- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Female
For as much as Fira was suffering, Amadeus' hand against her cheek eased every coiled up nerve in her body. She knew, subconsciously, what this attack meant for them — it meant that the days of playing keep away from Peter were coming to an end and they would have to find themselves in the thick of it. Fira would have to learn how to lead, to stand strong and steadfast, and to ensure that decisions were being made that supported their troops and protected the people. It had to be easy for Peter, just deploying men and not giving a damn who lived or died. But Fira would never want the easy way, she would not let anyone die needlessly.
People would die, certainly, but the least Fira could do was ensure that their death was not in vain. Fighting and dying for a cause was noble, but no life could be easily sacrificed. That would not change — war, she swore to herself, would never change her into the kind of human that Peter was. They would become desperate, but she was smarter than that — more so, she knew Amadeus would never let her do something like that. He never feared giving her his opinion before and she almost came to rely on it sometimes. He may have been a pauper, but he was the most brilliant player in this game.
So many people spoke about how special she was, but they did not understand the depth to which Amadeus Osmont singlehandedly orchestrated the entire operation based on wisdom and a moral compass pointing north.
She could not really make out his words, but she could feel the depth of his voice in her bones. It was easier to hold on when he was there, not because she could not survive alone, but he gave her someone to look for, a north star in the darkness. It was easier to stay awake when it meant she could see him there.
Fira leave.
She could see his lips make their way around the words and her hand instinctively tightened on his shirt. She was in no place to argue and she knew that above all else, she needed to focus on healing, but she knew those words. She didn't have to hear him talk to know that her leaving didn't include him going with her. She wanted to cry out and protest, to tell him that he was not allowed to make decisions for her, but she did did not see the Duke respond. It was his army, his town, she would follow his decision.
But something told her in his iron scowl that nothing was going to drag him from home.
"Ama," she breathed out, only able to manage the first part of his name. It was breathy and tired, but it felt good to speak to him, to be able to say his name.
People would die, certainly, but the least Fira could do was ensure that their death was not in vain. Fighting and dying for a cause was noble, but no life could be easily sacrificed. That would not change — war, she swore to herself, would never change her into the kind of human that Peter was. They would become desperate, but she was smarter than that — more so, she knew Amadeus would never let her do something like that. He never feared giving her his opinion before and she almost came to rely on it sometimes. He may have been a pauper, but he was the most brilliant player in this game.
So many people spoke about how special she was, but they did not understand the depth to which Amadeus Osmont singlehandedly orchestrated the entire operation based on wisdom and a moral compass pointing north.
She could not really make out his words, but she could feel the depth of his voice in her bones. It was easier to hold on when he was there, not because she could not survive alone, but he gave her someone to look for, a north star in the darkness. It was easier to stay awake when it meant she could see him there.
Fira leave.
She could see his lips make their way around the words and her hand instinctively tightened on his shirt. She was in no place to argue and she knew that above all else, she needed to focus on healing, but she knew those words. She didn't have to hear him talk to know that her leaving didn't include him going with her. She wanted to cry out and protest, to tell him that he was not allowed to make decisions for her, but she did did not see the Duke respond. It was his army, his town, she would follow his decision.
But something told her in his iron scowl that nothing was going to drag him from home.
"Ama," she breathed out, only able to manage the first part of his name. It was breathy and tired, but it felt good to speak to him, to be able to say his name.