Who: Kyra, OTA When: Dec 31, noonish Where: Kyra and Osmund's chambers Rating: PG Status: Open
Kyra's eyes had a look of cold fury that had long since sent the servants running for cover. She didn't show anger often; temper tantrums were not usually her style but she was making a notable exception for the day. Osmund had retreated to his father's chambers as soon as she opened the letter from Gareth. The offending piece of parchment lay harmlessly on the table, though if the look in Kyra's eyes had had the power to kill it would have burst into flames.
He had been gone three bloody months and now he planned to go North. He was going to leave her here while he enacted his plans? Kyra was not amused. No matter that it was important, that she wanted him to succeed. Right now, she didn't feel the slightest inclination to be reasonable. It was too Gareth-like. He wasn't here and no one in this gods-forsaken castle had a brain. No one.
Fuming, Kyra flung herself onto a divan and covered her eyes with one velvet-clad arm. Her gown was deep green, dark but thankfully nothing like black. She'd dispensed with her mourning gowns after a few weeks, with Selester's blessing. After all, there was already one corpse in the family, there was scarcely need for Kyra to look like one.