Peony Min (blackmagicks) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-24 14:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !narrative, peony min |
Who: Peony
What: Siana’s will is executed and Peony receives a surprise
Where: Peony’s quarters
When: Late this afternoon
Rating: Tame
Status: Complete
The box sits against her door when she arrives from the waystone, large and marked only with her name. It takes a push of Air to get it moving; it is heavier than she can lift. Inside, the letter in unfamiliar script: As the executor of the final will and testament drafted by Siana Banes… Underneath the envelope, there are books. She kneels on the floor, the box before her as she draws them out one by one -- worn covers and well-loved pages, the legacy of a woman who appreciated the written word. Histories, novels, books on law, treatises on tactics. And underneath those -- She knows each colorful, garish cover. Nineteen in all, two for each year since she began her experiment on a whim, each title more ridiculous than the last. The author’s name sprawls across the broken spines in curly, fussy font: Violet Saint Clair. The pages are not smooth; like the creased spines, they hold signs of rereading; some are dog-eared. She has a matching set in a storage trunk, evidence of the labors she has undergone out of curiosity, then out of obligation, and finally out of habit. Peony, who so rarely feels anything deep enough to show on her face, lets her lips part in a rare expression of surprise. Quiz bumps his head against her hip and she looks down to see the inquisitive look for which she named him when he was a kitten and got into everything -- he is the troublemaker she could never be, but in their curiosity, they have always been the same. Some of these books are older than he is. She reaches down her hand to pet him absently and thinks of a woman with a serious exterior who found something to dream about in the last place anyone (Peony) would ever expect. It is a side of her friend she never got the chance to learn. It is strange, she thinks, the ties that bind people together, visible and invisible. Some may never be known. Faram works in mysterious ways, but sometimes, it is hard to understand His infinite wisdom. Even she has moments in which she is selfish. She closes her eyes and prays for acceptance. When the twentieth book -- ten years, for better or worse -- arrives on store shelves in Taurus, the usually blank page inside the cover will contain words for the first time: To S.B. |