#ophélie rozaliya | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nvvermore · 3 years

Text

Take My Hands

Cadenza helps calm Ophélie’s nerves [featuring @arcanecadenza’s Cadenza]

words: 1.3k

NSFW 🍋: for day one of @midsummer-masquerade: shibari / marking (+ strap-ons, cock warming, orgasm denial, praise)

accompaniment

The first time Ophélie attended the normal masquerade had been nerve-wracking enough, but this one was on a whole different level of anxiety inducing. Leading up to tonight, her thoughts had been centered around the fear that no one would dare approach her.

But reality was just the opposite—she never realized just how many people would be eager to approach her. Her identity was hardly a secret, the lace of her “mask” barely obscuring her face. The thought that the very same people who sought out her affections each night after the curtain was lowered would also be in attendance hadn't crossed her mind at all.

But Ophélie wasn't interested in any of them. Not until she'd seen a figure of violet organza and wild curls cut through the crowd several feet away. She'd almost called out Cadenza’s name as she began to follow after her, but caught herself last-second.

The lightest brush of her hand against Cadenza's arm alerts the other woman of her presence.

"I didn't know you'd be here!" Ophélie greets, feeling giddy when she sees the way Cadenza's face lights up behind her mask.

"That is the point, is it not? Secret invitations." Cadenza’s smile is bright, her eyes slowly dragging over Ophélie’s body. "I was hoping I'd find you. But it seems you've found me instead."

Ophélie takes in Cadenza’s own hardly-there outfit. It really wasn't all that different from what she wore on a normal day—except for her gown itself had been crafted out of completely sheer fabric.

"You look beautiful!" Ophélie complements. She thinks Cadenza looks much more than just beautiful, of course, but she’d like to save those for when they’re alone.

"You look nervous."

“That easy to tell?” Ophélie giggles, eyes darting around the room momentarily before returning to look up at her.

Cadenza is still smiling as she takes Ophélie's hand. "Let me help you relax?"

———

"I'm already wearing a harness." Ophélie says half-heartedly, as Cadenza begins to work the silken lilac rope over and around her chest. It’s caging in her breasts more than the harness that’s practically her entire outfit is, weaving under them and over them.

"And the rope complements it, don't you think?" She circles Ophélie, drawing the rope down between her shoulder blades, so that she can begin to wind it around her forearms.

“It is very pretty. I love the purple,” she tilts her head down to examine the design the best she can.

“Not as pretty as you look, especially how pretty you’ll look after I’m done with you.” Ophélie feels her face heat at the words, at the way the rope tightens around her chest. “And the marks this leave will also complement these quite nicely.”

Before Ophélie can ask what Cadenza means, she leans forward and bites down onto the bare skin of her shoulder. Ophélie moans out in surprise, but Cadenza quickly pulls away, resuming carefully knotting the restraints.

Ophélie waits patiently as she can as Cadenza works, the tightness of the rope and Cadenza’s presence sooth her nerves—while simultaneously riling her up in a different manner.

After a few more minutes Cadenza steps back, examining her work for a moment, her eyes dark. Without another word she leaves Ophélie on the bed to retrieve something else from a chest across the room.

Ophélie watches Cadenza shed her gown, trading it for a harness of her own that fastens around her hips.

“I can’t wait to see you take this.” Cadenza turns to face the bed again, revealing the carefully crafted glass cock that’s been secured to the harness.

Ophélie practically feels her mouth water. Her eyes follow Cadenza as she climbs back up onto the bed, leaning back against the surplus of pillows at the head. She beckons Ophélie closer with a single finger, lightly patting the freckled skin of her upper thighs.

She’s quick to follow orders, and shuffles up after her, sliding over Cadenza’s lap. Cadenza’s hand goes between Ophélie’s legs, fingers ghosting over the well-soaked lace between them, letting out a soft moan of her own as she pushes the lingerie to the side.

“Already so wet… Is this all for me, or did someone else get to you before I did?”

“It’s all for you,” Ophélie murmurs, struggling to keep herself from grinding down onto Cadenza’s fingers.

“I bet that I could slide inside of you just like this, hm?”

“Yes, please, Cadenza—“ Ophélie whines when Cadenza pulls her hand away.

“Already begging, too? You’re such an eager girl.”

Ophélie does start to move when she feels the cool tip of the glass against her cunt. Cadenza brings a hand to her hip to keep her still, nails digging into Ophélie’s skin through the layers and layers of tulle.

“No moving, even when I’m inside, understand?”

Ophélie opens her mouth to speak, just as the tip brushes her entrance, but all that comes out is a whine. She tries again. “Yes, yes, I won’t move.”

Her nails grasp at her own arms as Cadenza pulls her down onto her cock, going far slower than Ophélie needs to go.

“I think,” Ophélie giggles nervously, “this is just winding me up more—”

She's cut off by her own gasp, as Cadenza bites down on her neck, tongue laving over the mark she’s left.

“Not if I wear you out…” Cadenza grins, her lips grazing over Ophélie’s chest to suck more marks into her skin. “Then you just won't have the energy to worry.”

Ophélie holds as still as she can, mind already completely preoccupied with the desire to be a good girl for Cadenza. She doesn’t hold any of her sounds back though, all of her soft moans and high-pitched gasps freely tumbling past her lips as Cadenza busies herself with marking her up. She takes her sweet time, doing a thorough job of biting, kissing, and sucking every bit of pale skin for what feels like hours to Ophélie. All while the cock is buried deep inside of her and she isn’t allowed to do a single thing about it.

Cadenza weaves a hand into Ophélie’s short waves, tugging back to better access her neck. “I can feel how hard you’re trying to keep still, you’re doing so well,” her lips graze Ophélie’s skin as she speaks. Cadenza tugs her head back down and leans forward to finally capture Ophélie’s lips, not neglecting to bite at them either, smearing her lipstick in the process.

“Please, ‘Denza, will you fuck me now? Please?” Ophélie begs in between kisses and nips. She feels Cadenza’s lips quirk into a grin against hers, and when both of her hands return to her hips, Ophélie thinks she’s finally going to get some friction.

But instead of fucking her properly, Cadenza slowly lifts her up and off of her strap completely. Ophélie wines in disappointment, but a sharp look from Cadenza silences her complaints.

“I think it’s time for you to go back out and enjoy the party, you’re due on stage soon, aren’t you?” Cadenza says innocently, like she hadn’t just spent the better part of an hour working Ophélie up to no release. She loosens the silk knots behind her back and around her wrists.

Once she’s loose, Cadenza pulls Ophélie from the bed, guiding her across the room towards a mirror against the wall, giving her a chance to appreciate Cadenza’s marks all over her skin.

“I think the crowd will just love these additions to your outfit.” Cadenza spins Ophélie around to face her, and since her hands have been tied up for most of their time together, Ophélie takes the opportunity to run them up Cadenza’s thighs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fuck you, after. But you aren’t allowed to come from any touch that isn’t mine. You make sure anyone else so lucky to end up with you knows that.”

#vesuvia after dark #midsummer masquerade #ophélie rozaliya #apprentice cadenza #cadenzlie #lemon #spicy #lie fic #my fic

24 notes · View notes

nvvermore · 3 years

Text

are they... u know... *gestures to the height difference* [ @vissenta-senadz ]

#ill draw something thats actually cute eventually this was just to visualize the heights #and then i put so much effort #ophélie rozaliya #lukas vinter #lukelie #nvverart

35 notes · View notes

nvvermore · 3 years

Text

Ophélie Rozaliya

A hardworking sweetheart with a dream

BIOGRAPHY

Full name: Ophélie Rozaliya

Meaning: Help; Rose

Nickname: Lie (‘lee’) by most people, Fifi by Vesper

Gender: No (she/they)

Age (start of canon): 20

Birthday: May 1st

Orientation: Bisexual

Magic: ?

Occupation: All of them, Prima donna

Familiar: Yasha the russian blue cat

Love interest: none

Shippable?: um absolutely

Theme song: Touch the Sky — Jeff Williams

ALIGNMENTS & ABILITIES

Rising: Taurus

Sun: Gemini

Moon: Virgo

MBTI: INFP

Element: Earth

Patron Arcana: XIX — The Sun

UPRIGHT: joy, success, celebration, positivity,

REVERSED: negativity, depression, sadness

Minor Arcana: Queen of Pentacles

UPRIGHT: practicality, nurturing, security

REVERSED: insecure, smothering, work without reward

Magic

No uncovered magical abilities, but not for lack of trying. She’s tried. A Lot

Has no idea that Yasha is actually her familiar, just thinks he’s a stray that took a liking to her

APPEARANCE

Hair: Black-brown overgrown roots with an ash blonde length. Clearly the product of dying her hair and maybe keeping up with the roots once or twice and eventually giving up

Eyes: Green

Height: 4’11”

Build: She’s quite petite, with a surprisingly strength for her size under all the soft parts. (She makes for a lovely pillow)

Style: Stays and layered skirts with sturdy boots. Earthy tones, but sometimes will pull out some pink or a boot with a low heel if she’s feeling fancy

PERSONALITY & PREFERENCES

Personality: To those in the South End, she’s friendly and reliable, and knows just about everyone. Makes a point to always be kind, but not necessarily nice, and won’t hesitate to assist (sometimes even at the cost of their own time or wellbeing, it’s just how they were brought up). Believes that just because they’ve suffered, doesn’t mean that others should too.

To those in the wealthier areas of Vesuvia, she’s quite the outcast. At the best of times she’s deemed shy and demure; socially awkward or even rude at the worst. She’s incredibly uncomfortable in such atmospheres, even if being surrounded by such glamour has always been a far-off dream.

Overall, she’s a sweetheart who really just enjoys making friends, and can very easily form attachments. A hard worker and quick thinker with lots of street smarts. Honest, even when it might not be what someone wants to hear, which can get her into trouble depending who exactly she’s around. Can be a total flirt when she wants to (or needs to be, great way to get extra tips), but can not take it as well as she dishes it, and will blush and brush it off with giggles.

Mental Health: A few layers of PTSD

Likes: collecting things, the water, flowers, art, people, shells, books, cats, moving, dancing

Dislikes: rich people, the dark, thunder,

Favorite Food: Beef Stew

Favorite Drink: Raspberry Tea

Favorite Flower: Briar Rose

Favorite Season: Spring

Favorite Color: Pink

Most likely to: Fall asleep in the middle of a conversation

BACKGROUND

CW: themes of child abuse/neglect and familial death

History:

Ophélie grew up all over Vesuvia, but if you ask she will tell you the South End is her home. Born in the Flooded District, her family was doomed before they were even forced from their home there. Her family moved around Vesuvia often, her parents engaging in petty crimes and schemes to get by before moving on to the next neighborhood. Eventually, she just stopped coming home. The freedom she had on her own was better than what she endured there. If anyone asked, she told them she was an orphan.

And it wasn’t so bad, until the plague struck the city in her early teens. Most of the people she knew, including her parents, were taken by it, until eventually she was simply waiting for her turn. She meets Amaryllis while they’re working alongside Julian.

Somehow, miraculously, she comes out on the other side of it alive. Certainly not unscathed, after everything she’d witnessed. But she was older now, and refused to be helpless. She was often overlooked for most work based on her petite build, so she grew a backbone to demand the work. Over the next few years she juggles all sorts of jobs; housekeeping, bartending, waitressing, childcare, farmhand, cooking, and any other little thing she could possibly assist with. She knew all along that with the city in such chaos even after the count’s death, her station in life would never actually change past her tiny apartment and food on the table.

To get through everything, she always sang. She sang while she cleaned and cooked, she sang to the kids and animals she took care of, simply sang herself to sleep each night. Anyone who knew her at all knew of her talent, and always joked she should be in Goldgrave or Heart District with a voice like that. And eventually, she started to think they were right.

She tried to audition, but just having a pretty voice and a face to match didn’t mean all that much when it came to theatre. She could act just fine, and she knew how to dance, she had the build and athleticism for it, but the foundations she missed out on as she grew up were detrimental. She was considered graceful in everyday life, but still not enough for the stage.

Eventually, with Amaryllis’s insistence, she landed a role at one of the smaller opera houses in Goldgrave. She was hardly expecting a lead role when she auditioned, and to become Prima donna was a shock. So shocking, her first instinct was to turn it down. She’d never liked the upper class areas of Vesuvia, knowing how they lived compared to everyone else was distressing, and she had a hard time with the idea of assimilating into it herself. She felt as though becoming some theatre star here, she’d be betraying the people who actually looked out for her. But once again with Amaryllis’s reassurance, she accepted it.

But her career really skyrockets after Amaryllis invites her to perform at the masquerade.

#a lil oc #to cope...#anyone need a cute gf for their oc #ophélie rozaliya #my ocs

37 notes · View notes

nvvermore · 3 years

Text

The Dark I Know Well

Amaryllis offers a new beginning, and Ophélie provides a new light

words: 4.5k

cw: implications of sexual assault and abuse, plague setting, descriptions of injury and illness, themes of death and grief

this fic deals specifically with the aftermath and recovery from sexual assault and abuse, but there is no graphic content. emphasis on the recovery aspect, this story is not angst so much as hurt/comfort

-☽☼☾-

“Amie, there’s supposedly a child at the residence,” Julian speaks up as he and Amaryllis are gearing up for a house call. They’ve only been working alongside him for just over a week now, and he's still hesitant as ever. “It might be better if you sit this one out.” He’s already had them sit several out.

“Ilya,” Amaryllis sighs, continuing to do up the buttons on their coat. “I've told you how many times now, I didn’t walk into this blindly. I know what to expect, and I know how nasty it gets.” When they glance over to Julian, he quickly looks away. He knows they do, and they hardly have to explain how no plague death could scar them anymore than Thana’s has. They also know he knows just how important this is to them, so important that they'd all but chosen this over Asra.

He slips on his gloves. “I know, it’s just— it’s hardest to stomach when it’s children.”

“And I’m sure it's hardest for them, and I can help ease their suffering.” Infection rates among children were exceptionally low— a relief, but children were facing a different issue now that so many of them were being orphaned. Amaryllis shakes their head. “Besides, for all we know the child is fine, and in need of a different kind of support. They’re the ones who shouldn’t be witness to any of this.”

Amaryllis goes to slide their mask over their face— the beak stuffed with dried rose and lavender— but just before they do their eyes find Julian once more. He’s looking at them too, and with such unbridled affection, and it's harder to stomach than any plague. Abruptly they turn from his view, bringing their mask down.

His voice is muffled by his own mask. “I should know better by now than to attempt to dissuade you from doing what you’ve got your heart set on.”

-☽☼☾-

It's a short walk from Julian’s clinic through the South End, spent in an uncomfortable silence. These days, Julian hardly has the energy to fill it anymore. The sky is sunless, the markets are quiet, the roads muddy from the on-and-off spring rain.

“It’s just up here,” Julian mutters from behind the mask, nodding towards the shoddy townhouse to the left. All seems quiet as the pair approach, until they get close enough to notice the lump curled up on the stoop. Said lump peers up at them, mostly concealed by a tattered blanket, except for two very green— and healthy — eyes. This must be the child.

“It’s the first bedroom, straight down the hall,” she mumbles casually, stumping the both of them. When Amaryllis turns to him he nods, giving their shoulder a squeeze before slipping past the girl and through the front door.

The girl continues to stare up at Amaryllis, her expression an odd combination of curiosity and fear. They remove their mask and sit down across from her on the stoop.

“What’s your name, dear?”

She turns their way, the blanket sliding down to reveal flaxen hair and pale cheeks. She doesn’t look sad so much as she looks empty. Amaryllis is familiar with that look.

“It’s... Ophélie,” she says, like she's surprised they’d asked at all.

“Hello Ophélie, that’s a very pretty name. I’m Amaryllis.”

“Yours is a very pretty one.” The corners of her mouth upturn just slightly.

“Thank you,” Amaryllis gives her a proper smile in return. “How old are you, chérie?”

“I just turned fourteen.” That's certainly not what Amaryllis would have guessed. Her huddled up form is so tiny, so fragile looking.

“Your parents, I’m sorry—” Ophélie cuts them off.

“I’m not,” she spits, and then looks horrified she’d said it at all. Amaryllis is careful not to show the distress they feel for her.

“You know, I was only a little older than you are now when I ran away from my parents.”

Ophélie sits up quickly, the blanket falling off of her head. Her eyes are wide, red-rimmed and with bags far too dark for someone so young. “Why are you telling me that?”

“Because, I want you to know I understand. If I had heard news of my parents’ deaths, I wouldn’t be sorry either. I’d be glad.”

She shakes her head and frowns. "But it’s so—“

“Wrong? Evil?” Amaryllis offers, and she nods. “But is it really? Is feeling that way a worse offense than the treatment you’ve received to make you feel this way?”

“But it’s different! I’m not just not sorry, but I wanted it to happen! I’ve been waiting for it to happen!” Her voice cracks and she throws her hands up, frustrated, and the blanket slips from her shoulders. Amaryllis notices the bruises right away, the majority of her forearms discolored, just beginning to fade from purple to yellow. Ophélie looks at them like they have all the answers, like she needs someone to tell her it's okay.

“That makes no difference,” Amaryllis nods to her arms. “I wouldn’t blame you even if you carried out the deed yourself.”

“I've always been too weak to even fight back.”

Amaryllis understands her so much that it hurts. They don't know how to handle this, what else to say. They’ve only ever pushed down their own emotions, and that isn't what Ophélie deserves. What was it they needed when they were in her shoes? Who did they turn to? For years, they had no one. Not until Thana found them, took them in, took care of them. Somehow she’d been able to get Amaryllis to warm up to her so quickly, with all of her love and kindness and understanding.

They slip off their gloves, and hold their hands out to Ophélie, just as Thana did for them once upon a time. “No, I promise that you’re very strong.” She looks almost confused, eyes darting back and forth between their hands and face. Slowly she reaches out to them in return, and they take her hand in theirs.

-☽☼☾-

When Julian reappears from the house, he confirms what Ophélie already knew. Once the proper protocols are taken care of, it takes almost no effort to convince her to come back with them to the clinic. She’d left without even a parting glance, or with anything but the blanket around her shoulders and the nightgown on her back. She seemed relieved— excited even— on the walk there, asking Amaryllis all about magic and singing, chattering enough to rival Julian during better days.

Her nervousness only returns once she’s sitting up on the examination table, unable to sit still as she swings her legs and waits patiently for Julian to finish scribbling down her vitals. He’s sure to be extra gentle while he works— not that he’s ever not gentle, but Amaryllis notices the subtle way his composure slips when he realizes the extent of what’s happened to her. He’s nervous, an emotion that doesn’t often come up while working.

Julian hands the clipboard off to Amaryllis and they glance down at his notes. After years of putting up with his disastrous script, deciphering it comes effortlessly. To them, her vitals seem to be in normal ranges, but he’s underlined her height and weight.

“Now, I only wish to help you, so if for any reason you become uncomfortable, I need you to let me know. Can you do that, dear?” She takes a deep breath in and exhales through her nose, nodding. “Wonderful. Now, when was the last time you had a check-up?”

“I’ve never,” Ophélie murmurs, mouth turning down into an embarrassed grimace.

“That’s alright, there’s no need to fret,” Julian assures her with a soft smile.

He goes through the motions. Listening to her heart and lungs, pressing along her neck and abdomen, checking ears, eyes, and mouth. The bruises on her arms aren’t the only ones, and they’re accompanied by some scratches and scrapes. He asks her questions about her injuries and health— about her assault too, and Amaryllis quietly jots down notes.

But nothing is broken or sprained, not a single sign of the plague, no physical injuries Amaryllis can’t manage to heal. There is something that Julian isn’t mentioning though, because once he’s concluded the exam he takes back the clipboard promptly excuses himself. Surely, he’ll have an explanation later.

But for now, Amaryllis gets Ophélie settled into the infirmary. “I’m going to do my best to heal you, and then you need to get some rest.”

Ophélie looks at them curiously as she settles down onto the comfy patient bed. “What do you mean by ‘do your best’?”

“I’m not very skilled at healing,” Amaryllis confesses, holding out their hands for her once again. This time there’s no hesitation before Ophélie places her hands in theirs. “I can handle bumps and bruises, but I’m not usually able to fix anything worse than a sprain.”

“Do you practice a lot?” She watches intently as Amaryllis slowly runs their hands over the bruises on her arms, eyes shut and focusing on invoking their magic. Slowly, the marks fade to yellow, then to brown, before disappearing without a trace. Ophélie takes her arms back, looking over them in astonishment.

“I used to practice healing where I could, but it’s been years.”

“Well that’s your problem,” she says, and then after a moment gasps. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Amaryllis can’t help but laugh at her bluntness. It’s refreshing. “Practice makes perfect after all. But when it comes to magic, people have their strengths and weaknesses. I struggle with healing and flames no matter how hard I try. But on the other hand, I’ve been using incantations before I even understood what they were.” Ophélie nods her head and hums, letting Amaryllis adjust her around as needed to access her injuries.

“Do you think I could be a healer?”

“You’d just have to try and find out.” Ophélie’s responding smile is radiant and overjoyed. “But not right now, magic takes lots of energy, especially when you don’t yet know what you’re doing.” Amaryllis steps back. “Did I miss anywhere?”

Her eyes scan over her arms and legs and she presses at spots on her torso that had been bruised. “I don’t think so I… I feel a lot better. Thank you very much.” Ophélie peers up at them with glassy eyes.

“There’s no need to thank me, cherié.” Amaryllis shuffles about the room, laying out extra blankets and a change of clothes. “Now, you should get some rest.” Just before Amaryllis turns away, they catch how Ophélie’s face drops. “What’s wrong? I’ll just be in the other room if you need anything.”

She chews on her lip. “It’s not that, I just. Don’t sleep. Or I do, I’m actually really sleepy I’m just not supposed to be,” she explains, her voice small.

“Well, you can, and should, sleep as much as you need to.” Amaryllis lifts the covers, and motions for her to lie down, gently tucking her in once she has. Ophélie sighs happily under the weight of all the covers. “I can help you fall asleep, but I want your permission first. I have magic that I use to put you to sleep, and relieve any anxiety they might be experiencing, and it can also keep nightmares away. It’s not permanent, and it’s not intended to keep you asleep so much as keep things from waking you once you are. Does that sound okay?”

“Yea, that sounds really nice.” Ophélie nods, bundling deeper into all of her covers. “How do you make it work?”

Amaryllis sits down at her bedside. “It’s a lullaby.”

Her face lights up. “Oh, that’s amazing! Okay, I’m ready! I want to hear it!”

“Alright then,” they chuckle, so endeared by how quickly she finds joy in even the littlest things around her. “I’ll have to show you more songs once you wake.” She nods and quickly shuts her eyes tight, but her smile doesn’t fade. With a deep breath, Amaryllis begins to sing softly.

“Quand le vent frais vient danser, la rivière chante pour ne pas oublier…”

-☽☼☾-

Ophélie was out cold before Amaryllis even finished the second verse. They’re fairly certain that it was less the result of their magic and more due to the sheer exhaustion she must feel.

When they find Julian, he’s at his desk with his head in his hands. Walking around to stand behind his chair, Amaryllis rests their hands on his shoulders. He jumps, the tiniest amount, and then sighs, long and hard.

“What’s wrong, Ilya?”

Julian sighs, running his hands through his already mussed curls and down his face. He then tilts his head back, resting against Amaryllis’s stomach, looking up at them. “She reminds me of my sister— or, what I suppose she’d be like.”

“Mine too,” they admit. This isn’t the first time they’ve heard about Pasha, but this is the first time they’ve ever mentioned their own siblings. Julian’s eyes fly open, and Amaryllis can practically see all the questions forming in his mind.

“You have a sister?”

“Two. And a brother.” They decide to give answers before he even bothers to voice his questions. “The twins are about the same age as Ophélie, and my older sister, well—“ Amaryllis cuts themself off. “That’s a different story.” Julian raises a brow, curious. And of course he is, with as enigmatic as they’ve been with even him for the past six years. “But the twins— Lottie and Verdell— I took care of them like you did your sister.”

Julian looks at them the same way they’d caught him doing so earlier, how he looks at them most of the time, how he always has. With so much fondness, and if they weren’t in the middle of all this, they’re certain they would have given in by now. Would lean down and kiss the frown off of his lips over and over until he was too preoccupied to think about anything but them.

And they can’t pull away from him now, can’t quite resist running their hands up from his shoulders and dragging their fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, and the sound snaps Amaryllis out of whatever trance they’ve fallen into. They pry themself away from him, eyes purposely locked onto the papers on his desk so that they don’t have to witness the disappointment they know is on his face. If they aren’t careful, they’ll get addicted to that sound.

Amaryllis rushes to change the subject, an attempt to dissolve the tension. “So, what’s the diagnosis?” They lean over the desk to get a closer look at the notes he’d added on to what they’d written earlier. “She healed up just fine, and let me sing her to sleep. I think she’ll be out a while.”

“I’m sure she needs it. And a good meal, or ten.” Julian sighs. “She’s malnourished, I don’t think it’s reached a fatal level, but it’s clearly affected her development, and the damage isn’t always reversible.” He collects up the papers, scanning them over as he explains. “For a teenager of her height, her weight is technically in the appropriate range. But alongside her other symptoms— easily injured, prolonged healing, low body fat, absence of a menstrual cycle at her age. Her reported symptoms of fatigue, chills, anxiety, depression. Frankly, it’s a wonder she hasn’t contracted the plague.”

Amaryllis isn’t exactly surprised that this is an issue. “So then how do you treat all of this?”

“I believe it stems from neglect and not a deeper issue like illness.” He tosses the papers back down, his voice losing composure. “What she really needs is to be taken care of, as children should be. And on top of the neglect she was assaulted, I just—“ He chokes back a sob. Amaryllis is back at his side in an instant, hands rubbing up and down his arms soothingly.

“Ilya, it’s awful, I know.” They hold him while he cries— and the tears aren’t just for Ophélie, but for all the things he’s seen since the plague picked up, since all this death and misery became their new normal. “But we’re here for her, we can help her.”

-☽☼☾-

The next day, while Julian is busy making his rounds, Amaryllis takes Ophélie to the shop. She’s already looking much better, showered and dressed in a clean gown. She’d slept twelve hours straight, and when she woke showed that she had no issues with a lack of appetite, a sign Julian was grateful for. Her mood has only continued to improve too, and if Amaryllis thought she was chatty yesterday, today is a whole different story.

After so long, a heavy burden has finally been lifted from her shoulders. Her resilience is… inspirational.

Once Amaryllis has unlocked the door and lifted the protection spell and the two step inside, Ophélie goes quiet. She’s looking in every direction, lips parted in complete amazement.

“This is the shop, and upstairs is the apartment.” And surely having heard their arrival, two dark balls of fluff dash towards them from around the corner. “And this Pandora and Styx.”

Ophélie gasps, dropping down to the floor to shower the Pandora with pets, while Styx flutters around her head chittering. “Oh hello! It’s very nice to meet you!” she greets. Amaryllis watches as she continues to coo and make kissy noises, pleased to see her still at ease here.

“Styx, Pandora, this is Ophélie. She’s going to be your new roommate.”

‘New friend!’ Styx chitters away in Amaryllis’s head.

“Styx says he’s very happy to meet you, and I assume Pandora feels the same.”

She gasps again. “Wait, you can talk to them? Is it magic?”

“Styx is my familiar, so we can communicate. Pandora isn’t, so she can’t speak to me directly, but we do have a strong connection,” they explain.

“Oh, that is so incredible!”

“Pandora, why don’t you give her the grand tour?” The fluffy black cat mews an affirmative, nudging Ophélie back onto her feet to lead her around. With a smile, Amaryllis takes the opportunity to tidy up, put away the groceries and other necessities they’d brought back, listening to the excited chatter of her singsong voice. They hear her ask Styx very politely not to eat her, but that if he really needed to she’d allow it because he was cute.

Of course, as soon as they get upstairs themself, Ophélie has a million questions— and surprisingly enough Amaryllis finds themself happy to answer. She gestures to the mantle, where there's all sorts of frames displaying all sorts of photos.

“Who is this? You all look so happy.” She smiles, gazing fondly at a specific photo, one that happens to be Amaryllis’s favorite. Asra on their left, Julian on their right, a candid photo taken by Thana in the kitchen one day. Ophélie was right; they were so happy then.

“That’s… our friend Asra,” they pause, “he used to live here with me, but he’s traveling right now.” At least, that’s the simplest way to put it.

Eventually, she finds her way into the reading room. “How about I show you some magic, a tarot reading?” Amaryllis asks, already pulling out their deck.

“Please!” She squeaks, but then her face falters and her eyes narrow. “What is tarot?” Amaryllis explains briefly as they sit around the reading table. Once they’ve spread out the cards and look up to Ophélie, they’re hit with a sense of overwhelming familiarity.

“Choose three,” Thana instructs.

The first, Three of Cups— reversed.

“In the past, you’ve indulged in frivolity while things were in shambles around you, and in turn isolated yourself, as punishment. Whether or not it was righteous, I cannot tell you.”

The second, the Fool— upright. Thana goes silent for a moment.

“As of now, you've set foot on a new adventure, that much is obvious. But you’ve been blessed with a freedom you’ve never seen before, filled with unlimited potential. There's much for you to learn, and it's up to you to seek the experience you need without chaining yourself to the past. The Fool also warns against too much spontaneity—“ She smiles, “it seems they have much to offer me in regards to you.”

The third, the Sun— reversed.

“And for the future. She tells me the choice between upright or reversed was a difficult one to make, but that you must hear this message. The Sun echoes the Fool’s message of your innocence. Don’t let it lead your thoughts dichotomously, as the inability to see what is already right in front of you will do you no favors going forward, and if left unaddressed for too long may be a detriment to an important decision. Don’t let yourself fall into depths too deep to manage.”

Amaryllis remains quiet, letting all they were just told wash over them. It’s jarring, the accuracy in which she’d laid everything out. Their first instinct is to fear for the future— even if they're certain that’s exactly what they were warned against.

Thana reaches out across the table and the cards to take Amaryllis’s hands in hers. “Nothing I’ve relayed to you is set in stone, readings are merely meant as a guide to clarity. What you needed to hear isn’t what you wanted to hear, and it’s okay to be frightened. But I have faith in you, Amaryllis, and will always be here to help you take your fate into your own hands.”

The deck they used now is the very same deck that was used then, left to Amaryllis by Thana. But since her death, without her here to guide them, they hadn’t done a single reading. Amaryllis’s ability for divination was nowhere near as strong as hers— their readings were always vague and short, they didn’t have the level of clarity she or even Asra had. She’s the one who should be the one doing this reading. How could Amaryllis figure out how to pick up Ophélie’s broken pieces if they couldn’t even manage their own?

But they can’t let her down, and now isn’t the time to wallow in their sorrow.

Amaryllis takes a deep breath. “Now, pick three, but don’t flip them,” they instruct.

Ophélie nods, wide eyed, and chooses quickly.

Then, the first card is flipped.

“This, is Three of Swords in the upright position,” they explain. “This card is representative of your past.”

“It’s so pretty,” Ophélie interjects, and surely she has to be one of the only people to react in such a manner to such a card. It surely doesn’t help to improve their mood to see it now.

“It speaks of the suffering that you’ve faced— no, that you’ve endured. That the sorrow you’ve felt is important.”

Ophélie nods quietly.

When Amaryllis flips the second card, they’re suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of comfort that threatens to bring them to tears.

“Death, upright,” Ophélie reads before they even have a chance to. She scrunches her nose and frowns.

“Don’t worry, Death is our friend,” they assure her, still trying to decipher everything that Death has to say. And she has so much to say, too much, and they can’t possibly relay it all in the way she tells it. So instead, Amaryllis fits it into their own words. “The darkest hour, of the darkest night comes right before the sun.”

Ophélie smiles, bright as the sun itself, and that’s when Amaryllis realizes that Thana is here with them, has been here all along. That she will always be guiding them.

The last card is flipped.

“Nine of Swords, reversed. This card is for the future.”

“I think that the swords are really cool,” she comments, to Amaryllis’s amusement.

“It represents your recovery, but not without hard work. You have so much grief, and in that grief lies shame and conflict. But the hope you hold in your heart is so much stronger than the voices that seek to keep you down, so don’t let them silence you.”

When Ophélie finally speaks, she seems uncharacteristically composed, her words firm, as if she was refusing to give anyone the room to argue.

“Then, I know that everything is going to be okay.”

-☽☼☾-

Later that night, after Julian has arrived and is in the kitchen helping Ophélie— who insists she doesn’t need help, but he assists her anyways— prepare dinner. Amaryllis take the chance to step away. They’d be lying if they tried to claim the domesticity of it all didn’t get to them. The last time Julian was here cooking, and every time before that, Asra was here too. The two of them spending the time teasing Amaryllis for not helping, but never actually asking them to do so. The longing glances and knowing looks shared between the three of them.

But overall, the reading left them strangely content. More than they’d been in a very, very long time. And while their head and heart were clear, the answers to their pain fresh in their mind, they had a mess to clean up.

Up in the bedroom— the only place Amaryllis had asked Ophélie to avoid— was the strewn about evidence of their desperation.

Books on necromancy, the Arcana, blood magic, dark arts, and more books to decipher the languages the books were written in. Some of them had already been among the shop’s small collection, some had been “borrowed” from the palace library, and some procured from the steadily declining Red Market. Among the books are dozens of frantic notes they’d written during their research over the last several months. Notes on how to bring someone back.

Amaryllis drags out an old chest from the closet, tossing its former contents about the room. They gather everything up and stow it all away, every last book and notepad and artifact. The chest is then locked with an intricate protection spell, and on top of it they cast another. The second spell is meant specifically to keep them from unlocking it.

The chest is then shoved into the back of the closet, to be forgotten about.

Thana didn’t need to come back, because she’d never left. And she likely wouldn’t have appreciated Amaryllis messing with such magic anyways. But they had been so distraught, unable to see through their grief, between her death— all of the death. Asra’s departure was the tipping point.

But when they step back into the kitchen to find not only Ophélie giggling up a storm, but Julian too. To see him smile like he used to, for the first time in such a long time, it makes them bold in a way they haven’t been in a long time either.

So as Amaryllis listens to Ophélie explain what exactly was so funny, they slide up beside him and wrap an arm around his waist. When in turn he leans down to kiss the top of their head, the gesture echoes Ophélie’s takeaway from their reading earlier.

Everything is going to be okay.

#i worked stupid hard on this #anyways #this can be heavy but it i think the themes of recovery and moving forward outweigh that #but still take care of urselfs #this may have been healing for me but thats not for everyone <3 #amaryllis leroux #ophélie rozaliya #julian devorak #amie fic #ophélie fic #amieilya #just some pining u know how it is w them #my fic

33 notes · View notes

nvvermore · 3 years

Text

miserable bc i spent all night drawing and was dissatisfied with all of it except this wip so here u go

#shes rlly not a self insert anymore cause i like her actually #god i cant even be cringe #smn #wip #ophélie rozaliya

35 notes · View notes

nvvermore · 3 years

Text

Ten Minutes Ago

An unexpected meeting backstage takes Ophélie by complete surprise [featuring @arcanecadenza's Cadenza ]

words: 2k

cw: none

accompaniment

—

With a final bow and one last dazzling smile, Ophélie turns and walks gracefully off stage. It’s only once she’s sure she’s safely behind the curtain and out of sight from the audience she picks up the pace, eager to return to the safety of her dressing room.

Despite how comfortable she’s become at the opera house and the cast and crew that came with it, the worst part of her night is when, without fail, she gets bombarded by those lucky enough (read: rich enough) to persuade someone to let them backstage here to seek the attention of the performers. And especially her. Perks of being a leading lady.

Of course, her legs are only so long and she can only walk so fast— especially in these damned heeled shoes— and she ends up getting caught by the crowd. It really isn’t a crowd, but it is quite a few people, all talking at once as they shower her with all sorts of empty complements and ask her all sorts of borderline invasive questions. Ophélie only manages to sneak away when another principle actor joins the group and with a tilt of his head lets her know it’s alright to run while she can.

And she does, making a mental note to thank him later.

Ophélie is grateful for her role here, not only because she’s living out her dream of course, but because that means she gets a personal dressing room with a locking door. A true blessing. She’s not quite as comfortable here as she is in her own flat, but after having been here for close to a year now, it’s a close second. She’s just got her hand on the doorknob when a new voice calls out from behind her.

“Excuse me, Miss Rozaliya.” Ophélie spins around, a little too quickly, to see a tall woman with dark curls standing a few feet away. She gets a good look at her, to make sure she’s not someone who works here, but she quickly decides that she's never seen her before, because she’d definitely remember seeing her. And she can’t help but get a good look at the very low neckline of the woman’s dress, and how said fabric hugs her hips.

Ophélie snaps her eyes up to the woman’s face before she can be considered to be staring. “Hello, I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing any more patrons tonight. But I appreciate you coming down for the show,” she explains, in her best dealing-with-pushy-guests voice.

“Ah, Amaryllis told me to tell you that they sent me,” she explains, “I’m Cadenza.” She holds out her hand in greeting. It wasn't often, but when Amaryllis sent someone to see her, it was usually important. And it wasn’t often they sent someone so pretty either.

She takes Cadenza’s outstretched hand, briefly feeling the calluses on her fingertips brush over her own. “Cadenza,” she echoes, “please, just call me Ophélie.” She glances back and forth down the hallway. Ophélie isn’t very thrilled about having any meet and greet out in the open. “Would you like to step inside with me?” She pushes open the door to her dressing room, gesturing for Cadenza to enter.

Ophélie makes a beeline for the fresh pitcher of water that’s been left at her vanity. “So what brings you backstage?” she asks, pouring herself a glass and hoping Cadenza is, well, normal, if Amaryllis is the one who sent her. She brings it up to her lips and takes a much needed drink. Cadenza still stands by the door a few feet away, her intense gaze still settled on Ophélie.

“Tonight was my first time seeing the show, and I was absolutely moved by your performance.” Cadenza smiles, and clasps her hands behind her back. She seems completely genuine, her words not at all like any of the others Ophélie has received tonight. She was expecting a director or composer or some other industry contact, not someone who enjoyed her performance for what it was.

Ophélie shuts her eyes and waves a dismissive hand in Cadenza's direction. “Oh please, when you’re on stage six days a week, it’s second nature. It’s practically a part of you.”

Just as she’s finishing up her deflection, Ophélie suddenly feels a presence before her. Then she feels those callused fingertips on her chin, gently nudging her face up. She almost wants to keep her eyes shut, but curiosity convinces her to do the opposite, lashes fluttering open to peer up at Cadenza.

“Second nature or not, your voice is breathtaking,” she asserts, and her face is close enough to render Ophélie speechless. She doesn’t bother to hide the way her gaze flickers across Cadenza’s face, so that she can take in all of the pretty freckles that span across her cheeks and how the brown of eyes turns to honey in the candlelight.

It takes Ophélie a moment to find her voice, but once she does she certainly doesn’t have the mind to deflect again. “Thank you,” her voice comes out soft, mousy, compared to the way she typically conducts herself. “That means a lot to hear.” And it does, somehow. Somehow, Ophélie knows Cadenza isn’t just another socialite dishing out empty compliments just to flatter her. Somehow she knows that Cadenza is the type of audience member that she gets on stage every night for, the ones who aren’t there just to say they were but to be moved by the story she and her fellow cast members tell.

Cadenza starts to run her thumb along her jaw, and Ophélie isn’t trying to hide how she’s staring down her lips. But then— much to Ophélie’s disappointment— a sharp knock at the door has Cadenza pulling away.

“Lie! Hurry up with your costumes! They’re off to the cleaners tonight!” A huffy voice calls from the other side of the door.

“I’m going, I'm going!” Ophélie brushes past Cadenza to get to positioning herself in front of the large mirror on the wall. She remembers her manners— only somewhat— and glances back to Cadenza as she reaches for the laces cinching the back of her costume together. “Ah, don’t mind me. I’ve got more on underneath, promise.”

Ophélie tries not to look so eager to strip down, but of course, she’s struggling to untie the damn thing. In front of the very beautiful stranger who just called her breathtaking, no less. She fumbles with the knot for a few more moments, all too aware of Cadenza and the stagehand waiting on the other side of the door. She's certain she’s just about to get it loose, but then suddenly Cadenza is murmuring into her ear and the pretty hands that she’s already thought far too much about in the last ten minutes are slipping the laces from her fingers.

“Here, let me.” Ophélie is completely frozen to her spot, too surprised to object even if she wanted to. And she doesn’t really want to tell Cadenza to stop undressing her. If anything, she’d hope for her to keep going. She swears Cadenza is taking her sweet time with the laces, being far more gentle and precise than she really needs to be. There’s no way she wouldn’t notice the goosebumps on her neck from where her breath ghosts over her skin.

“Shouldn’t you have an assistant that does this for you?” Cadenza asks, looking up into the mirror to address Ophélie more directly.

“I have a dresser before and during the show, but afterwards I’m just more comfortable doing it myself.” It would always be weird to have people help her with things like dressing, even if it was their job to do so.

“Should I stop then?”

“No,” she says, a little too quickly, and Cadenza’s breath tickles her bare shoulder as she chuckles.

Ophélie feels the dress is more than loose enough for her to slip out of now, but she doesn’t dare move until Cadenza tells her so. “There you go.” She lays a hand on Ophélie’s shoulder, and the goosebumps from her neck travel there.

Quickly, she steps forward to shimmy her way out of the costume, treating it with a little less care than she normally does. Certainly not enough to damage it, but she lets it drop all the way to the floor before stepping out of it. She may or may not put a little bit extra into the way she bends over to pick it up.

She is wearing a slip, petticoat, and stays, garments that are hardly any different from the ones she wears day-to-day. But she feels so very on display with the way Cadenza looks at her. Part of her wants to stay in just this— or to take off a little more— so Cadenza keeps looking at her that way. But she scolds herself, they were still basically complete strangers.

So Ophélie does the normal thing, snatching up her dressing gown from it’s hook and tying it tight. Maybe later she’ll let her mind wander on just how Cadenza would assist her further.

Another knock on the door pulls her out of her trance, again, and she scoops up the costume. It’s placed on a rack with her other ensembles for the night, and she pushes it out to the stagehand who, much to her relief, doesn’t look as annoyed as they had sounded. With a nod they roll away and Ophélie goes to turn back to Cadenza, but a hand on her arm stops her from shutting the door.

“I think I’ll take my leave now, but...” She reaches forward to take Ophélie’s hand in hers, bringing it to her lips. Ophélie is enraptured by the feeling of how they ghost across her knuckles as Cadenza speaks. “Once more, you were absolutely mesmerizing. Until we meet again, little nightingale.” She kisses the back of her hand, leaving behind a faint mark from her lipstick.

She’s gone down the hall before Ophélie can even find the words for a farewell.

—

Cadenza’s visits very quickly become regular post show affairs, and Ophélie becomes more and more prepared for them.

Ophélie starts looking for her from the stage, pleased each night she does spot her watching the show from Amaryllis’s private box. And sure enough, after the curtain is down she always finds Cadenza at her door.

Ophélie’s awkwardness subsides, thankfully, but as far as she’s concerned the tension between them only grows.

Cadenza asks all about her career, how she came to be at the opera house and her experience, and always listens attentively and always wants to hear more. Ophélie learns that the calluses on her fingertips aren’t just from the violin but from magic too, and begs her to tell her all about being a magician.

Tonight, the two of them had already been chatting and giggling away for close to an hour, each nestled onto the sofa and sipping on the tea Cadenza had brought as a gift.

“...So, I’m lucky to have landed such a role at all!” Ophélie takes a sip of her tea, just finishing up telling her all about her arduous audition process. She nudges Cadenza’s knee with her foot, teasing glint in her eyes. “But what about you? What's made you such a dedicated patron of the arts?” She’s confident she knows the answer by now.

Cadenza’s cheeks turn red, and she tries to hide by taking a sip of her tea. “Well, I've hardly been secretive about how much I enjoy your performances.”

“Aww, Cadenza,” Ophélie sits up, setting her teacup aside to scoot a little closer. “Don’t tell me you’ve been coming all this way just to see me.”

Cadenza chews on her lip. “Well, it didn’t start out that way.”

“But it turned out that way?” Ophélie grins.

“Shouldn’t you be on vocal rest after a show, usignolo?”

“It’s not my fault you’ve kept me busy.” Ophélie is on her knees, hovering over Cadenza, eyes flitting down to her lips. “Perhaps you ought to help me be quiet.”

#head empty only these sapphics #ophélie rozaliya #cadenza #cadenzlie #ophélie fic #my fic

22 notes · View notes

nvvermore · 3 years

Text

I Get Found to Get Lost

Vesper learns part of the truth, and withholds parts of his own [Part of Songbird vs Rattlesnake]

words: 1.3k

cw: references to child abuse/neglect

accompaniment

—

Vesper swings open the door— a little too hard— to the quirky little magic shop. Pandora’s Box.

He’d been directed to the obscure place by some locals, who knew exactly where to send him when he asked where to find Amaryllis Leroux. Or maybe it wasn’t so obscure a place around here, but compared to what he’d seen in Zadith it was a little… lacking. Cozy is probably a nicer descriptor.

He pokes around, waiting for Asra Alnazar— the apparent owner of the shop— eyes scanning over the shelves and displays of all the various magical necessities. It’s not very long until a mop of white curls pops out from behind a curtain that divides the room. He assumes this is the magician he’s looking for.

“Welcome,” Asra greets him with a warm smile. “Is there anything in particular that brings you in today?” Vesper studies him for a moment; his relaxed posture, his messy hair and rumbled clothing. Nonchalant as ever, he takes a step forward and props his elbows on the glass counter.

“Yea, actually. I’m here to discuss your apprentice.”

Vesper catches some vague emotion flash across Asra’s face for a split-second before he’s smiling again. “If you’re looking for Amaryllis, they aren’t here right now.”

“Oh, I already found them. Didn’t go well, so I’m here to see you.” Vesper jabs a finger in the other magician’s direction. “You see, I happen to be Amaryllis’s older brother. I know it’s been a few years, but you think they’d have some level of recognition. So I was quite surprised when I ran into them and received absolutely none.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you why they wouldn’t recognize you.” Asra shrugs with his arms folded in front of him. He leans back against the wall, looking down on Vesper.

Vesper stands up straight. “Ah, but I think you can tell me. I’ve heard murmurs of some sort of ‘incident’ they were involved in, why don’t you start with that?”

“How am I even supposed to believe you’re who you say you are? I don’t think Amaryllis is any of your business.”

Vesper pulls out a photo then, and slides it across the glass countertop to Asra. He’d expected such suspicion, after hearing all about the magician and the apprentice he was so overprotective of. So, he made sure to come with proof. Asra takes it with a frown, glare full of suspicion.

The photo was a family portrait. Taken when Amaryllis was sixteen and Vesper was nineteen, and the two were almost unrecognizable. The vicomte and vicomtesse stood on each side, and in front of each of them stood Verdell and Lottie. Dressed in fine silk skirts and standing front and center as the eldest child, Vesper certainly didn’t recognize the woman with his eyes and hollow smile staring back at him.

Amaryllis was posed in front of him— as he stood on a stool to mitigate the height difference— standing out from the rest of the bunch. Their eyes cast to the ground, lips drawn into a frow. They looked uncomfortable, their posture stiff and straight as a board. When this was taken, their discomfort was amusing, he had thought they deserved to feel that way. Now, all he felt was sick shame.

Vesper watches as Asra eyes the photo, expression softening as he runs his thumb over the image of Amaryllis. He then looks Vesper up and down a few times, but he seems to understand quick enough.

But he hasn’t dropped his guard yet. “Then, why has it taken you so long to come looking for them? I don’t know much, but I’m sure wherever you come from isn’t that far away.”

“You’re right, Chevaisé is only a few hours out from Vesuvia by carriage.” When Vesper speaks the name of his— and Amaryllis’s— hometown, Asra’s eyes widen. “And I didn’t come looking for them, I thought they might be dead. I was only planning on passing through Vesuvia, I came across them purely by chance.”

Asra is back to frowning, and Vesper starts to think he’s just bound to offend him. “Well, I still don’t know what to tell you if they turned you away. It’s not like I make decisions for them.”

“Really? Cause that’s not what I heard,” Vesper baits, and to his amusement Asra takes it. His posture stiffens and drops his arms to his sides, hands curled into fists.

“I think you should leave,” he states firmly, but calmly.

“I think you should tell me what happened to them.”

“What’s going on here?” Vesper spins around at the sounding of a new voice, too caught up in the tension between he and Asra to have noticed the shop door opening and closing. Amaryllis stands there, a girl peeking out from behind them, both with arms full of bags from the market. When their eyes land on Vesper, they look sorely unimpressed. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You don’t seem too surprised.” Amaryllis makes their way into the shop properly, setting the bags down on the counter and sliping behind it. The girl follows suit, and proceeds to unpack the bags.

“I expected you to keep harassing me—“

“I’m not harassing you—“

“What is this?” Amaryllis’s fingers dance over the photo in Asra’s hand, and they grab it just before Asra can pull it away.

“Amie,” he warns, but Amaryllis brushes him off with a wave of their hand.

They only seem to glance at the photo for a second before suddenly, they’re holding their head and sinking to the ground.

“Damn it,” Asra whispers, kneeling down to support Amaryllis. The girl stops what she’s doing and rushes over too, and together she and Asra get Amaryllis back on their feet. It’s like they’ve done this before, movements urgent but not panicked.

“I’m fine, it’s not that bad.” Amaryllis standing, but still holding their head in their hands.

“I’ve got them Asra,” the girl says, leading Amaryllis towards the stairs.

“Thanks, Lie, I’ll be up in a minute.” With a sigh, Asra turns back to Vesper. “Fine, I’ll explain.”

“Yea, you better. What the hell was that?”

Asra runs his hands through his hair, then takes a deep breath. “Amaryllis and I have been friends for years now. Together, we were apprentices of the magician who previously owned this shop.” He pauses. “Around a year ago, there was an accident. They can’t remember anything from before then, and get headaches that vary in pain and intensity when they get reminders of the past. I’ve tried everything, and nothing has been able to make them remember.”

Vesper feels a mixture of grief and sick satisfaction at the news. “So they really meant it, when they said they didn’t know me, huh? That’s… disheartening.”

“Isn’t it?” Asra is misty eyed when Vesper glances back up at him.

“They don’t remember you either?”

The pained look Asra gives him is all the answer he needs.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find my way here sooner.” And he is sorry. He’s been so sorry for years, and now what is he supposed to apologize for? If Amaryllis doesn’t remember, what good would it do anyone to bring up something that… just doesn’t need to exist anymore?

And perhaps it could stay that way. Forgotten. Along with every other misfortune they were forced to endure growing up. All the things Vesper wishes he had known to protect them from, instead of being jealous it didn’t look like it was happening to them too.

For a few minutes, neither of them have anything to say. And Vesper doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say, so instead of trying he turns to leave.

“Wait,” Asra calls out. “I’d like to invite you back tomorrow. But,” he levels Vesper with a very serious look, “I need you to tell me the truth too. Why would they run away from their entire family?”

“I can’t tell you why, because I don’t know. The details aren’t mine to tell, but our parents were bad people. Amaryllis was right to run while they still could.” Asra nods, slowly taking in what he’s said.

“Is there anything else that’s important for me to know?”

He could come clean here. He should.

“No.”

He doesn’t.

#my head is just #*john mulaney voice* u know like a LIAR #vesper tristesse #amaryllis leroux #asra alnazar #and even #ophélie rozaliya #tada #vesper fic #amie fic #my fic

22 notes · View notes

nvvermore · 3 years

Text

My Heart Had No Warning At All

Ophélie’s first masquerade is a daunting event [featuring @vissenta-senadz’s Lukas]

words: 1.5k

cw: none

accompaniment

—

No matter how many times she steps foot into the palace, Ophélie is always amazed.

Once upon a time, she’d sworn the opera house was the fanciest place she’d ever been to, or would ever be. But the opera house was put to shame by the grandiose of the palace on a normal day, and especially so today, now that it’s lavishly decorated for the masquerade tonight. If she weren’t so distracted by the shimmering silvers and golds, she’d probably be annoyed by such splendor.

It’s been months now since Amaryllis sought her out to perform at the masquerade. A truly unexpected offer, one that she’s still waiting to end up being an elaborate prank. But every few weeks Amaryllis would arrange for a rehearsal, making sure the compositions they were trusting her with were up to their—and surely the attendees of the masquerade— satisfaction. Surprisingly enough, Ophélie never seemed to disappoint the court musician. At least, not yet anyway. There was still tonight.

It’s quite early— too early with how late she was up tossing and turning last night— but the halls are already bustling with all sorts of staff and servants, rushing around to make sure everything is perfect. She feels even more exhausted just looking at them, and a little guilty, like she’s somehow gotten out of doing the hard work.

Ophélie wanders the halls, taking a longer way to the rehearsal room, wishing she could just push all this back just a little more. Logically, she knows she’ll be fine— thankfully, somehow, there’s not an ounce of stage fright in her— but such an atmosphere has a way of grating on her nerves.

Eventually, she turns the corner to a smaller, but completely empty hallway. Large windows frame the hall on either side, and the early morning sunlight streams through, illuminating the architecture and decor in the most beautiful way. Ophélie can't help but get lost in the sight, turning slowly as she walks along with her head raised to the ceiling. There's art up there, of all places, and she's never noticed it before now. She wonders how inconvenient it must have been to get it up there, and—

“Woah there!”

Suddenly, she’s crashing into something— someone— from behind. Strong hands fly to her shoulders to steady her, and she doesn’t even stop to breath before she's spinning around and apologizing.

“I am so sorry!” Ophélie looks up, and then up some more, because the man she's run into is quite tall. When she finally manages to make eye contact, she notices the blue of his eyes and the freckles dusting his cheeks and completely forgets what she planned to say next. “I um, forgot to watch where I was going.” It’s at least the truth, and she isn’t sure what to expect as a response, but it certainly isn’t laughter. Her face is warm, from a combination of embarrassment and his hands that are still on her skin. Curse the palace for making her so high strung.

“Forgot, huh?” he laughs, and quickly pulls his hands away, as if he’d forgotten. “I think I did the same thing. Been a long night.”

“Has it?” she feels compelled to ask. Though it's really none of her business and she has somewhere she needs to be. But he has such a warm smile, and she has time to linger for a moment or two.

“I work in the kitchens.” He gestures to the chef’s coat slung over his arm. “Busy week.”

“That's an understatement.”

He raises a brow. “You work here? Can't say I’ve seen you around before.”

“Oh, not really. I'm just a performer for tonight, that’s all,” she explains.

“‘That’s all’?” He laughs again, and this time it's not embarrassment that makes her feel hot. “And what do you perform?”

“I sing.” Ophélie pulls her eyes away from him so that she can get a glimpse at the grand clock across the hall. She can’t quite make out the exact time from here, but she can see the outline of the legs enough to realize she wandered for a lot longer than she originally thought. She’s been late for rehearsal for a while now. “Fuck,” she whispers to herself. “Speaking of, I really must be going.”

She slips past him, completely forgetting all of her manners, so frazzled by her tardiness, by the palace, by his handsome face.

“I'll see you from the crowd then,” he calls after her.

She turns, walking backwards again. “Perhaps I'll see you from the stage.”

- - -

The masquerade is overwhelming. And, all this time Amaryllis never really explained just how grand the stage Ophélie would be singing on was. The main stage, at the head of the main ballroom, where there's more people in the crowd than the opera could ever possibly fit. And to top everything off, she had to follow up Amaryllis’s performance. They certainly made sure Ophélie looked up to the task, from the shimmering pink gown they gifted her to the flowers they wove into her curls.

But she did it, perfectly. Honestly, she would be quite proud of herself, if it weren’t for all the anxiety she’d been repressing all day resurfacing. She’d like nothing more than to just go home right about now, but she’s already supposed to stay here, in a fancy guest suite, and surely Amaryllis will be around soon to congratulate her and introduce her to more fancy industry contacts.

So instead of making a run for it as soon as she’s off the stage, Ophélie takes a deep breath, and politely deals with the gathering of guests that await her with congratulations. There are several requests for a dance with her too, and she probably shouldn’t turn them down, but if her future in the arts hinges on pleasing rich socialites that badly, then she doesn’t really want one. She makes a beeline for the bar, deciding that one drink won’t hurt— she’s earned it after tonight and needs it if she’s going to stay any longer.

“So, ‘just a performer’, huh?” a familiar voice calls out from behind her. Ophélie expects one of the men who crowded her earlier, and wonders when Amaryllis will be here to rescue her. But when she turns around and glances upwards, she’s met with the same blue eyes from this morning, this time from behind a mask. She feels relieved that it’s him, even if she doesn’t actually know him any more than anyone else

“It’s you,” she smiles.

“It’s me.” He matches her smile, and for a moment neither of them make a move. She isn’t normally so, well, odd— at least she’d like to think so— but she’s still just a little suffocated by the ballroom, still coming down from the rush of the stage. He’s the one who makes the first move. “Would you like to dance?”

“Oh, I’m not a very good dancer,” she says, but it’s half-hearted compared to how she used it as an excuse earlier.

“You can’t possibly be worse than me.”

“Is that a challenge?” Ophélie laughs, and then considers it for only a moment. “I’d love to dance.” She holds out her gloved hand for him to take, and when he does she isn’t expecting him to kiss the back of it before pulling her in. His hand on her back is placed far higher than she’d like it to be, and her hand settles on his bicep. The hand in hers is warm, even through the silk of her glove, and she wishes the fabric weren’t in the way.

On the outskirts of the dance floor he leads her into a simple box step, and Ophélie finds she’s not struggling to keep up like she typically does. She always knows the steps, but doing them is often a whole different challenge.

It occurs to her that they’d never actually introduced themselves. “So, do I get to know your name?”

“Only if I get to know yours.”

“Ophélie.”

“Ophélie,” he says, soft and low, and oh she’d really like to hear him say it again. “I’m Lukas.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Lukas.”

“It was wonderful to hear you sing.” His is the first complement she’s gotten tonight that she actually believes.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Liked it? Your voice is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” And that’s the first complement in a long time that’s managed to get her blushing.

“You’re just trying to flatter me.”

Lukas flashes her a smile. “Is it working?”

“Yes.”

Lukas spins her then, and when he brings her back in the hand at her back is now on her skin, thanks to the low cut of her gown.

“You know, I would have never pegged you as a diva. You certainly don’t act like one.”

“I try not to. At least, not around here anyway.”

“So you’ve got some of that diva attitude in you?”

“You’ll just have to find that out for yourself.”

#brain empty #gonna be late to therapy so i could get this done instead nddkks #ophélie rozaliya #ophélie fic #lukas vinter #lukas x ophélie #my fic #amaryllis is kinda there too but not really

24 notes · View notes

nvvermore · 3 years

Text

It’s Possible

Ophélie needs just one more push in the right direction [follow up to Impossible]

words: 1.1k

cw: none

accompaniment

—

Ophélie sings. It’s Amaryllis’s lullaby, the one they’d used during the plague. She was barely a teenager then and still, somehow, full of hope even then when they taught it to her.

Back then, she’d thought she could work the same magic she witnessed Amaryllis perform if she tried hard enough, and they let her believe it.

Of course, in hindsight she was just singing. She was no magician, no matter how hard she tried.

She wasn’t destined for such greatness.

A sharp rap on the door jolts Ophélie out of her musing. Yasha, who had been sleeping peacefully in her lap as she pet him, startles at the sudden sound and darts down to the floor. She’s going to just ignore it, climb under her covers and hope whoever it is goes away and gives up on her forever.

“Lie! Open up!” Amaryllis calls from the other side of the door. Because of course it’s Amaryllis.“I know you’re here, I just heard you singing.”

“Eavesdropper,” Ophélie mutters.

“I heard that too.”

“Fine.” She extracts herself from the covers, padding across the loft to the door. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” It’s not until she actually sees Amaryllis on the other side of it that it dawns on her that Amaryllis is here. Amaryllis, who lives in luxury everyday at the palace, is here at her measly little apartment. She hardly has guests— not proper ones, that are gone before sunrise— and certainly not guests like Amaryllis.

“What are you doing here?” It’s an honest question, but Amaryllis chuckles at it anyways.

“You have the best manners out of anyone I know.” Ophélie suddenly feels a little self conscious, she knows exactly what they mean. Her lack of decorum has often gotten her in trouble, even in the South End. “I’m not mocking you, I’m being sincere. I’ve always appreciated the way you get to the point. It’s refreshing.”

Amaryllis pushes past her into the loft— talk about manners— and it seems like they have something else to say, but then they look around the room. Amaryllis falls silent and Ophélie wishes she had something to say to fill it.

Her apartment— her home— isn’t dirty or decrepit by any means, and she knows she’s been fortunate to have had such a place for so long. But it’s small, everything in one room besides the bath. The wood floors are unfinished and creaky, the walls could use a touch up, the doors to the balcony make it a little drafty at night. There’s only so much she can fix on her own, and well, she doesn’t actually hate it. Not until other people see it though.

“Your home is so beautiful,” Amaryllis says, and suddenly it occurs to her that they aren’t looking at the place with distaste, but in awe.

The first thing, is that Ophélie has a lot of things. All sorts of things, carefully lining the shelves against the walls. Books, flowers, rocks, coins, bottles, candles, anything and everything. People have made jokes about her being a scavenger before, but she just likes to collect things. She just really likes to have things. Everything is arranged artfully— she’d hardly describe it as clutter— and in her opinion it is her own little art project.

She has quite the little garden in here too. Pots of varying shapes and sizes hold flowers and plants of all kinds. Her favorites though, are the pots of ivy here and there, placed on the highest shelves and surfaces, that spill out of their containers and down so beautifully. Her walls are covered in illustrations of all sorts. Some taken from old books, some bought from street artists, and gifts from the children she’s cared for. Some are even gifts from Amaryllis, floral drawings from their own collection, whether or not they drew them, she had no idea. A few are photos— mostly of Yasha— and an even fewer are things she’d tried to draw herself.

“I, um. Thank you?” Ophélie slips past Amaryllis to get back to her spot on the bed. She’s still having mixed feelings about them being here at all, but she tries to move the visit along anyways. “So then. Why are you here?”

Amaryllis pulls their attention away from the room and then their intense eyes are on her. “Oh, you know very well why I’m here.”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“Ophélie,” Amaryllis says, in a way that makes her feel as if she’s being scolded, and that’s probably their intent. “You turned down the role?” Ophélie draws her knees up and wraps her arms around herself, as if she could make herself any smaller than she already is. With a soft sigh, Amaryllis sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Lie, what is this about?” Their voice is softer this time around. They’ve always been so good at dealing with her, she’s never been able to last under their pressure. Ophélie has wonderdered for years if this is what it was like to have a parent or an older sibling.

She leans her head back, resting it against the wall with a gentle thump. “How do you even know? I was just going to tell you I didn’t get a callback.”

“I’m familiar with the director.”

“So this is nepotism,” Ophélie scoffs.

“No, it isn’t. Is it really that difficult for you to believe that you’re talented enough to do it all on your own?”

“You wouldn’t understand. What else am I supposed to think?”

Amaryllis is silent for a moment. “You know, I think you do know, very well, that you have the talent. This isn’t about whether you can do it or not, is it?”

“I don’t know! It just feels wrong, okay? I certainly never expected to get the lead! It’s just, too grand for someone like me.”

“That’s not true. Lie, sometimes dreams are just bigger than you feel. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to reach them.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what you want. Simple as that. You are allowed to have the things you want in life. Especially so, with how hard yours has been.”

It seems like such a simple concept, and yet she struggles horribly to wrap her mind around it. “Amie—“ she starts to speak, but all of a sudden she’s choking back tears and she can’t.

“Oh, ma crevette, come here,” Amaryllis holds out their arms, and Ophélie rushes to scoot forward and into them. She’s too distraught to even worry about staining their fancy dress with her tears as she cries and cries into their shoulder. All the while Amaryllis sings quietly and gently rubs her back.

She has no idea how long she cries for, but eventually she calms down. For all her emotions, it’s not often Ophélie actually cries. But every time she does breakdown, she wonders why she doesn’t let herself do so more, because she always feels so much better, so much lighter.

“Now,” Amaryllis sits her up and wipes at her cheeks with their sleeve. “Is this role something you want?”

Her answer comes right away. “More than anything.”

Amaryllis smiles, and Ophélie can only describe their expression as proud. “Then it’s all yours.”

#i am just throwing in all sorts of disney princess bs here huh #i love it ive missed out on doing so w amie and vesp #me when i decided amie recruits lie for the masquerade: they only just met recently and are mostly colleagues #me now: actually they are found family #ophélie rozaliya #amaryllis leroux #ophélie fic #amie fic #my fic

22 notes · View notes