Thomas Corvin ♖ Jest (jesting) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2019-02-02 22:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, * jeanne, c: thomas corvin |
WHO: Thomas Corvin → Jest
WHEN: Saturday Evening, February 2, After the Masquerade
WHERE: The Corvin Home
SUMMARY: Thomas has his first dream of Jest. But it's just a dream.
WARNINGS: None!
BINGO PROMPT: Dance of Romance (Bingo Card)
The Heart Castle ballroom was decadent. It had been carved from pink quartz, leaving everything within permanently colored in the faintest rosy glow. Murals of the Kingdom of Hearts graced the ceiling, and large heart-shaped windows lined up along the southern wall. He looked around, gaze flitting over the courtiers that populated the dance floor, each one wearing a mask to disguise their identity. Ramsey Asquith was there on one knee in front of everyone they knew. Her entire family and every DC social elite. "Calliope Pemberton, will you marry me?" She said nothing. The silence stretched on, but then… a smile. A nod. "She's speechless, but that was a nod, ladies and gentlemen! Let's wish a happy birthday to the future Mrs. Asquith!" Thomas didn't need to see anything more than that. Heart sinking into his stomach, he turned and quietly fled. Thomas woke, sweat making his hair cling to his forehead. He squeezed his eyes closed, pressing his palms against them. He hadn't thought of Ramsey Asquith- or that party- in a long time. That night, and the weeks that had followed, were not the most proud moments of his life. His own cowardice and misunderstanding had brought on pain and hardship for Calliope. Yes, he knew- in the end- that those things had truly been the fault of her parents, not him. And those people were all listed on an iron-clad restraining order that had been filed with DC and now existed in Virginia, as well, ensuring that they could come nowhere near Calliope or himself, ever again. He took a deep breath, then shifted for a very careful glance to the space in the bed beside him. Even in the early morning dark, even without the clarity his glasses gave him, he knew. She was still there. Catherine. Cath. No, no. Calliope, his wife. She hadn't accepted Ramsey, or… or the King, whoever that might have been, in that bizarre rose-tinted dream. Thomas turned, wrapping an arm around her middle and settling closer to her. She was here. She was his. It had only been a dream. |