Tiberius sat at his desk in his private study, staring at a stack of correspondence and inventing excuses not to read or respond to any of it. Cancelled venue and vendor orders, confused former guests, belated well wishes. None of it mattered. He’d have Ursus settle the bills. Nothing else was required of him, not really. Dimly, he was aware that with every day that passed, the influence he’d worked so hard to cultivate waned.
He hadn’t felt quite like this in some time. Over a year, perhaps? How terrible it was, to realize Orlais itself was not responsible for his condition – and an angry wife certainly did not help matters. But Lyric was a forgiving and overly kind person by nature. That, at least, could be mended with time. Bringing his teacup to his lips, Tiberius froze. Beyond the bay window was a most unusual sight. Servant after servant trundling by, overburdened with furniture and artifacts long banished to the attics.
“Maker’s breath, what now?” Roused from his sulking work, he wound his way outside and followed the procession through the courtyard and into the wing that housed the family’s living quarters. An explanation soon presented itself; his youngest sister holding court and directing traffic.
“Ismini. You could have sent a card.” Perhaps she had – it could be in the pile on his desk even now.
“Why are you here, little sister? And why does it look like you’re moving in?”
@Ismini Umbra
He hadn’t felt quite like this in some time. Over a year, perhaps? How terrible it was, to realize Orlais itself was not responsible for his condition – and an angry wife certainly did not help matters. But Lyric was a forgiving and overly kind person by nature. That, at least, could be mended with time. Bringing his teacup to his lips, Tiberius froze. Beyond the bay window was a most unusual sight. Servant after servant trundling by, overburdened with furniture and artifacts long banished to the attics.
“Maker’s breath, what now?” Roused from his sulking work, he wound his way outside and followed the procession through the courtyard and into the wing that housed the family’s living quarters. An explanation soon presented itself; his youngest sister holding court and directing traffic.
“Ismini. You could have sent a card.” Perhaps she had – it could be in the pile on his desk even now.
“Why are you here, little sister? And why does it look like you’re moving in?”
@Ismini Umbra
04-21-2025, 10:40 PM
