PAINTED LADIES| LATE EVENING
It was a quiet place where the whole entire world could be forgotten for a few blissful hours.
Can’t hide forever Charity Ann.
The galdor looked up at the clouded sky, watching as the fat flakes of snow began to fall on Vienda as the evening marked the less religious celebrations of Clocks Eve. In the streets below, the denizens of the Dives were making their way to private celebrations, or taking the opportunity to join the shindig being put on in Crosstown Court. Here and there along the Ladies, paper lanterns had been hung to shine their light on the snowy cobbled streets, giving the colorful strip a warm glow of amber.
“Neither can you father.” She muttered quietly, the flecks of gold in her violet gaze catching the orange hues in the street as she turned her head slightly to the sound of fireworks. They were a few blocks over, in the court itself, but the boom-crackle-hiss of the brightly colored explosions was still audible and the glow of the street was briefly overtaken by greens or reds or blues depending on the lightshow in the night sky.
It was the same every year for her birthday, except this year things were different. This year for starters, she was sober. She could enjoy the lights for their innate beauty rather than the spectral hallucinogenic chaos that she had endured in the past. Secondly, she was free from Damen’s thumb. After years and years of his cruel reign, she was free. She wasn’t even a D’Arthe anymore, rid of the Bastian name for her Brayde County bred Valentin.
Of course that also led to the third thing, her marriage. For too many years, the pianist had celebrated her birthday lacking the one thing that she ever wanted. The one thing she always wanted; Rhys Valentin. Had he been there in the past, there would be so many things that might not have happened. The knife in her ribs, the abuse of the narcotics, the violence of her father…so many things might have been different but then, would they? Would the man have joined the Seventen? Would he have learned the truth of his heritage? Would there be so many fucked up things in his life to deal with? Charity was absolutely positive the answer was no, but….selfishly she didn’t care. The petite creature was happy, at least, with that part of her world. The wicked man had overshadowed his own birthday with a proposal and union by law, it was a gift that covered every Clocks Eve or St Grumbles or birthday ever.
Charity smiled to herself, lowering her head to rest on her arms again as the snow settled softly in her hair and clung to the fabric of her ivory high collared blouse and long beige skirt. Her platinum tresses were caught up in a half do, the top of her hair neatly fashioned into a twist whilst the rest fell in gentle curls between her shoulder blades. It was cold on the roof—frankly it was cold anywhere given the time of year and the weather—but the galdor didn’t care. She had taken a brief moment to cast a thermodynamic Static spell with a touch of Physical 101 to create a bubble of heat around her. It wasn’t fantastic—Static and Physical weren’t really her key area’s of study—but it was enough to take the edge off.
Laughter peeled from the street below, tipsy revelers on their way out, making their wobbly way down uneven cobblestones on uneven feet. The blonde chuckled to herself, before looking up at the clouded sky punctuated with light and sound. Gods, she could stay in this moment forever. Always and Forever. Unconsciously, she fiddled with the silvery band that had engraved the words that so represented her love for Rhys.
Happy birthday, daughter.
“Shut up.” She muttered without lifting her head, used to the voice by now that she found herself replying to it more often than not.