Manon could not remember how many balls she had been to. How many celebrations she'd attended because it was expected of her. That was the majority of what it meant to be royalty. Show up to events because it was your duty. Day after day, year after year the same thing. Doing what was expected of her because that was all she knew. There was a time when Manon Durant did not care what was expected of her, where she ran through the forests and fields and basked in the sun as it baked the mud onto her skin. Those were the days she missed, she cherished and wished with all her might that she could have back. Perhaps now she could have them back, what with the changes in the past three years. They were looking more at her little brother than her now but she knew she was still being watched and she always would be. Despite the weight of the crown being lifted from her head, everyone still expected more out of her.
Which was why, ultimately, she'd been convinced to attend. It was her brother, Calixte, that had begged her to go. The pale-haired woman would never admit, never let him know that she had very important things that had garnered her attention, drew her gaze away from this frivolous event. Calixte did not have the same trust as he did before and for good reason. It was when he'd mentioned that the ball was for the betrothal of the King to the Antivan Princess. Manon had know for quite a time that Franziska was the Princess in question. Not that she would ever admit that Fran was the reason she'd ultimately decided to go. It had been quite some time without a letter from them and with the news that the royal family was on the run: Manon had begun to worry. None of her people could tell her where the daughter of Antiva was but she'd held out hope that nothing had taken them out. Until a few weeks ago when she received a letter from the one person that had pulled her to this ball in the first place.
She had long abandoned her brother, skirting around nobility and royalty alike as she scanned the masks. It was a vague description but she had confidence that she could find the person she was looking for. Her bronze dress trailed the ground as she marched forward, her long pale hair braided and pulled up against her skull intricately, woven with jewels to match her dress. Her search was stopped short when a man approached her, asking for a dance. Manon cursed, trying her best to politely refuse. The man would take only yes as an answer. So, begrudingly, she gave him a dance. Part of her job was to endure and that she did. She moved through the motions, using the quick dance as a means to look around the ballroom. The last turn around, she spotted the suit in question. Crimson in color with a matching mask.
Parting from her dance partner, the Princess moved as elegantly as possible, sliding up beside the person in question. Manon made sure to bump into them, turning sharply, the jewels hanging from her mask flashing wildly with the movement as she apologized. "I am so very sorry!" Her hands went out to grasp their forearms as if to save them from falling, the gloves soft against the fabric of their jacket. "These masks are more a pain than they are a boon."
Which was why, ultimately, she'd been convinced to attend. It was her brother, Calixte, that had begged her to go. The pale-haired woman would never admit, never let him know that she had very important things that had garnered her attention, drew her gaze away from this frivolous event. Calixte did not have the same trust as he did before and for good reason. It was when he'd mentioned that the ball was for the betrothal of the King to the Antivan Princess. Manon had know for quite a time that Franziska was the Princess in question. Not that she would ever admit that Fran was the reason she'd ultimately decided to go. It had been quite some time without a letter from them and with the news that the royal family was on the run: Manon had begun to worry. None of her people could tell her where the daughter of Antiva was but she'd held out hope that nothing had taken them out. Until a few weeks ago when she received a letter from the one person that had pulled her to this ball in the first place.
She had long abandoned her brother, skirting around nobility and royalty alike as she scanned the masks. It was a vague description but she had confidence that she could find the person she was looking for. Her bronze dress trailed the ground as she marched forward, her long pale hair braided and pulled up against her skull intricately, woven with jewels to match her dress. Her search was stopped short when a man approached her, asking for a dance. Manon cursed, trying her best to politely refuse. The man would take only yes as an answer. So, begrudingly, she gave him a dance. Part of her job was to endure and that she did. She moved through the motions, using the quick dance as a means to look around the ballroom. The last turn around, she spotted the suit in question. Crimson in color with a matching mask.
Parting from her dance partner, the Princess moved as elegantly as possible, sliding up beside the person in question. Manon made sure to bump into them, turning sharply, the jewels hanging from her mask flashing wildly with the movement as she apologized. "I am so very sorry!" Her hands went out to grasp their forearms as if to save them from falling, the gloves soft against the fabric of their jacket. "These masks are more a pain than they are a boon."
07-12-2022, 07:58 PM
