- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Magical, Modern, Fandom, Supernatural
zoya a. i. sokolovsky
Zoya felt as if her world spun right before her eyes in a matter of a week. Of course, it took longer than a week, but there were many things came to fruition all at once. The beloved queen of Russia passed away, the king and citizenry mourned her death, and soon a carriage arrived requesting she come at once. She thought it was an odd request, as she was only apart of one of the many noble families and she never interacted with the king before. Nonetheless, her mother fussed over her and she rushed to the king.
The visit to the king was nerve-wracking. She waited patiently as the king conducted his prior audiences, but when she was finally ushered in, butterflies filled her stomach. She would rather fight a bear than stand in front of the king in that moment. When the king opened his lips and mentioned his fatherhood of her, Zoya was speechless. She always believed her father was the man her mother married, but she did wonder why both of them didn't have flaming red hair like hers. The more she examined the king, she saw much of herself in him. She had many questions, but was unable to ask them. The king carried on talking, and it was more respectful of her to listen patiently than to badger.
The king insisted Zoya be moved into the palace immediately, with plans for proper recognition of this bastard child, declaring her a rightful heir to the throne, and a coronation of princess of Russia. Everything occurred at once, thus a whirlwind of events spiraling out of the grasp of Zoya's mind. She remembered pieces of the following couple of weeks, but she wasn't sure what she was looking at. Her memory was fogging, full of lavish dinners, the announcement of her recognition and coronation, the introduction to her siblings and nobles close to the king. She was grateful to grow in a noble family, as little training was necessary.
The king held an extraordinary coronation for her. It was the late spring of 1856, a beautiful sunny day blessing the newly emerging princess. Zoya was bounced around from maid to maid to ready her for the coronation until it was time to usher her to a church to say her vows. The citizens lined the streets, guards keeping them at bay. They waved, screamed, and cried as she passed. Children ran past their mothers' skirts, chasing the carriage with flowers in their hands. As she rode in the carriage, her heart raced and her hands shook in nervousness. Her chest felt tight, giving her breathing difficulty.
Only few were let into the church to witness her coronation. The family she left behind sat in the front row, having a clear view of her. Zoya did her best to remain and look calm as she glided down the large aisle, a heavy crown atop her head, a scepter and sphere in either hand, and a large cape on her shoulders. She took her vows, ignoring the anxiety rushing through her veins. Her mind focused on her family, ignoring the rest of the nobles witnessing her emergence. The ceremony didn't take long, and she was amazed at how long it felt.
The king led Zoya up to a balcony of a church, where she would now become Princess Zoya Anastasia Irene Sokolovsky. When she appeared on the balcony, the crowd cheered loudly, quieting at a raise of the hand by the king. A royal messenger announced her title as Zoya smiled and waved at the crowd. Cheers rang throughout the town of in St. Petersburg, and she was sure they could be heard by all of Europe and in Asia. A weight lifted off of Zoya's shoulders that day, and she felt like a different woman. When her father leaned in, whispering of a banquet to celebrate her coronation and find her a match in marriage, she wasn't surprised. She was a little older than expected to be married, which meant it was only proper for her to have a husband quickly.
As soon as the guards could make way for the carriage to take the king and her back to the palace, and the carriage traversed the wave of civilians, Zoya found herself standing in her bedroom at the palace. She stood by her bed, clutching the bedpost tightly. A maid pulled the strings of her corset, a slight gasp in breath leaving her lips each time it tightened around her body. She thought the corsets her mother fastened on her were tight, but the royal ones were even tighter. She wasn't sure how she would be able to live tonight, but it would be embarrassing if she fainted.
Zoya allowed the maids to pull her red locks into a loose and low bun on the back of her head. Two strands in the front were curled closely to her face and a decorative comb was shoved into her hair. Her jewelry from the coronation was exchanged for gold and garnets. Garnet earrings hung from her ears, a matching necklace draped on her neck, and a ring slipped onto her finger. Once the jewelry was on, she was shoved into a beautiful red and gold gown, cut low to show off some of her bosom. Matching slippers were silpped onto her feet and it was time to make her appearance downstairs.
Zoya's older brother, Artyom, stood outside her door, regaled in military attire and adorned in some decorative badges. She took his arm, allowing her to take her down to the feast. She made conversation with him, thankful her new family was quick to accept her in their hearts. Before she was allowed in, she was showed off to the guests, and she was astonished at how many came to ask for her hand in marriage. Various cultures stood within that room, and she wondered what the price for her hand was. Pushing that thought from her mind, she went with her escort, going down to sit besides her father.
Zoya searched the room and danced with different men when asked. Some were handsome, but she couldn't tell how she felt about them. Others were not so handsome and made her want to bathe in the hottest of water when the night was over. After an hour and a half of dancing, she settled in the throne, a cup of wine in one hand, the other on the arm of the throne she resided in. She conversed with her father, taking a sip of her wine. As she took a sip of her wine, her eyes scanned the room and saw a handsome young man approaching them. She lowered the glass, watching him with intrigue. With her eyes still on the man and his ears possibly within range of her conversation, she asked her father, "Who is that handsome man that approaches us?"
[c] themysteriousashe.
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✦ ZOYA A. I. SOKOLOVSKY ✦✦ ✦ ✦ Zoya felt as if her world spun right before her eyes in a matter of a week. Of course, it took longer than a week, but there were many things came to fruition all at once. The beloved queen of Russia passed away, the king and citizenry mourned her death, and soon a carriage arrived requesting she come at once. She thought it was an odd request, as she was only apart of one of the many noble families and she never interacted with the king before. Nonetheless, her mother fussed over her and she rushed to the king.
The visit to the king was nerve-wracking. She waited patiently as the king conducted his prior audiences, but when she was finally ushered in, butterflies filled her stomach. She would rather fight a bear than stand in front of the king in that moment. When the king opened his lips and mentioned his fatherhood of her, Zoya was speechless. She always believed her father was the man her mother married, but she did wonder why both of them didn't have flaming red hair like hers. The more she examined the king, she saw much of herself in him. She had many questions, but was unable to ask them. The king carried on talking, and it was more respectful of her to listen patiently than to badger.
The king insisted Zoya be moved into the palace immediately, with plans for proper recognition of this bastard child, declaring her a rightful heir to the throne, and a coronation of princess of Russia. Everything occurred at once, thus a whirlwind of events spiraling out of the grasp of Zoya's mind. She remembered pieces of the following couple of weeks, but she wasn't sure what she was looking at. Her memory was fogging, full of lavish dinners, the announcement of her recognition and coronation, the introduction to her siblings and nobles close to the king. She was grateful to grow in a noble family, as little training was necessary.
The king held an extraordinary coronation for her. It was the late spring of 1856, a beautiful sunny day blessing the newly emerging princess. Zoya was bounced around from maid to maid to ready her for the coronation until it was time to usher her to a church to say her vows. The citizens lined the streets, guards keeping them at bay. They waved, screamed, and cried as she passed. Children ran past their mothers' skirts, chasing the carriage with flowers in their hands. As she rode in the carriage, her heart raced and her hands shook in nervousness. Her chest felt tight, giving her breathing difficulty.
Only few were let into the church to witness her coronation. The family she left behind sat in the front row, having a clear view of her. Zoya did her best to remain and look calm as she glided down the large aisle, a heavy crown atop her head, a scepter and sphere in either hand, and a large cape on her shoulders. She took her vows, ignoring the anxiety rushing through her veins. Her mind focused on her family, ignoring the rest of the nobles witnessing her emergence. The ceremony didn't take long, and she was amazed at how long it felt.
The king led Zoya up to a balcony of a church, where she would now become Princess Zoya Anastasia Irene Sokolovsky. When she appeared on the balcony, the crowd cheered loudly, quieting at a raise of the hand by the king. A royal messenger announced her title as Zoya smiled and waved at the crowd. Cheers rang throughout the town of in St. Petersburg, and she was sure they could be heard by all of Europe and in Asia. A weight lifted off of Zoya's shoulders that day, and she felt like a different woman. When her father leaned in, whispering of a banquet to celebrate her coronation and find her a match in marriage, she wasn't surprised. She was a little older than expected to be married, which meant it was only proper for her to have a husband quickly.
As soon as the guards could make way for the carriage to take the king and her back to the palace, and the carriage traversed the wave of civilians, Zoya found herself standing in her bedroom at the palace. She stood by her bed, clutching the bedpost tightly. A maid pulled the strings of her corset, a slight gasp in breath leaving her lips each time it tightened around her body. She thought the corsets her mother fastened on her were tight, but the royal ones were even tighter. She wasn't sure how she would be able to live tonight, but it would be embarrassing if she fainted.
Zoya allowed the maids to pull her red locks into a loose and low bun on the back of her head. Two strands in the front were curled closely to her face and a decorative comb was shoved into her hair. Her jewelry from the coronation was exchanged for gold and garnets. Garnet earrings hung from her ears, a matching necklace draped on her neck, and a ring slipped onto her finger. Once the jewelry was on, she was shoved into a beautiful red and gold gown, cut low to show off some of her bosom. Matching slippers were silpped onto her feet and it was time to make her appearance downstairs.
Zoya's older brother, Artyom, stood outside her door, regaled in military attire and adorned in some decorative badges. She took his arm, allowing her to take her down to the feast. She made conversation with him, thankful her new family was quick to accept her in their hearts. Before she was allowed in, she was showed off to the guests, and she was astonished at how many came to ask for her hand in marriage. Various cultures stood within that room, and she wondered what the price for her hand was. Pushing that thought from her mind, she went with her escort, going down to sit besides her father.
Zoya searched the room and danced with different men when asked. Some were handsome, but she couldn't tell how she felt about them. Others were not so handsome and made her want to bathe in the hottest of water when the night was over. After an hour and a half of dancing, she settled in the throne, a cup of wine in one hand, the other on the arm of the throne she resided in. She conversed with her father, taking a sip of her wine. As she took a sip of her wine, her eyes scanned the room and saw a handsome young man approaching them. She lowered the glass, watching him with intrigue. With her eyes still on the man and his ears possibly within range of her conversation, she asked her father, "Who is that handsome man that approaches us?"
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