( It rolls off unnoticed, in the way of people who are just used to that; Gwenaëlle isn't, particularly, a creature of the court suited to that life or generally interested in engaging in its habits. The problem, historically, has been that she's never had anything else to do or be--
but then the anchor-shard in her hand that matches his own chained her to the Inquisition, and necessity is the mother of invention.
The double doors she opens lead into a split-story library that looks set to become, when she's finished remaking it in her own image, the beating heart of her home; row upon row of shelves in the process of being emptied, an enormous fireplace set below twinned staircases with a generous seating and working area. Portraits that have been taken down are leaned against the wall, half-covered by fabric; above the fireplace hangs an image of the lady herself, recognisable in the profile of her face tilted back over her shoulder and -
er.
Well, it's a back view, but the portrait is a full length, faithfully reproduced nude - it had been completed before her tangle with the rage demon, but Gwenaëlle had posed a second time, and the scars have been added in, claw-marks scored into her skin, slashing up the back of one thigh and winding vicious around her hip and waist. If she weren't wearing a blouse buttoned to her throat, they'd be visible at her decolletage now to see just how far they go on the other side.
She does not seem to find this unusual or worthy of comment. Servants bustle, but they have other tasks to complete as well as emptying out her library; the work is steady, but it won't be completed in a day. A week might even be ambitious. She's probably hoping some of the people who come to collect will make themselves useful and speed the process. )
Take what you like. I'll not be setting anything aside; if someone else comes to take it in between times, that's life.
no subject
but then the anchor-shard in her hand that matches his own chained her to the Inquisition, and necessity is the mother of invention.
The double doors she opens lead into a split-story library that looks set to become, when she's finished remaking it in her own image, the beating heart of her home; row upon row of shelves in the process of being emptied, an enormous fireplace set below twinned staircases with a generous seating and working area. Portraits that have been taken down are leaned against the wall, half-covered by fabric; above the fireplace hangs an image of the lady herself, recognisable in the profile of her face tilted back over her shoulder and -
er.
Well, it's a back view, but the portrait is a full length, faithfully reproduced nude - it had been completed before her tangle with the rage demon, but Gwenaëlle had posed a second time, and the scars have been added in, claw-marks scored into her skin, slashing up the back of one thigh and winding vicious around her hip and waist. If she weren't wearing a blouse buttoned to her throat, they'd be visible at her decolletage now to see just how far they go on the other side.
She does not seem to find this unusual or worthy of comment. Servants bustle, but they have other tasks to complete as well as emptying out her library; the work is steady, but it won't be completed in a day. A week might even be ambitious. She's probably hoping some of the people who come to collect will make themselves useful and speed the process. )
Take what you like. I'll not be setting anything aside; if someone else comes to take it in between times, that's life.