Post #1520894 in Carpe Diem: Seize the Day, a roleplay on RPG

Delshad Adaire

Delshad himself was not exactly the type to be tremendously excited about a dance (he had participated since he was very young, after all), but being able to hold his wife in his arms sent his mood soaring whereas it sent hers plummeting. She was nothing but a wife in name, he realized. She had none of his children, as they had never consummated their marriage, and she had no love for him. But at the moment there was no time for him to be feeling wistful—because he was closer to her right now than she would ever let him. He drew a little satisfaction from that, and also from the fact that her face was quite flushed. He thought she looked much prettier and alive like that, but he did not say anything, as he knew she was uncomfortable as she was to begin with.

--

Not finding anything else to say to the lord, he smiled pleasantly at him and excused himself. He was in a most jubilant mood—he had gotten Eskandir what he had wanted, and now he would get three—three things about Lyanna. It may have been rather pathetic to see how excited he could get over those things, but he was an easily interested person—on the inside. Even a passage about the most meager of insects made him marvel and wonder, finding ways to explore without ever having to leave his duties.

He walked back to the table where Lyanna was sitting alongside Darya. “It seems like Uncle Eskandir is busy. Would you like to dance, little lady?” he asked playfully, bowing to her just as he had to Lyanna. He took her plump hand that was of a child’s and led her out to the circle, a satisfied smile lighting up his face at the sight of the small girl. Darya was much different than Gita, but he was very fond of her nonetheless. Gita had been a fragile and delicate girl, prone to coming down with illnesses—not like Darya, the robust and healthy one that seemed to run about, full to the brim with energy.

--

“My son, you will be the crown on our heads and your sister the flower that blooms beautifully.”

The last year of Gita’s life had been painful for her—it must have been. She had been confined to bed, her legs slowly losing their lean muscle and dissolving into nothing but nerves that couldn’t be of any use. His mother kept flowers around Gita all the time, whether they were roses, daises, tulips or wildflowers. He had watched her skinny form on the oversized bed, her breaths shallow and slow, surrounded by flowers of every color and shape. Seeing her like that had almost been like seeing a funeral, a still body covered with flowers, her skin pale as wax.

The last time he had gone to visit her, she had briefly awoken, her dark eyes strangely focused for the first time in months, and smiled at him. “Brother. Read me a story.” Delshad had complied, though she would have been considered a bit old to be reading a fable to. He picked out her favorite and sat on the edge of her bed, and when he had finished she was still smiling, eyes half open as she watched him. Then she had turned to the vases and vases of flowers in her chamber and said with clarity; “The flowers are dying, Del.” He examined them, but they only seemed to be healthier than ever—not even a sign of being sickly. Though he told her that, his little sister of eight had contradicted him, already fifteen and considered a man. “No, brother. They are dying.” Her voice was calm and strangely mature for her, but he had simply bade her good night and kissed her forehead and gone to bed himself.

The next morning, he went in and saw that her breathing had stopped and she was as stiff as a statue. And all around her, dead flower petals littered the floor.

The flowers are dying, she had told him.

She had been right.

_____________________

Shirin Lasyar

She had expected him to be surprised—angry, even. Any other man would have disliked her sharp tone and disapproved of her—but no, that was not his reaction. Instead, he stared at her so hard one would have thought he was attempting to count the freckles on her face, the freckles that her master hated so.

She stared back as his confused visage with equal amounts of confusion. What, had he been dropped on his head as a child or something of the sort? Was he but a pretty pot, elaborate on the outside but totally empty on the inside? He would know…would he not? It wasn’t as if he was only a child—he had to be around her own age—or were rich brats not taught about things of ‘corruption’? She found that hard to believe, as corruption was spread by the nobles themselves, in her opinion.

Shirin sucked in a silent breath as he frowned at her, his voice clipped; she expected for him to tell her that it was obvious that she would please him, for him to drop all false pretenses of kindness and become the monster that nobles were so prone to becoming. Instead he repeated his innocent intentions, slowly, as if she was hard of hearing or soft in the head. The girl looked away from his intense gaze, getting the feeling that he thought she was terribly slow.

This young man seemed quite convinced that he would not do anything out of the ordinary, and Shirin swallowed her accusations, not about to contradict him. She did not trust, and because she did not trust, she was still alive. She would have to be daft to trust this…whatever he was. She would go along with him because he had demanded it, but she would be inwardly prepared for anything that could happen. She began to walk after him, but then he asked her what she had meant before, which momentarily left her speechless. Was he taunting her? Teasing her? He must be playing at something, no? Yet he smiled charmingly at her, and Shirin felt even more confused.

She could not figure him out.

At last Shirin fixed him with a meaningful gaze before averting her eyes once more, slightly flushed at having to explain. She would keep it as vague as possible and hope that she would not have to go into explicit details. “Some men are not as…well-meaning as you are, ser. They take what they want.” And that was the truth of it. Dancers weren’t much different than flexible whores in the heads of the people that they entertained—they were owned, after all. They were to entertain their guests and satisfy their masters, whether it was with dance, words, charm, or their bare bodies. They never mattered; the audience was all.

She did not like that. It was actually why she had been recently sold again to Lord Fariel—she had fought the man who had tried to have her. He had shoved his tongue into her mouth after dragging her to a guest room, his dirty hands grasping her silks, and Shirin had bitten and clawed at him until he had howled and she could taste blood. Fortunately for her, he had not been anyone of very great importance—the son of a Master of Arms—but she had still been well punished for that and sold.

Abducted at a young age to be a servant, a slave—taught and raised to be one too. But she knew that she was not born as one. She did what she had to get by, to live, but she was no common whore—a dancer, no more.

However, she knew that if he decided that he did want to have her, she could not bite him as she had done with the other man. He was too important; her punishment would be severely harsh if she was allowed to live after harming the heir to the Merchant’s Guild—not to mention the brother-in-law of Lord Delshad Adaire. She had no intentions of dying quite yet, thank you. She would survive, no matter what.

She would survive and live—but to what end and for what, she knew not.

Tree with no roots.

Snippet #1520894

located in Essos - Asshai, a part of Carpe Diem: Seize the Day, one of the many universes on RPG.

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