horology | the darkling

welcome to seraphina's circus

legend - the score

'here we go, here we go
it's my turn to make history
here we go, here we go
when I'm gone they'll remember me'

/

'magic tumbled from her pretty lips and when she spoke the language of the universe, the stars sighed in unison' - michael faudet

-

seraphina

Seraphina strolled through the lengthy halls of the magnificent house she called her humble abode, fiddling with a cream coloured feather. The house was not so much a house as a castle, fit for a king. In a way, Vladimir Vessensky was a king. He commanded the First Army of Ravka, the order of non-Grisha soldiers.

General Vessensky had taken a liking to the colours red, white, gold and black in all their shades and forms. Apart form the eggshell interior walls of the house, red dominated the most part of the furniture, entwined with a frame of gold to give the house an elegant overtone. The house was a living representation of Shakespearean tragedies; sophisticated and classy but with a haunting chill hidden under the glamorous façade.

There was only one room in the house that contrasted the carefully plotted colour scheme of the house; the Colonel's own war room. The whole room was constructed completely out of an assorted array of woods. Mahoganhy, white oak, pine, ash, cherry were some of the woods that she was able to identify but there were many more. The central table bore an impressive display of the whole of the known lands; it boasted a detailed model of the Wandering Isles and the Permafrost but the most astounding depiction was, of course, of Ravka.

The city of Os Alta rose from the depths of the two dimensional landscape into a gleaming city of wooden buildings. The Little Palace was an exceptionally comprehensive model; every single window, tree and door drawn in perfect detail. An 18 year old Seraphina had seen the Little Palace once in on a visit to her father who had been called in to discuss a new battle strategy.

She remembered wearing a wine red dress, long hands crossed behind her back as she paced through the sweet smelling gardens to find her father. Grisha walked past her, head held high in dignity or obscene self-absorption while footmen rushed passed in a hushed and hurried manner. They reeked of exhaustion. She recalled that they were on their way to welcome a duke and his snobby wife.

The war room was strictly off limits to every servant, footman and even to Serafina and her mother, Dominika. But no force of human or nature could prevent her from satisfying her curious and cunning nature. She would find that a locked door would be magically unlocked by a bribed servant or that a window would be open when she fancied a climb up to the room.

If she had a coin from everything she had managed to sneak into her father's war council, Serafina would be rich beyond her dreams.

Of course, she could simply stop time to wander in, undetected and unscathed but she disliked using her powers in her own house. It felt traitorous to her unsuspecting parents since she had been concealed her powers from them for 18 years. They didn't know what she was capable of or what she truly was. In some way she would never admit, she was terrified of them discovering the truth.

Even as a child, she was fascinated with the art of war and strategies in which armies could be overthrown by the rational of a single man. She dedicated her free time to practicing man-led activities like archery, fencing, chess, mathematical lessons and analysing the recorded battle strategies of infamous generals. She despised lady-like enterprises such as embroidery, painting and sitting still.