heartfrosts

[heartfrosts]

Despite his best efforts, it seems as though his lack of enthusiasm still showed through the cracks of his practiced veneer; hardly something of worry about, he supposes. It was a rare sight for the young Lord to show excitement over... well, anything. Very little brought him joy, and most of those were found in solitude. "Of course," he responds with composure, after a minute of quiet that feels to overextend its welcome. "It's good to see people in high spirits, if nothing else..." Moyun selects his words carefully, and his gaze wanders off to her, taking a moment to perceive her, as if searching for something, then—"I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer... I wouldn't wanna embarrass my poor pair," he's decent, or so he believes, but truthfully? The Haojing weren't thrilled about him leaving the castle walls, and he'd seldom danced in public, so it's difficult to know. "You seem to be in high demand, however..." it's as close to playful as he'll get all night—his gaze flickers to the side, to the pile of suitors lined up, and the hint of a smile touches his lips as it returns to her. "I do hope you've been enjoying yourself? If you need someone to scare them off..." It's mostly jest, but of course... that could be arranged.

warmth  and  liveliness  was  second  nature  to  the  lady  of  farrador ,  the  sun  in  ceago  shined  about  their  lands  and  such  brightness  filled  the  lady's  veins .  it's  why  even  in  a  place  like  this ,  depressing  as  a  result  of  the  family  that  reigned  and  did  not  deserve  it ,  still  the  lady  could  find  enjoyment  and  allow  herself  to  partake  of  the  festivities .  while  many  others  might  think  their  rebellion  lie  in  abstaining  from  house  eissen's  hospitality ,  ishani  preferred  to  partake  but  in  knowing  it  would  not  change  she  felt  towards  the  king  and  his  family .  "  i  do  not  believe  i  have  seen  you  upon  the  floor . "  she  tilts  her  head ,  " are  there  none  you  wish  to  twirl  about  with ?  do  you  even  wish  to  be  in  the  ballroom ,  my  lord ? "

[heartfrosts]

Quiet footsteps echo faintly against the stone beneath his feet; Moyun prowls, like wolves pacing rhythms in the wild, scrutinizing the young Eissen with this frosted gaze. "I know..." Everyone knows, don't they? The young. The brat. The weakest link... Well, he's not so convinced about that last one. Her birth was once a matter of celebration; quite vexing, really. You'd think with as many children to spare, they wouldn't make such a fuss out of sacrificing just the one... Alas. He vaguely remembers referring to her as 'an ugly baby' once, in his early years. Not that he'd ever seen her then, of course, but—he was in a sullen mood, and it felt warranted. Of course, some people might argue he's been in a sullen mood for over three decades now. Seeing her up close now, though, she looks... willful. "It's lovely to finally make your acquaintance, your Highness," he pauses, catching the title on his tongue within the vague symmetry of a smile. "Clara," a swift correction as he tests the name on his tongue. His long, gloved fingers extend slowly, curling under her own with practiced grace to bring them up against his lips. "Moyun, for you, then," he manages a smile. "Trouble with the decorations?" he fathoms a "guess"—if you could call overhearing that.

the  world  stills  as  she  meets  the  strangers  gaze  .  eyes  upon  her  are  nothing  new,  but  now  she  feels  strangely  aware  of  them  .  there  is  a  sort  of  iciness  she  senses  from  the strangers  ;  but  she  senses  something  longing  deeper  within  them  as  well  .  “interrupting  ?”  her  face  contorts  again  -  sharply  &  just  for  a  moment  .  she  bats  her  eyelashes  &  seems  to  shake  away  her  previous  thoughts  .  “of  course  not  !  please,  come  in  .”  the  princess  nods  her  head  to  him  &  her  smile  returns  .  “i  am  clarabell  eissen,  youngest  of  the  crown  ;”  she  pauses  &  she  seems  to  soften,  extending  a  hand  to  him  .  “though  most  call  me  clara  .  you  may  as  well,  if  you  wish  .”

[heartfrosts]

"Cockroaches are surprisingly resilient..." just a fun fact, not related to anything; he smiles, but it feels pointed, sardonic somehow. "Mm..." he shrugs, a hum vibrating on his tongue. "I don't know why the thought suddenly came to me," he adds dismissively, and they both know that's as false as her feelings regarding the King's wealth. It's good to know at least one of them is not fond of this alliance, at least.

His footsteps are quiet as he approaches, poise unwavering as he saunters over to her side unsuspectingly, hands tied neatly behind his back, like one who had spent the better part of a lifetime under scrutiny, used to watching, as well as being watched. "It must be tiring," when he speaks next, his tone is gentle, padded with a softness that borders on monotone as it falls from his tongue. His long, gentle face turns slightly to watch the way her eyes glisten, reflecting sorrow against the lights of the festivities below. "Being away from home, I mean." It's not all he means, but he'll do the decency of allowing her pretense, if it so comforts her. Moyun is far from an empathetic creature, or so he tells himself—empathy is for people who can afford it. That torpor of his soul had left it emptied of such tender sentiments. Still... that does not mean he ought to take joy in the misery of those who have yet to wrong him. He'd save his wrath for when it was due.

she  pushes  out  into  the  fresh  air,  into  the  darkness  which  she  feels  herself  craving  since  she  stepped  upon  that  black  sailed  ship  and  made  her  way  into  the  light  by  her  sisters’  sides.  to  lose  andie  is  to  be  hollowed  out,  her  chest  a  sunken  thing  which  cannot  bear  to  hold  the  heavy  beating  of  her  aching  heart.  is  it  necessary,  she  wonders,  to  dress  in  her  finest  silks  each  night  as  though  she  cares  to  celebrate  the  separation  of  she  and  her  sister?  can  she  bear  this  a  second  longer?   the  music  is  lively,  beautiful  and  calling  for  a  dancer  to  move  in  tune  with  its  rhythm,  but  lydia  is  not  willing  to  give  herself  over  to  this  king,  not  when  he  has  taken  so  much  from  her.  should  her  rebellion  be  this?  standing  upon  a  balcony  and  overlooking  a  land  which  is  so  strange  to  her?  is  this  the  best  she  can  do?  “must  this  go  on  every  night?"  she  asks,  looking  over  her  shoulder  to  the  one  who  has  joined  her  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  the  darkness  something  like  a  friend  to  lydia.  “is  it  necessary  to  celebrate  every  night?”  she  pauses,  pulling  herself  back  in,  an  expert  in  collecting  herself.  “i  only  mean  to  say  that  it  must  be  tiring  on  our  king,  to  host  such  lavish  balls  each  night.”  as  if,  she  thinks,  it  doesn’t  drive  her  mad.

[heartfrosts]

babygirl

[heartfrosts]

There is a coldness to him that seems to seep into the very foundations of the architecture; you could sleep inside the winter of his soul. There is little life to be found, kissing the cheeks of the young Haojing as he moves, feet light as air, billowing fabric tusling with the wind; he is ghastly like a ghost haunting these lavish halls, and for a moment, he wonders if perhaps he is one, and simply does not know—but at last, the youngest Eissen's eyes land upon him and he knows is begrunginly alive. "I'm interrupting?" he asks, and his tongue lacks warmth, but it lacks bitterness too—he stays cautious, and doesn't admit he's been watching. It wasn't intentional, but he found himself craving warmth, and his feet acted of their own volition. She fusses a lot; a creature of utmost fascination to him, tempest disguised as summer, wrapped in royal silk.

the  wedding  presented  by  :  clara  eissen  (  open  .  4/?  ) location  :  the  ballroom  in  belveil  keep

naturally  clara  could  be  found  in  the  ballroom,  baffling  demands  &  last  moment  revisions  accompanying  her  .  everything  had  to  be  perfect  .  there  was  company  too  impress-  connections�� to  be  made  .  this  was  the  start  of  peace  !  cold  eyes  flickered  across  the  walls  &  ceilings,  spinning  her  around;  only  to  be  taken  aback  by  an  unfamiliar  face  .  the  princess  body  shifted,  her  former  tenseness  leaving  her  in  a  wave  .  all  at  once,  she  was  bright  &  full  of  life  .  “hello  !”  sang  the  blonde  with  a  smile  “welcome  to  belveil  keep  !”

[heartfrosts]

Geimreadh was seldom a place of celebration, and he enjoyed it that way. Wolves paced restlessly in the night; the cold had long made home of him. He was not built for such frivolities, he realizes. The mindless drunken chatter grates on his nerves, but it is not useless. Drunk people spill out more than alcohol, and it was always useful to linger about. But he does not dance; he's adamantly refused every offer and done his best to blend into the corner of the room, but alas, he supposed he was fated to have to engage in conversation eventually, if only for politeness's sake. "Yes... Merriment..." Who wouldn't enjoy that, right? Dancing away, pretending this isn't another elaborate move from his Highness to seize even more power. "Well, we can only hope..." that it's over soon, please, Itris… let it be over soon; before the smile strains on his face.

open starter to all ! ( 0 / 5 ) location : the beilveil keep ballroom !

the  music  was  jaunty  and  lively  to  the  ear ,  the  musicians  playing  at  their  instruments  almost  perfectly  to  keep  the  crowd  of  nobility  amused  and  dancing  for  much  of  the  night .  the  lady  had  been  part  of  it  for  the  most  part ,  accepting  dances  from  a  share  of  people  but  none  of  which  were  memorable  to  her  mind .  perhaps  she  was  being  picky,  particular  but  she  simply  knew  her  worth  and  if  asked  again  another  night  she  would  likely  decline .  if  she  were  going  to  be  spun  around  the  ballroom  she  wished  for  it  to  be  with  someone  who  could  hold  her  attention ,  was  that  too  much  to  ask ?  " i  have  lost  count  of  the  amount  of  dances  i  have  had  tonight .  will  the  merriment  of  these first  few  nights  last  you  think ?  to  dance  every  night  could  be  tiring ,  no ? "  she  speaks  out  loud ,  words  falling  upon  the  ears  of  those  closest .

[heartfrosts]

.¸¸.•`  [   LUO YUNXI   ,   CISMALE   ,   HE/HIM   ]   the  almighty  has  blessed  us  once  more,   it   seems   MOYUN HAOJING  has  come   to   ilthoria.   the   LORD OF DRABEK ,   brings  with  them  such  glorious  fortune  and  they  are  known  for  being  PATIENT  but  also  GLOOMY.  joy  will spark  when  the  34  year  old  comes  to  court.  what  songs  would  be  sung  in  their  name  ?  [  HOW VILLAINS ARE MADE   +   MADALEN DUKE   ]  for  in  the  decades  to  come  they  will  sing  of  :  eyes like hoarfrost, hands so cold they feel as though they’ve never touched the sun, the loneliness of an eternal winter trapped behind your ribs.  may  enerin  bless  your  soul,  welcome  to  ilthoria  child.  [   lenny   .   she/her   .   28   .   brt   .  n/a   ]

"You look like a winter night", she had told him. "I could sleep inside the cold of you".

— STATS

FULL NAME: Haojing Moyun NICKNAME(S): No >( HOUSE NAME: House Haojing of Drabek AGE: 34 HEIGHT: 6'0 ALIGNMENT: True Neutral (Leaning towards Evil on bad days) POSITION: Lord of Drabek RELIGION: Child of Itris, The Banshee POSITIVE TRAITS: Strategic, composed, intelligent, perceptive, articulate NEGATIVE TRAITS: Unforgiving, emotionally stunted, ruthless, vengeful, repressed, has never been hugged, and it shows GENDER: CisMan SEXUALITY: Bisexual PRONOUNS: He/Him

FATHER: Ruling Lord of Drabek MOTHER: Deceased, Mistress SIBLING(S): Hissing sounds CHILDREN: god forbid

SPOTIFY: Here.

— BIO

It was so cold that day, that's what everyone says, anyway. There was a chill in the air, like a bad omen. Moyun was not planned, nor wanted, but he came to this world all the same through the womb of a woman whose name has long been buried and forgotten; she died giving birth to him, her body was cold as soon as she took her last breath—there was no lingering warmth, no joy. He was left outside, in the cold, but he didn't die. Hours in the snow, and the baby would not stop crying. The ruling Lady's heart melted after relentless pleas from the guards and servants, and she conceded—the child was to be brought back inside the palace, kept warm, and nursed.

Moyun was seldom allowed to interact with his siblings, and it was made very clear from a young age that he was tolerated, but never welcome within their household. He grew resentful, cold, and scheming in his solitude. Solitude—that's what it was, he told himself. Not loneliness. Never loneliness. He studied alone, ate alone, practiced alone. Moyun was smart, skilled in combat, but the warmth of his youth slowly drained from his bones; he became estranged to that doe-eyed child who sought warmth, and every day his heart felt colder... treacherous. At his 10th birthday, there was an incident with one of his siblings—Moyun was made to stand outside, in the snow. Through the night, he endured; the cold frosted on his lashes but didn't burn him, and as the sunlight broke through the clouds the following morning, his hair, which had been dark as night, had turned white at the tips.

In the following years, more and more of his hair lost its color, its warmth; as did his skin, his eyes—and he looked like a winter night by the time he left adolescence behind. It is said the Lord's appearances change drastically with his moods since, but his mood is frequently cold, as is everything else.

Moyun complies because he must; it is necessary for his survival, but he claims to hold no love in his heart for the Haojing and not to partake in their ambitions. That is not necessarily true. Moyun shares their disdain for the High Family of Ilthoria, but prefers to play it coy. His ambition is as great as his family's, but his demeanor is quiet, calm, collected.

He will not name his loneliness, in hopes it will thaw like hoarfrost at the birth of summer, but the seasons don't change anymore, do they? It is always cold inside of him, it is always lonely, and in this ache, resentment and bitterness made a home of him.

— WCS

tba! a work in progress, but

i'd love somebody who trained/triains with him, which is probably the closest he's ever had to a friend

someone he might be reluctantly interested in???? warning: he's emotionally stunted and tends to obsess a little. he's gonna be annoyed about it, and very very secretly possessive of them. moyun is so desperately lonely, if you ever even kind of nice to him one time a text will appear on screen "Moyun will remember that"

sb should also bully him tbh js. he looks too serious. pull his hair, it's in a high pony for a reason

[heartfrosts]

#heartfrosts

written by   lenny .   she/her   .   28   .   brt   .

“His eyes, so crystal blue, a shade that shouldn’t exist on the human body. A shade that makes my heart beat a little bit faster—almost as if it can be recognized.”

moyun haojing, lord of drabek, 34. sereen, itris, the banshee. (luo yunxi) |  intro. tags.