The room was unique to the house. Elsewhere where art and arms coated the walls like a fine patina of class, here simplicity was king. The double windows were flung open, thin lace fluttering in the breeze as the sounds of the garden outside and the sunlight came filtered into the room. It danced with the intricate golden cage that hung near the window, filled with colorful birds who hopped and chirped and spilt seeds from the silver cups hung against the bars. A pale shale cobbled the walls, rosy in it's hue and glowing in the daylight. A single tapestry graced it, hung over the merry fire. A scene of Fallien's desert cats stalking through the sand watched over the lone figure in the room.
She was at the machine, her feet working the pedals that spun wheels and cogs. The mechanisms pulled thread down from a now half-full spool of cream thread, as her hands gently pushed layers of silks under the pulsing touch of the needle. A kind, pretty face framed with dark hair watched the work closely. Her brows were furrowed in determination, her lips pursed as she hummed gently to herself. After a while, she paused, her bare foot moving from a pedal as the machine slowly wound to a stop. She stood, sweeping the long cream skirt of her dress away from the chair as she crossed to the window where dried rose petals sat, quivering in the breeze. She pulled a handful to her face, drinking in the scent that still lingered even after they had withered to a brittle husk of their former softness and glory. Her lips curved into a smile and she let them fall through her fingers, her eyes not on the petals and the sill, but out in the garden below. Did these withered petals long to be in bloom once more? Or perhaps, a blossom within the garden had once belonged to the ivory rose who had been martyred for the cause of foresight.
At last, her dark gaze fell to the petals. There, a clump of three, here one that was broken and one that teetered on the edge of the sill. A chill moved down her spine, and she fell to her knees, pressing her head against the cool shale. Her world spun, her third eye reaching through the mists to pull answers from the spirit that had once bloomed before her eyes in beauty.
"A stranger. A visit. A death! Trust is broken and a bonded pair joined by another soul..." As Sophia stood slowly and uncertain upon her feet, another breeze overtook the window. The lace was cast into cacophony, the dried petals ushered out the window to fall upon the lilac that grew in the shade by the house. She had no words, only a squeak of frustration as she leaned out and grabbed at only air, desperate to save even one petal.
"Strange to think that with all these beautiful gardens, someone would obsess over the ugly corpse of a single rose." a voice, deep and rich playfully teased behind her. When she spun to see the stranger in the door, escorted by a pair of her servants, her breath caught. Eyes as bright and amber as the gold gilt of her bird cages met her. Even without the enchanting gaze, he would have been handsome, and the warmth of a blush spread from her ears across her face.
"I didn't meant to embarrass you, Lady Beckenbauer," he said politely, bowing as her servants retreated - no doubt to the hallway where they could eavesdrop out of sight. "I come only with the best intentions." His hand swept out, motioning towards the sewing she'd left waiting to be finished.
"It's polite to write ahead as introduction," Sophia said, her eyes suspiciously eyeing his clothing. The shirt and vest were immaculately done. No stitch out of place, seams hidden and the drape of the fabric on his muscular physique was perfect. "I don't believe I have ever seen you in the company of my Lord."
"No, I've only just met your husband when I first arrived. I do apologize, but the matter is a bit urgent. I'm in need of a special finery for my wedding day, which is fast approaching. I have been told in my inquiries, that you are the best for this. No clockwork machine or novice hands could undertake the materials, and I am willing to spare no treasure or service to pay you for this. The vestments must be made of elder dragon skin, with specific embroidery. The bridal dress has the same needs."
Sophia crossed to her sewing table, where she sat. It was no easy task he had put to her. The skin of a young dragon could be worked as leather, by a strong hand and a patient mind, but an elder? "No needle.." she started before the stranger interrupted her.
"I will supply everything. Including all needed materials. I have everything down with my carriage, ready to be brought to you."
"The cost of my time," she started, "is great. I am sure that my husband told you this. I sew because I enjoy it, but even nobles must go through my husband and wait months for even a mere gown."
"I have already spoken with your husband, and paid him an advance. No cost, m'lady, is too great."
She finally nodded and as he moved to leave, she looked up, a wry smile on her face. "Your bride to be must be very special."
The man, a wicked twinkle in his eye that haunted her dreams that night - seen in the eyes of a predator - turned back and gave a feral grin. "More than I suspect she knows."
----------------------------------------------------
Personality: Timid and cautious, a thinker. Rarely acts on impulse, believes in the power of rules and etiquette.
Weapons/Armor - None
Abilities -
Scrying - Can see glimpses and hints of the future by reading dried flower petals. This ability can be worthless at times, showing her nothing. 40% success rate, on average. A true sight will fatigue her, and she needs to rest before she can scrye again.
Skills -
Seamstress - An exceptionally able clothier, with an eye for fabric techniques.
Submit Thread for Judgment
