The wind whipped the cold water of the Channel. The foam was clinging to the ship as if it was the remnant of the souls of those who had drowned there across the centuries. On the deck, Anna was watching the fog. The drops of saline water splashing now and then, didn't undermine her quiet state. Sometimes the sailors would glance at her, probably wondering what she was thinking or marveling at the alabaster of her face and the pale blue of her eyes under those long black lashes.
| Attributes | Values |
|---|
| rdfs:label
| |
| rdfs:comment
| - The wind whipped the cold water of the Channel. The foam was clinging to the ship as if it was the remnant of the souls of those who had drowned there across the centuries. On the deck, Anna was watching the fog. The drops of saline water splashing now and then, didn't undermine her quiet state. Sometimes the sailors would glance at her, probably wondering what she was thinking or marveling at the alabaster of her face and the pale blue of her eyes under those long black lashes.
|
| ig name
| |
| Forum Name
| |
| CoA
| |
| Picture
| |
| Full title
| - Princess Anna Rose Mélusina of the Distinguished and Exalted House of Llewellynn Morgan, Baroness of Aberarth
|
| Country
| |
| Name
| |
| dbkwik:renaissance...iPageUsesTemplate
| |
| Address
| |
| county
| |
| resident
| - Baronny of Aberarth, west Wales
|
| Motto
| - Fortune ffafrio'r beiddgar
|
| Gender
| |
| abstract
| - The wind whipped the cold water of the Channel. The foam was clinging to the ship as if it was the remnant of the souls of those who had drowned there across the centuries. On the deck, Anna was watching the fog. The drops of saline water splashing now and then, didn't undermine her quiet state. Sometimes the sailors would glance at her, probably wondering what she was thinking or marveling at the alabaster of her face and the pale blue of her eyes under those long black lashes. What she was thinking was that she was carried away from everything she had always known, ripped from that all. Saved from it. Inhaling, she remembered the warmth and the repulsive scent of the stake, burning away the witches. She remembered the Duchess, her beloved Mistress, taken so suddenly by death. She remembered the harsh life at Mount Saint-Michael and the sweet perfume from the herb garden. She remembered him and his honeyed words, his terrible betrayal. The sight of the Norman coast was already clouded by the fog, and yet she could almost draw its shadow if only she had the courage to turn her head. But she did not. This was her farewell to Normandy, a duchy she both hated and adored. With time, perhaps, the bitterness would melt and only melancholy would be left to give an enchanting aura to her memories of the landscapes. Somewhere ahead, a new life was waiting for her. Sorrow danced with hope in her eyes as she prayed silently to leave her previous treacherous existence, running from court to court, from a masquerade to another, for something less deceiving... less dangerous.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)