for our blessed land

𓇢𓆸 𓆤 𖧧 𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𖧧 𓍊𓋼 𔓘

"𝔸 valet?" The woman, dressed in a light pink skirt and a laced white long-sleeved shirt with her blonde hair elegantly tied in a tight bun, exclaimed excitedly upon learning that Vign was to be her valet. She turned her attention to Vign, who stood next to a faun woman, Afissa, and he couldn't help but wonder sarcastically about the situation of the woman not having one since her father died. "Well, it is high time we corrected that intolerable state of affairs," her brother, Mr. Spurnrose, declared as he stood up from his desk and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you. And I am sorry," she added before her brother left. "Now, what for, dear?" Mr. Spurnrose inquired. "For doubting you and your ever-mysterious business ventures," she replied, looping her arm through her brother's, and looking at Vign as they walked forward. "Clearly, you are handling our affairs most capably." She eyed Vign up and down, letting her gaze wander, sending disgust chill down his spin as he tried to main tame his composure before the siblings walked out of the room.

"What's your name, boy?" the faun lady asked.

"Vign," he replied shortly as Afissa inspected his current attire. "Well, come along, then. Let's get you cleaned up. I think we still got the last boy's uniform somewhere," she said, gesturing for him to follow as they headed to the washing area. A few moments later, Vign emerged, now clad in a valet uniform. The tailored, black-colored suit exuded sophistication, complemented by matching trousers crisply pressed for a polished appearance. His black, long-sleeved dress shirt featured gold lining, resembling a male version of the faun's maid outfit. In the elegant dining area, the sister sat at a laced-covered table adorned with a bouquet of flowers and a white tea set. Various fruits were on display. As Vign poured her tea, she spoke, "You'll have Swansday off. Please attend to personal matters then and not during the week."

"Sorry," Vign apologized as he not so gracefully put the teapot down. "The last boy we... Uh, milk?" she gestured to the milk before he started pouring. "The last boy we had had a veritable parade of kin popping in downstairs at... Oh, that... that's enough," she stopped Vign before the tea could overflow. "At all hours of the day and night. It was terribly annoying," she continued as she stirred the tea. "Not to worry, miss. I have no kin to speak of," Vign assured her. "Oh, are they all still in Tirnanoc?" the woman asked, about to take a sip of her tea before Vign interrupted her, "They're all dead."

At that statement, she delicately placed her cup on the table and gracefully rose from her chair, crossing the room to stand by his side. "Well, of course, I think it's dreadful that the Burgue abandoned Tirnanoc to the ravages of the Pact," she said, attempting to infuse sympathy into her words, though Vign could sense its insincerity. "Taking in an unfortunate such as yourself is the least we can do." She took hold of his hand, inspecting it closely, but Vign remained stoic, his attention fixed on a distant point. Inwardly, he yearned for the touch of the woman who held his heart.

"You'll need to clean your nails before you serve me tea again," she remarked, gently placing his hand back down. "Yes, miss," he replied, still avoiding her gaze. "Well, it's no wonder that it fits you so well," she commented, studying him from behind. "All you fae are so slight and hollow-boned. I'm not sure about this braid, though." She reached out to touch it, but Vign abruptly straightened, his voice taking on a harsh tone as he issued a warning. "Don't." He turned to face her, his eyes wide, then quickly composed himself, looking down. "Uh, I'm so... so sorry, miss. Please excuse me. I just... I don't have much else left. My braids tell who I am." Finally meeting her gaze, he added, "Oh. How quaint." The woman responded, "It reminds me of someone I've loved... loved and lost." Vign averted his gaze, struggling to contain the memories that threatened to overwhelm him.

The woman took a step closer, studying him intently. "I do hope you won't be any trouble," she said with a smile, holding his gaze for a moment before dismissing him. "You may go." With a nod, Vign left the room, leaving behind an atmosphere heavy with unspoken emotions and the weight of a past that continued to haunt him.

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

"This is our city! It belongs to the Burguishmen!" declared the impassioned speaker on the stage, capturing the attention of the gathered crowd. The two siblings listened as the fervour of the speech resonated among the men in the small building. While many nodded in agreement, their eyes wandered, observing the scene unfolding around them. As the speaker continued, decrying the perceived threats from other races, and emphasizing the need for a strong leader, the gaze of the men shifted, some eyeing Melody with curiosity. She, being the lone woman in the assembly, couldn't help but feel a mixture of annoyance and discomfort. Her brother, too, seemed to share her sentiments.

"You need only look at the godless hell these bestial shite races have made of their own fucking lands to know what's at stake here!" the speaker proclaimed passionately, further fuelling the sentiments of those in attendance. Melody sighed, shaking her head in frustration. The cacophony of voices and the narrow-mindedness of the rhetoric were giving her a headache, making her wonder if anyone in the room was utilizing the organ within their skulls called a brain. "If Absalom Breakspear can't put a stop to the tide of Critch swamping our shores, then let him step aside for a man who can: Ritter Longerbane!" the man shouted, brandishing a large poster featuring Ritter Longerbane. The room erupted in cheers; the fervour of the crowd palpable. However, the two siblings remained silent and unenthused amidst the sea of enthusiasm, questioning the wisdom of the choices being made in the name of their city.

As the "meeting" concluded, the siblings made their way outside, greeted by the biting embrace of the cold, snowy air that caused Melody's nose to tingle. Amidst the wintry scene, Philo spotted the officer with grey muttonchops and nudged his sister, signalling for her to follow him. They approached the officer, who was engrossed in conversation with a group of other men. "Well, it's a disgrace, that's what it is. These used to be respectable neighborhoods," the officer lamented. Philo, unimpressed, interjected, "Sergeant. What the fuck are you doing here?" His sister stood beside him, her expression revealing a mixture of irritation and defiance.

"Well, last I heard, it wasn't illegal to gather with like-minded folk. And what is this little flower doing here?" the sergeant remarked, gesturing towards Melody, who shot him an unamused look, her readiness to confront the man evident. Philo, standing in front of Melody, spoke, not only in her defense but also as a shield against the man before them.

"Not even the sorts of folk who might be happy to take a hammer to a few fairish skulls, eh?" Philo challenged, asserting his presence, and making it clear that they were not easily intimidated by the sergeant's condescending remarks. The tension hung in the cold air as the three stood face to face, their differing perspectives on display in the frosty aftermath of the contentious meeting.

𓇢𓆸 𓆤 𖧧 𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𖧧 𓍊𓋼 𔓘

By: SilverMist707