[The first thing Dehya does after trial is write. Everything she knew, everything she learned about Annette and Noelle fills pages with hurried, short notes. It's nothing eloquent. But it's there, defined in a way that this place won't rip from her in the next few days.
Once that task is completed, Dehya sets out. It's a bit of a search, but she eventually finds what she's looking for: Cantarella, alone late in the library when the curfew can no longer chain them.
She approaches quiet, but in view to avoid startling her.] ... Hey.
[She first met Annette in the library, and their paths crossed again in the library well after that. She'd rather be here, at least, where the memories that linger are bittersweet and not tainted with a painful melody. She's surrounded by a small collection of open books and notes, one of them bookmarked by a lock of something braided and golden.]
Ah, Dehya. [She'd left the theatre too quickly to watch after her departure or to see if she'd remembered to take her embroidered square, but Cantarella had checked to make sure no wanted items went missing.] Have you come to slip away into the stories with me? You worked hard today, so be sure you rest soon.
Dehya sits down at an angle close but polite enough to not be staring at all of Cantarella's work.] You mentioned once you learned in some kind of castle with your family, right?
I never wanted to be head, actually. I thought I might become an apothecary. But then I realized... [Cantarella, who rarely loses her poise, looks a bit pensive.]
For centuries, dozens of generations, my family has been chained to the abyss, keepers of a secret that invaded each and every crevice of our bloodline. [As matriarch, she could do more.] It has always been my goal to free my family from those shackles, so that no more innocent lives are spoiled.
[That certainly sounds... a lot more drastic than her own family problems, but Dehya nods all the same, contemplative.] Yeah. Sometimes in ways you can't really resolve.
[It's good that Cantarella could, especially with how serious it must be. For those that were "lost"...]
I'm not sure if I'm just making a wild guess, but I figure not a lot of us can live in castles, right? [She threads her fingers together.] I think I've got your secret.
[But family problems they remain, and maybe that’s how the whirlpool left in Cantarella’s memory, dragging away all sentiment and history, had been filled with the secret she has instead.
Though it may not be family, never explicitly identified as that by anything she could see in it, that vision she wants to hoard nudged her with an uncomfortable sense of separation and longing for shattered relationships, like the complicated fractures of families.]
You believe you’ve seen Porto-Veno, then? I can describe that for you, at least. It sits atop a great waterfall, surrounded by poisonous plants, and houses several statues of the Sentinel Imperator as the world remembers Them. It is quite lovely, dark and deep. The deeper you go, the darker it becomes. Some say it is haunted.
Edited (oooohhh mobile tagging bad ) 2025-09-01 00:35 (UTC)
That twisted form is not what They truly were...but yes.
[It must be her, then, and perhaps the other truths about Imperator are things that can be shared later. She pauses, and there is an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice that almost sounds...frustrated.]
...Do you know, then? The girls...After all we went through, all their sacrifice, I can't remember any of their last moments. I can't even recall how they died.
[After the first few tests, there was nothing. Only one was supposed to climb over the weak and wear the crown. And only one way it must have ended.]
[Right, the girls. That had been the other most prominent part.]
I didn't see them, but I remember some thoughts about some girls that were being kept safe in the castle. [Are they the same group Cantarella is remembering? She's not sure.] They couldn't leave or go back to their families, so that was the only place they could live. Is that something to do with the big secret you're having to hide?
[It feels like being dunked all at once in an ice bath. The hole still doesn't fill; she can't say whether she's true or not, but even just hearing the suggestion from Dehya draws the feeling into her heart. It's like reading about someone else's happy ending, hopeful but hollow. There is a brief and very dark voice, one that reminds her of Leviathan's nightmares, that bids her let them both keep what they've taken so it will be safe. But Cantarella has always been good at denying those. ]
They're safe...? If they are, then it would follow that they had to remain hidden. They'd be in danger otherwise. [Her breath vibrates, if only a little.] Ah...perhaps I understand now why it was necessary for me to stay.
[She closes her eyes until all that noise in her head stops, and without looking, reaches out to find the back of Dehya's (hopefully ungauntleted) hand and stroke it with her thumb.]
Thank you for keeping them safe for me. Do you mind telling me a bit about what you were hoping to find? [It will help her explain what she holds.]
[Dehya nods.] That was the impression I got, too. Since you're the head, you must be the one keeping them safe until they can be free.
[Her ungauntlented hand curls when Cantarella takes it, holding firm and comforting. Of course, the importance of the memories meant she couldn't forget it at all.]
I think you're doing the best thing for them. [Because Cantarella is such a caring person. With that context, things in the memory are less alarming.]
I don't know if I was really hoping to find it. [She shrugs.] It's my memory, so I don't want to lose it forever--the memory itself just didn't seem so important, you know?
I was following the trail of another group of Eremites to put an end to the harm they were doing. I think I must've finished it, but I can't remember how it ended.
I must agree. [And more than ever, she knows, these things will not happen as long as she sits in that seat.] My family has many issues; the story surrounding this is merely one of the darkest. Seeing as you've already seen some of those scars...Perhaps I could share more of it with you, in time.
[Before she speaks again, she pauses, swallowing. That urge is a tide in her once more, a serpent's voice and not her own. Leave it, Cantarella. If it isn't that important, you could slip away, unbind yourself from this life you never truly accepted, fly on outstretched wings. Her fingers, in Dehya's, twitch.]
Perhaps you might. It finished. [She closes her eyes, recalling.] The journey led to a storehouse. There were records there, at some point...I couldn't tell you what for, but I know that there were contracts housed in that room. But nothing now remains. I saw the burned-out hollows of what was there before. And I felt that I'd once turned away from the person who wasn't there anymore...
[Even when it's about her instead. Dehya's hand remains clasped, still as she listens. A grimace inches upon her expression. She doesn't let ig get further than that.]
Family's complicated, right? [...] My father wasn't the man I thought he was. Did a lot of things that I couldn't accept, and I cut him off when I learned. I think what I can't remember was finally having to face him.
[This is...about what she'd expected. Even if she hadn't been able to tell, there was a reason she asked so many of the others about their families. This one had just never come out. But of course, it would be something a little more painful and hidden than what they'd give away at a party or over a meal.
Her thumb strokes gently, a lullaby, the way a doctor will sometimes turn a patient's face away from the sting of an injection.] I'm afraid he's gone, my dear. I think...he lost his life in that inferno, trying to undo something that was stuck there. His cane was there, left within the ruins.
In this memory, it feels... like I wish I'd taken the chance to listen; that I realized his convictions were strong. That he believed in something, in order to have instilled it in me.
... Oh. [Oh. Of course there had to be a reason she had no memory of even seeing him again. She just thought--it was probably lost with the memory. That sense that there had been a reunion, even if it was probably volatile.
Perhaps she just didn't want to face the possibility that it was that he was actually dead.] Hah. He was always real clumsy. He had a bad leg, and that'd normally be a death sentence for any merc's employment. But all the guys there, they'd do anything for each other. Took on the work he couldn't so no one in the band was left behind.
I'm sorry. [Weighty and genuine; it isn't simply because Cantarella currently carries the memory of the loss and can feel it tightening in her own chest.]
He taught you the same thing, didn't he? To look out for those who would otherwise be left without anyone.
[The feelings there are complicated, she can tell...of course, a lifetime can't be compiled into a single faded flame.]
Yeah. [It isn't just the swelling connection from trading secrets that makes her spill. Cantarella has been nothing but kind and patient through all of this, to many people. She really is lovely.]
He used to tell me stories about heroes, fighting monsters and saving princesses and all that. [She laughs, a little broken.] He'd make the whole band get involved in acting it out, it was so embarrassing.
But the thing is, I really believed it. So when I found out what kind of "jobs" those guys were really taking on... I left. Struck out on my own when I was barely of age. It felt like I'd been lied to.
Stories give us those heroes and villains, often in bright relief and definition. Then, when we leave those stories behind, things become...murkier. What we inherit from our families can rot and scab over.
[Of course, there are as many stories as there are stars...some are more complicated, just like family, just like real life. But to pass a value onto a child, the story often has to move in less abstract blocks, presenting figures and ideas as stand-ins.]
I can't say exactly what was recorded and destroyed in that room or why he returned to it when he did. [It's hard to talk through the pain and the feeling of guilt that comes, also, with what she has in place of her own memory...perhaps because those are some feelings she shares, too.] But he did return. Could his commitment to those stories, perhaps, have been true all along?
Guess I can't really ask him now. [Whatever happened to him wasn't her fault, but there's a different kind of guilt that she wasn't there in his last moments. That they didn't have one more chance to talk.
Maybe what he left for you can still carry some of those answers back to you.
[In her memory, the walking stick is so vivid...how inexplicable it was that it still remained, even after everything else was gone. It had to have been left for her, Cantarella thinks.
She feels some resistance to the thought of letting go of Dehya's hand. She'd like to keep it all so very close. It swells and roils in her chest. So, Cantarella doesn't manage to make herself move away.]
[Maybe Dehya's memory is disconcerting, but at least Cantarella's is one to bring her some peace. She feels the tug to hold onto it, but... after everything, doesn't Cantarella deserve at least this much?
It isn't like the secret has to be the thing that defines them.]
I'll keep them safe as long as I have to, until you can return to them. [She puts her other hand to her chest.] On my honor as a mercenary.
[She exhales in something like relief, the dormant mark on her tongue visible when it pauses against her lip.]
Your promise carries its weight in gold.
[Will Dehya's memory hurt her to receive again? Cantarella wonders. The situation was already so complex, and it's not as if a single answer can resolve feelings that took years to steep and brew.
And she...could keep her from feeling that wave of uncertain feelings, couldn't she, if she held on? But it isn't her lie to tell; it isn't.]
[Dehya smiles a little.] And I meant what I said, if you ever need to talk. Maybe I can't help physically, but at least you don't have to carry it alone.
WELL NOW WE CAN'T TALK, CAN WE, DEHYA. unless we backtag
I'd quite enjoy that. [It is, at least partially, because Dehya's company now feels irresistibly soothing, and she'll be restless with her out of her sight.
... But it's also simply nice to have the companionship.] Stop by any time; there's always a place for you.
All further threads will be done with Schrödinger's Dehya
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Wk 2 Post-Trial
Once that task is completed, Dehya sets out. It's a bit of a search, but she eventually finds what she's looking for: Cantarella, alone late in the library when the curfew can no longer chain them.
She approaches quiet, but in view to avoid startling her.] ... Hey.
crawls out of bed and runs to tag before exe
Ah, Dehya. [She'd left the theatre too quickly to watch after her departure or to see if she'd remembered to take her embroidered square, but Cantarella had checked to make sure no wanted items went missing.] Have you come to slip away into the stories with me? You worked hard today, so be sure you rest soon.
no subject
Dehya sits down at an angle close but polite enough to not be staring at all of Cantarella's work.] You mentioned once you learned in some kind of castle with your family, right?
no subject
Porto-Veno Castle, yes. The crown of Thessaleo. I live there now, still in fact, as head of the family.
[Her house now! She's taken up the crown and all it weighs.]
... But when I came there, I was just a girl, and it was much different.
no subject
no subject
For centuries, dozens of generations, my family has been chained to the abyss, keepers of a secret that invaded each and every crevice of our bloodline. [As matriarch, she could do more.] It has always been my goal to free my family from those shackles, so that no more innocent lives are spoiled.
[She pauses for a while. Her smile is tense.]
Family is...complicated, wouldn't you agree?
no subject
[It's good that Cantarella could, especially with how serious it must be. For those that were "lost"...]
I'm not sure if I'm just making a wild guess, but I figure not a lot of us can live in castles, right? [She threads her fingers together.] I think I've got your secret.
no subject
Though it may not be family, never explicitly identified as that by anything she could see in it, that vision she wants to hoard nudged her with an uncomfortable sense of separation and longing for shattered relationships, like the complicated fractures of families.]
You believe you’ve seen Porto-Veno, then? I can describe that for you, at least. It sits atop a great waterfall, surrounded by poisonous plants, and houses several statues of the Sentinel Imperator as the world remembers Them. It is quite lovely, dark and deep. The deeper you go, the darker it becomes. Some say it is haunted.
no subject
[There were a lot of ways to approach this but really, the statue just sticks out.]
no subject
[It must be her, then, and perhaps the other truths about Imperator are things that can be shared later. She pauses, and there is an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice that almost sounds...frustrated.]
...Do you know, then? The girls...After all we went through, all their sacrifice, I can't remember any of their last moments. I can't even recall how they died.
[After the first few tests, there was nothing. Only one was supposed to climb over the weak and wear the crown. And only one way it must have ended.]
no subject
I didn't see them, but I remember some thoughts about some girls that were being kept safe in the castle. [Are they the same group Cantarella is remembering? She's not sure.] They couldn't leave or go back to their families, so that was the only place they could live. Is that something to do with the big secret you're having to hide?
no subject
They're safe...? If they are, then it would follow that they had to remain hidden. They'd be in danger otherwise. [Her breath vibrates, if only a little.] Ah...perhaps I understand now why it was necessary for me to stay.
[She closes her eyes until all that noise in her head stops, and without looking, reaches out to find the back of Dehya's (hopefully ungauntleted) hand and stroke it with her thumb.]
Thank you for keeping them safe for me. Do you mind telling me a bit about what you were hoping to find? [It will help her explain what she holds.]
no subject
[Her ungauntlented hand curls when Cantarella takes it, holding firm and comforting. Of course, the importance of the memories meant she couldn't forget it at all.]
I think you're doing the best thing for them. [Because Cantarella is such a caring person. With that context, things in the memory are less alarming.]
I don't know if I was really hoping to find it. [She shrugs.] It's my memory, so I don't want to lose it forever--the memory itself just didn't seem so important, you know?
I was following the trail of another group of Eremites to put an end to the harm they were doing. I think I must've finished it, but I can't remember how it ended.
no subject
[Before she speaks again, she pauses, swallowing. That urge is a tide in her once more, a serpent's voice and not her own. Leave it, Cantarella. If it isn't that important, you could slip away, unbind yourself from this life you never truly accepted, fly on outstretched wings. Her fingers, in Dehya's, twitch.]
Perhaps you might. It finished. [She closes her eyes, recalling.] The journey led to a storehouse. There were records there, at some point...I couldn't tell you what for, but I know that there were contracts housed in that room. But nothing now remains. I saw the burned-out hollows of what was there before. And I felt that I'd once turned away from the person who wasn't there anymore...
[Pausing in her story:] Who was he to you?
no subject
[Even when it's about her instead. Dehya's hand remains clasped, still as she listens. A grimace inches upon her expression. She doesn't let ig get further than that.]
Family's complicated, right? [...] My father wasn't the man I thought he was. Did a lot of things that I couldn't accept, and I cut him off when I learned. I think what I can't remember was finally having to face him.
no subject
Her thumb strokes gently, a lullaby, the way a doctor will sometimes turn a patient's face away from the sting of an injection.] I'm afraid he's gone, my dear. I think...he lost his life in that inferno, trying to undo something that was stuck there. His cane was there, left within the ruins.
In this memory, it feels... like I wish I'd taken the chance to listen; that I realized his convictions were strong. That he believed in something, in order to have instilled it in me.
no subject
Perhaps she just didn't want to face the possibility that it was that he was actually dead.] Hah. He was always real clumsy. He had a bad leg, and that'd normally be a death sentence for any merc's employment. But all the guys there, they'd do anything for each other. Took on the work he couldn't so no one in the band was left behind.
no subject
He taught you the same thing, didn't he? To look out for those who would otherwise be left without anyone.
[The feelings there are complicated, she can tell...of course, a lifetime can't be compiled into a single faded flame.]
no subject
He used to tell me stories about heroes, fighting monsters and saving princesses and all that. [She laughs, a little broken.] He'd make the whole band get involved in acting it out, it was so embarrassing.
But the thing is, I really believed it. So when I found out what kind of "jobs" those guys were really taking on... I left. Struck out on my own when I was barely of age. It felt like I'd been lied to.
no subject
[Of course, there are as many stories as there are stars...some are more complicated, just like family, just like real life. But to pass a value onto a child, the story often has to move in less abstract blocks, presenting figures and ideas as stand-ins.]
I can't say exactly what was recorded and destroyed in that room or why he returned to it when he did. [It's hard to talk through the pain and the feeling of guilt that comes, also, with what she has in place of her own memory...perhaps because those are some feelings she shares, too.] But he did return. Could his commitment to those stories, perhaps, have been true all along?
no subject
Dehya squeezes her hand.] Thanks for telling me.
no subject
[In her memory, the walking stick is so vivid...how inexplicable it was that it still remained, even after everything else was gone. It had to have been left for her, Cantarella thinks.
She feels some resistance to the thought of letting go of Dehya's hand. She'd like to keep it all so very close. It swells and roils in her chest. So, Cantarella doesn't manage to make herself move away.]
Thank you, too...for keeping them safe for me.
no subject
It isn't like the secret has to be the thing that defines them.]
I'll keep them safe as long as I have to, until you can return to them. [She puts her other hand to her chest.] On my honor as a mercenary.
no subject
Your promise carries its weight in gold.
[Will Dehya's memory hurt her to receive again? Cantarella wonders. The situation was already so complex, and it's not as if a single answer can resolve feelings that took years to steep and brew.
And she...could keep her from feeling that wave of uncertain feelings, couldn't she, if she held on? But it isn't her lie to tell; it isn't.]
no subject
WELL NOW WE CAN'T TALK, CAN WE, DEHYA. unless we backtag
... But it's also simply nice to have the companionship.] Stop by any time; there's always a place for you.
All further threads will be done with Schrödinger's Dehya
I have a lot more reason to come by the library lately, so I hope I find you here.