Unconsensual
Banned
Salt, Water, and Cats
Not your normal TL
Clara Whitmore was marrying a prince, or at least she was. Being the daughter of the high nobility guaranteed her comfort and haste while travelling, but it couldn’t guarantee fair weather. For a fortnight ago a furious storm suddenly appeared over the Adriatic and has nested there since, and although many captains were willing to brave the storm her seneschal had received specific instructions forbidding anything remotely dangerous. And although she was unsure about whether she hated or loved her Byzantine suitor she knew she hated the waiting. But in the meantime, not knowing when the weather was going to abate she decided to take the scenic route.
The manors of Verona were beautiful to the young bride, even more so as they were a stark contrast to the industrial landscape of London that she called home. Instead of dirtied factories and crumbling smokestacks there were radiant marble manors and endless green pastures. Where the wall’s paint was suppose to peel under the constant assault of acid rain weaving ivy and dangling flowers instead covered the manors and cooled its refuge. Where there should’ve been torrents of weary workers shuffling through the streets she was only accompanied by the grazing cattle she passed and the occasion breeze.
She sighed, and breathed in the fleeting aromas of flowers the breeze brought.
Much better than London, she thought to herself, perhaps she may even convince her soon to be husband to move here after their marriage, after all Constantinople still considered the Serene republic an Imperial subject. She'd be able would raise their kids here, she’d teach them, and she'd dress them every morning, and they’d play with the neighbours, and frolic through the pastures, and they’ll grow up beautiful and happy, and… and…
And then she realised that she was sure of it; this is where she wanted to be. Perhaps the delay didn’t bother her that much, after all wasn’t Venice herself a destination too?
More to come
Not your normal TL
/\_/\
=( o.o )=
> ^ <
=( o.o )=
> ^ <
Clara Whitmore was marrying a prince, or at least she was. Being the daughter of the high nobility guaranteed her comfort and haste while travelling, but it couldn’t guarantee fair weather. For a fortnight ago a furious storm suddenly appeared over the Adriatic and has nested there since, and although many captains were willing to brave the storm her seneschal had received specific instructions forbidding anything remotely dangerous. And although she was unsure about whether she hated or loved her Byzantine suitor she knew she hated the waiting. But in the meantime, not knowing when the weather was going to abate she decided to take the scenic route.
The manors of Verona were beautiful to the young bride, even more so as they were a stark contrast to the industrial landscape of London that she called home. Instead of dirtied factories and crumbling smokestacks there were radiant marble manors and endless green pastures. Where the wall’s paint was suppose to peel under the constant assault of acid rain weaving ivy and dangling flowers instead covered the manors and cooled its refuge. Where there should’ve been torrents of weary workers shuffling through the streets she was only accompanied by the grazing cattle she passed and the occasion breeze.
She sighed, and breathed in the fleeting aromas of flowers the breeze brought.
Much better than London, she thought to herself, perhaps she may even convince her soon to be husband to move here after their marriage, after all Constantinople still considered the Serene republic an Imperial subject. She'd be able would raise their kids here, she’d teach them, and she'd dress them every morning, and they’d play with the neighbours, and frolic through the pastures, and they’ll grow up beautiful and happy, and… and…
And then she realised that she was sure of it; this is where she wanted to be. Perhaps the delay didn’t bother her that much, after all wasn’t Venice herself a destination too?
More to come
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