Post by Deleted on Oct 5, 2015 22:08:28 GMT -5
The air was cool -- Archades was sliding rapidly towards fall, that much was clear. The hour, of course, was rather late, which perhaps might have found the atmosphere some reprieve in its frigidity; but something on the breeze suggested that a hard winter was not far off, and that same sense of delicate foreboding -- dark tendrils of ethereal fingers, brushing across ginger exposed skin -- lay like a shawl over Antoinette's shoulders; present, aware, if not entirely cumbersome.
It was also, perhaps, a touch bold to be out without her attendants, and at such a witching hour; while such behavior had been commonplace in her younger days -- slipping her guards, taking long forgotten corridors, availing the late hours of the night with her cousin and more debaucherous friends -- such a temperment was not true of late; and her willingness, that particular evening, to slide back into old habits -- however much more subdued -- was a slight surprise, even to Antoinette; and certainly to Brunnild and Marie, who might wake in the night and find themselves bereft the presence of their mistress.
But it felt like exercising a long dormant muscles, gliding seamlessly from the castle, not a wandering eye the wiser; and in a slight jolt of rebellion, the Princess Royal lifted her arms over her head and stretched her long, pale arms over her head; wriggling her fingers into the night sky, her shoulders heavy with the weight of her coat, but her heart light, and unencumbered, for the first time in what felt like a few weeks. Her wandering feet were drawing her to the southern paths of the castle, each step somehow alleviating the strange ache she felt in her chest, that had woken her earlier, sweating and uncomfortable; the section of the gardens she now walked were those that harbored thick hedge rows, and tall arbors; the perfect place for one to hide, if they so sought solace. What Antoinette really wanted, in truth, was the open spaces; the sprawling lawns she remembered laying in just a few years past, limbs akimbo, soaking up the cool grass beneath her silks and furs, the taste of wine on her tongue, laughter on her lips.
But not tonight. Another night. Just not tonight.
The Princess Royal that secreted herself away thought of that girl -- that version of herself -- as a distant friend; one that still lived, but not within an arm's reach. That girl had had no fear, and in a way Antoinette envied her sightless, crude strength, her willingness to love herself and only herself. Without thinking, the Princess pulled the thickly draped hood of her cloak up over her golden head, even though the breeze barely called for it.
What a strange friend.
It was also, perhaps, a touch bold to be out without her attendants, and at such a witching hour; while such behavior had been commonplace in her younger days -- slipping her guards, taking long forgotten corridors, availing the late hours of the night with her cousin and more debaucherous friends -- such a temperment was not true of late; and her willingness, that particular evening, to slide back into old habits -- however much more subdued -- was a slight surprise, even to Antoinette; and certainly to Brunnild and Marie, who might wake in the night and find themselves bereft the presence of their mistress.
But it felt like exercising a long dormant muscles, gliding seamlessly from the castle, not a wandering eye the wiser; and in a slight jolt of rebellion, the Princess Royal lifted her arms over her head and stretched her long, pale arms over her head; wriggling her fingers into the night sky, her shoulders heavy with the weight of her coat, but her heart light, and unencumbered, for the first time in what felt like a few weeks. Her wandering feet were drawing her to the southern paths of the castle, each step somehow alleviating the strange ache she felt in her chest, that had woken her earlier, sweating and uncomfortable; the section of the gardens she now walked were those that harbored thick hedge rows, and tall arbors; the perfect place for one to hide, if they so sought solace. What Antoinette really wanted, in truth, was the open spaces; the sprawling lawns she remembered laying in just a few years past, limbs akimbo, soaking up the cool grass beneath her silks and furs, the taste of wine on her tongue, laughter on her lips.
But not tonight. Another night. Just not tonight.
The Princess Royal that secreted herself away thought of that girl -- that version of herself -- as a distant friend; one that still lived, but not within an arm's reach. That girl had had no fear, and in a way Antoinette envied her sightless, crude strength, her willingness to love herself and only herself. Without thinking, the Princess pulled the thickly draped hood of her cloak up over her golden head, even though the breeze barely called for it.
What a strange friend.