| Rosepetal |
| Summary: | Lucienne takes a walk in the garden of Stonebridge |
| Date: | 12/Jan/2012 (OOC Date) |
| Related Logs: | Prone |
| Players: |
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| Garden, Tordane Tower - Stonebridge |
| 10/01/289 |
As the day faded, the sun's last rays finally swallowed by the night, Lucienne took a moment to steal away from the tower. The halls, familiar from her childhood, were becoming small and stifling as the days passed, and she found herself soothed by the openness out in the garden. She was grateful, in this moment, for the girl in her service; Celine's instincts were perfect, and this evening the slender maid held well back from her lady, urging a surly guard to do the same.
As she filled her lungs with breath of the crisp night air, Lucienne felt as though she were drinking in the darkness. It sent a shiver up her spine, a delightful tingle, and made her feel… alive. Nervous, of course, a flighty feeling rose in her chest as thoughts of her castle under siege flittered blurrily through her mind. Would the walls look the same, when next she rode to the Roost? Those high stone walls, ragged in places and smooth in others, thick and safe. Would she find her father, her mother, her uncle and her favourite guard, or her dearest heart still there? The battle would be bloody, and a lord must lead his men. Perhaps this time, there would be worse than they took for the Usurper. For an instant, her blood felt cold.
This battle, it felt… different. As her dark eyes dropped to swim distractedly over a flowering rose bush, she reflected on old emotions, feelings still clung to all these years since the rebellion. She was not a child anymore, as sweet Jarod had pointed out so recently. Sending her brother off to fight this war felt… right. It felt just, and it felt… it was a stone in the pit of her stomach, but a pang of pride in her chest, too. Or was that hollow, jittery feeling more akin to jealousy? Would that she could brandish a sword, or even a needle. She frowned deeply her dissatisfaction, and reached out one smooth-skinned, slender hand to pluck a petal from the closest bloom.
It was darkest red, almost black in the rising moonlight. As she brought it to her lips, she wondered what it might feel like to end a man. She drank in a breath of it, the scent sharp, yet soft and sweet. She scored the thing with a fingernail, nowhere near as keen as a blade. It left a stain on the prettily-shaped free edge, and the dark-haired girl let the petal flutter away in an idle breeze so that she might slip her finger between her lips. Oh, the taste was as sweet as it was bitter, and it set her pulse to racing and fuelled a lust within her; her thoughts turned to him.
Her knight. Tall and broad and oh-so-able, she felt her skin grow hot as she pondered what gift he might have for her upon his return. For a brief moment, Lucienne felt a pang of guilt; she cleansed it away with a deep, meaningful breath, and put a foot forward. It was something symbolic, the step, or so she told herself as she took another. And another. And she smiled, just mildly, the tart taste of rosepetal still on her tongue.
