Change (prelude)

The sound of its hooves on the stone streets haunts Eveline's mind, as she just wants to get away from everyone, and the impressive steed, being Ludecke's, makes it feel like a taunt. Her mind is in uproar, wreaking havoc on herself as she races up the still street, her steps too long and fast for the dress to offer her any semblance of dignity. The stalking hooves are indeed annoying, but she is stuck inside her mind where she's screaming at anyone daring to pop up as she produces their mental simulacra, dumb and ashamed, before her...but also at herself. The knowledge that nothing of this would've happened if she'd just kept her nosy mind away from Günther's looms over everything, silently but harshly judging. 

It feels like the way home never ends, much like in a nightmare where distance carries no meaning and one's steps are as if stuck in mud, but she gets there finally. She races up the stairs, eery sobbing echoing through the stairwell as it lacks the drawing of breath, and finally reaches her apartment. She'd nurtured an unspoken wish that she'd feel safe as soon as she's through the door to her own home, but as soon as she slams the door shut behind herself, leaning against it hoping it'll grant her mind some of its stability, she looks around and only sees Him. It's all Him. 


"No. NOOO!!" She reaches for the closest thing from the top of the hallway chest of drawers - a shallow bowl in metal, apparently - and throws it as hard as she can, hoping it hits the entire apartment. But it only hits the far wall and falls to the floor with a mocking clang. '...that's IT!' The chaos ravaging her mind is gone, replaced by a focused rage. 

With an outstretched arm she empties the top of the fitment in one fast sweep. The cacaphony of various items hitting the floor feeds her, as if it were a sign she's expelled her inner chaos to the material world instead. It feels good. Very good. But there's still so much hurt. Eveline growls and reaches for the hallway mirror and tears it off the wall - it stands no chance against the unyielding floor, and shatters in countless pieces. So good! The rest of the apartment fares no better. She stops trying to overturn the larger pieces of furniture, however, after giving the couch in the living room a furious try, leaving her with a bitter sensation of weakness, so she settles for the armchairs and a couple of sideboards of the slimmer variant. 

Eveline's lost sense of time, but after a while someone's knocking loudly on the door. She stops, standing deathly still, hoping she only imagined the blunt sound. But it returns, and she realises she needs to do something about it. The sudden and unwelcome guest does rouse her more rational part, fortunately, and she clears her throat for the coming performance, reminding her to breathe, should the interloper be one of her kine neighbours, which most likely is the case. She walks over broken glass and whatever else had the misfortune of entering her gaze during her rampage and opens the door slightly, peeking through the opening with a devastated look on her face. 

"Ehm, excuse us, miss...is everything alright??" A man in his late 30's and his remarkably short wife - a couple Eveline recognises as her neighbours from the apartment below her - stares at her with worried eyes. The extent of the destruction dawns on her, and she realises she might need more than just apologising, so she envelops them with her Awe, and responds:

"Forgive me, please. An artist all too often forgets their surroundings. I fear my creativity got the best of me...but I can assure you, everything is alright - the process is often demanding, dragging us along its capricious wakes. I regret it's necessary, however, so I'd be most grateful if you'd bear with me..." Eveline looks back into the apartment for a second, and then - aiming to lighten the mood - adds: "It's not like there's much left to destroy anyway." Her chuckle mixes with a wayward sob, granting her a rather heartbreaking aura. The couple sympathises - of course - with the tortured artist, as their concern for her safety subsides, leaving only the type of concern most keep for the moody artisan. 

"Oh...of course. Just...do tell if there's anything we can do for you, miss. Why don't you come by some day and we can talk about your art." The tiny woman - the more empathetically gifted of the two - nudges her man in his back, prompting him to add: "O-or we can talk about something else. Of course!"

"You are too kind, monsieur....madame...I'll definitely think about it. Thank you!" Convinced they're satisfied, Eveline slowly closes the door, granting the couple a last crooked smile. Once again she stands with her back to the door, and while most of her fury has abated, there's something gnawing at the back of her mind. Something she's almost forgotten. She walks into the destroyed living room, her eyes searching the floor for that which eludes her. She almost reaches her bedroom before: '...we'll make them forg...! That's it! The ruined church!'

Eveline darts to her painting room. All the paraphernalia lie scattered on the floor, of course, so it's with a frustrated sigh she begins picking up the things she needs. She regrets the few bottles of assorted spirits the kept there all succumbed to the destruction - she could definitely do with a steep glass of whiskey - but there's no time to waste! Why is it so hard to remember?? She foregoes the charcoal pen entirely - there's no structure to her memory, anyway! - and starts mixing paints on her palette in a hurry. The easel luckily survived the onslaught unscathed, so she puts it back up and fastens a canvas with almost panicked hands. As she starts swathing it with long and powerful strokes she quickly realises it's too small, so she shrieks in frustration and rips it violently from the easel and smashes it against her knee, and then throws the pieces against the wall.

"fuuUUUCK!!"

Her hands are balled again, but there's nothing left to smash, so she gets a chance to regain her composure (strong word, I know), and she takes it. Against the wall are a few empty canvases and she grabs the largest, promptly fastening it. She dives in right away! The frustration from dealing with such a slippery memory forces her to rely on the emotions evoked by it instead. Conflicting emotions, often. Love intermingled with great sorrow...and wrath! There was snow! Deep shades of blue dominate the painting as Eveline struggles to keep the memory still. The lack of details is vexing, but she can't afford to pay it any attention, so she blasts the poor canvas with paint, colours corresponding with what she'd see if the church had an aura. Her strokes emulate the associated emotions - erratic and violent for the rage, slow and with paint running down the canvas for the sorrow. Careful and abundant for the love. 

Finally she realises there's really no room for more paint, and while she can't really tell if the painting actually represent the ruins very well, she truly thinks she nailed the emotions that came with the memory. Practically soaked in paint of all manner of colours - all mixing, creating a myriad of shades eating into each other - Eveline regrets the dress she borrowed at the Prince's mansion after the party, is thoroughly destroyed. She'd feel ashamed, but has nothing left within her. Not in a weakened way, mind you. It's as if she has poured all herself into the painting, leaving her body still and new, like a snake shedding its skin. She can think clearly now, and she knows immediately what she has to do.

Eveline removes her clothes and goes to find pen and paper.

Dressed only in gloves of pure paint and the occasional blotch on her face and chest, Eveline digs deep into her opulent wardrobe. 'What to wear?' She rustles through the many options before suddenly standing back and exclaims triumphantly: "Perfect!"

It's the same black dress she wore as she arrived in Andorra, so many nights ago. Its skirt is without a bustle entirely, as she bought it specifically for her journey here, and such a contraption would have made said journey a living hell, that's for sure. It comes with a high collar - likely to protect the wearer from ruthless gusts of wind, but since that won't be a problem for her, she rather likes it for the style of it. As she owns no boots made for traversing the wilds, Eveline chooses a pair that offers the most comfort, while still complementing the dress, of course. The hat has a medium sized brim and a great plume reaching backwards from the left side of the crown - all black. Her gloves are long, reaching all the way to her elbows and made in fine leather, draping her slender fingers in what almost seems like a second layer of skin. Black.

The only thing that breaks this somber colour code is her handbag, chosen for its sturdy material and design, in an oxblood red hue. She is about to leave without one, but realises she'll likely go crazy out there if she can't create, craft, sculpt from time to time. If she is to grow out there, she must create, she knows that much. So she snatches the bag from a high shelf within the wardrobe and hurries into the desolated crafts room to pick up some gear. As she's satisfied she stands still, going over her plan, when she can't not notice the huge painting in front of her. 

It's still a mystery to her. Maybe even more now, even...but she knows where it came from. And so might others. ...it won't be the first time she smashes one of her own paintings, but this one she struggles to destroy. She finally manages, however, simply because it'd be careless to leave it intact. And while painful, there's actually something cleansing about ruining it. Her spoken response is immediate and comes without thought: "All beauty must die." 

'...huh.'

Eveline turns around and walks into the living room - the center of the apartment. Looking around, she knows it's time to go. She goes into the bedroom and rolls up the bedspread with a pillow inside it (just because she's leaving for the wilds doesn't mean she can't bring some items of comfort!) and carries the bundle under her left arm. In the hallway she sees the crossbow leaning against the wall. A pang of all the hurt returns, as she remembers the Prince's complete disbelief in her marksmanship. 'So, I can't shoot, huh?' One part of her wants to leave without it, to prove her Prince being right..like some self destructive revenge, but the part that wins is the one that wants to prove the Prince wrong, while doing it to prove her value to Her (no, it's not easy being Eveline). 

So with a crossbow slung over her shoulder, a handbag and some rolled-up beddings, Eveline leaves her apartment, locks the door and leaves the key under the door mat. The sound of the lock feels...fateful, somehow. In a good way, mind you. She sneaks down the stairs and opens the door outside carefully. Standing on the stone staircase she looks up and down the street, asking herself:

"Where to, then?"

A young man passes by with a carriage, not the fancy kind, but not just a farmer's carriage either. He stops as he sees you.

"Good evening Miss. Are you looking for a ride? It is late to walk alone. Do you have a chaperone?"

"Pff." Eveline snorts at the 'sudden' passers-by, wholly convinced the boy is some henchman of Ludecke's.


"Have you been waiting long?" Her tone is rather laced with defiance as she puts her fists on her hips, awaiting the supposed stalker's response.

She squints her eyes and tries to gauge his aura (Aura perception: 3 sux).

She sees that this man is a human, he feels generous, compassionate and happy at the moment.

"Not at all miss. I was just passing by, I'm finishing my work this evening but I have time for one more route should you need it. I understand your hesitance though, one can never be too careful at this time at night. I am sorry if I gave the impression of trying to take advantage of your situation, I truly just wanted to help."

'Huh.' The allure of sincere compassion - even if it does come from a common man, a kine - is almost as strong as the scent of warm blood in her current state, so her suspicious face melts away and leaves only a sliver of a smile in its stead. 

"A lone woman can't be too careful - I'm glad you understand, monsieur." Eveline descends the stairs, approaching the carriage. "...I was expecting someone to pick me up, but I shall have to shamefully admit I've been abandoned. I'd very much appreciate a ride - I'm still expected to show up, you see, and I'd very much like to be rid of this...rifle-bow! before it goes off and pins me to a building!" (Man+Subt= 2 sux) She nods to the crossbow on her back with a weary look. It's not loaded, but hopes that her feigned ignorance reassures the man she's not unlike most women.

"I'd be dreadfully disappointed if I was found dead in some ditch by tomorrow, so I hope I don't ask too much of you to take me all the way to Engolasters?"

He chuckles at that. "Of course not." Then he hops off and opens the door for her, helping her inside. "It is not that long a ride, but I must warn you, the last bit of road can be a bit uneven."

He then hops up and gets the carriage moving. Unless she tells him off, he'll small talk during the way, always in a pleasant and happy tone of voice. She gets the feeling he might not talk much with his customers normally, but that he would like to.

He tells her stories of previous customers, never mentioning names, if he even knows them, but funny little events he has witnessed in his work. Once a man and his mistress were in his carriage and when they reached the mistress' home, his wife was there, entering a carriage, with his mistress' husband. Another time he had a little girl being told of by her father, she thought him unfair so she kicked his shin leg. He told her off again so she did it again, and it repeated the whole trip. "Listen to me young lady AH... You stop that Ouch... Right now OW!" But his favourite was on a Christmas eve, where a family practised their Christmas songs as they were in the waggon, apparently it was one of the highlights that Christmas.

"Oh, tell me about it! I shall never forgive them for buying a cottage all the way up there," she responds with lighthearted sarcasm, adding to the story that she is travelling to friends. Eveline gladly accepts the man's help into the carriage and immediately leans the 'rifle-bow' on the seat beside her - she is not used to carrying heavy things; it's cumbersome and hinders her movements, but she still worries the most on how it must crumple the dress.

At first she is merely surprised that he is so talkative, why she answers him in short, albeit polite replies, but as the number of his stories grow, she loosens up more and more. Soon enough she is quite engulfed in his tales, and laughs out loud or asks hungry questions to learn more of the characters she's granting life in her creative mind. At the Christmas story, Eveline's moved to a single tear even, remarking also that she don't think she actually celebrated the last one herself, something she assures both him and herself she'll remedy come next Christmas. She leans back into a corner of the carriage, relaxing as she takes a deep breath, noticing she hasn't felt this human since...well, since she was one. And she really looks forward to Christmas.