museworks: (Lucrezia)
[personal profile] museworks
Diving back into memories, because it is still necessary. I find myself wanting to return to Silvermoon City, to just sort of dare any to take action against me who might recognize me. Would they, though? I was pale and, though still built almost more like someone of peasant stock, tried to be 'properly dainty'; I had my long, beautiful hair, I had delicate cosmetics expertly applied, I had rich clothing. Now my hair is cut, to my shoulders with fringe on my brow; now I wear heavy armor and carry two large swords at my back; now my skin is more tanned, and I can detect tiny lines at the corners of my eyes and such from spending such time outside. I do not wear cosmetics anymore, I know I carry myself differently.

If I pulled my hair back, kept that expression that Ches has described as 'habitually dour', went about in armor and perhaps even a helm...I imagine I could walk through Silvermoon once again. I have heard slightly distressing things about its more recent decline, and I want to believe it is limited to certain places that were unsavory anyhow, but I also want to see for myself. Besides, owing to my parents' lower social status (then and, quite possibly, now), and Jovan keeping me in isolation...even among the nobility there should be few who would so much as notice me (why would they notice someone seeming to be a mere sellsword?) much less recognize me.

I do not think Chesric would care for this idea, so perhaps I will keep it to myself.

Jovan's sudden nice treatment didn't mean I was allowed out; no, this time I was kept in because I was still ill, according to the healer. Later I would learn the healer was being bribed with gold and drugs to say such things. But I did have run of the house, for the most part. There were a few locked doors here and there, and I with no keys (despite being Mistress of the House, but I had figured it was simply because in my state someone else would have properly seen to duties that would have otherwise been mine in running the household). I explored as much as I could, and remained inside because I had promised I would; I did not even try the doors outside to see if they had been locked, I simply was trying to be a good wife who would get well and enjoy a delayed start to married life.

I had been determined to enjoy this life, after all, even if I knew I was not to be allowed to resume my weaponry practice after all. I would run the household well, I would host dinners and parties as befit our station, I would bear children to carry on after we were gone. A life so terribly 'normal' and 'mundane', but it was turning into a potential refuge from the horrid time before then, that I had convinced myself was indeed a horrendously vivid series of hallucinations. Perhaps brought on by reading those cheap ten-copper pulp stories that I had guiltily enjoyed? I did not know.

This went on for a few weeks; I saw but few servants, oddly enough. Barely enough to keep the place clean, plus the cook, and the strange manservant I had 'seen' before, whose face had made enough of an impact on me that he had appeared in those 'hallucinations'. He still did not look at me, but I only noted this mentally and moved on. It was unimportant; servants did not need to look at their employers unless it was ordered, after all.

Jovan continued to treat me well: we enjoyed peaceful evenings together, even if I did think it strange that I slept alone still. I decided it was because he still wished me to get well and that I was perhaps not there yet; I still had disturbing dreams, and it was possible I might harm him during the throes of such. Our evening routine was often dinner, then perhaps reading or some such; sometimes I would play my lap-harp and sing for him. Sometimes he would brush my hair for me. That was one action that I oddly believe he truly enjoyed, rather than pretended to enjoy for the sake of this latest...oh, I do not know how to phrase it without resorting to vulgarities, but I cannot describe it as anything but a mind-fuck. I do not know why I believe that he enjoyed brushing my hair; maybe because it seemed so random in the midst of it all, or perhaps simply fit in with what seemed to be an overall fascination and/or obsession with my hair. I tried to keep from wincing when he touched it, though, because images of it being wrapped around my neck kept surfacing. I believed it had not been his fault I imagined such terrible things, and had not wanted him to feel guilty for his apparent pleasure in so simple an act.

I wrote letters, to my parents and my brother, apologizing for my lack of correspondence but that I had been ill, according to the healer. I did not know what the illness was, but it had meant I was unable to see anyone or even let them know what was happening. I had no excuse for Jovan's own lack of correspondence but I would later learn my parents had not been overly concerned anyhow; their goal had been reached, they were making their way back up the social ladder.

Then one evening he came to me with the announcement that we would be attending a party a few nights hence. I was excited.
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July 2011

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