shadoll

[shadoll]

ETHEREAL BALL 2025. ⟡

Seashell: Ares, Legault Starfish: Azama, Lukas, Niamh Anchor: Eliwood, Leo, Rafal, Ferdinand Turtle: Yunaka, Lapis Pearl: Serra, Maria

Humanity loves myth twice as much as its mistakes. In the lurid haze of history, permanence is one of the most impressive lies man has told to date. Deep beneath some unknown ocean, an abandoned mask descends to the bottom of the pacified waters where light cannot reach, devouring the burden of memories.

N did a spectular job on my mask!!!!! I want everyone to know!!!! I couldn't be happier with how it turned out!!!

[shadoll]

Sara won't endure a scolding from just anyone, but the sight of Miranda brightening with embarrassment is somehow prettier than all the glowing lanterns combined and worth the reprimand every now and then even if she sees no issue with her behavior.

In a place like Melfiye where privacy could never exist, there had been few secrets between them. She does not plead her case here though, simply laughing in unconditional acceptance. When Miranda deposits a cute, little starfish into her hand after the fact, Sara figures they should be close to even.

Truthfully the rough planes of the charm have a lot of character, each prickly spine a story of its own, pressing into Sara's palm to be read in earnest and understood by an open mind.

"I don't need wishes anymore," she removes an anchor for trade, passing along her answer at the same time. "Life is lighter without regrets to weigh it down."

Someday her friends must realize this.

"In the future, I can refrain from telling you when I am watching if you find that preferable."

ONCE UPON A WISH. ✧

continued from here // Miranda & Sara

[shadoll]

[ TOWEL + PEGASUS CHEESE ]

As a late entrant to the whole event, Sonya was much more comfortable observing the slew of early birds before risking any interaction. As fun as messing with others is, she still didn’t mean to make a friend out of every soul in these halls.

And yet…there is something peculiar about this one. They do not match in height, nor in hair length and color. But something above its thinness, waviness, and how the girl carries herself makes Sonya think of her. If it were not for those listed differences, Sonya could believe the timid cleric found herself within these walls.

Oh, and if not for how sopping wet that long, silver hair is currently. Euck. And she thought her entry was bad.

Backing off for just a moment, Sonya appears in front of the suspect in question with two things in hand: a long, thin towel and small slice of pegasus cheese. She flashes a light smile and lays her offerings.

“Try wrapping this around the lower ends of your hair. It should make it all dry faster. Take it from me,” the mage explains as she tosses the towel the other’s way first. “Also, I’m finished with this. You can have the rest. Pretty rich, from how it tastes.”

Sonya keeps the plate of cheese in one hand, patiently allowing the girl to handle the towel before proceeding. After some further internal debate, she also pulls out a turtle charm from her bracelet and sets it in her other palm. “I’m not interested in this childish game. But if it makes you happy…have this too.”

Soggy curl wrapped around her finger, Sara reflects on the fact the towel Emma brought her earlier hadn't done much in way of absorbing the collected rain when a second is offered along with some decent sounding advice. The top of her head may be relatively dry, but only because wetness has managed to climb down her scalp and gather in long, limp tresses of lilac that continue to cling to clothes and skin alike.

"Is that so? No one has taught me that before," she hums, rubbing at the dampened ends with aforementioned towel and observes the woman not far behind, lingering nearby to watch as Sara follows her instructions. The encounter is unexpected, though not unwelcome in the least when it provides a well-timed distraction from stormy weather.

However she begins to grow suspicious once a second and third handout have been presented to her. People rarely decide to be so generous to a stranger unless they possess another motive even if Sara's intuition doubts she means harm.

They couldn't be more different appeareance-wise yet something unspoken stirs in her chest, tells her she can trust this woman despite the unclear intentions and how she treats Sara like a child to shower in gifts and attention. At her age, she has no desire to be coddled by excess kindness.

"An excuse wasn't necessary." Still she exchanges the charms, trading an anchor for a turtle and smiles in the end. "To talk to me, I mean. My name is Sara and I really don't need all this to be happy, you should know."

[shadoll]

[ TOWEL ] - With everyone drenched, getting dry becomes a top priority for most. Perhaps offering something to dry someone else off with is just what you need to get closer to one another…

She carries a stack of towels nearly as tall as she is.

And in spite of that, Emma herself is wet from head to toe. Even a pegasus rider can't outrun the rain—while her damp hair makes it clear that an effort has been made to wring the water out, her dress has simply too many layers for a towel to be effective. Her shoes have been dried, but the inexorable wetness of her socks makes her steps squelch beneath her anyway.

It doesn't seem to slow her down in the slightest. Hurrying down the halls, Emma spots a familiar figure in her peripheral. "Oh! It's you!" She exclaims, pivoting on her heels and closing the distance. "From the candy game!"

Emma holds a towel out—"Here, do you want one?"—but looking the other girl over quickly reminds her of just how much hair she has. There's no way one towel is gonna be enough. She quickly draws her hand back, grabbing a second one. "Or, um, maybe two? It'd stink to have to walk around drippy all night."

She hears the uninterrupted squeak of footsteps hastening then halting just as the culprit calls out to her. The tidy tower of towels hides Emma's face behind its elevated height, but Sara never forgets a voice or favor, taking inventory of the other girl before faint giggles spill forth. Between the sound made by her fancy, waterlogged shoes and the brightly colored dress with layers like wings, Emma would look at home in the baths beside a yellow rubber duck.

"It has not been too unpleasant so far," she admits truthfully, accepting only one because carrying both around all night, let alone hauling a whole pile, does seem unpleasant.

Soon, Sara tosses the cloth in the air so it lands atop the light purple swamp that is her hair and adjusts its position to rest as a hood might, falling past her thin shoulders.

Hand brings a corner towards her own face when she notices little traces of water still dripping down Emma's and swaps directions to deliver a delicate tap to the spot.

"If you insist on running in these halls, you will slip in due time, perhaps even split your head open on the tiles and that would be no good." A small smile. "Be mindful of the surroundings, alright?"

[shadoll]

For old time's sake, Sara dares to very discreetly expand the parasol one final time, content to simply hold it upside down as he continues talking to her. She supposes it is better than doing nothing, though his company would certainly be more enjoyable if he complained a lot less.

Where he sighs, a soft puff of laughter leaves her. Even the Viscount did not voice such optimism, going so far as to have his staff prepare bedrooms upstairs in the event the storm lasted through the night. That wouldn't surprise her either considering the frequency at which misfortune befell Fodlan as of late.

Just as he finds yet another subject to needle her on, the whole building starts shivering under divine intervention, rerouting the path of thought while Sara seems unphased by the sudden episode altogether, nonchalantly spinning her parasol.

"Sara. I am Sara." A pause, another gradual twirl. "Which house do you belong to? You can change for any reason, you know. When I arrived at the academy, I was assigned to the Golden Deer, though a couple of years later I joined the Black Eagles of my own volition. I liked Edelgard, not because of her station but the fact she is an interesting person. Dimitri is all right, too."

Newly curious, her gaze raises to connect with Berkut's.

"I've never seen you around."

SUPERCALLIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS. ✧

continued from here // Berkut & Sara

[shadoll]

Her hand idly runs through matted fields of lavender, teasing through the knots sown by wind and rain. There's a lot of words to process at once which range from just melodramatic to mildly ridiculous, but Sara does not tune her out right away, listens for the time being.

She silently accepts the pearl, rolling it around her hand along with the insight Serra has provided. A startlingly similar conversation had taken place with another pink-haired girl just the year prior, discouraging her from brushing aside the feelings of the one before her now even if she shared none of their concerns.

None of the members of the church ever sought Sara's permission to call her "Lady Sara" as a child. They saw only the sum of her bloodline, the position her grandfather held in it rather than anything to do with her. She could alter her appearance however she chose and ingratiate herself to the people of Jugdral until her last breath, though the moment her lineage came to light, it would not matter in the least.

"That sounds exhausting."

Where on earth Serra gets the energy to care all that much, Sara may never understand. She secures an unoccupied chair nearby and props her elbows up on the workspace, setting down the pearl and a spare anchor charm atop busy table.

"Are you a lady then?" she inquires as though she cannot be certain, then persists, sincere. "Would that make you happy to be one?"

@serraic

WHAT IS THIS FEELING? ✧

continued from here // Serra & Sara

[shadoll]

A hand chokes the neck of the parasol she shook, dragging Sara's attention to the unhappy individual standing and looking at least initially somewhat cross. The reason has yet to register to her, but he doesn't strike her keen on letting go anytime in the near future, even suggesting a change in location much to her surprise. She tests the strength of the grip, half-heartedly trying to tug her glorified toy free from his grasp and unafraid to meet his gaze as she does so.

"You're quite strong."

Sara grants this thought additional consideration with a furtive attempt to unfold the parasol once more to no avail. Further investigation reveals dark spots on his clothing, presumably resulting from said antics that he had earlier called into question. It's just a little water though and, in her expert opinion as a healer, he appears unharmed. If she had incidentally hit him instead, she might better understand the purpose for lecture.

"I apologize that I did not see you there," she says flatly, not at all sounding apologetic. "May I have the parasol returned now? If you are in need of one of your own, others are available."

@rigelprinceofdespair

SUPERCALLIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS. ✧

continued from here // Berkut & Sara

[shadoll]

Even if Ishtar refuses to turn Sara's way at first, they will coexist in this time after tragedy. A story doesn't end but begin with its survivors, those that have to carry on the guilt-ridden song of life after death. Exchanges of empathy cannot be accepted before hope.

Sara has been taught patience through absence. A grandfather that disappears as he pleases and uses her at his convenience. Seconds of indecision are nothing compared to months of neglect and abandonment.

Her expression remains calm as a goddess's wrath erupts, harsh lashes like lightning, the precision manipulated to sting thinner skin. But they are both prodigies of the house of magic, both grew into the painful calluses that have covered their hands since a young age.

She doesn't care to continue the subject of Julius further. Shakes her head instead of a verbal response.

"My hands are not clean, Ishtar. None of ours are. I know what you have done as well, and I will not dirty my hands by shedding more unnecessary blood. I have no cause to claim yours unless you give me one. We can communicate, until then. This is not charity, it's because you are a human being."

shades of gray

[shadoll]

[ SPLASH ] - For the daring, the ocean on its own can provide a stage for those who wish to swim! What better way to train the body than in these conditions? Or perhaps you’re thinking more along the lines of pranking another party-goer…

Ishtar strays far from the party to entertain herself with the chill of the ocean's splash. It's colder than she expects but a welcome one. Just what she needs to clear her mind for a few minutes....or maybe more. 

Looking up, the ocean seems to stretch on forever. It's a bit humbling to look at such a powerful entity, crashing and roaring waves alike. Ishtar had once likened herself to being so powerful and yet she doesn't chalk up nearly to the ocean.

Eyes drift with the passage of minutes. The mage hears foosteps and a girl settles in nearby. Curiosity gets the better of her and she takes a peak. Lavender hair runs to the floor with a doll like face. Ishtar takes a step back. No. Not her.

But who did she have to fear? She was Ishtar. She feared no one. And how could this little girl hurt her?

The Friege turns to the girl with a dismissive nod. "Oh. You."

"Thought you stayed back home," Ishtar continues. "But oh well. Hi, Sara. I guess." Folding her arms, the mage waits for the other's reply. 

Like a mirage at sea, Thunder Goddess looms by the shoreline, standing at a distance as they always have from one another. It would be easy to close that space, as easy as it would have been in former days, but Sara still does not.

An invisible third ghost haunts their relationship, hanging over them even in death. She vowed to never have anything to do with Julius once he was reduced to no more than a vessel. Her mourning of the boy he used to be hadn't lasted past childhood.

"You are alone?" she ventures carefully, solemnly. Ishtar isn't the first corpse Sara has witnessed wander the land.

The static tension doesn't fade even as her senses tell her she already knows the answer.

"They will not welcome you here." Those are the consequences she faces for her commitment to the empire, to the history her own hands chose to write. "And I will not defend you from their judgment. You carry the crosses of children that were imprisoned, lives that were stolen in the war. That is a punishment you cannot escape, however I won't persecute you on account of your sins."

[shadoll]

Mitama's quip may pass without comment, but the amusement she derives is evident in the moment. Sara definitely wouldn't oppose Mitama if she wanted to replace August, though the final verdict falls to none other than Leif. Through no fault of anyone, ultimately she cannot envision any of it coming to pass. She cannot conjure a scene of Mitama in Leonster with her when she cannot even see herself there forever despite Leif promising her a place. Home doesn't exist for people like her and she won't be convinced his is hers unless she truly comes around to the idea.

The origins of one's birth exert a force almost as binding as fate, limiting choice and dictating the number of roads available to take. She feels a pang in her chest as the story of an isolated girl unravels, while that very girl curls into a protective ball. Mitama looks smaller like this, as small as Miranda had caged behind steel bars before those built of her own making.

There are no right words, so rarely are there right words to be said as a heart bleeds, however Sara can acknowledge that hurt and phantom pain, swallow the lump building in her throat and speak no matter how raw her voice becomes. She knows a soul that cries for help carries unimaginable burden.

"I cannot tell you a method to keeping friends nor exactly when they are made. Loneliness doesn't evaporate once you are no longer alone, you well understand. It remains with you, lurking around corners even if you manage to forget sometimes."

Sara turns her body to better observe Mitama, acknowledging her and her vulnerability. She submits the photo-artifex as offering, "But you will be found. You will meet people and be found again and again when you least expect. And if the wait is too heartbreaking to bear, you must pick yourself up and find them."

[ PHOTO-ARTIFEX ] - The picture box she borrowed from the prop table is an awkward shape to hold within her small hands, fingers just barely able to surround the device. Sara fumbles with it for only a few seconds before peering through the viewfinder, glassy eye watching guests as she strolls the venue, occasionally bumping into a poorly placed chair or elbow along the way.

It is the first year the Ethereal Ball has been hosted outside the academy since she started attending, and there have never been many opportunities to visit the coast in her memory. Leif and Nanna were raised along Fiana's steady shores, at home amid tides that didn't know the meaning of war.

But what ultimately captures her attention isn't the waves or seashells nestled in coral pink hair. Just as sand and sea are reassuring in their familiarity to her friends, Sara feels drawn to flora and foliage in full bloom. The pattern printed across Mitama's dress is unlike any rendering of them she has seen in person and photo-artifex inconspicuously flashes, then lowers to reveal a smiling face.

"Hello there, your gown is quite pretty. What kind of flowers are those?"

It is surprisingly easy to be let alone in such a crowded event. It helps when one wanders away from the crowds or designated areas of rest, and instead off to the beach where there are only other solitary partygoers or couples seeking privacy to avoid.

She thinks, fleetingly, of cursing one of the nearby couples that laughs too loudly, but resists the urge.

The ocean is beautiful, even with those damnable lanterns still floating or flying above the waves. The rock she has claimed for herself is large enough that she could lie down if she chose to, and smooth enough that she might even be able to do so comfortable. She has always claimed the ability to be able to rest anywhere. It would be the perfect opportunity to test that.

She hears the approaching sound of footsteps on the sand, but presumes its destination elsewhere. When a voice breaks her silence, she startles in surprise before turning. The student is...it takes her a moment to recall the face, but it comes to her suddenly in the ghost of a memory of magic. Sara. Right. Mitama narrows her eyes at the device she carries silently for a moment before returning her gaze to smiling face.

"...Thank you. It is clothing from the land I traveled here from." She untucks her legs from where they have been folded against her chest so that she can smooth the fabric out better for them to see. "Hoshido is filled with cherry blossom trees. It is meant to replicate what the petals look like before they fall."

If we returned now, would she make it in time to see them? After a moment's silence, she returns her attention to the other student. "You look quite nice as well. It has been quite some time since last we saw each other." Does she remember her, or was this simply chance? "...I hope you are well."

[shadoll]

[ LANTERNS ] - Lanterns shaped like flowers decorate a large table alongside bowls of strips of paper and writing utensils. Guests are instructed to write a wish on the piece of paper and then roll it into the rim of a lantern, and once finished, to set them into the water. The result of everyone’s wishes is a truly breath-taking sight of a hundred little lights on the ocean’s surface.

He hardly noticed the small girl standing beside him, also wishing on a lantern. No, Finn was absent-minded for once, trying to focus on something he genuinely wanted. 

Attention turns to the lilac-haired girl. "I didn't see you there."

He'd hardly seen anyone, wrapped up in his thoughts, trying to conjure something. Anything.  "What do you wish for?" It slips out of his mouth before he can think about it. Perhaps it was inappropriate, but maybe she can offer insight. Finn does not know if he should wish for Leonster, for his lord, or for himself. He sets the lantern down in frustration. This wasn't getting anywhere. "Apologies. You don't need to answer that if you don't want to."

In truth, Sara hadn't perceived him either, but she wasn't looking for Finn in the first place. Now that his presence makes itself known, it would be rude to ignore him though.

"Are apologies all you are?" Her tone solely carries curiosity, bears no grudge toward him. "There is no need for them.

She rescues the lantern he has abandoned, turning the object to peer inside and realizes nothing is there, just a hollow paper shell.

"I can decide for myself when to or not to answer. I only plan to obtain a lantern to release it into the water, nothing more. No wish. I do not believe it necessary to partake in the task." A pause as her eyes narrow, briefly assessing him. "You are uncertain what to wish for. I cannot help, but I will tell you overthinking anything makes no difference. Take too long to reach a decision and the window of time will have already passed. Trust your heart to know desire."

[shadoll]

It's Mitama's turn to enter into a state of contemplation, and Sara has no problem allowing her time in private thought. The atmosphere lends itself to reflection, to catch up with an old classmate after living worlds apart. Most people have friends they left behind to study in Fodlan. Though Sara's traveled with her one by one until they all ended up here somehow, she might start to miss them otherwise.

Frankly she doesn't care to leave marks anywhere, not in Jugdral and not here either. Her grandfather has left enough scars across the land for the both of them. Sara doesn't so much as flinch at the remark or implications of what Mitama says next no matter how vulnerable the words are. Survival didn't save a lot of room for thriving, as terrible that may be. During the contest at the School of Sorcery, Mitama had seemed untouchable, her spells leagues above and beyond the competition. But that wasn't the same as thriving, she thinks. Power never amounted to happiness.

When they shared a classroom under the banner of the Golden Deer, she hadn't thought to compare herself to Mitama, that they might be similar in a way. No one pointed out Sara's bluntness before like it wasn't a bad thing.

If she looks well, she is grateful to finally feel well too, reclaiming confidence lost in the fall of Garreg Mach. While normally she wouldn't concern herself with appearances, this brings a smile to her face again, encouraging her to join Mitama on the rock and pull up her feet as she continues to listen.

"I like the people," she responds easily, twisting in place, incapable of sitting entirely still. "You know Lord Leif, right? His advisors despise me. They pretend not to, but I know they do. I do not really mind, I mean it. I do not care if they ever decide to stop." A soft, genuine laugh. "I want to stay, for now. That could change, but so long as I can live freely, I want to stay. And the horrors are not the worst I have seen."

She settles, closing her eyes to bask in the light, airy breeze, salt included.

"What do you think it would take for you to thrive?

[ PHOTO-ARTIFEX ] - The picture box she borrowed from the prop table is an awkward shape to hold within her small hands, fingers just barely able to surround the device. Sara fumbles with it for only a few seconds before peering through the viewfinder, glassy eye watching guests as she strolls the venue, occasionally bumping into a poorly placed chair or elbow along the way.

It is the first year the Ethereal Ball has been hosted outside the academy since she started attending, and there have never been many opportunities to visit the coast in her memory. Leif and Nanna were raised along Fiana's steady shores, at home amid tides that didn't know the meaning of war.

But what ultimately captures her attention isn't the waves or seashells nestled in coral pink hair. Just as sand and sea are reassuring in their familiarity to her friends, Sara feels drawn to flora and foliage in full bloom. The pattern printed across Mitama's dress is unlike any rendering of them she has seen in person and photo-artifex inconspicuously flashes, then lowers to reveal a smiling face.

"Hello there, your gown is quite pretty. What kind of flowers are those?"

It is surprisingly easy to be let alone in such a crowded event. It helps when one wanders away from the crowds or designated areas of rest, and instead off to the beach where there are only other solitary partygoers or couples seeking privacy to avoid.

She thinks, fleetingly, of cursing one of the nearby couples that laughs too loudly, but resists the urge.

The ocean is beautiful, even with those damnable lanterns still floating or flying above the waves. The rock she has claimed for herself is large enough that she could lie down if she chose to, and smooth enough that she might even be able to do so comfortable. She has always claimed the ability to be able to rest anywhere. It would be the perfect opportunity to test that.

She hears the approaching sound of footsteps on the sand, but presumes its destination elsewhere. When a voice breaks her silence, she startles in surprise before turning. The student is...it takes her a moment to recall the face, but it comes to her suddenly in the ghost of a memory of magic. Sara. Right. Mitama narrows her eyes at the device she carries silently for a moment before returning her gaze to smiling face.

"...Thank you. It is clothing from the land I traveled here from." She untucks her legs from where they have been folded against her chest so that she can smooth the fabric out better for them to see. "Hoshido is filled with cherry blossom trees. It is meant to replicate what the petals look like before they fall."

If we returned now, would she make it in time to see them? After a moment's silence, she returns her attention to the other student. "You look quite nice as well. It has been quite some time since last we saw each other." Does she remember her, or was this simply chance? "...I hope you are well."

[shadoll]

She blinks mutely as Mitama adjusts in order to present her dress, flowers multiplying like the first sign of spring. The snapshot Sara took on a whim earlier probably won't do it justice, but right now she wants nothing more than to listen to Mitama's description of Hoshido and cherry blossoms. Her expression has creased in thought, taking measure of each word, even if she can only picture an approximation of it using her own experience. Voluntarily choosing to sever her roots doesn't mean she has to begrudge others theirs.

Once more the magic box is brought to her face, though its glare is not directed at Mitama but the towering palm trees standing in the distance. "Given you must be rather fond of them, have you tried growing a tree here?" she says the first thing that comes to mind, perhaps unsolicited.

It can be hard to know what people are hoping to hear. She'd like to someday visit the land Mitama speaks of should an opportunity to arise, just as she had with Brodia this past year.

There has never been a time that she regretted stretching her legs and expanding her horizons, and Sara thinks Mitama might look a little less lonely among these cherry blossoms than a rock in the middle of nowhere.

"Oh, I must apologize. I missed everything you said after the cherry blossoms." Not on purpose, of course. All the sights and sounds around them were distracting despite the quieter space Mitama had carved away from the larger events. "You know, I didn't come expecting to find you, but I am glad that I did. I thought of you last moon, when students were invited to return to the School of Sorcery. Were you one of them?"

[ PHOTO-ARTIFEX ] - The picture box she borrowed from the prop table is an awkward shape to hold within her small hands, fingers just barely able to surround the device. Sara fumbles with it for only a few seconds before peering through the viewfinder, glassy eye watching guests as she strolls the venue, occasionally bumping into a poorly placed chair or elbow along the way.

It is the first year the Ethereal Ball has been hosted outside the academy since she started attending, and there have never been many opportunities to visit the coast in her memory. Leif and Nanna were raised along Fiana's steady shores, at home amid tides that didn't know the meaning of war.

But what ultimately captures her attention isn't the waves or seashells nestled in coral pink hair. Just as sand and sea are reassuring in their familiarity to her friends, Sara feels drawn to flora and foliage in full bloom. The pattern printed across Mitama's dress is unlike any rendering of them she has seen in person and photo-artifex inconspicuously flashes, then lowers to reveal a smiling face.

"Hello there, your gown is quite pretty. What kind of flowers are those?"

It is surprisingly easy to be let alone in such a crowded event. It helps when one wanders away from the crowds or designated areas of rest, and instead off to the beach where there are only other solitary partygoers or couples seeking privacy to avoid.

She thinks, fleetingly, of cursing one of the nearby couples that laughs too loudly, but resists the urge.

The ocean is beautiful, even with those damnable lanterns still floating or flying above the waves. The rock she has claimed for herself is large enough that she could lie down if she chose to, and smooth enough that she might even be able to do so comfortable. She has always claimed the ability to be able to rest anywhere. It would be the perfect opportunity to test that.

She hears the approaching sound of footsteps on the sand, but presumes its destination elsewhere. When a voice breaks her silence, she startles in surprise before turning. The student is...it takes her a moment to recall the face, but it comes to her suddenly in the ghost of a memory of magic. Sara. Right. Mitama narrows her eyes at the device she carries silently for a moment before returning her gaze to smiling face.

"...Thank you. It is clothing from the land I traveled here from." She untucks her legs from where they have been folded against her chest so that she can smooth the fabric out better for them to see. "Hoshido is filled with cherry blossom trees. It is meant to replicate what the petals look like before they fall."

If we returned now, would she make it in time to see them? After a moment's silence, she returns her attention to the other student. "You look quite nice as well. It has been quite some time since last we saw each other." Does she remember her, or was this simply chance? "...I hope you are well."

[shadoll]

Unbeknownst to her, Sara matches him by toying with a lock of her own hair to pass time, lazily batting the strand to one side like a silvery thread of fate.

Because of Leif, she betrayed her first home and deserted the very bishops that raised her for years. It had been easy. She would do it once more in a heartbeat even if he didn't ask. Not because it was the right thing to do. Those who trespassed through Melfiye knew the risks, and Sara felt no pity for those that came before him, the ones that wandered into hidden traps and never escaped. It had yet to occur to her then that his campaign across the peninsula could have ended without Kia until they came upon the altar, her resolve and allegiance solidified after spending time together.

"You're not weird." That is really what he was asking. She always wanted to be told that too. "I like the way you are, Lord Leif."

What she forgets to say is he doesn't have to be like her or hear the voices that sometimes threaten to drown her. He just has to listen to the people around him, listen to himself, and listen to his instincts which aren't bad at all. He should trust himself, as he trusts her, as she trusts him.

"...Do you try to imagine being me?" Her laughter rings of amusement. "That's silly." Leif doesn't have to if only he'd ask. In truth, she wishes he asked better questions.

"I don't have a choice in hearing them," Sara reveals more solemnly. "Staves can silence magic, temporarily sever connection, but not the spirits. They are ever-present. Kia can touch those spirits."

And she'd been attuned to them from birth, from blood. The most pleasant voices belied a danger she long learned to be wary of, the kind that offered dark promises in exchange for possession.

"I couldn't ignore the sound of yours."

the boy who cried wolf

         ⤷   mission task:   distress   ( distress call )

[shadoll]

Leif hasn't ascended to his throne quite yet, but Sara nonetheless understands the source of such weirdness. Unlike the Archbishop of a certain church, she had no ulterior motive for surrounding herself with individuals in power. Befriending them is exactly what he would have wanted, earning trust only to manipulate and deceive from the shadows. It was nothing more than coincidence that she found herself entertaining the company of future kings and emperors, people with a very different kind of power in their hands.

As Yunaka had said, everything was complicated. The place Sara left would not welcome her ever again. It couldn't because it no longer existed. Brodia would stand tall and improve under Diamant's guidance, she was certain, but that didn't guarantee Yunaka felt she belonged there. Given the way she had spoken about it, Sara seriously doubts she has a lot of happy memories to return to.

"Of course not," she tells Yunaka upfront, the juice box she was holding nearly falling. She laughs, not at the expense of her, but instead how funny the question is. "I would have had to kill them. I could if I had to, if it were my life or theirs, but they didn't deserve to die. That rarely matters most of the time though."

The thought is punctuated with another soft sip and the smile of a child who sees no fault in their warped view of the world.

"I do see your perspective. I don't think you're wrong, actually. Until arriving in Fodlan, it was difficult for me to make friends if you can believe it." She was widely misliked everywhere she went and trying to remedy that became tiresome. Playing alone was easier than playing pretend. "The person I want to be, well, I still haven't decided. Our days at the academy won't last forever, so I need to figure it out for myself. That's how I feel."

And she feels lighter for being aware of that now, as though the weight, those treacherous clouds, are finally dissipating. The dark has always been there for her, but she is too fond to not stretch a hand towards the light. She wants to keep both ultimately.

None of it's real, but the losses still sting in their own ways. It's probably laughable that a former killer can't win a fight that's not to the death. She doesn't want to waste time thinking about that, not when she'd already decided there were others roles she wanted to play.

Sara's already bitten the hand that offered protection, and scoffed at the offer of encouragement when it comes to this fight. Third time's the charm? Probably not, but Yunaka knows that she'd feel worse about not trying at all.

Another juice box is slipped out of her stolen trove and offered to Sara. Yunaka flashes her a smile as she hooks her foot around a nearby stool and yanks it over so she can take a seat. "I know you said you didn't care about the results, but that doesn't make me any less proud for the effort. I don't think anyone would have said anything if you took more time to let your arm rest instead of fighting."

She's worried about her arm, but she's more worried about trying to pry and having her shut up. She glances at it, but doesn't ask. "How was fighting with Rafal? Was he holding back like you thought we might be?"

The surveilance of overtaxed healers volunteering in the tents is far from the strictest she has been under. Normally they couldn't hope to intercept her if she was committed to slipping away, but Sara has been nursing a headache for a while now.

And she might just appreciate the company nearly as much as the juice which she takes without complaint. The first sip is only for savoring the sweetness, lips quietly smacking together in foreshadowing of the greedier gulp that follows.

Yunaka has a point, she supposes, when many others hadn't even taken part. She knew all along her performance in a mock battle was relatively meaningless in the grander scope of things and victory here wouldn't erase past losses she suffered this year.

"I'm not really upset," Sara prefaces flatly, staring at the entrance. "He was, though it would be more accurate to say I was the one holding him back. He may have protected me because I haven't fully recovered. "

A frown emerges as she recalls his silhouette limping off into the distance. She presses her pouting face to one side of the half-emptied box, cheek squishing up against the cool plane like an ice pack.

"My decision to not use offensive magic was self-imposed, so I didn't have the means to win. But I wasn't after that. I don't know what I wanted to prove anymore," she admits, an unspoken invitation to Yunaka to speculate with her.

[shadoll]

Okay, gross. The last thing Sara wants to picture is the kind of person Rafal pines after in his spare time. Even worse if the faces they make at each other remotely resemble those that Leif and Nanna do when they think no one else is looking. In fact, she refuses to contemplate Rafal's love life any further than that, leaving the topic completely untouched, though a part of her feels relief hearing it.

There has been a cloud suspended above her thoughts that comes out every so often and dampens them in ways she has yet to find the proper words for. Maybe she hadn't thought voicing them would help, but Yunaka is navigating them with her now and the truth seems a little more visible when she parses through what Sara is willing to share in the moment.

If she had been luckier, Sara wouldn't have been born. The half of the continent dead set on reminding her the star she was born under wasn't blessed earnestly believed she deserved misfortune to befall her. It was a reality she'd been forced to make peace with early on lest she succumb to bitter poison as her grandfather had. Perhaps she'd been inexplicably lucky to survive up to this point and couldn't see past the veil until it had recently and viciously been ripped away from her.

As she continues to ruminate, Yunaka alters the scene, meeting her in the middle with an attempt to relate.

"You are from Brodia too, then?" The volume of her own voice lowers out of consideration. Sara doesn't miss how Yunaka's posture had shifted nor does she spurn the need for secrecy when she has plenty of things she withholds as well. It won't pain her if Yunaka chooses not to provide confirmation. She can't stop her habit of testing people even when she already knows the truth. Sometimes she likes to hear it repeated, just enjoys knowing they trust her enough to tell her and not be a mistake.

"I cannot say I have been to a tournament like that. There used to be this ritual held by the church though, you know. Children who showed potential were stolen and pitted against each other to prove themselves before God. I never had to do it because I was already so strong. I've always been able to depend on that power, so I don't know what changed."

None of it's real, but the losses still sting in their own ways. It's probably laughable that a former killer can't win a fight that's not to the death. She doesn't want to waste time thinking about that, not when she'd already decided there were others roles she wanted to play.

Sara's already bitten the hand that offered protection, and scoffed at the offer of encouragement when it comes to this fight. Third time's the charm? Probably not, but Yunaka knows that she'd feel worse about not trying at all.

Another juice box is slipped out of her stolen trove and offered to Sara. Yunaka flashes her a smile as she hooks her foot around a nearby stool and yanks it over so she can take a seat. "I know you said you didn't care about the results, but that doesn't make me any less proud for the effort. I don't think anyone would have said anything if you took more time to let your arm rest instead of fighting."

She's worried about her arm, but she's more worried about trying to pry and having her shut up. She glances at it, but doesn't ask. "How was fighting with Rafal? Was he holding back like you thought we might be?"

The surveilance of overtaxed healers volunteering in the tents is far from the strictest she has been under. Normally they couldn't hope to intercept her if she was committed to slipping away, but Sara has been nursing a headache for a while now.

And she might just appreciate the company nearly as much as the juice which she takes without complaint. The first sip is only for savoring the sweetness, lips quietly smacking together in foreshadowing of the greedier gulp that follows.

Yunaka has a point, she supposes, when many others hadn't even taken part. She knew all along her performance in a mock battle was relatively meaningless in the grander scope of things and victory here wouldn't erase past losses she suffered this year.

"I'm not really upset," Sara prefaces flatly, staring at the entrance. "He was, though it would be more accurate to say I was the one holding him back. He may have protected me because I haven't fully recovered. "

A frown emerges as she recalls his silhouette limping off into the distance. She presses her pouting face to one side of the half-emptied box, cheek squishing up against the cool plane like an ice pack.

"My decision to not use offensive magic was self-imposed, so I didn't have the means to win. But I wasn't after that. I don't know what I wanted to prove anymore," she admits, an unspoken invitation to Yunaka to speculate with her.

[shadoll]

Some fateful encounters in life are nothing more than an afterthought. Sara knows the identity of this woman by heartsight, Nordion's princess long believed to be lost to the unforgiving desert and unearthly mirage of the daughter she left behind. The irony of her turning up in Fodlan of all places would even be intriguing had it not also brought a noticeable stir among staff despite their best efforts to prevent its spread like wildfire.

Her desire to investigate the matter is a self-serving one at the end of the day rather than motivated primarily out of love for a friend or concern over how Nanna and even Leif would react to meeting a ghost from the past. While others clung to the improbable hope that Lachesis still wandered the Aed, Sara knew even those that somehow returned were never the same.

And her suspicions indeed seem justified when she catches wind of the incident through hushed accounts scattered across campus by the alarmed. Bows do not ordinarily bewitch the host without reason nor does the average weapon possess a will unless foul forces are at play. Whether Lachesis herself was merely an unwitting victim remained to be seen.

Tempered by due caution, she steps out of the shadows and looks aloft, wondering if familal likeness is only skin deep.

"You have suffered the potent effects of dark magic." Her small hand extends forward, palm up, awaiting answer. "May I see the culprit?"

@landslioness

BOWSTBUSTERS. ✧