"𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘵?"
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂જ⁀➴
Born into servitude, Zayd finds his place as the stablehand for the illustrious Fitzwilliam family. It is there that he forges a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝟓 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫
The westward terrace of the castle offered the most exquisite view.
The dark blue waters of the lake stretched endlessly, its surface deceptively calm when viewed from high above. Through the murmurs of the fishermen, it was known that these waters—particularly at night—could turn treacherous and wild. The sturdy boats were often observed battling the currents, their silhouettes swaying and rocking through the deep waters.
Beyond the lake, the true beauty lay on the horizon. Towering mountains, their peaks shrouded by mist in the mornings and bathed in starlight at night, stood guard over dense forests that blanketed the land. Towering oaks and elms formed a green sea, stretching from the lake's edge to the foothills of the mountains. The land transformed with the seasons, nature's brushstroke creating a new palette of hues with each pass in weather.
Spring was the most joyous. The forest quivered with new growth, splashes of colour bursting through the woodland as temperatures rose. Flowers dotted the landscape, littering the meadows with daffodils and tulips. Deer and other wildlife roamed freely, grazing and playing under the warming sun. Birds returned in droves, their songs announcing the end of winter.
During summer, the woods were an ocean of emerald green. The mountains stood proudly against the heavens. Their slopes played tricks on the eye, rippling and dancing in the heat of the sun. The forest flourished in the long and languid days, its foliage thick and lush.
As autumn arrived, the mountains donned streaks of gold and crimson, their peaks crowned by wisps of lingering mist. The forests transformed into a canvas of fiery hues—deep oranges, blood-reds, and rich browns. Surprisingly, the animals were the most active during this time. Rabbits, bears, and wolves alike busied themselves gathering provisions for the impending winter. Above, migratory birds filled the air with their calls, preparing for their journey south.
And then winter would come. The mountains were capped with a white so brilliant that they outshone the clouds, glistening and sparkling in the light. The once bustling forests, vibrant just weeks prior, now stood in solemn stillness. Oaks and elms were stripped bare of their leaves, and the lake lay frozen under a blanket of ice.
Oddly, it was in this cold weather that the Duchess found herself most drawn to the landscape. She had a peculiar fondness for the season that others seemed to hate. Beyond its monotony of whites and blacks lay a hidden tapestry of colours. An uncaring eye saw only black and white. But the Duchess saw greys and browns, shades of blues and purples. Here and there, glimpses of yellow could be seen, and even blushes of pink and red were present.
Winter held within it every colour that other seasons boasted. One simply had to look.
That chilly afternoon, the Duchess sat upon her chair on the terrace engrossed in her book. Her back was straight and posture faultless as she delved into the pages of her story. She wore a heavy wool gown of deep burgundy with a fine silk shawl draped around her shoulders. Her feet were snug in leather boots lined with fur. Her hair was coiled into a neat bun at the crown, secured with a gold hairpin that held her waves in place. The attire stood as her quiet rebuttal to her maid's chiding.
