The capital city of Anaxas and the seat of the government.
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- Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 5:41 pm
- Race: Galdor
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3rd Achtus, 2718
VIENDA COURTHOUSE | MID MORNING
It was a chilled, snowy Achtus day that morning. The flakes fluttered from thick heavy clouds like feathers shed from downy wings up on high, softly settling lightly on the rooftop of the Courthouse of Vienda. Where they landed on the cold cobblestone streets, they melted slowly into a cold slush, leaving a damp on the city that seemed to deep into the very core of one’s bones. There were no birds singing this morning, most of them either sleeping still in the wintery morning or having migrated closer to the less freezing deserts of Mugroba. It was a moment of strange quiet, captured in time. The world felt hushed, as though holding its breath waiting for something.
Perhaps not the world, but at least one person did.
Charity stood before the imposing building, staring up at its winter dressed brickwork, her legs seemingly caught in a quagmire as though she could not make it up the steps of the courthouse. Her still darkened locks were pulled back away from her face in a soft chignon, hood pulled down on her thick winter cloak so the icy flakes melted on her pale cheeks and caught in her hair. The Captain’s daughter’s breath suddenly plumed before her in a thick cloud, as though she’d been punched in the stomach.
Father will be in there.
“I can’t do this Rhys.” The delicate pianist all but whispered, her brow furrowed and violet eyes shining with unshed tears. Her mouth felt dry and her hands trembled slightly, unable to stop herself from holding the not-galdor’s own tightly as the panicked fear reverberated through her field. Swallowing hard, Charity tore her eyes from the building to look at the Seventen beside her, taking a sharp inhale and shaking her head slightly.
“Clocks, I’m so scared to go in there. I’m scared to see him. What is he going to say. Gods, is he allowed to speak to us? Oh Alioe, I can’t do this.” Her breathing was rapidly speeding up, heart hammering so heart her chest hurt. Pressing a hand to her chest, she turned her back on the stone stairs that all but marched her towards certain doom, gasping another deeper breath and closing her eyes.
The weeks, the seasons, between the riot and today had been emotionally and mentally draining. She was tired, tired of the terror and the inescapable tangled web that surrounded her every step. Her legs felt weak and her field waivered again.
“Tell me it’s going to be okay.” Charity begged quietly, opening her eyes to look at the Valentin again, knowing full well it might be a lie. It would be a beautiful lie though, maybe the lie she needed to gather herself. Around them, other people were filing into the courthouse, jurors and spectators, people attending the cases that would come after their own. She’d been advised that trials were brief things, and given all the evidence and witness statements surely it would be over and done and Damen would stand to go to gaol.
Surely justice and good ethical people would stand up for what was clearly wrong.
If that was the case, why did she feel like she wanted to empty her stomach onto
the cold wet street?
“Okay. Okay, I can do this. We can do this.” Charity said without confidence, straightening and lifting her chin. She took a few deep breaths, looking back at the courthouse.
“We can do this.”
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