| The Wrong Mirror |
| Summary: | Reading alone in her room, Alessa reads an excerpt that touches a little close to home. |
| Date: | 08-28-1865 |
| Related: | None |
| NPCs: | {$npc} |
| Players: |
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Sitting at her desk, alone in her room, Alessandra has an open book before her on the flat, wooden surface. A lantern is on her desk, for the hour is late and the windows show only darkness beyond their panes. Shadows in the room, the corners mostly, hide only some of her furnishings, her belongings she treasured. Just behind the desk is a mirror reflecting the room behind her and her own visage when she lifts her head and catches sight of herself. For a long moment, she stares, almost not recognizing herself. A hand absently lifts and smooths over the golden braid over one of her shoulders while the other hand lies flat on the pages of her book. "Alessandra Sophia Cassomir." It was the first time she had said it aloud, in fact it was the first time she had thought it.
Immediately, images of a ball fill her mind. A place she had met both of the Cassomir brothers within a day. Only the Viscount had been a Baron at the time and Henric had been,,, a soft sigh escapes and she ceases her thoughts on such foolishness. It had been a fated day to be certain, though she had been unaware at the time how much. Absently, she reaches for a cup of warm milk she had been given before her bed, as the servants had been doing for all of her life. If the Archduchess was correct, and somehow she did not doubt the words the lovely Anca had spoken, then she was to wed the Viscount. Where she would be going, there would be servants who did not know her, her habits, her likes and dislikes. Her life would be forever altered. Living among strangers, to serve a new queen she had yet to meet. A queen who was not her mother.
Replacing the milk to the tray, untouched, Alessa attempts again. "Countess Alessandra Cassomir." Countess, no longer a Princess, though the title would be little missed, for she had never allowed that to define her. Her mother had assured her all through her life, no mater what, she was the daughter of a King and a Queen, and would ever be. "Cassomir." Repeating the name, the biggest obvious change in her identity. "Wife.." Startled at the word, she looks into the mirror again. The wife of someone who did not love her, nor did she love, though both would serve their kingdoms in doing so.
"Queen Melisande Romante." The Rose Queen if what she had heard to be true, was. Her mother had said she was beautiful, graceful and astute. The same could be said of Queen Cynthia as well. A pang for the family she would eventually leave behind burns inside her chest and to distract herself from torturing herself with it, she looks back down at her book. Having lost her immediate place, if not the page, she reads an excerpt.. then rereads it. Finally, she reads it aloud to herself..
"Do not marry the person you fall in love with. A fall is an accident, not a act of your will. If you fell once, chances are, you will fall again for someone else. A great marriage is never an accident, it is a choice that two people make with each other for life. It is only in the soil of this garden that true love can take root in the hearts of its companions."
"The flame and the tree… quick and bright or steady and strong." Even her mother had said as much and now she had read it in the pages of a book she had read so many times before. Sir Jaren Cassomir had mentioned similar words. Lifting her chin, she meets the gaze of the girl in the mirror though instead of studying herself again, she turns and looks into the mirror further away. And there was the familiarity she was seeking, in the distant image. The person she identified with, who always considered things before doing them. Steady and strong, thinking before acting. Seeing the future from a distance instead of the immediacy of up close, giving herself time to think about situations before reacting to them. Yes, this was her. She had simply been looking into the wrong mirror.