Makaria; Goddess of Blessed Death (blessed__death) wrote in history_dot_com, @ 2012-04-08 23:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | ~hades, ~makaria |
L’amour de loin - Early 16th Century (Hades)
The French Renaissance was nothing pretty to begin with. It started with plague which she spent a lot of time dealing with, then wars. France was always at war, or dealing with war in one way or another. But as it progressed and changed the movements of the country was wonderful as a whole. Art, dance, and the various people in France came together and it was a beautiful wondrous time for many. Makaria couldn't help but feel caught up in the life of this small country. She couldn't help but want them to be happy and not war torn. Plague was bad enough, war was bad enough, this just needed to be a time of peace and happiness for everyone.
Especially for Lord Benoît. He was a young Lord. His father taken by sickness a decade ago. He had only been 10 then, and named Lord. While his mother ruled over their lands, he grew and became a man. A very pretty man at that. Even his name seemed special to Makaria. It meant Blessed. He was blessed. She had watched him for so long. Attended parties at his estate without revealing herself to him. But she had watched him from afar and her heart had fluttered and her breath had caught at the sight of him. But she couldn't do anything, could she? He was a mortal. He would die.
But she still loved him. She loved him with every ounce of her being. Did anyone understand that? Could she just push herself into his life and claim him as her own? She had known his language before he came into existence, before his very family came into existence, but she lived and breathed France because he was now there. She wanted nothing more than to settle for the rest of her life on his estate and give away her immortality to be with him. Was that too much to ask?
Was it selfish of her? He didn't even know she existed. He didn't follow the Greek Pantheon, and even if he did he wouldn't know of her. Hardly anyone knew of her. Just a few lines here or there and that was all there was to the pages of history for her. But she loved him and wanted him to know her.
She had to tell someone. And because it was summer and because there was no one else she could explain her feelings to but the person who knew her the best she found herself pacing the hall in his palace. In their palace. In her home. In his home. Waiting for a sign. How to tell her father how she felt. Would he understand? Would he dissuade her?
"Daddy.." She said when she knocked, quietly. Now or the nerve would be gone.