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Persephone was not one to admit failure or weakness. But she was one to admit when she needed help. And that morning, in the breaking dawn that would lead to the day that would herald the harvest festival of the autumn months, Persephone was most assuredly in need of help.
The gown that Persephone had managed to convince her friend Iris to find for her was not a fine chiton of great stitching and workmanship. It did not fall upon the body in the lines and grace of the human form. Instead, it was little more than what appeared to be a bedsheet, roughly woven and impossible to place upon her frame in a manner that did not reveal either her entire side from armpit to ankle, or did not meet across her rear.
I know I'm not supposed to look like a high born lady, but revealing my backside to the general populace is hardly a manner of discretion. She thought sardonically to herself as she sighed, removed the garment and tried once more, turning it ninety-degrees before she applied it once more to her skin.
Persephone was far from a simpleton and whilst she, in this moment, felt particularly stupid for being unable to do something as simple as dress herself, she had been raised in an environment where such a skill was unnecessary. With ladies’ maids to hand and retainers on call, she had been able to life her life without learning the very basic daily ablutions that were required within it. She would simply stand with arms outstretched and clothing fell upon her by the hands of others. Her hair would be scooped up, curled into elegant spirals and then set into a regal style of ostentatious grace.
Yet this morning she had not called to her ladies’ maids. Chrysanthe, she knew, would already have left with the intention of attention the festival in the capitol over half a day's ride away and Persephone had no intention of making any of her companions feel obliged to journey with her on that same exact route.
Iason had already left for a morning ride that he enjoyed on a regular basis and was due to return any moment and she had permitted Olena all the time she needed now that she had sent away the man she loved with a secret missive to her sister.
A worry of guilt settled in her stomach but Persephone ignored it, focusing on the task at hand.
Cursing under her breath in a manner that could hardly be considered ladylike, Persephone removed the garment once more, standing in only her strophion and perizoma, tempted to kick the fabric that now pooled around her feet across the room with angry resentment.
Hands on hips, she stared down at the offending item, determined that it couldn't be that difficult to simply get dressed!
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Persephone was not one to admit failure or weakness. But she was one to admit when she needed help. And that morning, in the breaking dawn that would lead to the day that would herald the harvest festival of the autumn months, Persephone was most assuredly in need of help.
The gown that Persephone had managed to convince her friend Iris to find for her was not a fine chiton of great stitching and workmanship. It did not fall upon the body in the lines and grace of the human form. Instead, it was little more than what appeared to be a bedsheet, roughly woven and impossible to place upon her frame in a manner that did not reveal either her entire side from armpit to ankle, or did not meet across her rear.
I know I'm not supposed to look like a high born lady, but revealing my backside to the general populace is hardly a manner of discretion. She thought sardonically to herself as she sighed, removed the garment and tried once more, turning it ninety-degrees before she applied it once more to her skin.
Persephone was far from a simpleton and whilst she, in this moment, felt particularly stupid for being unable to do something as simple as dress herself, she had been raised in an environment where such a skill was unnecessary. With ladies’ maids to hand and retainers on call, she had been able to life her life without learning the very basic daily ablutions that were required within it. She would simply stand with arms outstretched and clothing fell upon her by the hands of others. Her hair would be scooped up, curled into elegant spirals and then set into a regal style of ostentatious grace.
Yet this morning she had not called to her ladies’ maids. Chrysanthe, she knew, would already have left with the intention of attention the festival in the capitol over half a day's ride away and Persephone had no intention of making any of her companions feel obliged to journey with her on that same exact route.
Iason had already left for a morning ride that he enjoyed on a regular basis and was due to return any moment and she had permitted Olena all the time she needed now that she had sent away the man she loved with a secret missive to her sister.
A worry of guilt settled in her stomach but Persephone ignored it, focusing on the task at hand.
Cursing under her breath in a manner that could hardly be considered ladylike, Persephone removed the garment once more, standing in only her strophion and perizoma, tempted to kick the fabric that now pooled around her feet across the room with angry resentment.
Hands on hips, she stared down at the offending item, determined that it couldn't be that difficult to simply get dressed!
Persephone was not one to admit failure or weakness. But she was one to admit when she needed help. And that morning, in the breaking dawn that would lead to the day that would herald the harvest festival of the autumn months, Persephone was most assuredly in need of help.
The gown that Persephone had managed to convince her friend Iris to find for her was not a fine chiton of great stitching and workmanship. It did not fall upon the body in the lines and grace of the human form. Instead, it was little more than what appeared to be a bedsheet, roughly woven and impossible to place upon her frame in a manner that did not reveal either her entire side from armpit to ankle, or did not meet across her rear.
I know I'm not supposed to look like a high born lady, but revealing my backside to the general populace is hardly a manner of discretion. She thought sardonically to herself as she sighed, removed the garment and tried once more, turning it ninety-degrees before she applied it once more to her skin.
Persephone was far from a simpleton and whilst she, in this moment, felt particularly stupid for being unable to do something as simple as dress herself, she had been raised in an environment where such a skill was unnecessary. With ladies’ maids to hand and retainers on call, she had been able to life her life without learning the very basic daily ablutions that were required within it. She would simply stand with arms outstretched and clothing fell upon her by the hands of others. Her hair would be scooped up, curled into elegant spirals and then set into a regal style of ostentatious grace.
Yet this morning she had not called to her ladies’ maids. Chrysanthe, she knew, would already have left with the intention of attention the festival in the capitol over half a day's ride away and Persephone had no intention of making any of her companions feel obliged to journey with her on that same exact route.
Iason had already left for a morning ride that he enjoyed on a regular basis and was due to return any moment and she had permitted Olena all the time she needed now that she had sent away the man she loved with a secret missive to her sister.
A worry of guilt settled in her stomach but Persephone ignored it, focusing on the task at hand.
Cursing under her breath in a manner that could hardly be considered ladylike, Persephone removed the garment once more, standing in only her strophion and perizoma, tempted to kick the fabric that now pooled around her feet across the room with angry resentment.
Hands on hips, she stared down at the offending item, determined that it couldn't be that difficult to simply get dressed!
She could feel the depression creeping in on her like a vice, unable to stop it, unable to function without the underlying worry of Dima’s position. He had told her not to worry, had told her that he would be back before she realized he was gone. But when she woke up alone in her bed, without him there, it was impossible not to feel his absence so deeply. He lied about it, and that only made her depression one of anger as well. How dare he think his position in her life was so trivial that she would not even miss him while he was gone?
If she knew how to write, she would have sent a rider off with a letter telling him just that.
Instead, she was trying to remember that she had to take care of herself, regardless of the sick feeling that took hold of her core and seemed not to let go. She did not join the rest for most meals, preferring solitude instead of the attempts to keep up with the conversations around her. But most of the trays were returned relatively untouched. Food ended up with a strange taste, one that she figured was just due to her own nerves and anxiety over Dima being gone. This kind of depression made her cold to the core, but there was truly little she could do about it. Until he returned home, she seriously doubted that any food would sound appetizing.
She just hoped it wasn’t to the point where she couldn’t keep what little she wished to eat down.
Olena had always been an early riser-- it came with being raised to maintain livestock. But lately, a new kind of exhaustion took over so deep it soaked into her bones. As much as she wished to be up as she normally was, the need to rest was overwhelming. By the time she was finally up, it was much later that she usually was awake. And it was frustrating, but it came with depression. It had been much the same when her child had died-- getting out of bed was impossible. It took her longer to dress that morning, but by the time she was in the older olive green chiton that had been given to her by Iris, she was ready for the day.
For the most part.
The ginger haired girl tried to make a habit of checking in with Persephone, even though she was giving her time and space. She passed the Queen’s rooms, thinking she would already be gone. Instead, she heard the swearing from inside and giggled. She almost didn’t knock as she pushed the door open, then remembered her place.
She didn’t wait to be allowed in first.
With a smile, Olena let out another laugh. ”Would you like some help, my Queen?” She asked, not waiting for much direction before she stepped forward to take the length of material in her hands. But instead of wrapping it around the Queen, she laid it in front of the fire to warm the material. ”This choice of clothing the Greeks prefer is silly. It took me months to figure out how to wear it. My people prefer warmer pieces, thick furs for the snow.” She had gotten used to the idea of speaking more openly about her past, mostly as a sign of goodwill to the Queen. She was trusting Persephone with her future, so why not allow her to see a bit of her past as well?
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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She could feel the depression creeping in on her like a vice, unable to stop it, unable to function without the underlying worry of Dima’s position. He had told her not to worry, had told her that he would be back before she realized he was gone. But when she woke up alone in her bed, without him there, it was impossible not to feel his absence so deeply. He lied about it, and that only made her depression one of anger as well. How dare he think his position in her life was so trivial that she would not even miss him while he was gone?
If she knew how to write, she would have sent a rider off with a letter telling him just that.
Instead, she was trying to remember that she had to take care of herself, regardless of the sick feeling that took hold of her core and seemed not to let go. She did not join the rest for most meals, preferring solitude instead of the attempts to keep up with the conversations around her. But most of the trays were returned relatively untouched. Food ended up with a strange taste, one that she figured was just due to her own nerves and anxiety over Dima being gone. This kind of depression made her cold to the core, but there was truly little she could do about it. Until he returned home, she seriously doubted that any food would sound appetizing.
She just hoped it wasn’t to the point where she couldn’t keep what little she wished to eat down.
Olena had always been an early riser-- it came with being raised to maintain livestock. But lately, a new kind of exhaustion took over so deep it soaked into her bones. As much as she wished to be up as she normally was, the need to rest was overwhelming. By the time she was finally up, it was much later that she usually was awake. And it was frustrating, but it came with depression. It had been much the same when her child had died-- getting out of bed was impossible. It took her longer to dress that morning, but by the time she was in the older olive green chiton that had been given to her by Iris, she was ready for the day.
For the most part.
The ginger haired girl tried to make a habit of checking in with Persephone, even though she was giving her time and space. She passed the Queen’s rooms, thinking she would already be gone. Instead, she heard the swearing from inside and giggled. She almost didn’t knock as she pushed the door open, then remembered her place.
She didn’t wait to be allowed in first.
With a smile, Olena let out another laugh. ”Would you like some help, my Queen?” She asked, not waiting for much direction before she stepped forward to take the length of material in her hands. But instead of wrapping it around the Queen, she laid it in front of the fire to warm the material. ”This choice of clothing the Greeks prefer is silly. It took me months to figure out how to wear it. My people prefer warmer pieces, thick furs for the snow.” She had gotten used to the idea of speaking more openly about her past, mostly as a sign of goodwill to the Queen. She was trusting Persephone with her future, so why not allow her to see a bit of her past as well?
She could feel the depression creeping in on her like a vice, unable to stop it, unable to function without the underlying worry of Dima’s position. He had told her not to worry, had told her that he would be back before she realized he was gone. But when she woke up alone in her bed, without him there, it was impossible not to feel his absence so deeply. He lied about it, and that only made her depression one of anger as well. How dare he think his position in her life was so trivial that she would not even miss him while he was gone?
If she knew how to write, she would have sent a rider off with a letter telling him just that.
Instead, she was trying to remember that she had to take care of herself, regardless of the sick feeling that took hold of her core and seemed not to let go. She did not join the rest for most meals, preferring solitude instead of the attempts to keep up with the conversations around her. But most of the trays were returned relatively untouched. Food ended up with a strange taste, one that she figured was just due to her own nerves and anxiety over Dima being gone. This kind of depression made her cold to the core, but there was truly little she could do about it. Until he returned home, she seriously doubted that any food would sound appetizing.
She just hoped it wasn’t to the point where she couldn’t keep what little she wished to eat down.
Olena had always been an early riser-- it came with being raised to maintain livestock. But lately, a new kind of exhaustion took over so deep it soaked into her bones. As much as she wished to be up as she normally was, the need to rest was overwhelming. By the time she was finally up, it was much later that she usually was awake. And it was frustrating, but it came with depression. It had been much the same when her child had died-- getting out of bed was impossible. It took her longer to dress that morning, but by the time she was in the older olive green chiton that had been given to her by Iris, she was ready for the day.
For the most part.
The ginger haired girl tried to make a habit of checking in with Persephone, even though she was giving her time and space. She passed the Queen’s rooms, thinking she would already be gone. Instead, she heard the swearing from inside and giggled. She almost didn’t knock as she pushed the door open, then remembered her place.
She didn’t wait to be allowed in first.
With a smile, Olena let out another laugh. ”Would you like some help, my Queen?” She asked, not waiting for much direction before she stepped forward to take the length of material in her hands. But instead of wrapping it around the Queen, she laid it in front of the fire to warm the material. ”This choice of clothing the Greeks prefer is silly. It took me months to figure out how to wear it. My people prefer warmer pieces, thick furs for the snow.” She had gotten used to the idea of speaking more openly about her past, mostly as a sign of goodwill to the Queen. She was trusting Persephone with her future, so why not allow her to see a bit of her past as well?
The light laugh that preceded Olena into the room was one that Persephone was unused to hearing. A woman in her position, after all, could hardly expect to heard laughter are her predicaments or awkward moments as part of a regular course. Instead, those very few who came upon her in times of embarrassment would either pretend that it had never happened, or move on from the matter as soon as possible with little reaction. A laugh was entirely the opposite.
Yet, after months of living in a less structured and defined world of etiquette in Taengea, she had begun not to be so surprised when happenstance rode roughshod over her expectations of behaviour. For, whilst the Dimitrous were an elegant and proud royal family of Taengea, they seemed to prefer actions that spoke of them being a family first and a dynasty second. Dorothea and Iason would poke fun at one another and even their father would occasionally partake despite his sombre personality. The servants would walk around with a more comfortable step and more casual attitude than those who manned the palace of Athenia. Generally speaking, most habits were permitted so long as they neither interfered with the duties set to each individual - slave, servant or otherwise - nor cast an insult or offence over another.
It was a more relaxed world into which she would soon be married. And one that made her constantly feel like some sort of ice statue, too rigid and stiff by half. And so, she had attempted to let go a little, her mind sharp edges and quick moments of offence dulling in their reactions a little and ceasing to impulsively set her teeth on edge.
Her world was broadening to a point where it wasn't just Emilia who could cast a moment of mirth in her direction.
Therefore, instead of saying anything over the appropriateness of Olena laughing at her superiors, Persephone's face whirled around, her hair following, in order to witness whom the laugh belonged to and then simply offered a shy smile. Her shoulders rose in an almost inelegant shrug of helplessness and her fingers relinquished the fabric that she had been struggling with.
"Furs sound sweltering to me." Persephone responded when Olena spoke of her world. "But then I have only read of snow in books. I suppose it must be exceptionally cold and worthy of the layers."
She knew that there were areas of Colchis, in the highest reaches where snow adorned the mountains. And she had heard that the lands the lie eastern of Judea would have snow in the winter months due to the height of the land. But she had never seen such frozen rain for herself.
Standing in her under things, Persephone gave the appearance of regality despite the state of her undress and remained where she was, simply waiting for the garment to be worthy of use once more.
"In such things you are more experienced than I." She added, referring to the way in which Olena had had to learn to dress herself once in Greece. For this was the first time that Persephone had ever tried...
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The light laugh that preceded Olena into the room was one that Persephone was unused to hearing. A woman in her position, after all, could hardly expect to heard laughter are her predicaments or awkward moments as part of a regular course. Instead, those very few who came upon her in times of embarrassment would either pretend that it had never happened, or move on from the matter as soon as possible with little reaction. A laugh was entirely the opposite.
Yet, after months of living in a less structured and defined world of etiquette in Taengea, she had begun not to be so surprised when happenstance rode roughshod over her expectations of behaviour. For, whilst the Dimitrous were an elegant and proud royal family of Taengea, they seemed to prefer actions that spoke of them being a family first and a dynasty second. Dorothea and Iason would poke fun at one another and even their father would occasionally partake despite his sombre personality. The servants would walk around with a more comfortable step and more casual attitude than those who manned the palace of Athenia. Generally speaking, most habits were permitted so long as they neither interfered with the duties set to each individual - slave, servant or otherwise - nor cast an insult or offence over another.
It was a more relaxed world into which she would soon be married. And one that made her constantly feel like some sort of ice statue, too rigid and stiff by half. And so, she had attempted to let go a little, her mind sharp edges and quick moments of offence dulling in their reactions a little and ceasing to impulsively set her teeth on edge.
Her world was broadening to a point where it wasn't just Emilia who could cast a moment of mirth in her direction.
Therefore, instead of saying anything over the appropriateness of Olena laughing at her superiors, Persephone's face whirled around, her hair following, in order to witness whom the laugh belonged to and then simply offered a shy smile. Her shoulders rose in an almost inelegant shrug of helplessness and her fingers relinquished the fabric that she had been struggling with.
"Furs sound sweltering to me." Persephone responded when Olena spoke of her world. "But then I have only read of snow in books. I suppose it must be exceptionally cold and worthy of the layers."
She knew that there were areas of Colchis, in the highest reaches where snow adorned the mountains. And she had heard that the lands the lie eastern of Judea would have snow in the winter months due to the height of the land. But she had never seen such frozen rain for herself.
Standing in her under things, Persephone gave the appearance of regality despite the state of her undress and remained where she was, simply waiting for the garment to be worthy of use once more.
"In such things you are more experienced than I." She added, referring to the way in which Olena had had to learn to dress herself once in Greece. For this was the first time that Persephone had ever tried...
The light laugh that preceded Olena into the room was one that Persephone was unused to hearing. A woman in her position, after all, could hardly expect to heard laughter are her predicaments or awkward moments as part of a regular course. Instead, those very few who came upon her in times of embarrassment would either pretend that it had never happened, or move on from the matter as soon as possible with little reaction. A laugh was entirely the opposite.
Yet, after months of living in a less structured and defined world of etiquette in Taengea, she had begun not to be so surprised when happenstance rode roughshod over her expectations of behaviour. For, whilst the Dimitrous were an elegant and proud royal family of Taengea, they seemed to prefer actions that spoke of them being a family first and a dynasty second. Dorothea and Iason would poke fun at one another and even their father would occasionally partake despite his sombre personality. The servants would walk around with a more comfortable step and more casual attitude than those who manned the palace of Athenia. Generally speaking, most habits were permitted so long as they neither interfered with the duties set to each individual - slave, servant or otherwise - nor cast an insult or offence over another.
It was a more relaxed world into which she would soon be married. And one that made her constantly feel like some sort of ice statue, too rigid and stiff by half. And so, she had attempted to let go a little, her mind sharp edges and quick moments of offence dulling in their reactions a little and ceasing to impulsively set her teeth on edge.
Her world was broadening to a point where it wasn't just Emilia who could cast a moment of mirth in her direction.
Therefore, instead of saying anything over the appropriateness of Olena laughing at her superiors, Persephone's face whirled around, her hair following, in order to witness whom the laugh belonged to and then simply offered a shy smile. Her shoulders rose in an almost inelegant shrug of helplessness and her fingers relinquished the fabric that she had been struggling with.
"Furs sound sweltering to me." Persephone responded when Olena spoke of her world. "But then I have only read of snow in books. I suppose it must be exceptionally cold and worthy of the layers."
She knew that there were areas of Colchis, in the highest reaches where snow adorned the mountains. And she had heard that the lands the lie eastern of Judea would have snow in the winter months due to the height of the land. But she had never seen such frozen rain for herself.
Standing in her under things, Persephone gave the appearance of regality despite the state of her undress and remained where she was, simply waiting for the garment to be worthy of use once more.
"In such things you are more experienced than I." She added, referring to the way in which Olena had had to learn to dress herself once in Greece. For this was the first time that Persephone had ever tried...
Her service to women was an odd topic, one that she rarely spoke of. When she had first been taken, it had been the other women she found herself around who taught her how to survive. And that survival was taught in the form of sexual satisfaction. Men didn’t hurt you if you made them happy, and most of the girls were happy to show the younger ones how to stay alive. And past that, it was not uncommon for women to seek out the pleasure of their own sex, and money was money. Olena found no attraction to women, but was often left with no choice.
But the redhead usually took a much kinder approach, quietly teaching the foreign girls like her how to blend in. And part of that was simply how to make men believe whatever they wished. She chose to live as a pretender, to be foreign for those who wanted the exotic yet appear grecian for those who needed the comforts of home.
It felt a little easier to bring humor into this situation, like she had often done with the scared prisoners who were about to find work on their backs. Laughter hid pain, and it was far easier to rely on what she knew. It may not have been what was expected of a Queen’s lady, but laughter also broke down walls. It had been impossible to know who to trust, but she knew she could let her guard down with anyone who could find a reason to laugh through pain. So the cumbrous Queen in front of her, absolutely out of her element, needed to laugh at the situation. There was no reason to feel awkward for the position she was in, even with the fabric pooling at her feet.
”When it is so cold out that you can lose a toe, fur is a welcome addition.” She said, ignoring the strum of pain that ached in her chest. It had been far too long since she’d thought about the cold, about how much she missed the variable seasons that her home had. It had been something that used to depress her, but now she had to move past it. She could do that, for there was at least some comradery in the loss of home with the lady in front of her. This was a new life they were both trying to figure out together. So if the Queen could put on a brave face, then she could, too.
Holding out her hand, Olena assisted the queen forward and out of the pile of fabrics and skirts. ”Grecian fabric is a blank canvas.” She said as she quoted what had been told her years ago. ”As long as you lay it and tuck it, it is very hard to get wrong.” The maid grabbed the fabric, rearranging it on the bed so it was far more obvious which was the top. ”Trying to just throw it on will mean that down is up, so to speak. Dress the bed.” It seemed like an odd way to describe what she was doing, but her hands aptly pulled the fabric into line. ”We’d be given a length of fabric, and I would be clueless about it. But I would take it and sew, and sew, and embellish them in a way that I would know which was up. She giggled a little, ”See how I tuck the arms? It makes them loose when you do that.”
Showing her how to make the dress on the bed first, Olena didn’t bother to allow her to repeat the action. Instead, she was placing the dress on her shoulders, her expert fingers pulling and tugging the fabric into submission. ”Common women often prefer a looser arm, for chores require range of motion.” It was designed to allow for mobility, for it was common to need to reach high up or wide to get done what needed to be done. With a belt pulled and tied around her waist, Olena continued to move the fabric, quietly talking her way through the process. When she was finished, even with the plain outfit, Olena laughed again. ”No one is going to believe you are common, my lady. Not looking as stunning as you do. Have you ever tried a wool sack? That might hide your identity better.”
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Her service to women was an odd topic, one that she rarely spoke of. When she had first been taken, it had been the other women she found herself around who taught her how to survive. And that survival was taught in the form of sexual satisfaction. Men didn’t hurt you if you made them happy, and most of the girls were happy to show the younger ones how to stay alive. And past that, it was not uncommon for women to seek out the pleasure of their own sex, and money was money. Olena found no attraction to women, but was often left with no choice.
But the redhead usually took a much kinder approach, quietly teaching the foreign girls like her how to blend in. And part of that was simply how to make men believe whatever they wished. She chose to live as a pretender, to be foreign for those who wanted the exotic yet appear grecian for those who needed the comforts of home.
It felt a little easier to bring humor into this situation, like she had often done with the scared prisoners who were about to find work on their backs. Laughter hid pain, and it was far easier to rely on what she knew. It may not have been what was expected of a Queen’s lady, but laughter also broke down walls. It had been impossible to know who to trust, but she knew she could let her guard down with anyone who could find a reason to laugh through pain. So the cumbrous Queen in front of her, absolutely out of her element, needed to laugh at the situation. There was no reason to feel awkward for the position she was in, even with the fabric pooling at her feet.
”When it is so cold out that you can lose a toe, fur is a welcome addition.” She said, ignoring the strum of pain that ached in her chest. It had been far too long since she’d thought about the cold, about how much she missed the variable seasons that her home had. It had been something that used to depress her, but now she had to move past it. She could do that, for there was at least some comradery in the loss of home with the lady in front of her. This was a new life they were both trying to figure out together. So if the Queen could put on a brave face, then she could, too.
Holding out her hand, Olena assisted the queen forward and out of the pile of fabrics and skirts. ”Grecian fabric is a blank canvas.” She said as she quoted what had been told her years ago. ”As long as you lay it and tuck it, it is very hard to get wrong.” The maid grabbed the fabric, rearranging it on the bed so it was far more obvious which was the top. ”Trying to just throw it on will mean that down is up, so to speak. Dress the bed.” It seemed like an odd way to describe what she was doing, but her hands aptly pulled the fabric into line. ”We’d be given a length of fabric, and I would be clueless about it. But I would take it and sew, and sew, and embellish them in a way that I would know which was up. She giggled a little, ”See how I tuck the arms? It makes them loose when you do that.”
Showing her how to make the dress on the bed first, Olena didn’t bother to allow her to repeat the action. Instead, she was placing the dress on her shoulders, her expert fingers pulling and tugging the fabric into submission. ”Common women often prefer a looser arm, for chores require range of motion.” It was designed to allow for mobility, for it was common to need to reach high up or wide to get done what needed to be done. With a belt pulled and tied around her waist, Olena continued to move the fabric, quietly talking her way through the process. When she was finished, even with the plain outfit, Olena laughed again. ”No one is going to believe you are common, my lady. Not looking as stunning as you do. Have you ever tried a wool sack? That might hide your identity better.”
Her service to women was an odd topic, one that she rarely spoke of. When she had first been taken, it had been the other women she found herself around who taught her how to survive. And that survival was taught in the form of sexual satisfaction. Men didn’t hurt you if you made them happy, and most of the girls were happy to show the younger ones how to stay alive. And past that, it was not uncommon for women to seek out the pleasure of their own sex, and money was money. Olena found no attraction to women, but was often left with no choice.
But the redhead usually took a much kinder approach, quietly teaching the foreign girls like her how to blend in. And part of that was simply how to make men believe whatever they wished. She chose to live as a pretender, to be foreign for those who wanted the exotic yet appear grecian for those who needed the comforts of home.
It felt a little easier to bring humor into this situation, like she had often done with the scared prisoners who were about to find work on their backs. Laughter hid pain, and it was far easier to rely on what she knew. It may not have been what was expected of a Queen’s lady, but laughter also broke down walls. It had been impossible to know who to trust, but she knew she could let her guard down with anyone who could find a reason to laugh through pain. So the cumbrous Queen in front of her, absolutely out of her element, needed to laugh at the situation. There was no reason to feel awkward for the position she was in, even with the fabric pooling at her feet.
”When it is so cold out that you can lose a toe, fur is a welcome addition.” She said, ignoring the strum of pain that ached in her chest. It had been far too long since she’d thought about the cold, about how much she missed the variable seasons that her home had. It had been something that used to depress her, but now she had to move past it. She could do that, for there was at least some comradery in the loss of home with the lady in front of her. This was a new life they were both trying to figure out together. So if the Queen could put on a brave face, then she could, too.
Holding out her hand, Olena assisted the queen forward and out of the pile of fabrics and skirts. ”Grecian fabric is a blank canvas.” She said as she quoted what had been told her years ago. ”As long as you lay it and tuck it, it is very hard to get wrong.” The maid grabbed the fabric, rearranging it on the bed so it was far more obvious which was the top. ”Trying to just throw it on will mean that down is up, so to speak. Dress the bed.” It seemed like an odd way to describe what she was doing, but her hands aptly pulled the fabric into line. ”We’d be given a length of fabric, and I would be clueless about it. But I would take it and sew, and sew, and embellish them in a way that I would know which was up. She giggled a little, ”See how I tuck the arms? It makes them loose when you do that.”
Showing her how to make the dress on the bed first, Olena didn’t bother to allow her to repeat the action. Instead, she was placing the dress on her shoulders, her expert fingers pulling and tugging the fabric into submission. ”Common women often prefer a looser arm, for chores require range of motion.” It was designed to allow for mobility, for it was common to need to reach high up or wide to get done what needed to be done. With a belt pulled and tied around her waist, Olena continued to move the fabric, quietly talking her way through the process. When she was finished, even with the plain outfit, Olena laughed again. ”No one is going to believe you are common, my lady. Not looking as stunning as you do. Have you ever tried a wool sack? That might hide your identity better.”
As the young woman moved to aid her, Persephone relinquished the gown that she had been ineffectively attempting to retain upon the curves of her body. It was clear that such efforts were offering her no advancement and that it was achieving only humour in the eyes of her witness.
When Olena spoke of her homeland and the snow, Persephone could not imagine anywhere so cold. It was true that she had seen the very snowflakes of what snow was, in the very bitterest and coldest of Athenian days, but it never made it to the ground, never sunk so low and layered in white as she had read in books so as to cool the feet. When Olena spoke of losing a toe, Persephone's pretty brows lowered in a furrow of confusion.
"Lose a toe?" She asked, repeating the words back to the redheaded girl. "Just how on earth..." Her words trailed to a quick stop as she raised her hands and released the fabric around her entirely to Olena's care. Her palms were offered outwards in a gesture of restraint. "No, never mind. I do not think I wish to know." It was likely gruesome in some way and Persephone felt sure that she was better off without the mental image of how something as simple as cold rain might slice off someone's toes.
When Olena took the dress from her and laid it upon the bed, Persephone was confused as to how this was supposed to see her dressed. Olena was her lady's maid and should be dressing herself, not the bed! Instead of arguing or insisting that she dress her, however, Persephone allowed her maid to offer her tutorage in how to fasten and fold the dress in a manner that would allow her to gown herself in future.
Though she thought such a happenstance unlikely in most cases, Persephone reminded herself that she was at a fork in her life. With two paths that would lead to the role of princess and Queen or baroness. And if it were the latter, she needed to learn to be of more use in her own right than she currently stood. That was why she had asked to learn to sew from Chrysanthe and requested lessons in archery from Dorothea, back in Taengea, was it not?
Now, Olena was teaching her to dress herself.
Feeling as if she were a child, having to relearn her life over again, Persephone turned her mind away from shame and ego and focused on the instructions before her. The gown was folded into lines and trigons, and then measured as if it were dressing an invisible figure, ready to then be taken into Olena's arms and presented to Persephone as a simple tunnel for her to push her head and arms through.
When the chiton fell around her frame, she was surprised to find that it stayed with determination, braced on her shoulders. The arms were open and wide, as Olena had promised, and the skirts were a little short, hovering an inch above her ankles. Olena fastened a belt around Persephone's waist easily enough and then stood back to admire the work of her efforts.
Her words had Persephone's lips part and then a light and comedic frown form upon her features.
"You have an interesting way of passing compliments, Olena." She told the girl, amused that her beauty was somehow give its due but also systematically dismissed as significant from the conversation. Her next exhale was lost on a slight laugh when Olena suggested a wool sack. "I think such a choice of raiment would draw attention." She offered before looking down at herself. "Though I am open to other suggestions that would have me appear more anonymous...?"
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As the young woman moved to aid her, Persephone relinquished the gown that she had been ineffectively attempting to retain upon the curves of her body. It was clear that such efforts were offering her no advancement and that it was achieving only humour in the eyes of her witness.
When Olena spoke of her homeland and the snow, Persephone could not imagine anywhere so cold. It was true that she had seen the very snowflakes of what snow was, in the very bitterest and coldest of Athenian days, but it never made it to the ground, never sunk so low and layered in white as she had read in books so as to cool the feet. When Olena spoke of losing a toe, Persephone's pretty brows lowered in a furrow of confusion.
"Lose a toe?" She asked, repeating the words back to the redheaded girl. "Just how on earth..." Her words trailed to a quick stop as she raised her hands and released the fabric around her entirely to Olena's care. Her palms were offered outwards in a gesture of restraint. "No, never mind. I do not think I wish to know." It was likely gruesome in some way and Persephone felt sure that she was better off without the mental image of how something as simple as cold rain might slice off someone's toes.
When Olena took the dress from her and laid it upon the bed, Persephone was confused as to how this was supposed to see her dressed. Olena was her lady's maid and should be dressing herself, not the bed! Instead of arguing or insisting that she dress her, however, Persephone allowed her maid to offer her tutorage in how to fasten and fold the dress in a manner that would allow her to gown herself in future.
Though she thought such a happenstance unlikely in most cases, Persephone reminded herself that she was at a fork in her life. With two paths that would lead to the role of princess and Queen or baroness. And if it were the latter, she needed to learn to be of more use in her own right than she currently stood. That was why she had asked to learn to sew from Chrysanthe and requested lessons in archery from Dorothea, back in Taengea, was it not?
Now, Olena was teaching her to dress herself.
Feeling as if she were a child, having to relearn her life over again, Persephone turned her mind away from shame and ego and focused on the instructions before her. The gown was folded into lines and trigons, and then measured as if it were dressing an invisible figure, ready to then be taken into Olena's arms and presented to Persephone as a simple tunnel for her to push her head and arms through.
When the chiton fell around her frame, she was surprised to find that it stayed with determination, braced on her shoulders. The arms were open and wide, as Olena had promised, and the skirts were a little short, hovering an inch above her ankles. Olena fastened a belt around Persephone's waist easily enough and then stood back to admire the work of her efforts.
Her words had Persephone's lips part and then a light and comedic frown form upon her features.
"You have an interesting way of passing compliments, Olena." She told the girl, amused that her beauty was somehow give its due but also systematically dismissed as significant from the conversation. Her next exhale was lost on a slight laugh when Olena suggested a wool sack. "I think such a choice of raiment would draw attention." She offered before looking down at herself. "Though I am open to other suggestions that would have me appear more anonymous...?"
As the young woman moved to aid her, Persephone relinquished the gown that she had been ineffectively attempting to retain upon the curves of her body. It was clear that such efforts were offering her no advancement and that it was achieving only humour in the eyes of her witness.
When Olena spoke of her homeland and the snow, Persephone could not imagine anywhere so cold. It was true that she had seen the very snowflakes of what snow was, in the very bitterest and coldest of Athenian days, but it never made it to the ground, never sunk so low and layered in white as she had read in books so as to cool the feet. When Olena spoke of losing a toe, Persephone's pretty brows lowered in a furrow of confusion.
"Lose a toe?" She asked, repeating the words back to the redheaded girl. "Just how on earth..." Her words trailed to a quick stop as she raised her hands and released the fabric around her entirely to Olena's care. Her palms were offered outwards in a gesture of restraint. "No, never mind. I do not think I wish to know." It was likely gruesome in some way and Persephone felt sure that she was better off without the mental image of how something as simple as cold rain might slice off someone's toes.
When Olena took the dress from her and laid it upon the bed, Persephone was confused as to how this was supposed to see her dressed. Olena was her lady's maid and should be dressing herself, not the bed! Instead of arguing or insisting that she dress her, however, Persephone allowed her maid to offer her tutorage in how to fasten and fold the dress in a manner that would allow her to gown herself in future.
Though she thought such a happenstance unlikely in most cases, Persephone reminded herself that she was at a fork in her life. With two paths that would lead to the role of princess and Queen or baroness. And if it were the latter, she needed to learn to be of more use in her own right than she currently stood. That was why she had asked to learn to sew from Chrysanthe and requested lessons in archery from Dorothea, back in Taengea, was it not?
Now, Olena was teaching her to dress herself.
Feeling as if she were a child, having to relearn her life over again, Persephone turned her mind away from shame and ego and focused on the instructions before her. The gown was folded into lines and trigons, and then measured as if it were dressing an invisible figure, ready to then be taken into Olena's arms and presented to Persephone as a simple tunnel for her to push her head and arms through.
When the chiton fell around her frame, she was surprised to find that it stayed with determination, braced on her shoulders. The arms were open and wide, as Olena had promised, and the skirts were a little short, hovering an inch above her ankles. Olena fastened a belt around Persephone's waist easily enough and then stood back to admire the work of her efforts.
Her words had Persephone's lips part and then a light and comedic frown form upon her features.
"You have an interesting way of passing compliments, Olena." She told the girl, amused that her beauty was somehow give its due but also systematically dismissed as significant from the conversation. Her next exhale was lost on a slight laugh when Olena suggested a wool sack. "I think such a choice of raiment would draw attention." She offered before looking down at herself. "Though I am open to other suggestions that would have me appear more anonymous...?"
She thought of explaining the process to the Queen, of how the cold seemed to kill the smallest of appendages the longer someone is exposed to the elements. Of the old men in her village who were without fingers or toes, who would just laugh about the injuries as if they’d never happened. But Olena decided to honor the request of the girl in front of her, simply smiling softly as she continued to set the clothing.
The act of dressing the bed had helped calm her mind, to put her worry behind her for a moment to share how she had survived the change of life. And while Persephone may not ever need to dress herself again, she would have the power to do so. And for Olena, that knowledge was worth the small amount of time it took to show her the trick she had learned. There was little she knew about the Queen, about her plans.
She had kept herself hidden, for the most part, while they were back on Lord Iason’s land. Too afraid to leave the room, Olena hadn’t made much contact with her Lady now in fear of being sent back to the slaver who owned her. There had been little reason for her to try and become on familiar terms with the Queen. Perhaps she had been selfish to think that Athenia would provide them with security, but Olena had quiet hopes that she would be friends with the lady enough to perhaps convince her to ensure her freedom. Her motives may have been self-serving, to a point, but there was a genuine interest in the Queen.
Persephone seemed like she was doing her best, trying to navigate this world blindly. Olena, she reasoned with herself, was the same. They were confused and partially alone in it, trying their best to keep afloat in the sea of the unknown. It was equalizing, and the redhead wished to be helpful to her. It put Dima’s mind at ease, knowing that she was helping the Queen. So she would continue.
The gentle comment about her own compliments made her smile brighten a bit. “I was a whore, m’lady. You learn to pick up on beautiful features quickly, because beautiful women sell better than homely ones. With you, it would be impossible to highlight just one thing about you that would make you even more enticing.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, “A sack would at least hide your figure. But perhaps this will help,” Olena moved to the pile of clothing, pulling out a rougher piece of fabric, short in length. “Your hair is too glossy, too well cared for. This will hide its condition. Peasants can have beautiful faces, but only those with wealth have hair as you do.” Olena handed her the fabric, “I would pin your hair back, too. Or braid it. Hair that is left down only causes trouble throughout the day.”
While she waited for the Queen to decide, Olena felt brave enough to bring up a topic that had long been on her mind. “My lady, I know that my presence here was a bit of a surprise. I am thankful that you find me useful. But, if I may, I do have a small request I would like to ask of you.” She knew she would lose her nerve if she stopped now, so she cleared her throat and swallowed, “Demetrius and I grew up together, intended for each other. Now that we’ve been reunited, I am told that we would need your permission to marry in your country.” The topic finally broached, Olena’s eyes were casted down a bit as she let the words sink in. “I would very much like to be his wife, if you would allow it.”
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She thought of explaining the process to the Queen, of how the cold seemed to kill the smallest of appendages the longer someone is exposed to the elements. Of the old men in her village who were without fingers or toes, who would just laugh about the injuries as if they’d never happened. But Olena decided to honor the request of the girl in front of her, simply smiling softly as she continued to set the clothing.
The act of dressing the bed had helped calm her mind, to put her worry behind her for a moment to share how she had survived the change of life. And while Persephone may not ever need to dress herself again, she would have the power to do so. And for Olena, that knowledge was worth the small amount of time it took to show her the trick she had learned. There was little she knew about the Queen, about her plans.
She had kept herself hidden, for the most part, while they were back on Lord Iason’s land. Too afraid to leave the room, Olena hadn’t made much contact with her Lady now in fear of being sent back to the slaver who owned her. There had been little reason for her to try and become on familiar terms with the Queen. Perhaps she had been selfish to think that Athenia would provide them with security, but Olena had quiet hopes that she would be friends with the lady enough to perhaps convince her to ensure her freedom. Her motives may have been self-serving, to a point, but there was a genuine interest in the Queen.
Persephone seemed like she was doing her best, trying to navigate this world blindly. Olena, she reasoned with herself, was the same. They were confused and partially alone in it, trying their best to keep afloat in the sea of the unknown. It was equalizing, and the redhead wished to be helpful to her. It put Dima’s mind at ease, knowing that she was helping the Queen. So she would continue.
The gentle comment about her own compliments made her smile brighten a bit. “I was a whore, m’lady. You learn to pick up on beautiful features quickly, because beautiful women sell better than homely ones. With you, it would be impossible to highlight just one thing about you that would make you even more enticing.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, “A sack would at least hide your figure. But perhaps this will help,” Olena moved to the pile of clothing, pulling out a rougher piece of fabric, short in length. “Your hair is too glossy, too well cared for. This will hide its condition. Peasants can have beautiful faces, but only those with wealth have hair as you do.” Olena handed her the fabric, “I would pin your hair back, too. Or braid it. Hair that is left down only causes trouble throughout the day.”
While she waited for the Queen to decide, Olena felt brave enough to bring up a topic that had long been on her mind. “My lady, I know that my presence here was a bit of a surprise. I am thankful that you find me useful. But, if I may, I do have a small request I would like to ask of you.” She knew she would lose her nerve if she stopped now, so she cleared her throat and swallowed, “Demetrius and I grew up together, intended for each other. Now that we’ve been reunited, I am told that we would need your permission to marry in your country.” The topic finally broached, Olena’s eyes were casted down a bit as she let the words sink in. “I would very much like to be his wife, if you would allow it.”
She thought of explaining the process to the Queen, of how the cold seemed to kill the smallest of appendages the longer someone is exposed to the elements. Of the old men in her village who were without fingers or toes, who would just laugh about the injuries as if they’d never happened. But Olena decided to honor the request of the girl in front of her, simply smiling softly as she continued to set the clothing.
The act of dressing the bed had helped calm her mind, to put her worry behind her for a moment to share how she had survived the change of life. And while Persephone may not ever need to dress herself again, she would have the power to do so. And for Olena, that knowledge was worth the small amount of time it took to show her the trick she had learned. There was little she knew about the Queen, about her plans.
She had kept herself hidden, for the most part, while they were back on Lord Iason’s land. Too afraid to leave the room, Olena hadn’t made much contact with her Lady now in fear of being sent back to the slaver who owned her. There had been little reason for her to try and become on familiar terms with the Queen. Perhaps she had been selfish to think that Athenia would provide them with security, but Olena had quiet hopes that she would be friends with the lady enough to perhaps convince her to ensure her freedom. Her motives may have been self-serving, to a point, but there was a genuine interest in the Queen.
Persephone seemed like she was doing her best, trying to navigate this world blindly. Olena, she reasoned with herself, was the same. They were confused and partially alone in it, trying their best to keep afloat in the sea of the unknown. It was equalizing, and the redhead wished to be helpful to her. It put Dima’s mind at ease, knowing that she was helping the Queen. So she would continue.
The gentle comment about her own compliments made her smile brighten a bit. “I was a whore, m’lady. You learn to pick up on beautiful features quickly, because beautiful women sell better than homely ones. With you, it would be impossible to highlight just one thing about you that would make you even more enticing.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, “A sack would at least hide your figure. But perhaps this will help,” Olena moved to the pile of clothing, pulling out a rougher piece of fabric, short in length. “Your hair is too glossy, too well cared for. This will hide its condition. Peasants can have beautiful faces, but only those with wealth have hair as you do.” Olena handed her the fabric, “I would pin your hair back, too. Or braid it. Hair that is left down only causes trouble throughout the day.”
While she waited for the Queen to decide, Olena felt brave enough to bring up a topic that had long been on her mind. “My lady, I know that my presence here was a bit of a surprise. I am thankful that you find me useful. But, if I may, I do have a small request I would like to ask of you.” She knew she would lose her nerve if she stopped now, so she cleared her throat and swallowed, “Demetrius and I grew up together, intended for each other. Now that we’ve been reunited, I am told that we would need your permission to marry in your country.” The topic finally broached, Olena’s eyes were casted down a bit as she let the words sink in. “I would very much like to be his wife, if you would allow it.”
Persephone's lips curled into the smoothest of smiles as Olena praised her appearance. The soft curve of her mouth was modest and self-conscious and she wasn't entirely sure why. As a princess, she was used to compliments and flattery. Had been given them all her life. And yet Olena was perhaps one of the first people she had met where she knew them to be completely true. All the nobles and courtiers of Athenia may have meant the words of kindness or the positive judgement upon her appearance when they said them, but it was hard to know the motivation behind the expression when any and all wanted something from the royals.
Iason was perhaps the only other who spoke with honesty over the way he found her attractive. And yet even then she knew it was inspired by care and attraction - love, as he claimed. Could love be blind as people said?
Olena was neither in love with Persephone, nor desirous of something she could give her. The words, therefore became more real, more touching. And they were reflected in a rare moment of pleasant self-consciousness in a woman who had only ever always displayed herself with confidence.
Trying to avoid thinking upon her ego - one that had suddenly become uncharacteristically shy - Persephone focused on the advice Olena was giving over the flattering. Braiding her hair and tucking it under a hood or scarf was a good idea. And she wouldn't be wearing any form of powder or paste upon her face so she wouldn't highlight herself in that manner.
Reaching for the long dark strands that Olena advised being tied back, Persephone fiddled with the ends, thankful that - for once - she could do something. She had helped to braid Emilia's hair when she had been very little. Forced to learn when the grief of losing their mother had forced Emilia to reject any servant or maid that wanted to tend to her. Persephone had stepped into the gap and braided her hair into pretty styles that had distracted her from the fact that Queen Lucille was conspicuously absent from their lives.
Taking her hair and parting it into equal pieces over her shoulder, Persephone looked up and stilled her fingers in their work when the redhead mentioned something that she would like from her. The girl had followed her from Taengea, accepting an appointment as her lady’s maid without experience or training and volunteering to leave a kingdom that might not have been her origins but had at least operated as her home in the short term. And she had done so for Demetrius. Who had done the same for Persephone. As far as she was concerned it was she that was in their debt. So, Olena could ask for whatever she wanted...
When the young woman mentioned marriage and how she would require Persephone's permission for the union to be legal, Persephone blinked in surprise. So simple and so easy a request...
All except for...
Persephone thought through the process quickly, looking for loopholes and found that which she needed to give to her newfound friend. She smiled at Olena and nodded.
"I can offer you that." She agreed. "I would gladly give my seal to your legal bond." She assured the girl. Her brows then dropped a moment into a serious look that prewarned Olena of the practicalities of the situation. "If you present that paperwork to anyone, though, you'll be associated as one who knows me." She swallowed. "If you promise to give the documentation to the temples only after association with me would not place the two of your in danger then I give you my word that I'll authorise your marriage."
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Persephone's lips curled into the smoothest of smiles as Olena praised her appearance. The soft curve of her mouth was modest and self-conscious and she wasn't entirely sure why. As a princess, she was used to compliments and flattery. Had been given them all her life. And yet Olena was perhaps one of the first people she had met where she knew them to be completely true. All the nobles and courtiers of Athenia may have meant the words of kindness or the positive judgement upon her appearance when they said them, but it was hard to know the motivation behind the expression when any and all wanted something from the royals.
Iason was perhaps the only other who spoke with honesty over the way he found her attractive. And yet even then she knew it was inspired by care and attraction - love, as he claimed. Could love be blind as people said?
Olena was neither in love with Persephone, nor desirous of something she could give her. The words, therefore became more real, more touching. And they were reflected in a rare moment of pleasant self-consciousness in a woman who had only ever always displayed herself with confidence.
Trying to avoid thinking upon her ego - one that had suddenly become uncharacteristically shy - Persephone focused on the advice Olena was giving over the flattering. Braiding her hair and tucking it under a hood or scarf was a good idea. And she wouldn't be wearing any form of powder or paste upon her face so she wouldn't highlight herself in that manner.
Reaching for the long dark strands that Olena advised being tied back, Persephone fiddled with the ends, thankful that - for once - she could do something. She had helped to braid Emilia's hair when she had been very little. Forced to learn when the grief of losing their mother had forced Emilia to reject any servant or maid that wanted to tend to her. Persephone had stepped into the gap and braided her hair into pretty styles that had distracted her from the fact that Queen Lucille was conspicuously absent from their lives.
Taking her hair and parting it into equal pieces over her shoulder, Persephone looked up and stilled her fingers in their work when the redhead mentioned something that she would like from her. The girl had followed her from Taengea, accepting an appointment as her lady’s maid without experience or training and volunteering to leave a kingdom that might not have been her origins but had at least operated as her home in the short term. And she had done so for Demetrius. Who had done the same for Persephone. As far as she was concerned it was she that was in their debt. So, Olena could ask for whatever she wanted...
When the young woman mentioned marriage and how she would require Persephone's permission for the union to be legal, Persephone blinked in surprise. So simple and so easy a request...
All except for...
Persephone thought through the process quickly, looking for loopholes and found that which she needed to give to her newfound friend. She smiled at Olena and nodded.
"I can offer you that." She agreed. "I would gladly give my seal to your legal bond." She assured the girl. Her brows then dropped a moment into a serious look that prewarned Olena of the practicalities of the situation. "If you present that paperwork to anyone, though, you'll be associated as one who knows me." She swallowed. "If you promise to give the documentation to the temples only after association with me would not place the two of your in danger then I give you my word that I'll authorise your marriage."
Persephone's lips curled into the smoothest of smiles as Olena praised her appearance. The soft curve of her mouth was modest and self-conscious and she wasn't entirely sure why. As a princess, she was used to compliments and flattery. Had been given them all her life. And yet Olena was perhaps one of the first people she had met where she knew them to be completely true. All the nobles and courtiers of Athenia may have meant the words of kindness or the positive judgement upon her appearance when they said them, but it was hard to know the motivation behind the expression when any and all wanted something from the royals.
Iason was perhaps the only other who spoke with honesty over the way he found her attractive. And yet even then she knew it was inspired by care and attraction - love, as he claimed. Could love be blind as people said?
Olena was neither in love with Persephone, nor desirous of something she could give her. The words, therefore became more real, more touching. And they were reflected in a rare moment of pleasant self-consciousness in a woman who had only ever always displayed herself with confidence.
Trying to avoid thinking upon her ego - one that had suddenly become uncharacteristically shy - Persephone focused on the advice Olena was giving over the flattering. Braiding her hair and tucking it under a hood or scarf was a good idea. And she wouldn't be wearing any form of powder or paste upon her face so she wouldn't highlight herself in that manner.
Reaching for the long dark strands that Olena advised being tied back, Persephone fiddled with the ends, thankful that - for once - she could do something. She had helped to braid Emilia's hair when she had been very little. Forced to learn when the grief of losing their mother had forced Emilia to reject any servant or maid that wanted to tend to her. Persephone had stepped into the gap and braided her hair into pretty styles that had distracted her from the fact that Queen Lucille was conspicuously absent from their lives.
Taking her hair and parting it into equal pieces over her shoulder, Persephone looked up and stilled her fingers in their work when the redhead mentioned something that she would like from her. The girl had followed her from Taengea, accepting an appointment as her lady’s maid without experience or training and volunteering to leave a kingdom that might not have been her origins but had at least operated as her home in the short term. And she had done so for Demetrius. Who had done the same for Persephone. As far as she was concerned it was she that was in their debt. So, Olena could ask for whatever she wanted...
When the young woman mentioned marriage and how she would require Persephone's permission for the union to be legal, Persephone blinked in surprise. So simple and so easy a request...
All except for...
Persephone thought through the process quickly, looking for loopholes and found that which she needed to give to her newfound friend. She smiled at Olena and nodded.
"I can offer you that." She agreed. "I would gladly give my seal to your legal bond." She assured the girl. Her brows then dropped a moment into a serious look that prewarned Olena of the practicalities of the situation. "If you present that paperwork to anyone, though, you'll be associated as one who knows me." She swallowed. "If you promise to give the documentation to the temples only after association with me would not place the two of your in danger then I give you my word that I'll authorise your marriage."
There was every intention for Olena to step in and braid her lady’s hair. She knew how to braid, how to set hair in fashionable styles that were appealing to the eye. Before she was sold after her sister’s death, she made a point to be more of a mother to the other girls, meaning that she was the one who prepared them each morning. She had tried to set an example, tried to ease their minds about their future. Her training may not have been that of a ladies maid, but she could care for others.
Weren’t they one in the same?
A part of her itched to do more, to set the queen down and assist in the process of setting her hair. It would have put her mind at ease a bit, would have given her something to do other than worrying about Dima. But Persephone seemed to have a handle on her own braids, so Olena watched quietly instead.
Her request was heavy in the air, one that was simply at the mercy of the Queen. She could say no, could ask her own favors of the pair. There was no reason she couldn’t demand more of her. Olena had nothing and was at the mercy of the royal. If anyone recognized her, she would wholly depend on the Queen to keep her safe. Everything she could call hers had been given to her by someone else. And asking for a wedding meant that she would be at the charity of those around her, once again.
And yet, it seemed as if the Queen was more than willing to give her blessing. Even the restrictions, that she waited to hand over the papers to the temples until the danger had passed-- it was a little price to pay. She was not all that sure what it meant for them to wait to turn the papers over, but it wasn’t something that mattered much to her. As long as they both worked for the Queen, they would be under her household. If the Queen treated them as a married couple, then why would anything else matter? It was obvious that there was still much she didn’t know about the place, but she would learn.
“I do not mind what the temple thinks, or when they know. So long as I am his wife, then I will do as you ask.” She bowed her head again, grateful that they would make this work out. “I do not know much of Grecian weddings. I know the traditions of my people, and I would assume they are very different. What are they like?” She hoped they were not so family centric-- it would make it easy. She didn’t want to think about everything she lost on the day she would finally be getting it all back.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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There was every intention for Olena to step in and braid her lady’s hair. She knew how to braid, how to set hair in fashionable styles that were appealing to the eye. Before she was sold after her sister’s death, she made a point to be more of a mother to the other girls, meaning that she was the one who prepared them each morning. She had tried to set an example, tried to ease their minds about their future. Her training may not have been that of a ladies maid, but she could care for others.
Weren’t they one in the same?
A part of her itched to do more, to set the queen down and assist in the process of setting her hair. It would have put her mind at ease a bit, would have given her something to do other than worrying about Dima. But Persephone seemed to have a handle on her own braids, so Olena watched quietly instead.
Her request was heavy in the air, one that was simply at the mercy of the Queen. She could say no, could ask her own favors of the pair. There was no reason she couldn’t demand more of her. Olena had nothing and was at the mercy of the royal. If anyone recognized her, she would wholly depend on the Queen to keep her safe. Everything she could call hers had been given to her by someone else. And asking for a wedding meant that she would be at the charity of those around her, once again.
And yet, it seemed as if the Queen was more than willing to give her blessing. Even the restrictions, that she waited to hand over the papers to the temples until the danger had passed-- it was a little price to pay. She was not all that sure what it meant for them to wait to turn the papers over, but it wasn’t something that mattered much to her. As long as they both worked for the Queen, they would be under her household. If the Queen treated them as a married couple, then why would anything else matter? It was obvious that there was still much she didn’t know about the place, but she would learn.
“I do not mind what the temple thinks, or when they know. So long as I am his wife, then I will do as you ask.” She bowed her head again, grateful that they would make this work out. “I do not know much of Grecian weddings. I know the traditions of my people, and I would assume they are very different. What are they like?” She hoped they were not so family centric-- it would make it easy. She didn’t want to think about everything she lost on the day she would finally be getting it all back.
There was every intention for Olena to step in and braid her lady’s hair. She knew how to braid, how to set hair in fashionable styles that were appealing to the eye. Before she was sold after her sister’s death, she made a point to be more of a mother to the other girls, meaning that she was the one who prepared them each morning. She had tried to set an example, tried to ease their minds about their future. Her training may not have been that of a ladies maid, but she could care for others.
Weren’t they one in the same?
A part of her itched to do more, to set the queen down and assist in the process of setting her hair. It would have put her mind at ease a bit, would have given her something to do other than worrying about Dima. But Persephone seemed to have a handle on her own braids, so Olena watched quietly instead.
Her request was heavy in the air, one that was simply at the mercy of the Queen. She could say no, could ask her own favors of the pair. There was no reason she couldn’t demand more of her. Olena had nothing and was at the mercy of the royal. If anyone recognized her, she would wholly depend on the Queen to keep her safe. Everything she could call hers had been given to her by someone else. And asking for a wedding meant that she would be at the charity of those around her, once again.
And yet, it seemed as if the Queen was more than willing to give her blessing. Even the restrictions, that she waited to hand over the papers to the temples until the danger had passed-- it was a little price to pay. She was not all that sure what it meant for them to wait to turn the papers over, but it wasn’t something that mattered much to her. As long as they both worked for the Queen, they would be under her household. If the Queen treated them as a married couple, then why would anything else matter? It was obvious that there was still much she didn’t know about the place, but she would learn.
“I do not mind what the temple thinks, or when they know. So long as I am his wife, then I will do as you ask.” She bowed her head again, grateful that they would make this work out. “I do not know much of Grecian weddings. I know the traditions of my people, and I would assume they are very different. What are they like?” She hoped they were not so family centric-- it would make it easy. She didn’t want to think about everything she lost on the day she would finally be getting it all back.
When Olena assured Persephone that she wanted for nothing other than to be Demetrius' wife and provided that was a guarantee she would meet any form of restriction placed upon her, Persephone could not help but be touched. Abandoning her hair in a moment of emotional, female connection, she took a step forward and reached for Olena's hands. She took them into her own gently, with the softest of touches.
"You'll be a wedded couple legally in the three kingdoms of Greece, but not in the eyes of our Gods." She explained. Though, given that neither she nor Demetrius were originally from Greece, perhaps they would not mind such things. She avoided continuing the religious side of the conversation because she knew such things could be detrimental to discussions and friendships.
Then Olena asked about Grecian weddings, how they operated and what would need to be done in the form of a ceremony between Demetrius and Olena. To this, Persephone knew only the basics. Having never been married, and only recently becoming betrothed, she knew only the vast complexities and difficulties of a large and ornate royal wedding. Were commonfolk unions different? Or the same but performed on a smaller scale? Surely the latter? Weddings could not be so different in intention based on classes? Only in the execution, perhaps?
With a soft squeeze to Olena's fingers, Persephone smiled.
"There are many traditions and ceremonial trifles to the wedding ritual in Greece." She told the redhead without preamble. "But most are simply common practice more than legal requirement."
Persephone glanced at the windows and the rising sun beyond. She then looked back at the young woman who had sworn to tend to her now and whom she could finally offer something back to her.
"Come... I must set off for the festival soon. Perhaps you might help me with this hair and then come with me to the capitol? We could discuss the traditions of marriage on the way?" Her eyes were bright with consideration and friendship. "And if there are any rituals or habits from your own lands, I'm sure we could attempt to arrange them. Provided they would not offend our Gods, I'm sure they would see your married life fortuitous?"
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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When Olena assured Persephone that she wanted for nothing other than to be Demetrius' wife and provided that was a guarantee she would meet any form of restriction placed upon her, Persephone could not help but be touched. Abandoning her hair in a moment of emotional, female connection, she took a step forward and reached for Olena's hands. She took them into her own gently, with the softest of touches.
"You'll be a wedded couple legally in the three kingdoms of Greece, but not in the eyes of our Gods." She explained. Though, given that neither she nor Demetrius were originally from Greece, perhaps they would not mind such things. She avoided continuing the religious side of the conversation because she knew such things could be detrimental to discussions and friendships.
Then Olena asked about Grecian weddings, how they operated and what would need to be done in the form of a ceremony between Demetrius and Olena. To this, Persephone knew only the basics. Having never been married, and only recently becoming betrothed, she knew only the vast complexities and difficulties of a large and ornate royal wedding. Were commonfolk unions different? Or the same but performed on a smaller scale? Surely the latter? Weddings could not be so different in intention based on classes? Only in the execution, perhaps?
With a soft squeeze to Olena's fingers, Persephone smiled.
"There are many traditions and ceremonial trifles to the wedding ritual in Greece." She told the redhead without preamble. "But most are simply common practice more than legal requirement."
Persephone glanced at the windows and the rising sun beyond. She then looked back at the young woman who had sworn to tend to her now and whom she could finally offer something back to her.
"Come... I must set off for the festival soon. Perhaps you might help me with this hair and then come with me to the capitol? We could discuss the traditions of marriage on the way?" Her eyes were bright with consideration and friendship. "And if there are any rituals or habits from your own lands, I'm sure we could attempt to arrange them. Provided they would not offend our Gods, I'm sure they would see your married life fortuitous?"
When Olena assured Persephone that she wanted for nothing other than to be Demetrius' wife and provided that was a guarantee she would meet any form of restriction placed upon her, Persephone could not help but be touched. Abandoning her hair in a moment of emotional, female connection, she took a step forward and reached for Olena's hands. She took them into her own gently, with the softest of touches.
"You'll be a wedded couple legally in the three kingdoms of Greece, but not in the eyes of our Gods." She explained. Though, given that neither she nor Demetrius were originally from Greece, perhaps they would not mind such things. She avoided continuing the religious side of the conversation because she knew such things could be detrimental to discussions and friendships.
Then Olena asked about Grecian weddings, how they operated and what would need to be done in the form of a ceremony between Demetrius and Olena. To this, Persephone knew only the basics. Having never been married, and only recently becoming betrothed, she knew only the vast complexities and difficulties of a large and ornate royal wedding. Were commonfolk unions different? Or the same but performed on a smaller scale? Surely the latter? Weddings could not be so different in intention based on classes? Only in the execution, perhaps?
With a soft squeeze to Olena's fingers, Persephone smiled.
"There are many traditions and ceremonial trifles to the wedding ritual in Greece." She told the redhead without preamble. "But most are simply common practice more than legal requirement."
Persephone glanced at the windows and the rising sun beyond. She then looked back at the young woman who had sworn to tend to her now and whom she could finally offer something back to her.
"Come... I must set off for the festival soon. Perhaps you might help me with this hair and then come with me to the capitol? We could discuss the traditions of marriage on the way?" Her eyes were bright with consideration and friendship. "And if there are any rituals or habits from your own lands, I'm sure we could attempt to arrange them. Provided they would not offend our Gods, I'm sure they would see your married life fortuitous?"
There was no denying that Olena visibly brightened as Persephone said that they would be married to everyone but the Gods. She had been religious as a child, but her faith had been shaken nearly beyond repair as she lied underneath the pirate, as he took everything from her. She had stopped believing in them for a long time, and there was little she could thank them for. But perhaps now she needed to make the amends with them, to believe in them once more. After all, they had reunited her with Dima.
“That will be enough for me, I think.” She said, her eyes bright with the news. Marriage was all she wanted, and to know that it would happen upon his return lightened her heart. Worry melted away for the moment, excitement for the chance to finally be his wife, for a future like what they had pictured as children-- it was too much to hope for.
The squeeze of her hand was reassuring, that perhaps they could make the wedding their own. Olena hadn’t given a thought that it may have been different for royals, and since she was not a royal, her wedding would be different. Perhaps she would ask Lady Iris about the topic, to try and figure out how the wedding would take place. What would need to happen?
She was glad there had been no matchmaking, no need for her parents to pretend as if they would not let her marry Dima. It had been known since they were young that the two would wed. And there had even been talks of starting the traditions after harvest.
And then the village burned.
When he returned, perhaps she’d have a glass of honey waiting for him, to give him the chance to accept the idea of marriage.
Her mind was wandering as the Queen brought her back into focus. With a laugh, Olena nodded, “Yes, of course.” She set to work on the Queen’s hair, but as she thought about what it had been like to get married in her village, she went quiet. “My people focus on family in marriage. Most of the preparation and ceremony involve your family. I think it may be too painful to try and to incorporate too much.” She thought of her sisters, the ones who would never laugh with her as they undid her braids, celebrating her ascent into womanhood. She would never hand the pearls off to her sisters.
“I am sure it will be as perfect as it can be.” She said simply, hands moving quickly through the Queen’s hair to set it exactly as she had told her it needed to be. “There, you look common enough.” She said with a grin, not wishing to focus on the sadness that the idea of a wedding in her people’s customs. “But if you wish to hear how my people marry, I will tell you of the kidnappings and celebrations and games we played.”
Olena could distance herself enough to keep it facts. And perhaps it would be enough to distract the Queen from her worries as well.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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There was no denying that Olena visibly brightened as Persephone said that they would be married to everyone but the Gods. She had been religious as a child, but her faith had been shaken nearly beyond repair as she lied underneath the pirate, as he took everything from her. She had stopped believing in them for a long time, and there was little she could thank them for. But perhaps now she needed to make the amends with them, to believe in them once more. After all, they had reunited her with Dima.
“That will be enough for me, I think.” She said, her eyes bright with the news. Marriage was all she wanted, and to know that it would happen upon his return lightened her heart. Worry melted away for the moment, excitement for the chance to finally be his wife, for a future like what they had pictured as children-- it was too much to hope for.
The squeeze of her hand was reassuring, that perhaps they could make the wedding their own. Olena hadn’t given a thought that it may have been different for royals, and since she was not a royal, her wedding would be different. Perhaps she would ask Lady Iris about the topic, to try and figure out how the wedding would take place. What would need to happen?
She was glad there had been no matchmaking, no need for her parents to pretend as if they would not let her marry Dima. It had been known since they were young that the two would wed. And there had even been talks of starting the traditions after harvest.
And then the village burned.
When he returned, perhaps she’d have a glass of honey waiting for him, to give him the chance to accept the idea of marriage.
Her mind was wandering as the Queen brought her back into focus. With a laugh, Olena nodded, “Yes, of course.” She set to work on the Queen’s hair, but as she thought about what it had been like to get married in her village, she went quiet. “My people focus on family in marriage. Most of the preparation and ceremony involve your family. I think it may be too painful to try and to incorporate too much.” She thought of her sisters, the ones who would never laugh with her as they undid her braids, celebrating her ascent into womanhood. She would never hand the pearls off to her sisters.
“I am sure it will be as perfect as it can be.” She said simply, hands moving quickly through the Queen’s hair to set it exactly as she had told her it needed to be. “There, you look common enough.” She said with a grin, not wishing to focus on the sadness that the idea of a wedding in her people’s customs. “But if you wish to hear how my people marry, I will tell you of the kidnappings and celebrations and games we played.”
Olena could distance herself enough to keep it facts. And perhaps it would be enough to distract the Queen from her worries as well.
There was no denying that Olena visibly brightened as Persephone said that they would be married to everyone but the Gods. She had been religious as a child, but her faith had been shaken nearly beyond repair as she lied underneath the pirate, as he took everything from her. She had stopped believing in them for a long time, and there was little she could thank them for. But perhaps now she needed to make the amends with them, to believe in them once more. After all, they had reunited her with Dima.
“That will be enough for me, I think.” She said, her eyes bright with the news. Marriage was all she wanted, and to know that it would happen upon his return lightened her heart. Worry melted away for the moment, excitement for the chance to finally be his wife, for a future like what they had pictured as children-- it was too much to hope for.
The squeeze of her hand was reassuring, that perhaps they could make the wedding their own. Olena hadn’t given a thought that it may have been different for royals, and since she was not a royal, her wedding would be different. Perhaps she would ask Lady Iris about the topic, to try and figure out how the wedding would take place. What would need to happen?
She was glad there had been no matchmaking, no need for her parents to pretend as if they would not let her marry Dima. It had been known since they were young that the two would wed. And there had even been talks of starting the traditions after harvest.
And then the village burned.
When he returned, perhaps she’d have a glass of honey waiting for him, to give him the chance to accept the idea of marriage.
Her mind was wandering as the Queen brought her back into focus. With a laugh, Olena nodded, “Yes, of course.” She set to work on the Queen’s hair, but as she thought about what it had been like to get married in her village, she went quiet. “My people focus on family in marriage. Most of the preparation and ceremony involve your family. I think it may be too painful to try and to incorporate too much.” She thought of her sisters, the ones who would never laugh with her as they undid her braids, celebrating her ascent into womanhood. She would never hand the pearls off to her sisters.
“I am sure it will be as perfect as it can be.” She said simply, hands moving quickly through the Queen’s hair to set it exactly as she had told her it needed to be. “There, you look common enough.” She said with a grin, not wishing to focus on the sadness that the idea of a wedding in her people’s customs. “But if you wish to hear how my people marry, I will tell you of the kidnappings and celebrations and games we played.”
Olena could distance herself enough to keep it facts. And perhaps it would be enough to distract the Queen from her worries as well.