Araceli takes a breath, smoothes down the skirt of her new gown and doesn't think about the things that try to pull at the mask she's wearing. (Keeping the right smile, the right little concerned frown, the very careful incline of the head; Thedas makes her wield it more than she ever used to.)
She's here as Madame de Cedoux's attache before anything else tonight. Of course everything else comes rushing in before you can shut the door: both of them rifters (so many in positions of power, so many filling the ranks now!) and the gossip that's followed in the wake of the island.
The back of her neck, her jaw, her hands, they all ache when she goes to the balcony for a moment. When her hands don't need to be occupied with the wine, a plate, a careful touch with the right to make a point. (But what isn't making a point tonight? All of it is a statement.)
At least on the balcony she can get away with looking as sick as she feels without someone thinking she's offended by the catering.
no subject
She's here as Madame de Cedoux's attache before anything else tonight. Of course everything else comes rushing in before you can shut the door: both of them rifters (so many in positions of power, so many filling the ranks now!) and the gossip that's followed in the wake of the island.
The back of her neck, her jaw, her hands, they all ache when she goes to the balcony for a moment. When her hands don't need to be occupied with the wine, a plate, a careful touch with the right to make a point. (But what isn't making a point tonight? All of it is a statement.)
At least on the balcony she can get away with looking as sick as she feels without someone thinking she's offended by the catering.