Melisande Meadowshine

Frenetic Midnight Musings

CW for mentions of domestic abuse, blood, some extremely vague adult themes

Crickets sing a riotous chorus outside, the music swelling and then quieting over and over in waves through my open windows. It accompanies the lullaby roar of the sea, sounding like home. The air itself is stiflingly still - an unusually hot night for Tol Barad. I’d returned from an evening in Silvermoon, prepared for the usual ritual of devouring chocolates and catching up on the daily paper, but I’m far too restless for either. Snorian shifts on his round cushion bed, a deep sigh and whuffle in response to the heat. Oh, to be a dog for just a moment, my only worries the temperature of the room and what I’ll have for breakfast tomorrow.

The scars on my legs itch torturously in response to my restlessness, pinker in the heat.  A brief sense of dread settles in my belly, and I scratch them with aggressive resentment. What siren of myth is marred with such a humiliating relief map? Is that why he did it, to make me uglier? To distance me from others as he so often did? Up until now I’d chalked that night up to his rage spiral, a drunken loss of control. The shaky, desperate hunger we both felt as the Sunwell faltered, minn'da swept away and torn to shreds.

An uncharacteristic mouthing off from me, a swift and brutal response from him. Flogged like one of his disobedient crewmen, though far beyond what any of them would have received, surely, as I was laid up for days after - left to stew on the sand-scraped floorboards in a heap of blood and shredded flesh. Even now the marks linger, some of them puffy, shiny, grotesque. What will he think? I present myself to him all brazen youthfulness, and in his presence I feel it. No pretense. But alone, later, sometimes I feel a thousand years old.

I shove it aside. More pressing things than personal vanity and infatuation just now.

So much has happened over the course of this summer. A promotion, heartbreak, Roy’s kidnapping and Rin’s temporary destruction, a clarity of mind, of goals…and now war at the doorstep.

If Lady Fio shows concern, that’s reason enough to fear. I see the heavy burden she carried in each lacquered word the other night. I’d never considered a real friendship between us, but a friendly rapport and a casual alliance will come in handy.  Admittedly, though, I find her deeply appealing, endlessly charming, a certain burning beauty in her occasional bouts of public tempestuousness. An embarrassingly fervent platonic crush.

So many of our kaldorei staff are moving through the place in a daze of sorrow. Vynix and I had briefly discussed moving the schedule around, easing their burden, but each of them had protested in turn. If nothing else, peeling potatoes and mixing drinks, sweeping up and scrubbing tables, it’s all a decent distraction.

Tol Barad will no doubt look very appealing to a certain subset of refugees, and while the budding businesswoman in me welcomes it, the empathetic heart of me aches. Orphans. There will be more. We need more space. Already the bunkroom is bursting at the seams with donated toys and energetic children, and no doubt it ought to be converted back to its original purpose in anticipation of the coming flood. And there will be more children who belong to someone. A school? Is that necessary? Is it possible, even?

Derin will need help. More provisions. We’ll stymie the awkwardness between us. We have to, for the good of everyone here.

My upcoming dinner with Selowyn holds more than one purpose, too. A request. A bid for her time which I’m loath to make, but it’s part of the preparation as well.

And what of Audemus? Can he make good on his ridiculous trust fund allowance? Do some small thing to ease our burdens if desperate times come? I’ve never asked for a loan or a gift, but if push comes to shove I just might. Perhaps Rey can put something in his ear. Or Mathias.

A list. I need a list. I fling my blankets aside and hurry over to the small writing desk, fumbling around in drawers for my “serious” journal, the one covered in deep green moleskin fabric. I write until my hand aches, a pause. Two people, recently, very different from each other but sharing the same concern - what do I do for myself?

A final entry is added to the list. “Bigger room. Private bath.”

There. A little something for me.

I can crawl into bed now. I’ll do a little something else for myself, something to take the edge off of my own swirling thoughts and the unbearable aching heat that comes not from the August night but from within.