The dream always opened differently from the memory; she was freed of her Evanuris cage, and she fled to his embrace. Perhaps that was how she had wanted the reality to go, to flee into waiting arms, to see a familiar knowing smile grace his lips. For things to be... normal, to be back to what they had before, before he'd gotten lost and she'd fallen into old habits. It always opened with his arms around her. Her feet leave the ground with little effort as she was lifted into his arms. Embraced, held close.
It's certainly a memory, somewhere, of another time. But it was not the right memory opening for this dream. It was never the same, always a little different. On nights where her mind was truly seeking madness, he was harsh and cold. He was anything but warm towards her. It was guilt; she knew. She'd never lose that guilt. Guilt over loving Magnus, while she loved Francesco, too. Their circumstances had not been their own—she'd been with Magnus before, receiving her orders to kill the prince. And she'd been a foolish girl to think that she might avoid falling for a rascal when every woman to look his way would bare their flesh for him.
If history were repeated, would she still let herself waltz into his heart? The difference between those other girls and the dancer had been that the prince had barely glanced at women which bared themselves for him. But she had done everything but offer herself; and she had not loved him until it snuck up on her like a wolf crouched in the brush, stalking its prey. Love was not blind... no, love was harsh. A terrible mistress that led people astray from the tasks they were given.
And yet she had loved, and she had loved dearly. It had derailed her life, the Talon that had trained her, hoped she would do more for the Crows. Would she rise through the ranks? Would she claim the crown for the Crows? She had done nothing but love like a stupid little girl. And she had done nothing but kill, like the scavenger they had wished she might become.
But the dream was quickly dissolving. From a husband that held her and twirled her in a bout of happiness at the sight of her, it quickly melted away to a flame circle that engulfed her entire life. Watching eyes peered from the crevices of the darkness. The only light was firelight, and she was on the wrong side. Pleading, begging, crying out, but her voice was gone. Her throat would not release the sounds that she was desperately trying to convey. He'd not listened. The nightmare was reminding her that he had not listened; he had not heeded. Not until it was too late. Moments gone past, where he slipped through her fingers and derailed into a less than safe environment.
The flames licked at her flesh but did not burn her, and she glared up at the likeness of the Evanuris, and her limbs began to move of their own acco... no, of his accord. It was stiff, and then fluid, as he overpowered her will entirely. She'd never known to expect something so sly. The man seemed like he needed to be looked upon, worshipped as the sunlight itself. And yet, he could be crafty and sly. Eularia was distraught as her hand raised the blade from its sheath.
Crying, sobbing breaths that didn't allow for enough air. She hardly noticed that there were new eyes watching from the darkness.
She wasn’t sure what drew her homeward. The few cups of wine may have been to blame, but she wasn’t too deep in them to act completely recklessly. There was a comfortable distance between mother and daughter, though some would argue the deepening chasm had steadily spread since childhood. The physical distance kept the young mage unable to call on the fullness of her power, but enough to peer, converse with. Curse at.
Alfred’s memories were still fresh in her mind. Adaria woke with them, dreamed of them in the dark and woke to cold sweats. She cautiously watched her mother torture herself, part of her revelling in the pain she underwent as the picturesque scene dissolved into the missing piece to the events. So that’s how it came about. Silent tears fell down her cheeks, but the rage, the cold chips of her eyes remained focused, committing every moment to memory.
There was a moment where her mother noticed her presence and Adaria would take a few steps forwards. Eyes remained on the face of her father. Blissfully unaware of who took the final breath of life from him. The same person who cast aside the most loyal of hearts in existence to the young woman. Resolute in his support, care and love without ulterior motive and dedication. Drawing her hand, Adaria gestured, sharpening the image, memory to focus on the features of the man she knew and loved unconditionally. A rare softness entered her face, the barest hint of a smile when she rested her palm against his frozen, though false form.
He was no longer here of course. His body gone, mixed into the air around his beloved city.
[color=#9a00b2]“...Are you satisfied?”[/color] she eventually breathed.
It was a hell she never knew could exist. In all of her years, since coming to truly love Francesco Campana... no matter how unfeeling she had acted in public; no matter the role she'd played, she'd loved him with everything that she was. To see him die by her own hand, to relive it over and over...
It'd destroy her.
Another was in tonight's dream though, and she bristled at the presence. Before she recognized it; Adaria! She's not seen Adaria since...
...well. She always was a daddy's girl. Eularia used to tease Frankie about it; the girls loved their dad more than their mother.
Or perhaps all of the children loved their father more than they loved her. She could be hard to love, at times.
The girl asked a question, and Eularia's fingers trembled, gripping the blade that had dealt the blow. Another moment, before she let the blade go, and the scene dissolved; resetting itself.
What makes you believe I'm satisfied? Had she... ever, been satisfied? She thought, for a long time, that her husband was enough. She believed it with all that she was, even though there was a part of her that knew it to be untrue.
She was never satisfied.
Somewhere along the way, she'd forgotten how to pretend. Glassy-eyed, her gaze flitted to the girl. I didn't want this. Didn't. Hadn't. Wouldn't want this. Her voice sounded raw; had she been screaming as the dream looped? She couldn't remember.
The Campana streak was evident in all their children, but only Adaria had the Grand Duchess remark the youngest held the most fire. Her Grandmother doted on her, mind mellowed by age, though still sharp enough to teach the youngest many truths and tricks before sickness eclipsed her completely. Her mother may have revelled in a villain’s fall, but Adaria only felt the passing of an understanding role model.
While amused by her mother’s confusion, she expanded coldly.[color=#9a00b2] “You got everything you ever wanted.”[/color] Her body turning now, the image of her father dissipated back into nothing. [color=#9a00b2]“Not one but two husbands, children, a title, ruling and changing things… then,”[/color] her fingers snapped, [color=#9a00b2]“you lose him, a man you claim was everything you ever needed. You fooled many, but we saw it. But not to worry. Eularia is never far without some fool falling at her feet. And what better than an old flame, hot on the heels of losing him. Not even a year goes by. You couldn’t even afford him that loyalty. Did you ever miss him, while on your knees, sucking Magnus’ tiny cock?” [/color]
The anger began seeping in, her voice pitching a little higher. She hated him. With every fiber of her being she hated the assassin. He was not the only one, however. [color=#9a00b2]“And then, as if we don’t have an army of spies and allies, we find out he’s actually alive. Eularia thinks she can have her cake and eat it.”[/color]
[color=#9a00b2]“Did you even know your husband?” [/color]
Eularia scoffed, glaring at the girl. My first husband was a terrible man, not chosen by myself but by your grandmother. The children had never heard the story of Fran's father, Eularia hadn't wanted to give them any reason to distrust their grandmama, evne if she did not like the woman herself.
And I certainly never wanted that man's title. Or his child. At the time, she'd believed if Fran was born, her first husband might be kind to her. It had done nothing but trap her even more; and some small part of her resented Franziska.
She was quiet, fuming as Adaria called Magnus a fool; implied he was less than endowed. And for a brief moment all of the guilt she had felt whilst seeing Magnus in secret crushed her soul. It would always crush her soul, she was certain. And her silence drew on, for another moment.
I knew your father far better than you, Adaria. She was not here to protect what a child thought of her lover; nor was she here to protect herself. Instead, she hugged herself and turned away, as the dream started to reset.
You should learn to let go. Your father always knew that death would come for him before it came to me. The dream was resetting and she was staring up at the sky, refusing to acknowledge it as it played yet again.
Unlike her mother, Adaria maintained her calm. It faltered, but she refused to be baited into a scolding. She couldn’t help the roll of her eyes though. [color=#9a00b2]“Aw. Poor Eularia, like you were the first miserable spouse in history.”[/color] Adaria didn’t need ears, when people's minds were themselves so loud and clear.
Her palm gestured, the draw on her power forming naturally into a ball. Lightning crackled, contained, for the moment. [color=#9a00b2]“Say something like that again about my sister and I’ll rip out your chords right here.”[/color] While her voice remained unchanged, the coldness in her gaze left it irrefutable. And then she scoffed. [color=#9a00b2]“Lucky for you, I’m not as impulsive as he was.” [/color]
Again her eyes had to roll, yet she finally cracked a smile. Something Eularia had so rarely witnessed occurring naturally unless her father or Alfred be involved somehow. Her laugh rang hollow, there was amusement, but tainted by bitterness. [color=#9a00b2]“So you’ve fool yourself into believing. But you never knew the darkness of him. Of us. You claim to understand it, but you don’t know how he felt, what plagues us, what he said to the shadows when he couldn’t tell you. No. You knew a piece.” [/color]
[color=#9a00b2]“Let go. I’m not you. Letting go.” [/color]She spat.[color=#9a00b2] “No, just create your third family to hide behind instead of facing him. And you called him the coward.”[/color] The dream could rest again and again, for all the girl cared. She was not done. Growing bored just looking at her, Adaria shifted her gaze to the ball of magic, fluctuating in her hand, playing with it as if it were a ball for catch.
[color=#9a00b2]“Of course he did, because he knew his limits. It didn’t stop him trying to do the right thing.”[/color]
Eularia scowled, staring the girl down. This is a dream, Adaria. Nothing you do here will hurt me out there. The girl was right, though. She'd never truly known her husband's mind, only what bits he'd let her see, needed her help to manage. Impulses and compulsions that he couldn't ignore, a darkness that was ever-threatening but never quite chased away.
He could tell me everything. Anything. She stated, refusing to believe that her husband kept things to himself; he'd been an open book, hadn't he? She'd flipped through all of his pages, read everything he gave her...
Right?
The girl was creating doubt. And doubt was sometimes the worst thing to plague one's mind. It sent her to spiral; how had he doubted? They'd ended in the worst way imaginable, with her begging him to stay, to let her keep her most recent partner too... and her hands had killed him. Her hands. Compelled by another, but still, she'd done what they'd taught her to do... Her face has fallen, gaze fixed on the ground, Do you think this is what your father would want for you?
It was enough of a nightmare that she was slowly waking up; the world around her coming alive with each shift of her physical body. To see this darkness work its way through you, until you're nothing but a husk of who you really are? She couldn't quite snap out of the dream; couldn't quite wake up.
The younger woman stared, the rims of her eyes glowed darkly, contrasting with the softer hue of blue. [color=#b20080]“Is it?” [/color]Sick amusement filled her face, hands still playing with the ball. Adaria felt herself weave a path around the resetting dream, her pace became almost a skip, meandering around the fake and all too familiar scene.
As her mother refuted her claim she’d meet the woman’s gaze. Adaria’s head tilted, scrutinising her mothers face, but scoffed. Grinning, her brows rose high as if she knew a great secret.[color=#b20080] “Oh granted, he hid it well, but then he was born a Prince. Born into the Game. Of course he knew how to hide the darkest parts of himself.” [/color]
Watching the plague of doubt creep its way into her mind pulled Adaira’s back straighter. [color=#b20080]“What my father wanted was his family to remain together, loyal, continuing the work he started and improved on. You not only abandoned us, you abandoned his very memory for your own selfishness.”[/color] Adaria took a deep, calming breath. [color=#b20080]“You betrayed our house, our people. Enzo granted you a pardon he had no right to give. He is not Antiva’s judge. The people are.” [/color]
She returned to toying with the flickering orb, her gaze eventually finding those of the unburnt dead King while her mother struggled to leave. Reaching out a hand the grieving girl would let the back of her hand to trace his face back and forth.
[color=#b20080]“I will show you exactly what darkness you have unleashed, Mother.”[/color]
