Secrets

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[107] Nymaya: Secrets
Mon Oct 22 02:55:43 2012
To: Verminasia Ashtiel Reklah ( Uvall Cayenna RP )
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The open window allowed an uncommonly temperate breeze in, billowing the smokey gray and burgundy drapes gently and flickering the sinuous flame of the candle on the desk. 

Dusk was deepening beyond, the horizon lit with soft light and the fading rays of the sun cast the fall leaves in a brief fiery conflagration of autumn colors. 

She watched with a somber sort of silence from just within the balcony, alone but for the milling servants in the hallways outside the chamber.  The estate was far enough away from the teeming city to lend the illusion of remoteness, but close enough that at night, the lit towers and battlements could be spied.  And when the wind was right, the industrial scent of the dark city could be detected. 

The Kayen lands around the manor were expansive, the forest deep and dark where it flourished.  There was no bit of it that she had not explored and if there were secrets left to be discovered, they were well hidden indeed and deserved to remain that way. 

She lingered on the balcony until the sun disappeared and the evening's shadows stretched far, encompassing all in their silent glory.  It was then she moved, disappearing behind the wafting drapery to approach the desk and its neatly arranged parchment, quill, ink pot and wax. 

It was all very orderly. 

The chair was richly upholstered and padded comfortably when she settled in it.  Her gaze turned to the black feathered quill, not a cheap writing implement, and though she knew she had words aplenty to fill a parchment she did not reach for it. 

The secrets were spilling forth.  And though she'd had every intention of shielding her daughter from them for as long as she could, that ability had finally been taken from her. 

..reap what you have sown..

Her gaze lowered to peer at nothing while her fingers fisted atop the desk. Another double-edged blade had presented itself, but it was Ashtiel who would pay the price. 

'Well, life would be a lot less interesting if not for your influence, Uvall.' She whispered humorlessly into the empty room and angled her gaze toward the darkness beyond the balcony. 

She had no real desire to implore upon the attentions of her tormentor but she imagined the demon most likely knew her thoughts anyway, if it was still remotely connected to her. 

Exhaling heavily into the silence, she forsook the writing desk as she pushed away from it, consigning herself to this path that fate was playing out before her and the empty confines of the chamber for the evening that was sure to stretch each hour to come. 

Rather than dwell, she grabbed up her brush and proceeded to drag its well worn bristles through the length of her silver hair.  There were drills to be seen to on the morrow and she needed to be focused.