#tches who asks for permission to commit violence in the inbox and me still going :pikachu_surprised: what if i cried though genuinely

[encantresse]

 [GRANNVALE ] - An old waltz from before the rise of Emperor Arvis. It was popular during its time in the 750s but has now become a relic of the past, one that may not be as appreciated by the newer generation.

It had been long enough since he had set foot into the arena proper that he had known where she was, regardless of how the tide of the crowd churned and flowed around there. It was through no corporeal sense, but a hyperawareness that stemmed from somewhere deep in his gut that he could not yet shake, no matter how he tried to purge the marks that she had left on him.

Indelible. Forgivable.

Dimitri took a clean breath, deep and filling his lungs with the scent of the sea at night, and allowed the crash of the waves behind him to buoy him forward, his steps soft in the sand as he strode forward. Although he did his best to weave through scattered groups, couples, brushed against individuals with a soft utterance of apology, once the crowd saw the light reflect off of the crown prince they parted for him, eyes heavily upon him until he reached his destination.

He did not rush, did not falter, stood tall as his strides slowed and his heels clicked against the floor, before coming to a stop before her, his hands behind his back.

"Dorothea...you look..." Dimitri could not help but stand for a moment in complete stillness, feeling the distant, fuzzy sensation of everything else around them fade out of his periphery to a faint buzz, blurry and vacant and out of focus when she stood before him, radiant.

He did not know how long the moment lasted – it might have been mere seconds, or it might have been forever, azure locked onto emerald as though this might have communicated all that he had ever wished to say but could not. The music might have rose and swelled, or it might have been the beats of his heart, but in this matter, at least, he knew the steps, and would not allow her to fall.

Finally, gently, one hand slipped out from behind his back, palm up.

Waiting.

Waiting to see if she would allow him this one final indulgence.

𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 2025

it'd occurred to dorothea well in advance that dimitri would be in attendance. she'd known that she would see him, or run into him—even if he tried to keep his distance—and that she would have to contend with the matter head-on in a setting so public, a setting where so much as the wrong tone of voice or expression would clue others into what'd been kept secret, or send speculation unraveling at their feet.

while it helped that this wouldn't be the first time they'd spoken since the miserable end of the last party they'd both attended, there was still plenty left unsaid, and for all the courtesy and civility that followed, she had not expected him to seek her out on a night like this. or ever, after what'd been said.

“It is for this reason, as well, that I will…withdraw my presence from your life.”

had it occurred to dimitri that she expected to be forgotten as one might set aside a cracked marble bust while another, more chiseled and refined, took its spot on the pedestal? did it cross his mind that she might walk a line of hesitation, unsure of what he further expected of her after turning away so abruptly?

strange then, to see the crowd grow quiet and part like the sea to reveal him, dressed in attire a far cry from anything she ever remembered the prince in— recalling now with a melancholic twinge how much things had changed since the last time they'd found themselves on a shore. they had both grown, though seemingly in different directions, when she had thought a year ago they would walk on paths parallel. once his so-called knight, and now something akin to a ghost unable to cross over.

dorothea could not say what it was dimitri wanted; could not say much of anything, here and now, with an audience. his gaze is silently returned with her own, diva now acutely aware of how her heart squeezed in its ribcage, and then trembled, her resolve spurred on only by the prospect of being onstage.

“...you as well.”

nothing more, nothing less said.

delaying a second to unclip a charm from her bracelet to press into his hand as expected—noticing now that he no longer wore his gauntlets, for all the times she'd sought out the touch of skin behind impenetrable steel in search of warmth—before dipping into a curtsey to then finally slip her hand into his atop the pearl in between.