Brunnhold Library
Love and labors lost as the soul is cleft.
To lose what is dear in life
Is to leave the soul bereft..."
Excerpt from Spiritual Anguish
The toll of the bell, that particular booming sound that marked the end of classes for the nonce and the beginning of lunch was a welcome sound for the Hoxian diplomat. Hers wasn't the relief of a student eager to get away from classes, to socialise and fill rumbling bellies that had started to niggle at them halfway through the last period. She was a bit long in the tooth now to be one of those youthful scholars and she hadn't been the sort to delight in mealtimes during her schooldays in any case. Instead, she was glad to see students gathering their belongings, clearing desks as they filed out of the library. There were few students who'd remain in the library over the mealtime, fewer still who'd choose to enter now although once upon a time, the Hoxian had been part of that rare number. The socialisation had been tiresome, the awareness of being among those who were culturally strange something that she'd felt keenly and the immaturity of it all. It had been the kind of thing that had made her take refuge in her studies.
The young woman yearned for the peace and the chance to focus on her own reading now that the youths were leaving. It was a library of course so there were rules, a certain amount of decorum when it came to behaviour and noise levels. None of the students were breaking those rules, not causing disturbance in the usual sense. Actually, she doubted that anyone else would be bothered in the way that she was. There was too much red hair, too many flowing heads of hair, the occasional giggle or sweet whisper of a female voice reaching her ears and no matter how she tried to fight it, to rationalise that these girls working alone or in pairs were young, mere girls, Drezda found herself drawing associations nonetheless.
Everything came back to Khymarah. She wouldn't have thought that so many little things could drive her back to the moments they'd shared together, the gentle flirtations, the lingering kisses, the sweetness of it and those horrible moments when the woman had come to her with tears and a wringing of hands as she explained her mother's death and her need to return to Bastia. The resignation as she explained that she would have to be her father's business partner now. How she wouldn't be coming back. And the diplomat couldn't soon forget how cold she'd grown, her exterior stony and impenetrable, politely yet icily understanding while something within her cracked and splintered. It didn't matter how hard she was on the outside, it didn't help keep things intact within.
It had been... how many weeks had it been? Two? Three? She wasn't even sure but it was like no time had passed, everything still felt so keenly. She hadn't expected to feel so raw and it had taken everything in her power not to crawl into a bottle and stay there. Khymarah may have gotten under her skin and done some damage with her departure but it didn't mean that Drezda had to lose her hard-won progress. Instead, she'd been doing her best to keep busy. She'd stepped up her political engagements, paying those she dealt with rather more attention than would be usual; she suspected that some politicos were actually a bit worried about what the Hoxian might be planning to do involving them. She'd also stepped up her research into backlash for Anatole, more invested now that she needed the distraction and to achieve something. Perhaps part of her was also desperate not to lose the tentative bonds of near friendship that she'd developed with the Incumbent because to lose him as well would leave her with nothing.
Not that she'd ever allow herself to think of such a thing. Thoughts that came fleetingly before they were shoved down didn't count as real thoughts, her thoughts. They came from another place surely, some rogue entity invading her brainwaves.
So here she was, trying. The diplomat was probably becoming a more recognised face in her former place of education, students afforded more than a few glimpses of her over the course of the year given how frequently she'd been here since Intas. The woman had taken the time to check in with some of her Kingdom's people here, inquiring about their welfare with the higher ups but thus far only having visited a few of them in person. She'd get to them, the ones that needed her in any case, but in the meantime, she had plenty to keep her occupied.
With the vast majority of students gone, Drezda felt more at ease about rising from her seat to peruse shelves. It wasn't that she was self-conscious but rather that the more she roamed while they were here, the more likely it was that she'd have to leave the library altogether. Why did there have to be so many blasted redheads?
Brows were pulled together, lips pursed as she considered what was on offer, determined what volumes she'd already examined and what ones were liable to be promising. In truth, she was beginning to wonder if she needed to things from a different angle but she hadn't determined what. Was Anatole's condition the result of malicious magic or his own magical hubris? Had he received some sort of divine curse? She didn't think that it could be the last. The Circle didn't interfere quite so directly. To curse a child at birth perhaps, quietly modifying them in the womb, that one she could understand but to strike a man in his prime where so many could see-
Well, it would certainly send a message but what kind was anyone's guess. But no, Circle-stricken ill didn't seem the answer. Why single him out after all? To Drezda's mind it seemed ridiculous but then she had never quite taken up the teachings that her mother had so carefully tried to instil in her, teachings that her father didn't wholly approve of given his worship of money over most else. Her sister Tsia had been cursed for their lapse in faith, her mother was certain of it. Her mother who should have known better. She'd been raised Hexxos, she had different views on the Circle than most, especially those outside of Hox. Her mother would probably have had something profoundly spiritual to say about Anatole's condition. The woman was far more inclined towards the spiritual since Tsia's confinement in Frecksat.
Funny, there was an odd pang at the thought of her mother, a strange longing to consult her on the matter, the distance between them suddenly something that she felt deeply. She wanted to talk about Anatole but also Khymarah. Of her parents, Ksjta was the more tolerant, the one most likely to understand and sympathise with her loss of a potential love, even if that love was a woman. After all, it had been her mother who had suggested that if she did her duty of marrying a man then she could take female lovers, a suggestion that had horrified her father.
Strange that she wanted the woman now when she had always had such a turbulent relationship with her. But any perspective that differed from her own was welcome right now.
It was that line of thinking, especially the thought of her mother that had her field rippling and pulsing with complex emotions, her misery succeeding in leaking beyond the bounds of her control. Those unlucky enough to be in her vicinity could hardly help encountering it. It was made worse by the sight of a Hoxian features, the features so familiar to her even if they were scarcer here in this land of foreigners. It made her drift closer despite herself, some part of her mind murmuring feeble excuses about duty because here was a Hoxian she hadn't spoken to, one who seemed to be diligent, one who seemed to be-
What are you doing, Drezda? He'll know everything wrong with you in a moment, don't... she warned herself but she'd seen the tattoos on his hands, the comfortable faded inking beneath the skin that she had seen so many times. Her mother's tattoos. Hexxos tattoos...
"Momma," the diplomat whispered to herself, the misery seeping a little bit more past her defences, bleeding outwards even as she managed to keep the mask. By sheer force of will, she managed not to approach him, ever so briefly drifting within field range of him before she moved swiftly out of it again to a random nearby shelf to examine its contents instead.
Unseeing.