epochalisms

[epochalisms]

Hongli. 

|| Once the servants were gone, once he was sure they were alone, Hongli placed a hand on Ran’s lips. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, a glint in his eyes. He would not tell Ran his part in his brother’s collusion with their uncle. There was no absence of scheming in court, and Ran had already been apart of her fair share. He would spare her this one machination. Still, he couldn’t hide his amusement.

“I know all about my Third Brother’s meetings with my 8th uncle. And if I know, then my father knows.”

His father had spent years pushing Yunsi back, long before he had ever become Emperor. Should Hongshi really choose to ally himself with their uncle, it would not end well for him. Especially not since the Empress was put on house arrest and with his birth mother dead. He was out of allies in court.

His facial expression changed for a moment, a look of worry. Though Ran seemed to be fine, things involving physicians had always made him nervous.

“Are you ill?”

      oh that smile - it’s one that she recognizes , the smile of one of his schemes falling perfectly into place. he must have had some part in outing Hongshi to his father no doubt while also showing his own loyalty to the Emperor. a calculated move but a statement nevertheless - one which will not be overlooked. but this is not the time for fears , at least not tonight and not now.

     Lingran laughs bright and easy before shaking her head. perhaps leading with that line was not the best idea but it feels far easier than telling him overly blunt. though perhaps it calls for that in retrospect , Lingran’s never been particularly bashful about anything before but she feels shy. “ No my love , ” she laughs again , taking his hand and placing it upon her stomach before wrapping her arms around Hongli’s neck and whispers into his ear , soft and private enough for the two of them. “ But you’re about to be a father , ”

      it’s said in a rush of courage , a little terrifying thing. telling Rongyin her suspicions was been a lot easier though if anything she’s glad that she said it. perhaps this way at least , Hongli will be more careful in his own fight for the throne. she knows that even this will not be enough , but perhaps this news will give him some measure of peace. “ it’s been two months now , ”

     “ you must not tell anyone , not yet - ” she says , “ we ought to keep some blessings a secret at least for a little while ,”

[epochalisms]

EMPEROR QIANLONG. 

|| “ I cannot reopen this investigation.”

He had tried. Several times in fact. Yet every time he tried, he was met with another wall. Ministers warning him against it. They warned of the previous Empress, his father’s official wife, Qingying’s aunt. He was warned of her crimes against his mother, crimes Rongyin and Lingran had fought to reveal.

He was reminded by his mother of the services Noble Consort Hui and A’ruo’s fathers had given the country when it came to the river services. Yet so had Qingying’s father. He was a noble, meritorious minister and Qianlong had let him die cold and impoverished.

“Your father has spoken against it. Your own father. Will I not look like a fool if I let you do this? A man who ignores his courtiers and bows to his wife?”

Yet… Fuheng was one of his oldest friends. He defied his father, supported his sister. He had spoken of opening the investigation himself. It seemed both Fuca siblings were hungry for justice, justice Qianlong could not give. Not yet.

     “ And what if Qingying dies? ” it’s an outburst that Rongyin’s is not allowed to have , she stills her voice though her eyes remain bright and desperate. “ What if you lose your chilldren , Zhemin , Qingying all in one fell swoop       all because the Emperor is unwilling to seek justice! I - I do not wish for another to die ... ” it’s almost treasonous , such criticisms , but the mention of the Emperor gives her an idea. 

     there is no use continuing this path ; he will not change his mind not even if she runs her mind ragged. she knows him , knows that beneath the exterior remains still her and Zhemin’s golden prince. 

     she has known that he is trapped , she knows that she was originally not his first choice for a wife yet it is political pressures ( and later serendipity ) that lands her here , but perhaps she has not realized just how trapped he is in his own way. “ I concede , ” she whispers , quietly though the glint that remains ( no longer desperate ) belies a different purpose. she bows low , her forehead presses against the cold stone floor in obeisance. “ If the Emperor is unwilling then he must have his reasons and I cede to his wisdom,  ”

     power is but an illusion even for them , prestige is like a silk scarf - unravel one strand carefully and one may eventually unravel it all. “ Though I do ask for a moment of Hongli’s time , I wish for the counsel and friendship of a dear old friend in a time like this , ” she says , willing that he understands the meaning behind her words. it’s a compromise , an out for him , if little else and her smile is a touch sly even despite the dark times that they’re living in. 

[epochalisms]

EMPEROR QIANLONG. 

|| His brows furrowed and his fists clenched. He tossed the report onto the table, rising from his seat. It’s clear in his features how frustrated he is. He knew better than to let such things show, it was unbecoming of the Emperor. Still, Rongyin’s persistence vexed him. It was pointless, arguing with her. How could he make her understand?

“Ulanara has been demoted. She is no longer Consort Xian and you will refer to her as such.” He berated her, as if he didn’t slip in his speech only moments ago.

He could not bring himself to meet her gaze. Instead, he made his way over to the window, staring at the courtyard.

“There are rumors that you poisoned Noble Consort Zhe. That you are the cause of Jingming’s death. “

It was a cruel thing to bring up. He knew Rongyin would never dream of hurting Lingran, they were too close, too in love. Rongyin’s affections for Qianlong were only overshadowed by her affections for Lingran. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut, the rumors whispered in his ears by ministers and servants alike.

“Some will say an investigation is trying to save your skin.”

      “ The Lady Ulanara then , ” she amends , not giving him any quarter. her brows raise sharply up , her voice is calm - she will not engage but instead make him see reason and ignores his own slip of the tongue. though that gives her hope if nothing else , that he still cares for her at least somewhat in his heart. she does not know what the palace maid A’Rou or the Consort Hui has done. 

      she schools her features at his next words ; the Emperor could be cruel , this she has learned , to silence her tears though she will not silence her tongue. they will whisper what they will , she must merely turn her head up. she is the Empress and the rest of the courtiers , why they are merely peacocks roosting and she will not lower herself to their level. to his level now that he’s brought up such insidious rumor against her. this is a cruel thing , to use their affection for a girl to drive a wedge between the two of them. 

      she only holds her head up higher , for the Emperor can be a child but he is one who can see reason. she knows this because she knows Hongli , she knows the darling boy who has written poetry about goodness and light and not this man raving about her step-daughter’s death. “ let them speak then. I love Zhemin as much as I love you , more than I love my own life , my own honor -- appoint anyone you wish and they will tell you that I have only loved her and wished her well. ”

     “ do you love the Lady Ulanara? ” she presses , taking a step forward and then another until she’s so close to him that she could take his hand. “ do the years of friendship mean little to you? do you really think she’s changed in this palace? that her own sweetness has been dyed by its influence? ”

[epochalisms]

EMPEROR QIANLONG. 

“No. “

His answer is simple, his words cold, mechanical. He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. Indeed, he didn’t even look up from his work. He kept flipping through the various reports and requests his minister’s had given. It was if Rongyin had asked something trivial and simple.

Qingying was innocent. She could never have poisoned anyone, let alone his children. He had a suspicion on who the real culprits were, but he couldn’t go, not now. He couldn’t relinquish A’ruo or Noble Consort Hui. Not yet, at least. Their fathers were important, and for the sake of his country he couldn’t attack them, no matter how much he wished.

Oh his heart ached to leave his dearest friend in there, to leave Lingran and Rongyin suffering. It killed him, to deny his children justice. Jingming, Yonglian, the unborn children of both Concubine Mei and Concubine Yi. They all suffered while Qianlong was powerless to help.

“There is evidence of Consort Xian’s guilt. We have already discussed this. As Empress, you should know your duty and your place.”

       she knows her place , the place of an Empress is to be warm , dutiful , filial and kind. it is her duty to demure to the Emperor , to walk one step behind him and to never argue but instead obey. yet she is the mother of the nation , the leader of the Back Palace ; does that not give her the rights to protect her banner? to serve as an aegis to all others as Queen Mother of the Western skies. 

      “ You know as well as I that the Consort Xian is innocent , ” she retorts back ; she has not stood up to the Emperor before but she does not stutter , she does not whisper. the costs are far too great. “ There may be evidence of guilt but the crimes have not only continued but have grown bolder if nothing else , ”

       she could still see Hailan’s tears , hear the labored gasps of Zhemin fighting for her life ; she has failed them , she has failed the Yi and Mei and all the others who depend upon her as empress. she knows her duty and her place and so she can only continue and perhaps in that moment , she realizes something like fear. she feels heady ; there are powers in the Forbidden City that not even the Emperor could shake. she recalls the small smirks of Noble Consort Hui , the Jin ambassador’s fawning over the lady Jia. 

       " tell me that you have a plan , ” she whispers because their Hongli has always been clever. clever enough to win the throne from his half brothers , surely there must be a solution. “ tell me that you are merely biding your time       ” what she doesn’t say is this: if you do not , I’ll take matters into my own hands. for it is my place , my duty. 

[epochalisms]

       her hands clench and unclenches a handkerchief until her knuckles turn white , until her nails are digging half moons into her soft palms. her voice is low and her head is bowed , she has not spoken with him in some time — not since the death of her son or Zhemin’s daughter. how quickly time passes , Rongyin thinks , she is not the girl who used to run barefoot in the Bao Manor but a proper empress now , the mother of a kingdom but how good is a mother when she cannot protect her own?

      she knows that there will be casualties in this battle of silk and caresses and gentle whispers , it’s something that she has prepared for since the day she is born. she is to be a gracious empress but one with nails sharp enough to cut. a strong queen , not of beauty but of steel and diamond instead of pearl. “ I ask for justice , Qianlong — “ she says ; she knows that there are lines that she cannot cross but she is young and hopeful and has resolved that when entering the palace to be kind , to protect those who cannot protect themselves. her heard is pounding in her chest like a war drum.

      “ I ask that you re-open the investigation into Consort Xian , “ there are far too many shadows here , the words hang still in the air , permeating and lingering. i am half sick of shadows , the empress thinks. “ There is a criminal still in our midst — I know that you are worried sick about the Imperial Consort and you should go to her — give me the right to open another investigation in this palace and I will have the criminal found, as it is my duty as Mistress of the Back Palaces, ” / @madeinhistory

[epochalisms]

She was a pure spirit, easily susceptible to emotion; one moment she’d be crying, the next laughing, like sunshine after a shower.

Gustave Flaubert, in a letter to Louise Colet, from The Letters of Gustave Flaubert 1830-1857 (via luthienne)

[epochalisms]

        half a mile’s travel from the crooked sign post and then a left turn that’s too dangerous for his financial projections , there’s a certain volatility to be found in small towns after dark where the only creatures alive are carrion birds and the nearest dive bar is miles away from here though Alexander’s never fancied himself a drinking man and especially not the type of drinks that they served in shotglasses designed to look like a cowboy’s hat. and roadside attractions’ always made him jumpy , like there are remnants hidden there that don’t quite fit his risk appetite -- but this is the center of America ( he was disappointed that it’s not New York but perhaps he’s always already known ) bright Kansas where the skies go on for miles and so he’s here , begging his girl to take him back with his heart in his hand. 

       “ Amelia? ” a ventured question ; it’s the thirties and all the water’s dried up and the money’s dried up and while he’s still capitalism , there’s contriteness in his bones and a place in his chest with a heart shaped cavity. “ Darling , love - tell me that you’re still around. That you haven’t faded like       ” words fade away in the wind but this is what he would say if he could: the rest of them , oh gods I fucked up so bad Amelia and I’m so so sorry. / @quietmythos

[epochalisms]

HONGLI. 

|| He was glad to be home. If it had been up to him, he would have rushed straight to his manor. For months he had missed the embrace of Lingran and Rongyin, the playful teasing of Qingying and the softness of Hailan. They were a close knit family, Hongli and his wives. Still, before he could return he had to pay his respects to his mother, and give his report to his father. It had taken up much of his time, but his father’s praise made up for it ten fold.

Now he was free to embrace his Lingran. Their marriage faced many obstacles, and now that he had her he was loathe to let her go. He was grateful for her arms wrapped around him, a warmth filling his heart that had been long absent. He would have been content to stay there, were it not for the giggling of the maidservants.  He pulled away as gently as he could, clearing his throat to dismiss the other girls. “You’re all dismissed. “

As they hurried off, giggling and gossiping, he grasped Ran’s hands. “The rebels in Fujian surrendered peacefully. Royal Father was thrilled! He said he knew that he had made the right decision in sending me, that I’m his most capable son!”

        she buries her face against the crook of his neck , breathing deep. she knows that the maids are watching them , no doubt several of them reporting to their own mistresses but her Hongli’s back and nothing else mattered. she’s loathed to let him go and held on tightly to his hands. 

       “ Is that so? ” her voice was measured , low and calming. it was something that she learned from Huan , to speak with conviction and confidence and comfort. the Yongzheng Emperor has grown old and though it is not her place to gossip there are whispers ( low murmurs from the maids and the reedy , sibilant trill of Hongshi’s primary consort ) about succession and tests and rituals and the occasionally worried looks of her mistress’ other servants confirm this fact. “ You’ve done your kingdom a great service. Of course your royal father and her Highness must be proud.  ” 

      she has been there when he was still unfavored , knows how diligent he’s worked to achieve the trust of the Yongzheng Emperor and she’s proud of him. their fourth prince , how quickly he has risen in court! " You ought to be careful of the other princes. now that the spotlight is on you, you must be twice as careful. especially since - ” she holds her breath, thinking that surely , surely this brilliant man will vie for the golden throne itself. “ There have been rumors in the palace that the third prince has been colluding with your honored uncle - I -” she breaks off. it’s not her place , surely he will chastise her for he has only just returned , he will not wish to hear of the palace squabbles , it is too early for worries. Lingran holds her gaze and grips his hand tight , feels the pulse of his wrist. he’s only just arrived and there’s another pressing matter.

      her voice is gentle. “ I have good news. I’ve spoken with Rongyin and her Highness and the palace physicians. We agreed that it should be secret for now but you should know - ”

[epochalisms]

001. zhaozi

THOUGH HER PRINCE has only started his training, he is impatient. Yonghuang is the first prince; he knows decorum and has made sure that any nearby person would not know of his plight, yet his hands are often blistered and Zhemin can tell that his grievances towards himself are deep. Steadfast ambition and quiet resolve keeps him here when all others will have retreated inside already.

He is five years old.

Though back home and here too, the boys starts their warrior training young and under the care of instructors who were the best the kingdom had to offer. His teachers are already praising him for his quick study, for his talent yet they do not know how hard that he works underneath the cover of darkness when the only audience is Zhemin and Juhua, holding her lamp ever afloat for him to see the target.

Her son is beautiful; he has his father’s steadiness, a strong jaw and intelligent dark eyes. He is light itself, her prince though she does not dare say crown prince. They are already discussing succession even though her emperor has only ascended a year ago. He is not the only prince of the kingdom but he is the eldest prince and the measuring stick of whom all other princes would be judged against. And the other prince well —

Zhemin loves Yonglian as though he is of her flesh but sometimes, watching him falter, at his raspy breathing during the night and the worried stares of the Fuca elders and Rongyin’s tears and then again at Yonghuang, strong and smart and charming and she feels her heart stutter. The two princes are as different as the sun and the moon and all she can do is clutch Yonglian close and whisper fiercely to Yonghuang to protect his brother until the end of time. He loves you, she says. Please, she says because the Empress cannot.

Yonglian has already gone to bed, Zhemin wonders if she should order her own dear, quick-silvered boy back inside. His father is not coming tonight. He has not come for a few days though she knows that he must share his attentions with the rest of the palace. He is not theirs anymore, but Yonghuang has been practicing. He is shaking with disappointment right now, all day his sword swings have been overreaching and his arrows just-quite missing the center. He has heard the tutors say (and how she wished she could slap the man then) that when his aim is better that his father will come. Zhemin has watched him stagger back, off-balance. But he is determined and she knows that her place is not to instruct the tutors, though it makes her heart ache watching them allow himself to tire himself out as the Manchu custom was for him to practice until he masters it himself.

“My darling,”

Yonghuang spins back from the target, nearly stumbling from the whiplash of his bow. Yet he bows, face flushed with sweat and exertion but gazing at her with so much adoration —

This is her son, her joy and she indicates her head before placing one hand upon his shoulder. She brushes her lips against his cheek, he’s still a child, face flush with baby fat and she wants to keep him like this forever though his hands are already calloused and his face dark from the midday sun.

This is not her place but this is her son and so she takes his bow and hoists it up. Her muscles have grown weak from the years spent in the palace but she nocks one of the arrows before pulling the string back, one eye closed and fires —

( Hongli competing with her over archery, trading kisses that never miss their mark as prizes and words sharp enough to cut always to the heart. Above them the bright, dazzling blue skies. And she finds that she misses him, misses the dark intensity of his eyes, the curl of his lip, the knowledge that even though she had nothing at that time, she had him and she had their family. )

She steadies her resolve. The arrow flies towards the target and hits true.

Yonghuang’s mouth is open and she relishes in the fact that she can surprise him. He is a sweet boy, a child still who has little understanding that they’ve lives before him. “I’ll teach you as I’ve taught your father,” she says and oh — was it possible that sweet Yonghuang’s mouth opened just a little bit more? A giggle burst from her lips. She’ll have to warn Yonghuang to close his mouth before one of the poor fireflies ends up in there.

Her son nods, resolute. He reaches up and she gives his bow back to him. His father had promised her a long time ago that he was going to find her a bow. Perhaps he’ll actually keep his promise now that he’s emperor, she thinks and bends down as she straightens his form. “Don’t think about the target, just about how your arrow will follow your line of sight,” she lifts his arm higher so that it remains straight, the back of his elbow in a perfect tangent to his target.

“Now fire,”

He does and the arrow flies from his bow, sailing across the air before embedding itself within the target. It still does not hit the red but this time it’s much closer and remains there, firm. Yonghuang beams and cheers; he is allowed that for now but when the other princes arrive, they will have to be far more careful. He stands up straighter before trying again and the arrow once again embeds itself within the target.

He gives a whoop of joy before running to collect the arrow once again. When he runs back to try again, she places her hand upon his shoulder once again. “You should rest, baobei” she says. “Tomorrow we’ll try again,”

He’s a filial son and save for the droop in his shoulders, he nods before her and sets the bow and arrow back to its proper place. “Do you promise, mama?” he asks and she scoops him up in her arms and nods her affirmation. Soon he will be too big for that but he is her treasure and she strokes his hair and presses kisses among his sweat lined brow.

“We’ll practice together after your tutors have left,” she murmurs because he is her prince. Hongli had been her prince once but he is gone now. There is only Qianlong now and though she finds that she can love him, it’s a different sort of love. She’s grateful that Hongli’s given her this at least before he left, this sweet boy who looks to her like he is the sun, as his father has once done. She feels her hands shake again, tears rising unbidden — it’s stupid, the Imperial Noble Consort Zhemin should not be crying, not a month after the Emperor’s coronation but she’s fearful and Yonghuang pulls her close. He doesn’t understand, she thinks, this brilliant boy whose eyes will become too old for his age and who will have to fight his way to the throne.

Because that’s the only fate for him now as one of the princes of the palace.

She knows everything about him. She knows that he likes pretty birds and throwing her silks above to watch them flutter down and that he likes the color of purple because it brings out his eyes. She knows that he’s fiercely competitive, fiercely proud as only a son of the Dragon Emperor can be, the way his eyes alight and the ramrod posture he holds upon greeting foreign dignitaries and nobles. The way he looks for stars atop the roofs of the palace and that his dream is to pilot a dragon-boat. She’s seen the way he looks when seeks his father’s approval, the way he already misses his father when Qianlong’s at one of the other palaces. He has a good heart, she knows, he is as kind to the servants as he is to the nobility and she does not wish to surrender him to the squabbles of the palace, the game of succession that will be played. Not yet.

Her hands clench and she bites the cry into her flesh. She hoists him up and he clings to her and even now, when he’s tired, when he doesn’t know why is mother is crying, he is still trying to comfort her. “Let’s get Yingtao to make us some dumplings tonight,” she says. It’s a segue but the way his eyes light up warms her heart. “And tomorrow we’ll practice arrows and then we’ll practice with swords — “

“ — and then we’ll make wagashi!” he finishes, an earnest, childish look directed towards her. “You promised that a week ago!”

She laughs, ruffling his hair. “I did, didn’t I? We’ll have to get Yingyao gege and Hefang to go and get us some ingredients. We’ll have to make a lot of them for Fuca and Yonglian and Ruyi and Hailan — “

“And grandmama and baba but we won’t make any for baba’s other wives,” he says. “Especially not Jin gugu and Gao gugu,”

Zhemin blinks at him; was her distaste for the two so obvious that even Yonghuang noticed? She shakes her head and instead carries him into the palace.

“A prince should be gracious,” she murmurs, remembering the analects — the first books that Hongli had gifted her when she was learning. This she would tell their son, this Zhemin can still impart. “A prince should be filial,” She would be kinder to Jin and Gao and the rest of them, brightly colored birds brought into the palace as her old mistress has been. To win the favor of the Emperor for their families, she cannot fault them for that for they too are only trying to live. Qianlong is resting in Yikungong tonight, he will not be coming to Zhongcuigong. This Zhemin knows, this she has cautioned herself to when her Hongli was chosen not too long ago.

“A prince should be loyal and a prince should be kind,”

He nods, he’s dozing off and his eyes are closed and he misses the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes. He knows at least to some degree what his future will be though they are (perhaps the only ones here) with no ulterior purpose. They have no family nor nobility nor wealth, they are strangers here save for the love of the Emperor though she fears that perhaps there will be a day where love will not be able to save them. She’s seen the Empress Dowager, plotted with her against the Empress, against all the others — though she has always believed that her and Yonghuang will be safe —

She misses Yonghuang’s look of concern until she feels him snuggling closer to her. “It’s okay, baba will come home soon,” Sleepiness and conviction mixed in his voice and she finds him smiling in turn as they stepped over the threshold and into the light of the palace.

“We’ll save a few dumplings for him,” she says with a smile. “I’ll invite Rongyin and her attendants too,”

Just like old times except Zhongcui gong was already so much grander than their old home which she and Fuca privately had called their summer garden. Though there are flowers here, perhaps flowers far nobler than the wildflowers they were accustomed to, she misses it there and she finds herself missing Fuca. Though she’s the Imperial Consort now and Fuca is the Empress and while Zhemin will mourn everything they’ve lost, she’ll also get up tomorrow morning and fret over her hairpins and Yonghuang’s new clothes and teach him how to shoot. She’ll help Fuca manage the six palaces and help the Empress Dowager with her flower arrangements and before Qianlong, before this palace, when it was just Zhemin and Fuca Rongyin and Hongli they were happy. She’s been happy and she’ll be happy again.

And she’ll carefully box up all their old memories, folding them carefully into origami flowers and cradling them into her heart and teach him how to shoot straight and ride. Her boy nestles closer to her, her Yonghuang is tired tonight and he will be tired tomorrow when there will be classes and training. There will be other princes but at the end of the day, Yonghuang is his father’s favorite. He is the eldest after all and is there any boy on earth better than he?

There’s a knock at the door and a maid announcing the arrival of Empress Fuca. The Empress Dowager will be joining them soon. There’s the scent of dumplings wafting from the kitchen. There’s the lanterns being lighted and the flowers blossoming. Soon it will be summer and the chrysanthemums will be in full bloom. They’ll make a new life here, a grand one, she promises herself. When the Empress Dowager comes, there is still one empty chair and without batting an eyelash, she turns and invites Mingyu to sit. When an attendant goes to take Yonghuang from her, Imperial Noble Consort Zhemin only shakes his head and pulls him closer. She picks up her chopstick to grab a dumpling and gracefully deposits it into Yonghuang’s plate.

[epochalisms]

「從今以後，我只是富察·容音。」

[epochalisms]

After screaming, [Cassandra] calls out the name of Apollo sixth times, then again a seventh time, but the seventh time, by shifting the inflexion of the name slightly, she shows its etymology. Apollo’s name is cognate with the Greek verb apollesthai, “to destroy utterly, kill, slay, demolish, lay waste.” By crying out “Apollon emos”, Cassandra can designate the god as “my Apollo” and “my destroyer” at the same time in the same words.

Anne Carson, excerpt of Cassandra Float Can, from Float (via antigonick)

[epochalisms]

          she plucks a few flowers before depositing them into a wicker basket , mindful of the thorns. they would be delicious in a pot of tea or baked into little cakes sweetened with honey from faraway Jiangnan. Lingran is young but she has learned that in the palace one must at least be useful and having little connections to speak of , her only use is her handiwork and her conscientiousness. “ Greetings to Your Highness , ” her voice is kept low and leveled as she curtsies to the Noble Consort Huan before joining her , one step behind as is proper. “ The flowers have bloomed quite beautifully this summer if you would like to take a look? ” 

         Lingran’s most at home with the flowers as like calls to like and the gardens outside the Palace of Shattered Jade is home to one more. there’s a safety here , watching the chrysanthemums and hyacinths and pruning them until they’re near perfection , far from the prying eyes of the rest of the palace and she’s grateful , head bent down. the position of her mistress affords her this , they dare not mess with this palace and amidst the cruelty of the Forbidden City there is a happiness here. / @nobleconsort

[epochalisms]

          she is poring over her needlework with a frown, the peony doesn't quite sit right and the placement of the leaf is crooked ( though it is to hide the droplet of blood which has soaked into the cloth from the traitorous needle and Lingran does not wish to disappoint the Dowager Empress. ) there is commotion outside and she lifts her head , glad for a distraction from the monotony of the work. she's never known to be still ; she has not a gift for stillness , perhaps that does not make her a model wife or maidservant ( though the Heavens have conspired against her in every way save for the loving gaze of her husband. )

          the doors open and Lingran’s lips curl into an adoring smile as she spies her fourth prince striding toward her. there’s dust on his travel-coat which she’ll brush off with a handkerchief but for now her eyes widen with joy as she places the needlework upon the table before rushing over and flinging her arms around him. she finds that her eyes cannot have their fill from gazing upon him , the soft corners have sharpened into points and he’s looking tanned from the weeks on the roads and handsomer by the minute - the other women of the palace cannot take their gaze away from him either and she feels a secret possessiveness though she cannot fault them for staring. 

           “ I have heard from your Honored Mother that you’re to return in a week’s time. Yet you’re back early - was the matter in Fujian settled? Am I to have my husband back for some time? ” she teases, her smile lavish in her affection. / @madeinhistory

[epochalisms]

“I’m a free spirit, like the wind, always moving. The wind never thinks too much. I want the wind to stop and think. The wind cannot stop.

House of  Flying Daggers (2004) Dir. Zhang Yimou

[epochalisms]

Let it be over, she pleaded within herself. Let it never have happened—any of it. Let me be young again, and the story just starting.

Catherynne M. Valente, from Deathless (via luthienne)

[epochalisms]

deathless by catherynne m. valente.

[epochalisms]