Imperfect Queen

Too much dancing

After Nerida finished telling Agatha about the said Guinevere, it was as if nobody had ever mentioned her, and the subject was never brought up the topic in the first place. It was as if even talking about the situation was forbidden in the castle - Which Agatha pretty sure it was. A tension-thick silence fell on the trio as Arietta not-as-cheerfully looked through her dresses. Instead of sulking, Agatha was thinking. Thinking about what, what could possibly happen to her and Tedros with what happened to Guinevere and Arthur?

As much as she wanted to, Agatha couldn't run away from her now-given duties. She like to think that it was because then she would be walking away from Arietta and Nerida, but something else was also anchoring her to Camelot. Was it the sense of good that was slowly trickling into her mind? Or was something else part of as well?

Agatha pondered about this while Arietta changed the subject, asking Agatha what she was planning to do with her correspondence, seeing as she had been allowed guests, which meant invitations would probably be sent with the letters. Agatha's eyes widened as she realized she was spacing out.

"Well, where am I even supposed to take them?" Agatha asked. She had never written a letter, much less sent one, so she felt rather ignorant on the subject, because, well, she was. Arthur had said they would have invitations ready in a couple of days, so should she invite them in the letter?

"I can take care of that, I know how to handle it," Arietta replied cheerily, in her jubilant mood once again after they were done plunging into the topic about Guinevere, "Are you going to wait for invitations? Because it's pretty obvious why they're coming. Besides, I bet whoever goes for them will formally announce it." She did have a point, Agatha thought. Agatha handed her the two pieces of parchment, while Arietta took them, and she then left the room.

The two black haired girls stood there, Nerida quickly resuming cleaning her mirror, another silence falling into the now dreary-looking room. Agatha looked at the spot where she wrote her letters, as she glanced at the cloudy sky casting shadows across her room. Nerida, as if reading Agatha's thoughts, quickly placed a candle on the desk. Agatha could still imagine the feeling of writing with the ink splaying across the page with every dip she took and the lines she wrote.

Agatha wondered how mail worked in a castle. Did they have some sort of room only for mail? Did someone just deliver it personally? Or was that just for royalty?

Looking to Nerida, she began starting to wonder about Nerida herself. She said she had served Guinevere nine years here, so she calculated Nerida should be 23 by now. Agatha's eyebrows raised with slight surprise. That seemed a long time working as a maid, at least for someone as young as Nerida.

"Nerida, how many patronesses you've had in all these years?" Agatha inquired. Nerida turned from her task, looking down to the floor as she tapped her chins with her long, thin fingers.

"Well, about fifteen, without counting those that had been assigned to me temporarily. I'll tell you, at least ten of those women were brats, but I guess is what I do to eat." Nerida gave a shrug at that. Nerida was slightly passive as she said this, just like she always was.

"Did they all go away?" Agatha asked, and Nerida thought about that for a second.

"No, some of them still live here, some are around your age, actually. You wouldn't like them too much. Sometimes, they see me passing by, and glare at me." Nerida whispered that last part, as if afraid someone would hear.

Of course, that's why Nerida seemed so quiet and experienced at the same time. She always would quiet down the bubbly girl Arietta, knowing that if royalty heard the things they said about them they would surely kick them out of the castle. And the first time Nerida saw Agatha, she was quiet, and while Agatha thought she was really shy, she was actually quiet because when she was younger and excited Nerida's patrons probably would send her annoyed glances. Glares, and annoyance, all directed towards Nerida. If nobles heard anything about what Nerida said about them, they wouldn't let her anywhere near the castle again, let alone be a servant. And being a servant at a castle might be Nerida's only way of making money, after many long years of serving.