Vengeance Through Passion

Eolara, Air Clan.

The sound of a violent slap rang out in the dimly lit room, reverberating off the walls with a sharp echo that seemed to freeze the air itself. The force of the blow sent the younger woman, Lady Livia, stumbling back, her body crashing into the nearby bed. The room fell into a heavy silence, the kind that presses on the skin, suffocating.

The older woman, regal yet worn, her features marred by both time and anguish, stood over her. Her once-beautiful face was now hardened by years of power and sorrow.

Her silver hair, once meticulously pinned up, had begun to fall loose in messy strands, framing a face that had seen too much. She wore a deep violet gown embroidered with silver threads, now disheveled from her sudden outburst. She had always been the image of poise and command, but now she seemed unhinged, her eyes gleaming with a fury that spoke of deeper, unspeakable wounds.

The Haquia, well soon to be, Lady Livia, the daughter of this formidable matriarch, winced but did not let her face betray the pain coursing through her. She sat motionless, struggling to regain her breath.

Despite the heat burning beneath her skin from the slap, her expression remained eerily calm, almost serene, though her heart raced in her chest. Slowly, she reached for the corner of the blanket draped over the bed and pulled it up with delicate hands, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles, masking the inner turmoil.

"Mother," she began softly, her voice laced with the care of a nurse tending to a difficult patient, "I know you are upset with me, but you must eat and rest. You’re not well."

The Queen mother glared at her daughter from the other side of the bed, turning her back with a fierce swiftness that could only belong to someone used to commanding absolute authority. Her sharp, aristocratic profile was outlined by the faint glow of the evening light filtering in through the heavy curtains. The room was dim, with only a single candle burning on the far side of the chamber, casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls.

“Get out before I reduce you to dust,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice barely more than a whisper but heavy with venom. There was no mistaking the threat in her tone, and her words seemed to hang in the thick air of the room like the unshed tears that pooled in her daughter’s eyes.

The room itself was a reflection of the Queen Mother's stature and lineage—grand and opulent, though now weathered by time, much like the woman who occupied it. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of ancestral battles and victories. The large four-poster bed stood in the center, draped in silk sheets and velvet coverings, the deep purple matching the somber tones of the room.

Heavy curtains blocked most of the light, casting the room in an eternal twilight. To one side, an ornate vanity sat cluttered with perfume bottles and brushes that had long been abandoned. The air smelled faintly of lavender and dust, mingling with the oppressive weight of old memories.

Livia stood, careful not to let her movements betray the shaking in her limbs. She bowed her head slightly in deference to her mother’s demand, though the tension between them simmered just below the surface.

"Alright, Mother," she murmured, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I'll leave. There's much to be done. I have personally taken responsibility for the curfew and the other matters concerning the state."

She cast one last glance at her mother’s rigid form. “Rest well,” she added softly, bowing with a formality that felt more like a farewell than a simple exit.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Lady Livia’s carefully constructed mask of poise crumbled, if only for a fleeting moment. Her chest tightened, her breath quickened, and for an instant, she trembled as though the weight of the entire estate rested upon her shoulders alone.

The long hallway she now traversed stretched out before her like a daunting tunnel, each step echoing faintly in the silence. The floor was lined with a dark marble, its cool surface reflecting the sparse torchlight that flickered in iron sconces along the walls. Towering portraits of her ancestors lined the hall, their stern gazes seeming to judge her as she passed. Generations of power, prestige, and responsibility stared down at her, unblinking, as if to remind her of the legacy she was burdened with.

Dark wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, their imposing presence looming over her like the silent witnesses of her inner conflict. The air in the hall was thick, heavy with the scent of wax and old wood, adding to the oppressive atmosphere that seemed to follow her wherever she went within the estate.

Despite the tremor in her body, Lady Livia quickly forced herself to regain composure. Her trembling hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, and the flicker of vulnerability that had flashed across her face vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Her breathing slowed, and the cool detachment she had mastered over years of careful self-control returned. Her eyes, though still slightly reddened from unshed tears, became cold and distant once more.

In the hall, the soft, flickering light from the hearth barely illuminated the grand stone walls, casting long shadows that danced with the gentle movement of the fire.

The silence was thick, broken only by the steady ticking of the ornate grandfather clock that stood sentry by the door.

The faint scent of burning wood lingered in the air, mixing with the subtle perfume of lavender that Lady Aurora favored. Her night robe, a luxurious garment of deep sapphire velvet trimmed with silver thread, shimmered in the low light as she sat hunched over a desk, her face illuminated by the flicker of a candle beside her. In her hand, she held a piece of parchment, her fingers long and delicate.

Her younger sister, Lady Livia, entered the room silently. Her presence was cold and uninvited, like a gust of wind slipping through a crack in the wall during winter’s night.

The only legitimate daughter of the Queen, Lady Aurora, had a striking presence, her long silver-blonde hair cascading in soft waves down her back, contrasting with her pale, porcelain skin. Her violet eyes were sharp and observant, framed by delicate silver glasses she wore while reading.

Though slender, she carried herself with an unmistakable grace, even in the simplest of robes appeared unbothered, her posture straight and elegant, her focus unwavering from the sheet of paper in front of her. With precise movements, she settled the parchment onto the oak table, her fingers deftly reaching for the quill nearby. She dipped it carefully into the black ink that rested in a small crystal inkwell, the fluid movements of her hand as she began to write showing the ease of a scholar well-versed in her craft. The foreign language she penned flowed across the page with a rhythm only a practiced scribe could manage—each stroke methodical, each curve meticulous.

The ink glistened in the candlelight, drying slowly as her quill danced across the page, leaving behind lines of ancient script that few in the kingdom could comprehend.

"This is quite helpful to relieve stress," she said, her voice calm, almost detached, as if she were speaking to no one in particular. "It's like therapy." Her tone was gentle, a far cry from the frigid atmosphere her sister carried with her.

Livia remained silent, her movements sharp as she sat across from Aurora. She reached for a perfectly peeled slice of apple from the silver tray on the table between them. The apple glistened in the candlelight, its surface smooth and cool to the touch. Livia bit into it, her teeth sinking into the fruit with a crisp snap. Aurora's eyes flickered up, cold and measured, narrowing slightly as she observed her sister's nonchalance.

"I didn't say you could touch it," Aurora finally remarked, her tone sharper now, a chill creeping into her voice.

Livia remained unfazed. She relaxed her shoulders, leaning back into the chair with ease as she chewed the apple leisurely. "I didn’t ask," she said flatly, her words laced with the slightest hint of defiance.

Aurora’s lips curled into a faint smirk, though her eyes held no warmth. "Feisty. You see, this is why people dislike you," she retorted, her gaze returning to the parchment in front of her as she delicately wiped the ink from her quill.

Livia shrugged, setting down the half-eaten apple on the tray before her. "I’d rather they despise me," she responded, her tone almost lazy, as though the subject bored her. "I’m not interested in pity love."

Aurora’s smirk widened as she removed the delicate silver-framed glasses from the bridge of her nose, setting them on the table with care. She rose gracefully from her chair and crossed the room towards the large window where a polished brass telescope stood, angled towards the heavens.

The window was wide, stretching nearly from floor to ceiling, offering a breathtaking view of the night sky. The stars shimmered brightly in the velvety darkness, each one a pinprick of light in the infinite expanse. The telescope was a grand instrument, ornate and well-used, clearly designed for studying the constellations. Aurora ran her fingers over its smooth surface, a sigh escaping her lips as she gazed out at night.

She lingered there for a moment, lost in thought, before the creaking of the door pulled her from her reverie. A figure entered the room, clad in the dark armor of the royal guard. His boots thudded softly against the stone floor as he approached the two women. His face was tense, beads of sweat forming on his brow despite the coolness of the night air.

"Greetings, my Ladies," the guard began, his voice steady though there was a faint tremor of uncertainty beneath it. "I come with important news."

Before the guard could utter another word, Livia’s hand shot forward with startling speed. She seized the apple cutter from the table and flung it across the room with a sharp flick of her wrist. The blade spun through the air with deadly intent, the sharp edge gleaming in the candlelight. The guard barely had time to react, his eyes widening in shock as the blade passed mere centimeters from his face, embedding itself with a dull thud into the wall behind him.

"Heavens!" Aurora cried out, turning sharply towards her sister, her expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. "Are you insane?"

The guard stood frozen, his breath shallow, his face pale as he glanced back at the blade now quivering in the stone wall. He lowered his head in submission, his hands trembling slightly.

“All this reacting, and I didn’t even kill him,” Livia said with a casual indifference as she stood, her voice cool and detached. She rose from her chair with a slow grace, the fabric of her gown flowing around her like water. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the guard with a disdainful glance.

Aurora moved quickly, stepping between her sister and the guard before things escalated further.

"Don’t you know you’re supposed to announce your visit upon entering a room with women?" Livia’s voice was cold as she glanced at her sister’s attire, a delicate nightgown made of sheer, flowing fabric. The gown clung to Aurora’s figure, the candlelight casting faint shadows across the translucent material.

The guard, visibly shaken, stammered, "I-I’m sorry, your

Grace. I meant no offense." He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor as he awaited judgment.

"It’s Lady not GRACE!" Livia snapped, her voice rising with annoyance as she took a step forward. Aurora quickly placed a hand on her sister’s arm, stopping her before she could act further.

"It’s alright," Aurora said softly, her voice soothing as she shot a warning glance at Livia. "I couldn’t care less."

Livia hesitated, her tension slowly easing as she met her sister’s eyes. After a moment, she relented, stepping back and returning to her seat, though her posture remained rigid.

Once the room settled into an uneasy calm, Aurora turned back to the guard. "Send one of the able men, from Aelaras, to my chambers," she instructed, her voice commanding but without malice. "All this stress…" She sighed, stretching her arms as if to relieve herself of an unseen weight. "I need to cool off before we head to Zephyriion."

The guard nodded quickly, grateful for the reprieve as he hurried from the room, the door closing softly behind him.