From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
They had a mission. Simple, lacking any complexity to its course, not impossible, but improbable, depending on connections, coercions, and acting ability. Mabel had never had the opportunity, until now, to be a duplicitous sort – her parents and their control on their actions had ensured stepping out of line was a farce, and only after their family perished, did she and her twin even snag a chance.
Her approach was made on an almost cowardly demeanor – an alteration from her usual discordant, reserved, composed stance. Anointed to look as though every inch of her movements and motions were apprehensive, she slipped and slid slowly from shadow to shadow, maneuvering along the stonework of the Temple, her twin close behind, gauging out their intended target.
The Queen (and how did one even address a sovereign; she’d been younger in the crowds with Zariah the Merciless, never had opportunity with discussion and discourse with the Dark Star, or the Wraith until recently, and only a single nod and word to the Penumbra) lingered nearby, apparently not in discussion with anyone else. Mabel bit her lip, newly Ascended fangs glinting in the light, and ambled her way towards the Wordsworth. “Queen Evie,” because that sounded better on her tongue, on the low whispers, on the darting of her eyes, back and forth, glancing everywhere. “May we speak to you?”
Coordination has already been a difficult task in the wake of immediate deaths. Calming those she can with gentle hands upon curled, quaking shoulders, a soft voice and years of experience with this particular time of year all Evie feels she has to offer. Handing out the concoctions she'd prepared to ease anxiety and nerves, and murmuring quietly with those white-faced and huddled in various corners. Exhausting though it may be, it gives her a sense of peace and purpose. These are her people, scared and huddling inside this sanctuary, and Evie will do anything to keep them safe until dawn comes again.
When she is approached, she assumes it's for the same reason, and she recognizes the face on the figure that sidles up to her first. Part of a larger family, though as her eyes skim habitually she does not find them here. Not letting the crease of concern between her brows show, she instead gives a welcoming smile. Perhaps a tad tired and creased at the edges like a well-loved piece of parchment, but earnest all the same. The title still feels wrong, ill-fitting, like when she used to dress up in her mother's clothes (or, admittedly, her father's) and pretend she was some storybook hero. Disregarding that feeling, she turns to give her full attention to the twins. "Of course. Is something wrong?"
They had a task, an assignment, and they were eager to impress, to prove themselves worthy of this gift bestowed upon them. When her sister had told her of the conversation with the Wraith, she had listened with rapt attention, absorbed completely. It was something that they would have to unpack further, together, at a later time.
What they could focus on in the meantime, was the Wraith's request, her instructions. Get Evie on our side. Get her to promise to protect you.
They were angelic, images of innocence, as they approached the Queen, the Evergreen. She was silent as her sister spoke, bowing her head in respect, her own azure gaze glancing, seeking something to land on, looking shyly up at the royal before them. "My Queen," she said, letting a tremor enter her voice, letting her gaze appear softer, with hints of tears pooling in the her lower lid.
"We are afraid, your grace. The door… we cannot touch it." What else could she say to start this discussion? With a soft sniffle she cleared her throat and made to provide more information. "Forgive me, I am Evelyn, and this is my sister Mabel, of the Occidendums."
Perhaps not the most perfected of acts, but they’d attempted nonetheless – Mabel following through on Evelyn’s movements, motions, striving to look like a shy nymph or waif, graceless, unpoised, undignified, their sad, begotten orphaned lot coming through on a tilted head and notes of deference. “The door killed our fellow Ascended,” as if to remind, as if to chisel the moment through toward the newest monarch. Did she look afraid? Did she embody terror? At least some measure of her body must’ve; the unknown, the impending war, the strikes that could be inflicted upon them in the future could curl apprehension, trepidation, and consternation from her features, all the way down to her toes. “What should we do?”
Mabel couldn’t exactly match the crying, so she went for her sister’s shoulder, maneuvering her arms over her twin, enacting a hug, an embrace, to parallel fears and comforts. “We just lost our parents and siblings.” Would they lose everything else too?
No, Mabel would make sure of it. But Evie wouldn’t know that.
Their tears - or at least Evelyn's - are...unexpected. Evie doesn't let herself question it, because it's not as if she knew the twins well even if they're all Naturals. Though she does soften slightly at their apparent distress, seeing Sam in their faces; young, caught up in something far greater than them, and searching blindly for some sort of tether. Even if their honorifics make her feel out of place, at least comfort is something she can supply. She's not so bold as to reach to physically comfort them - isn't the type, anyway - but she moves a little closer into their fold.
"I knew your family, I'm sorry to hear they've passed." That, firstly, is something she must say. Regret and grief briefly lining her tired eyes. So much has been done, and Evie is exhausted from her own hand in it all. "Your fears are not unfounded. But you are not alone, not while I am here. You may not be able to touch the door, but I can. You will not be trapped here, you have my word as Queen." Gods, does that feel wrong to say. Like she's spitting on Rexanna's memory by saying the word in such a proprietary way. "The door will not be touched nor opened until the sun rises again, not without my being there. Stay away from the door, as far as you can. Stay together, as quiet as you can. All we can do now, girls, is wait." The grim set of her jaw speaks of too many years of LongNights beneath her belt. She won't lie and say it will be easy, or tell them she will fix the wrongs a Goddess has wrought. This is all she can give them.
Perhaps the tears were a touch too dramatic. But they were easily summoned, wetness adding just that extra touch to the performance she was giving this evening.
They had the Queen's word then, her promise that they would not be trapped here, forever locked behind a door that could kill them if they touch it, either with intent or by accident. Certainly, since learning just what damage the door could do to an Ascended, they had kept their distance, letting monsters and innocents alike fall to their doom on the other side whenever they heard them.
But then she speaks of after the sun rises too, and Evelyn knows that it was Wessex's intention for them to have this promise going on into the future.
"Thank you, my Queen," she said, with a respectful bow of her head. "But.." she hesitates, quite deliberately, worrying at her lower lip, glancing to her sister before resuming. "What about after the sun rises too?" Would the Queen give her word for their safety once Flowerbirth comes as well? Would she protect them even when they weren't locked away for the Longnight?
The words came out simplistically; promises for the present, though she wasn’t certain how far Wessex wanted the convictions to stretch. For the next year? For decades? For eternity? For oblivion? Until there was something else, something monumental, something blistering, beyond doors and apertures? Given the opportunity, they needed more; like little avaricious, greedy thorns and nettles, brushing up aside strongholds, hitching their ride to the next venue, carving their wherewithal into the Queen’s sides.
Obliged, listening, she bent her head down respectfully, Evelyn taking over the acknowledgments, the thank yous, and then the next plea. “Yes, and after?” She drew a hand upwards to dash away a tear threatening to fall down her cheek, pressing, clasping her palms and fingers together, as if in some mockery of a prayer. Her voice intentionally wavered, yearning to appear strong, but collapsing on its ends, fringes, and boundaries; a little quiver to each segment and line. “What if something like this happens again?” Did they have a notion, a semblance of fear, for the future? It’d be foolish to not carry some sort of apprehension in the back of their minds – but for now she didn’t care about that, committed to her duty, to her sanctity, to whatever requirements needed to be met.
Ah. Promises of a future that Evie isn't certain of herself. It's a weight that makes her pause, fingers brushing lightly back and forth across her lips. Considering, measuring. Already she is being asked to choose sides, to make her stance on the Ascended. And something tickles at her mind, perhaps a tad suspicious of the girls and their insistent desire to know where she lays her chips. At the same time, after Wessex was voted out and now the deaths of Rexanna and Clemente, she can't blame them for being unsure of where the Ascended stand in the Grounds now.
Her answer doesn't come swiftly. She is as torn between sides as firmly as her siblings stand on each shore, and Evie knows no answer will ever be enough for either of them. All she can do is look past her family and aim for what is best for all of her newly acquired citizens. "I'm sure you're intelligent enough to see the chasms between races, the Old Gods and your own creator. I can't promise nobody will attempt to harm you on an individual basis, but you are welcome in the Grounds, and any action taken against you through prejudice will be met with punishment. Exile, jail time, whatever matches the transgression. I can only keep you as safe as equally as you can keep me informed." Her own sharp blues meet the girls', because this is certainly not a one-sided affair. They will be welcome in the Grounds, will have council protection, but Evie cannot hold their hands in private affairs even if she wanted to.
Yes, what about after? What about when the sun rises again and the memory of their fallen Queen is mourned and forgotten, faded into dust, as difficult memories often are? What will become of them when the accursed door was opened, and the world was theirs to experience once more?
Would she let them perish, let them burn even as they burned their former Queen? Or would she extend her promise of protection, of safety, beyond that of Longnight?
Evelyn doesn't like that they are kept waiting, even if it seems the Queen is giving her response due time and thought. She would have preferred an instant promise, impassioned as the one Evie had made of their protection for the Longnight, easily extending it to the sun rise and beyond.
"You will be kept informed," Evelyn agreed, though her tone was decidedly less than before, dry, sad - resigned. A beat, a moment, a glance to her sister passed, before she wiped a tear from her eyes and nodded her head to the Queen. "Thank you, your Grace," soft tones uttered.
Words, words, and words, perhaps already political, diplomatic stances. They were to be considered safe within the Grounds, but outside the Queen’s jurisdiction, one wouldn’t know how to guard. It’d be up to themselves, another guardian body, or governmental sway – and the youth wasn’t sure how to regard the position, except with a nonchalant air, accepting, brushing away a stray tear. “Thank you,” she compromised, her eyes going to her sister for a moment, at an impasse until after LongNight, until they saw the newest monarch for what she really was, and all those convictions lodged thereafter.
It was all they had for now, and they could retreat back into the canals and annals of twilight, of brooding factions immersed in the Temple, and once the reign of monsters complete, they’d see exactly where the world would be led.
