Rot ━ Mal Oretsev ✓

018: LETTERS FROM THE PAST

   Thalia, usually, isn't a very confident person.

It was rather funny, really. She did not know many words or how to put them in the way she truly meant, but she never stopped talking. She blamed Zaria, who was possibly the most confident person to have ever walked this very earth (next to Zoya) for rubbing off on her.

So, when her voice failed her, Thalia turned to writing. Whether it be letters, maybe a song or a poem. When she could not bring herself to speak, she touched a pen to paper and wrote until her hand ached and after that, too.

And you can call her every name under the sun for this, if you'd please, but Thalia is going to let you in on a little secret. Every night, when Mal has fallen asleep beside her and she cannot seem to join him, she whips out her notebook and pen and writes.

Thus meaning that by the esteemed end of their journey, Thalia has filled a compartment of her bag with wrinkled paper stained with words of admiration and declarations of love. Ones that she does not think will ever see the light of day, not if she has anything to do with it.

   "We'll be there soon," Mal had informed her, breaking the silence between them. He had not spoken throughout their journey, his voice failing him the very same way that Thalia's had her. "I'm not sure what your plans are for when we get back, but I'll have to inform Yakovlev of our discovery."

Thalia gave a meagre nod, her gaze fixed on the moving ground beneath the horses body, "OK. I'll come with you, if you'd like."

To her displeasure, Mal had shaken his head. "I think it's something I should do on my own. Shouldn't you be getting back to the Little Palace for the fete, anyway? I doubt it's something you want to miss."

She wanted to tell him that she'd gladly miss it all if it meant more time with him, but Mal was very clearly not in the headspace for a shadow as company, so she surrendered.

"I'll head back to Os Alta, then."

And headed back to Os Alta she had. She had arrived not four hours ago, having met up with Hetty and Vlad unexpectedly in the foyer, where she received a notice of a formal Kefta having been prepared for her and was waiting in her bedroom.

Thalia wasn't entirely sure why they had been fashioned new Kefta's just for this event, but she wasn't going to complain when it fit her like a glove and accentuated every area she liked on herself.

   Which, as of lately, was just about every part. Weird.

After being seen to by a Tailor (apparently this event was a Very Big Deal and Grisha had to look their best) Thalia set about preparing herself for the evening. While the Tailor had done a wonderful job, it wasn't exactly. . . her. She liked the light lipgloss that had been spread across her lips and the silver clasp in her hair, all that she really wanted was to wipe the slate clean and start again.

She guiltily erased the hard work that the Tailor had done, once more coating her face in a heavy coat of face powders she didn't know the name of and topping her lips off with a bright red that most definitely was not her usual style.

   Red was Zaria's colour. Consider this Thalia paying a tribute.

By the time a knock sounds on her door, Thalia is straightening the gold pin assigned to hold back her pesky baby hairs.

   "Just a moment!" She calls to the person, standing from the chair at her dressing table and giving herself a once (twice, thrice) over and deciding that she looks capital-G Great. She sticks up both of her things into the mirror, grinning. Another knock echoes, and Thalia is quick to pocket the small pile of letters on her desk before the delinquent at her door barges in and sees them. "I'm coming, sorry!"