Post by Amelia Aziza Travers on Oct 2, 2018 22:29:58 GMT -5
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[attr="class","title1"]Breathe a Lie
[attr="class","subtitle1"]I can take the rope and I can fuck it all the way
But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate
But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate
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She did wonder, sometimes.
Names supposedly made all the different in the world, and how easily she'd cast away one for the other. Did she regret it? Not at all, she never had. Still, it didn't take a genius to see the way the ministry was supposedly turning. Oh, she doubted it would fully flip-- look who was running it, after all, and perhaps it was likely to soften a blow than to force reconciliation. From those she knew, it wasn't especially likely.
Still, she was a Ministry girl, and like anyone, she knew better than to even pretend to swim against a tide. No, you swam towards it, with it. You let the tide carry you, made it your broomstick. That had always been her path in life, the middle path that stray to whatever looked to be winning the longer game. Her age would protect her, and she'd done relatively little action, should the tide turn (and still, she doubted it. Look how little people cared.), and her husband's name would shield her more should it flip.
She was looking forward to her marriage more and more, should it continue to go through. It frustrated her that Mikhael had gotten sick-- if pity turned to scorn, that and all her father's gold would help her little. She wanted to write her name into history, write a legacy as great as any of the portraits on the walls (Seraphina's luckily, was not at an angle to peer down at her, though her other ancestor's Josefina's portrait was), and to do that?
She'd weather any changes as best of she could. She was uniquely situated to benefit from anyway the world turned, after all. Movement-- not from a painting-- flicked at the corner of her eye, and Amelia let herself give a smooth smile. "I quite apologize," she turned, spread her hands, thankful that her caramel apple was hadn't stained her hands. "I didn't think I'd see someone else here at this time."
She did wonder, sometimes.
Names supposedly made all the different in the world, and how easily she'd cast away one for the other. Did she regret it? Not at all, she never had. Still, it didn't take a genius to see the way the ministry was supposedly turning. Oh, she doubted it would fully flip-- look who was running it, after all, and perhaps it was likely to soften a blow than to force reconciliation. From those she knew, it wasn't especially likely.
Still, she was a Ministry girl, and like anyone, she knew better than to even pretend to swim against a tide. No, you swam towards it, with it. You let the tide carry you, made it your broomstick. That had always been her path in life, the middle path that stray to whatever looked to be winning the longer game. Her age would protect her, and she'd done relatively little action, should the tide turn (and still, she doubted it. Look how little people cared.), and her husband's name would shield her more should it flip.
She was looking forward to her marriage more and more, should it continue to go through. It frustrated her that Mikhael had gotten sick-- if pity turned to scorn, that and all her father's gold would help her little. She wanted to write her name into history, write a legacy as great as any of the portraits on the walls (Seraphina's luckily, was not at an angle to peer down at her, though her other ancestor's Josefina's portrait was), and to do that?
She'd weather any changes as best of she could. She was uniquely situated to benefit from anyway the world turned, after all. Movement-- not from a painting-- flicked at the corner of her eye, and Amelia let herself give a smooth smile. "I quite apologize," she turned, spread her hands, thankful that her caramel apple was hadn't stained her hands. "I didn't think I'd see someone else here at this time."
[attr="class","tags1"]☆ @open, words☆
[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai
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