Post by Deleted on Feb 9, 2015 23:09:48 GMT -5
The late summer air was thick and filled with moisture, the sun having just risen along the horizon; bleeding streaks of crimson and orange across the sky. It was like breathing through sack-cloth in Lockewood that morning, but Antoinette drew it deeply into her lungs, nonetheless; feeling the skin along her collarbone bead up in sweat. Her dress was surprisingly modest that morning, perhaps even for her sister's standards; a simple tunic-like shift that clung to her overheated body, belted at the waist, with deep sleeves that broke apart at her elbows. The sun, still barely risen, already threatened to overwhelm the day -- but Antoinette could pay no mind to this physical irritant, her swiftly clicking thoughts for once -- stilled.
She had left her chambers before the sun came up that morning, her mouse-like steps effortlessly careful in avoiding waking the slumbering Deveraux heir in the adjoining bedroom. She had given no call for her attendants, rising so early that day; and when she departed the Lockewood proper, there was no one to give pause to her steps. Stepping out into the atmosphere of the city was like plunging into bathwater; almost an overwhelming change from the comfort of the castle. Still, this did not tarry the Deveraux daughter's progression, having risen with a singular thought that morning.
It did not take long for Antoinette to locate the modest temple that the duchy city boasted; it held a place of honor within the township, and was the apex of several dirt roads. She had seen it from the carriage upon their arrival, unmissable in function and location. A path for wandering feet to follow, to seek out the truths that lay behind sun and moon; light and day. It was not, of course, a bastion of Antoinette's own publicly professed faith -- for what could a sun provide that the great Architect could not? What grief could the moon evoke that compared to the treachery of the one true faith? But little of this mattered, for the temple drew her nonetheless.
It was along the perimeter of this building that Antoinette moved, in the early morning light; her footsteps gentle, slipper feet pacing gently along the consecrated ground, hands clasped at her waist; blue eyes lifted to the thatched roof before her. Her long blonde hair, braided along the crown of her head, knotted at the nape of her neck; lips, forming a grim, contemplative line. She stalked, silently, moving one way, and then another, having made the long journey from castle to religious ruin.
Never daring to go further.
She had left her chambers before the sun came up that morning, her mouse-like steps effortlessly careful in avoiding waking the slumbering Deveraux heir in the adjoining bedroom. She had given no call for her attendants, rising so early that day; and when she departed the Lockewood proper, there was no one to give pause to her steps. Stepping out into the atmosphere of the city was like plunging into bathwater; almost an overwhelming change from the comfort of the castle. Still, this did not tarry the Deveraux daughter's progression, having risen with a singular thought that morning.
It did not take long for Antoinette to locate the modest temple that the duchy city boasted; it held a place of honor within the township, and was the apex of several dirt roads. She had seen it from the carriage upon their arrival, unmissable in function and location. A path for wandering feet to follow, to seek out the truths that lay behind sun and moon; light and day. It was not, of course, a bastion of Antoinette's own publicly professed faith -- for what could a sun provide that the great Architect could not? What grief could the moon evoke that compared to the treachery of the one true faith? But little of this mattered, for the temple drew her nonetheless.
It was along the perimeter of this building that Antoinette moved, in the early morning light; her footsteps gentle, slipper feet pacing gently along the consecrated ground, hands clasped at her waist; blue eyes lifted to the thatched roof before her. Her long blonde hair, braided along the crown of her head, knotted at the nape of her neck; lips, forming a grim, contemplative line. She stalked, silently, moving one way, and then another, having made the long journey from castle to religious ruin.
Never daring to go further.