maybe it will help.   She took her dagger from her adventuring gear and stood before the box.   Fill it with your grim things.   She drew the blade across her palm and let the blood flow in.   Maybe it will help.  

Pretending

https://youtu.be/ciS5GikZ5Jo   "People become what they pretend to be."   Do you suppose that's how it really works? Could pretending ever bring anything but hurt?   Pretend you're happy when you're blue It isn't very hard to do And you'll find happiness without an end Whenever you pretend   It was foolish. Stupid. Selfish. Using people to feel for a moment like she could be happy. Like she had something to offer besides pain and destruction.   Remember anyone can dream And nothing's bad as it may seem The little things you haven't got Could be a lot if you pretend   Others would live and they would feel...real things like people do when they aren't broken. And she would pretend. Until, she supposed, she broke them too.   You'll find a love you can share One you can call all your own Just close your eyes, she'll be there You'll never be alone   Then the pretending would stop and she would remember once again who she was...what she was. The darkness that lay barely concealed, even in the pretending.   And if you sing this melody You'll be pretending just like me The world is mine, it can be yours, my friend So why don't you pretend?   A darkness she knew she couldn't part from...didn't want to part from...even to pretend.

Who Are You Fooling?

Peg looked at the ice rink, watching unnoticed from a distance, a figure in a cloak. She watched parents with their children, friends, and lovers skate by, the joy evident on their faces. The holidays had a certain magic for people who were close to people. Peg missed her brother desperately. She saw people she knew, friends maybe. Nel, Mira (both Miranda and Mirabella, she noted fondly), Cardinal. She knew they would welcome her to join, but she could not shake the voice, more ever-present now than it had been before that she was playing a dangerous game. These were good, kind people with hearts full of light and love. And she was just pretending.   She turned, heading back toward her dorm. She half hoped that Vera would be there in some mood that kept her from socializing just so they could hide from the world together. But the other half wished for her friend to experience the joy she deserved and hoped instead she was reveling in the event she would host in honor of Akmon.   She was both sad and relieved to find Vera out when she returned. Peg slipped into her room. She had a case laid out for traveling back to the estate for the holidays. Her parents were expecting her. She frowned, pushing closed the empty case. Without Deiter there, it hardly felt like home for the holidays. She also had a substantial pile of packages set out, waiting to be delivered. Gifts for friends at the holidays. Peg laughs hollowly. Who was she fooling? This was not the life meant for people like her.   She sat on her bed, looking across the room to Dolly on her shelf. That's who she had so that she was not alone. So that she couldn't hurt anyone. The room seemed oppressive to her now, the walls tight. Her gift this year would be to go. To find someplace for the destruction inside her.   Peg put on a traveling dress and packed a bag of essential gear. She looked at the case meant to go with her to her family. "I'm sorry, Father." She murmurs softly. Then she looked at the pile of presents.   She frowned softly as she realized she would miss Vera's party and the hunt she was to put on with Schatzi. She sat at her desk to pen a note. The memory of a dance and a gently squeezed hand flits across her mind and she tears the note. Instead grabbing her bag and leaving empty case and full packages sitting in her room. She pauses momentarily at the doorway before taking Dolly from her shelf and putting her in the bag.

The Akmon Appreciation Society

***Joint writing project with Todd, fleshing out some of Vera and Peg's early experiences together.***   Vera stands up on a wooden crate along one side of the student quad. It is midmorning, and second classes have let out, giving the students a longer break before the next set of classes, or to let out other students to head to work sites. The hustle and bustle largely seems to be ignoring Vera standing on the crate. She is dressed up in her brand new dress she received for the Summer, and at 16 seems to be finally shedding some of the gawky angles she had been showing off the last couple of years. Her dress was all the latest of fashion in Ruskovich, but it stood out in the quad for its oddity. Vera was used to being a spectacle by now, and seems to be trying to use it to her advantage, but to little avail.   “Now signing up members of the Akmon Appreciation Society! Senior positions need filling within the Society,” She stomps on the crate for emphasis, causing it to wobble dangerously.   She clutches at a slim clipboard, outwardly projecting the confidence she didn’t feel. Her hands are sweaty in her gloves, and she can feel the dampness under her mask building up as well. “He has brought us culture at its finest, and given us a vision of a bright future. Let us come together to discuss how Akmon provides for and assists us in the betterment of society and the lower classes. Sign up now!”   Most students just continue to walk by, attending to whatever it is they had going on in their own. A few point toward Vera and murmur to one another, the content obscured, but the laugh on the faces of some evident. Some students seem to take a genuine interest, however, stopping to listen to her.   “The school has a Dragonchess club and even a men’s club for Billiards. Why not have a club that is devoted to understanding and giving thanks to Akmon, the god responsible for bringing the civilized races up from the mud? During our meetings we could explore the many subtle ways his policies and influence have guided our lives, and enjoy some good company at the same time!” She taps her clipboard to enunciate her points, then finishes off with a lady-like fist wave. She’d practiced her speeches and motions in the mirror several times. She was sure her roommates thought she was a bit insane. But Mistress Agavra of Speeches and Influence had been adamant that practice was important.   Slowly, Vera begins to get signatures from various students. She continues to stump for her group, and eventually even convinces one of the more popular senior students to add their name to the board. By the end of the free period, Vera is barely able to contain her excitement and heads out with a light skip in her step to plan the first meeting.   —Two Weeks Later—   Vera is working at her school table, reviewing Percurium’s Index of Mechanical Oddities. Her usually studious concentration is gone however, and instead she finds herself just copying the book verbatim in order to memorize the information. She slips a coca leaf into her mouth, but her focus is still fragmented.   Peg comes out from her room, bouncing over and kissing the top of Vera’s head. She frowns a little as she looks at the other girl. “What’s wrong, Vera? You don’t look like you have any of your usual excitement for mechanical oddities?”   “It’s fine. It’s all… fine,” she looks at her book again blankly, leaning against Peg.   Peg crosses her arms and looks at Vera. “It clearly is not, so you might as well tell me what happened.”   “You’ll probably get a laugh out of it,” She sighs and leans back. “Do you remember when I invited you to the club I was making? The Akmon Appreciation Society? I got a bunch of other members to join. Even several older students. Some of them thought we should have a council instead of a monarchy. I decided we could do that. They formed a council and voted me out of the Society.” She gives a slightly manic laugh.   Peg listens with a smile to the beginning, which fades as Vera goes on. “What? Why? You started it. The whole thing was your idea. It wouldn’t even exist without you.”   Vera nods. “I should be happy though, right? I mean, it seems to be pretty successful. A lot of nobles are joining it? I’ll miss it.” She leans back towards her desk and begins sketching a tiara onto her notes.   “Happy? They kicked you out. Bloody noble brats who think they can do whatever they want. It was your idea and your work that got it started.” Peg frowns. “Did they even say why?”   “Yes,” Vera sighs, with a sour note to her voice. “I’m sure there are other reasons, but the one I was given by Neville was ‘Even the AAS has to accept the influence of Eosphorus.’ I figure it was a jab at my Rus origins, since he is one of the Forbidden where I am from.”   Peg wrinkles her nose. “If the gods are so concerned with a school group, they clearly need better things to do with their time. Neville is an imbecile who’s only here because the University couldn’t say no to his parents. I’m more disappointed in the others who went along with him.” She frowns a bit and then smiles mischievously at Vera. “Want me to go talk to them?”   “Sort of,” she laughs in spite of her mood. “Is that bad? I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble though.”   She waves that off. “Don’t worry about that, Vera. It isn’t right what they did. They should understand that.”   Vera goes to say something further, but has come to understand the gleam in Peg’s eye when she has an idea. She just stops and listens, taking in Peg’s scheme, helping to sculpt it.     —Later That Week— Peg goes to the meeting of the Akmon Appreciation Society. The students were meeting in a room of the library. Peg watches them file in, chatting with one another. She frowns as she thinks about them voting Vera out. She looks at Neville as he goes in. <They’re all talking about you.> She thinks. She stifles a laugh and hides behind her book as she sees him jump and screech. The other students look at him and she can see the judgment. He shrinks a bit. <Look how foolish they think you are.> Neville looks around wildly and then bolts from the library.   —The Next Week— Peg returns to the library for the next meeting of the Akmon Appreciation Society. Again, she sits with a book, watching the students file in for their meeting. She spots Penelope Amavir, who seems to have taken charge and is ordering people about. <They can tell. You’re not fooling anyone.> She thinks and she can see Penelope’s eyes grow wide. Peg smiles behind her book. <All your secrets out in the open.> She sing-songs the thought at the other girl and watches the panic spread across her face.   —And On…— As the weeks passed, the Akmon Appreciation Society had fewer and fewer in attendance until it eventually disbanded. Rumor had it that without Vera’s leadership, the Society was unable to sustain itself. Vera was understandably sad that the club had failed, but she pointed out to those who would listen that poor governance and lack of enterprising spirit were the likely downfalls.

The Early Days

***Joint writing project with Todd. Peg and Vera near the beginning of their time together at the AC.***   Margarete had only been at the school a few weeks. It was all so new and she was still getting her bearings. Sitting in class wasn’t her favorite, but the topics were interesting and the teachers weren’t as harsh as she was used to. Maybe it was going to be okay here. She opened the door to her dorm room–it was still strange to live away from home and with someone else–and set down her books on the table.   Vera was sitting at the main table, with her work sprawled out across it. She was a messy teen, and seemed to spread her mess wherever she was able like a goldfish filling its bowl. Her current obsession was calligraphy, and half-used papers with deranged script comprised most of the mess, while blots of ink covered in sand made for sneaky traps for the unwary in those precious leftover spots.   “Hello, Vera!” Peg waves cheerfully, as she comes in. She looks over the table with wide eyes. “You have…a lot going on here. What are you doing?”   She makes a farting noise out from behind her mask, exhaling and deflating. “Working on calligraphy. I’m sure I will eventually have servants to do it, but I need to know what looks right. Right? Right.” Vera looks over at Peg. “Classes went well?”   She laughs brightly. “They did. The teachers are nice here. Your mother didn’t teach you calligraphy?”   “Probably. I’ve forgotten again though. So I’m relearning it. What do you think?” She holds up a page showing a rather ghoulish rendition of Master Techlan rather than letters. “I call it Novandrian Classical.”   Peg grimaces a little as she looks at it. “It is…unique.” She offers. “You’ve mentioned forgetting a lot. You had an accident, right?”   “Oh, yea. I guess I didn’t tell you. I assumed everyone knew or that you had heard through gossip,” Her voice takes on a slightly more cautious tone, as if not wanting to give too much information if Peg doesn’t want to hear.   “I can give a concise summary if you’d like? Your hair looks really pretty today.”   “Thank you. I am trying to remember to do it up like my mother would.” Peg takes a seat by Vera. “I don’t like gossip too much. You never know what people might say that’s mean or just not true. I’d rather hear what you’d like to tell me about it.”   Vera taps her finger to her lips clumsily, like she is practicing the maneuver still. Then she gets up from the table and takes a seat at one of the couches. “The trip to here from Ruskovich was by airship. It was one of the first ones that my father had built. It was considered a source of great pride. He could now deliver his eldest to Novandria without worrying about highwaymen or robbers to attend the prestigious Academia Cassus.”   “But there was a mistake, or an error. That is what I have been told. At the border between Eisen and Patlov, one of the ele-engines failed. It did so in a rather spectacular way from what I am told. The entire ship exploded, raining down debris. I was the only survivor. I consider myself lucky. Others wonder if I’m a bad luck charm instead.” She shrugs. “That is where I got my scars from.”   Peg shudders a bit as she listens. “That’s horrifying, Vera! How awful. Everyone else died? How did they find you? That’s why you don’t remember a lot. And you aren’t a bad luck charm. You ended up here with me bringing me good luck!”   A young elven woman of about 19 years of age steps out of her room. “Oh yes, such luck. A hexblood and a masked freak. I still can’t believe they wouldn’t accept my request for room change.”   Vera looks over at Eridi, “Please be nice to Margarete. She is still new and trying to learn how to fit in.” Vera looks back over at Peg. “I bet she will become very popular like you, Eridi. She is smart and beautiful.”   Eridi huffs, “She may not know the rules, but you do. You are not to speak unless spoken to. So shut it, Vee ra.” She rolls her eyes and comes over to put out her own work on the table, pushing Vera’s stuff onto the floor.     Peg’s eyes flash with her anger and her features darken. She shoves Eridi’s things off the table. “Vera was already working here. Get your own space.”   Eridi looks at her with utter disdain. “How cute. One little freak standing up for the other. Adorable.” As she bends over to pick her things up from the floor, a tendril of shadowy energy emanates from Peg’s hand and slams Eridi’s head into the table. Another pushes her back and she hits the floor with a thud, looking up at Peg with terror.   Vera lets out a small squeak, “Margarete?” She freezes, caught between terror and uncertainty.   Peg looks over to Vera and down to Eridi. Her eyes go wide. “No, no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please.” She extends a hand to Eridi, but the elf doesn’t take it. “Get away from me!” She screams.   “You bumped your head, Eridi. You should make sure it doesn’t bruise,” Vera motions to Eridi's bedroom. “Go look in the mirror.”   “Margarete? Did you want company in your room?” she says timidly, picking up some of the debris on the floor.   Eridi’s eyes dart between the two of them, exhibiting an almost feral moment before Eridi decides that fleeing is better than taking them both on. She recoils from them and flees to her room, slamming the door behind her. The draft causes several of the papers around the room to flutter and shift. Then the room is quiet again except for the muffled crying coming from Eridi’s room.   Peg nods mutely at Vera, hurrying into her room. She grabs her doll from the shelf and holds it tightly against her as she sits down on the bed. “I’m so sorry, Veronika. I didn’t mean to. I just make everything worse. So stupid.”   Vera follows her into her room, closing the door softly. She turns and watches Peg for a moment before replying. When she does, she comes over to sit next to Peg on the bed, “I don’t think you are stupid.”   The two sit in silence for a moment, with Vera just sitting near Peg. Finally, Vera says, “I can’t believe Eridi was so clumsy. Throwing my work on the floor and then slipping on it? It is almost like divine retribution. Akmon certainly shows his disdain in silly ways sometimes, huh?”   She looks over at Vera in confusion. “Akmon? What…but I…oooh…” She takes a deep breath and sits up a little. “I am certain Akmon has reasons for showing displeasure in whatever way he chooses, don’t you agree?”   “Probably,” she giggles. “I certainly don’t know. I probably knew a lot about that.” She gives a whimsical shrug. “So who is that?” she points to the doll as she asks. If she notices the guards come back up, she doesn’t react. She hasn’t been in Peg’s room much, so she just seems to be enjoying the closeness.   She looks at the doll and smoothes its hair back. “This is Dolly. I’ve had her since I was young. She helps me feel better.” Peg smiles softly and then gets up to return Dolly to her shelf. “It’s silly.”   “Why do you think it is silly?” Vera watches her put the doll back in its place, but doesn’t stop her.   She smoothes her dress as she returns to sit on the edge of her bed. “It is a childish thing, dolls. I’m 16 now.”   “It’s hard leaving everything behind as you grow older. I think it’s like having to remake yourself completely, not being able to remind yourself of what you were. Each piece that you put to the side starts to belong to someone else, until you don’t really know who you are and you have to build up a new pile of things to understand yourself.” Vera babbles a bit, then looks over at the doll,” You could maybe keep something to help remind yourself? That seems responsible and adult.”   She listens thoughtfully and nods. “I guess you have had to figure that out a lot. What with the accident and all. You’re very brave and smart.”   “I have a brother and a sister at home. I don’t remember very much about them,” Vera says, looking up at the doll. “But in my lonely times, I think that we would have been close. I would have held them during storms, and let them creep into my bed when they heard the wolves howl. I wonder if I left a doll at home for them to hold when I left.” She pauses a moment, still watching the doll. “It seems like Dolly is doing a fine job, if you don’t need someone else to hold you when you feel bad. You should keep her. At least until you find someone who will hold you when she isn’t there.”   Peg listens thoughtfully to what Vera says. “I bet you were the best sister and that your siblings felt very safe and loved.” She looks over at Dolly. “You are right. She does take good care of me. And isn’t that better than always needing to go to Deiter?”   “With you living here, you probably won’t be able to see him as much in a different dorm. Dolly seems to be around more. I’m next door too, if you want,” she sits back so she can more easily see Peg through the mask.   Peg gives her a small, thankful smile and nods. Vera wraps her arms around the other girl in a hug before heading back to her own room.

Always Too Much

“I didn’t say that, m’lady.” “Was there something I could help you with Lady Jaeger?” “I got to go check on the kids.” "I suppose you will run off to tell Lady Blackthorne?"   Uncomfortable shifting, pained expressions, silent stares, quick exits.   How could she have been so stupid? Friendships weren’t for people like her. No matter how she tried, she would always be too much. Too opinionated. Too brash. Too noble. Too weird. It had been a nice couple of months, spending time with people whose company she enjoyed. Imagining friendships where none really lay. In the end, she would always say or do the wrong thing, and someone would get hurt. Fix, Cardinal, Nel. She couldn’t even manage to wish people well without creating problems. She should have known her place.   “It is why we have the rules we do, Margarete. They protect everyone.” Her father had tried to teach her the lesson. The gods knew her mother had tried. But she was too stubborn. Too headstrong. Too much.   Nel had seen so much the best in her, talked to her like she imagined it would sound to have a mother who was proud of you. But even Nel had seen the error of that. She was not someone to be proud of. Too emotional. Too unstable. Too much.   Cardinal had seemed to like her, enjoyed spending time with her. But when it came down to it, she would always be just a noble to Cardinal. And she’d forgotten her place and overstepped her role and hurt Cardinal in doing so. Too fast. Too forward. Too much.   And what of Miss Arsenault? The woman had been so kind to her in the dreams in the rain. And she had been too afraid of the kindness. But she liked her, her enthusiasm and exuberance. But to what end? After all, wasn’t she just some gossiping noble that would go tell papers about her and Sir Orsei? Too cheerful. Too teasing. Too much.   The look, ever so brief, on Sir Orsei’s face as well. Had she been too harsh with him? Were her jibes cruel where they had not been meant to be? She had broken the rules there too. The rules meant to protect everyone. And if she had hurt him, then surely that would come to his sister as well and Mira would see that she was too cold. Too judgmental. Too unkind.   She suddenly longed for the early days at school when it was just her and Vera. After Eridi. When somehow Vera liked her anyway. How long would it be until she stepped too far from her role for Vera to forgive? When Vera could no longer accept her. When she would see that she was too much.

Mother Knows Best

[CW: self-harm]         She runs back to the dorm, her heart pounding in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears. Another student walks in front of her; she doesn't notice and runs into them. She tries to apologize. She's not sure any sound comes out. She makes it inside and to the stairs. One foot in front of the other. Two at a time. She stumbles and scrambles up a few more before she gets her footing again. She makes her way to the top and down the hallway.   Some part of her mind remembers that there are other people and she slows her movements and smoothes her dress as she reaches her dorm room. She takes a deep breath and pushes open the door. To her relief, neither Vera not Mira are in the main room. She goes into her room and closes the door behind her.   "...if any of the kids I'm taking care of turn out like you, I'll be beyond proud." She hears Nel's voice echo in her mind. "I'm sorry your mother don't see it in you."   Peg feels tears start to flow down her cheeks and she growls, wiping them away with the back of her hand.   "Tears, Margarete, are for children. Are you a child?" This time it was her mother's voice.   She takes the dagger from the belt and presses the blade against the palm of her hand, focusing on the pain of it biting into her skin until she stops crying. She sits down on her bed, looking across at Dolly.   "I couldn't tell her. She's so nice."   Always pretending to what you are not.   "I'm not. I…"   You will hurt her too. Stop pretending. Let go.   Peg looks down at the dagger in her hands. Her mother was right to keep Deiter far from her. Nel didn't know, she could never understand. But her mother knew. There was no good to come from her, only vain efforts to pretend she was something other than what she is.

Consequences

She comes back eventually. She doesn't particularly want to and yet it was where she was expected. And some part of her doesn't want her parents to worry.   It is late when she returns, much later than she should have been there. And she is…well, she could try to play it off, but she is well and truly drunk. She considers briefly, as she gives an unsteady bow to Hans at the door, that perhaps she should have slept it off first, but she had been expected today, hadn't she? It would be rude to keep her parents waiting longer than she already had. The thought makes her giggle, but Hans' impassive, stoic expression brings her back to reality a bit. She gives him a nod and hurries down the hall to the sitting room, her slightly stumbling steps barely managing to keep pace with his long stride.   "Baron and Baroness Jaeger, Lady Margarete has arrived." He announces from the doorway. Her parents do not rise. She curtsies. She manages not to fall, but she knows her state does not escape her parents' discerning eyes.   "Margarete." Her father says, motioning her to a chair. Her mother is silent. Peg moves toward the chair. She knows her mother is waiting for her to stumble or fall. She moves slowly, carefully, and sits.   "You were expected many hours ago. What kept you?" Her father's voice isn't harsh and she feels a pang of guilt. He wants her to be able to give a reasonable answer, something he could forgive. She doesn't have one.   "I…" She starts hesitantly and is almost immediately cut off by Baroness Jaeger's voice. Unlike her father's, it is hard.   "Choose your words carefully, child. Your father has a great misplaced trust in you. Do not abuse his affections."   Peg winces. Thoughts war inside her head, combining with the half bottle of imbibed whiskey to create a splitting headache. She fights the urge to put a hand to her forehead. They remain clasped in her lap, her eyes looking down at them. She doesn't know how to answer. Her mind swims through a swamp of alcohol, fear, and guilt. Her mother's voice breaks through.   "Look at you. You imagine yourself an independent woman, but sit her like a sniveling child. My great disappointment."   The fear and guilt now joined by shame and pain…and anger. She can feel it bubbling up inside her. Let go. The shadowy tendrils of magic wrap around her hands and climb her arms.   "Enough." It is her father's voice this time, quiet but commanding. "You are walking a dangerous road, Margarete, one that will not be tolerated in this family." His tone is gentle, but his words cut in ways her mother's never could.   She thinks about where she was: drinking on a rooftop with…a street rat. She hated the description, but she knew it was how they would see Fix. Would they find her? Punish her? –I'm going to hurt her again through my own selfish stupidity.-- She sets her jaw and looks at her mother.   "I went to the tavern for a drink. Lost track of time. Found myself a little fun…if you know what I mean." She tries not to look at her father. She can feel his heartbreak and disappointment. Instead she keeps her eyes locked on her mother's eyes, intense and angry. Why had family business taken Dieter so far from her? She could almost hear her brother's voice telling her to stop. She knew it was the right thing to do, but the voice that told her to keep going was louder.   "With enough coin, you can get someone to do almost anything to you."   Her mother's expression changes from one of anger to something far colder and she knows she's gone too far. Her eyes finally tear away from her mother to look at her father and he looks…broken. What in all the hells had she done? She wants to apologize, to fling herself at her parents' feet and beg for mercy. But, somehow she can't bring herself to move and the words stay stuck in her throat. Baroness Jaeger turns to her husband and he just nods and leaves.   "The coin that you so freely spend to drink and whore like some wretched street rat could be gone from you in a moment. I could put you out as easily as I did the footman who let you run off from the gate. The only thing sparing you from that is your father's grace. You have already destroyed the life of a servant. He will not be hireable again when let go for such incompetence. Be careful that you do not ruin your own life as well."   Peg winces at the information regarding the footman. She had never considered the consequences of her actions on him. –Of course I hadn't. I never do.-- The combination of drink and emotions makes her feel like she's going to be sick. Her mother looks pleased.   "Now, hold out your hands." Peg complies to the all too familiar request. Her mother retrieves a small cane from near where she had been seated. The wood cracks into Peg's knuckles again and again until they are black and blue and swollen.   "There are gloves by your bed. Go sleep off your liquor." Her mother turns and leaves without another word. Peg finally vomits and sinks to the ground. Eventually one of the maids finds her and helps her to her room. Her night is not a restful one.

Memories in Rain

She returned to her room, cold, wet. Perhaps Veronika had the right of it after all--walking was overrated. Could she have avoided it? Stayed away from the rain? Stayed away from others. The dark isolation of her room felt comfortable...safe. She looked around, slowly pulling off her wet garments. Safe, but lonely. She glanced at Dolly sitting on her shelf. She shivered, the memory now no longer brought by the rain, simply her own mind replaying it in her head. She remembered vaguely the feeling of Miss Arsenault speaking to her in the rain memory--the fear, knowing she wasn't real and the comfort realizing that she wasn't. Peg mused that perhaps she should have shared more with the woman after the memories had faded. She had been kind and seemed genuinely concerned. But, how could she say more? The burdens were not new. The memories old, the pain hers to carry, to hold, to keep silent.   She scooped her wet clothes to the side, standing a moment naked and cold in the dark before slipping on a dry sleeping gown. Her mother's voice echoed in her head from the early memory "you must do better, Margarete." "You are a lady, Margarete." She did not always like her duty, but she understood it and accepted that her privilege came with certain responsibilities. But the others whose memories she had seen, they did not share her station. Why should they have to carry such pain as they did? She worried for them and longed to help. Yet was she not part of the problem? Her head pounded and she sat on the edge of her bed, pressing her fingers to her forehead.   Always trying so hard to be what you are not. Perhaps it was the rain that made the voice seem louder tonight. Let go.   She looked around the dark of the room. Lonely, perhaps, but maybe that was the only way for 'safe' to also be.

Peg's Playlist

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5eZ57tWRbRykmtxstNSCQn?si=e2185d4787c44a2e     Bitch--Meredith Brooks I Am What I Am--from La Cage aux Folles Q.U.E.E.N.--Janelle Monae, ft. Erykah Badu I Believe in Me--Devorah Schwartz Let it Go--from Frozen Reflection--from Mulan Stronger--Kelly Clarkson Defying Gravity--from Wicked Confident--Demi Lovato Invincible--Pat Benatar King of Anything--Sara Bareilles Take Me As I Am--Mary J. Blige Take Me or Leave Me--from Rent This is Me--from The Greatest Showman You Don't Own Me--Lesley Gore Battle Cry--Beth Crowley Queen of Swords--Idina Menzel Brave--Sara Bareilles

Who Doesn't Like a Good Soiree?

CW: Self-harm, emotional trauma   Back in the quiet dark of her room, Peg sat on the edge of her bed. She didn't bother with the light, she could see well enough in the dark and this way Veronika and Miranda wouldn't worry. She looked across to the shelf where Dolly sat. Still eyes, pleasant smile, perfect dress. She looked down at herself, her bloody torn gown discarded, her hand now neatly bandaged, a loose sleep gown covering her green skin. She started to take down her hair from its once neat braided bun, her fingers running along the thorns of the roses that grew in a crown around her head. She pushed the palm of her hand down onto one of them, causing it to bleed again through the bandage.   "Did I do alright?" She asked across to the doll, unmoving, unanswering, still eyes, pleasant smile, perfect dress. "I didn't hurt anyone. See?" She held up her hand, the dagger wound opened again by the thorn she had pressed into it, red seeping through the white bandage. "I was good. I tried to help." She murmured, her voice small, as she set her hand back down.   "No, no I wasn't! I would have gotten up." Her voice climbed a bit and she grips the edge of the bed. "I would have." She protest softly, almost a whimper. She feels the familiar pain shooting through her head. Was it worse tonight? She tries to block it out. She doesn't have to listen. But she can't escape it. She never could.   You are meant for pain. Your only good is to hurt.   "That's not true!" She cried out before stifling the sound to not disturb the others. She hoped they slept well. That Mira had no nightmares. That Vera would let herself sleep.   Look at you. Perhaps you should have let yourself age and die at a desk. A waste.   She looked down, shuddering a bit, and pulled her sleeping gown closer around her. Perhaps...no. She looked back across to Dolly with her still eyes, pleasant smile, perfect dress. "I'll do better. I'll try harder. I can do it. I can." She sat a long moment looking at the doll before she stood, retrieved a simple walking dress from her closet and put it on. She brushed her tangled red hair and set it into a single braid that came down over her shoulder. Tonight would be just another night, a memory to look back on, even to enjoy. After all, who doesn't like a good soiree?
Article template
Character
World
Terranon
Category
Player Characters in People
Author
DrAmandaVG
Publication Date
19 Apr, 2022
Creation Date
19 Apr, 2022
Last Update Date
19 Apr, 2022
Visibility
Public
Views
167
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0

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