Chapter Text
You couldn't help but toy with the edge of your glove that stopped just at your wrist, tugging at a stray thread that you knew would be bring a scolding if your mother caught you. You didn't care if she chastised you anymore, focusing on the thread to ignore the fear gnawing at your stomach. It was a heavy weight that settled there days ago when you had first heard the news of your engagement.
You sat in your family's carriage, on your way to meet your husband-to-be, thinking back on how it all led to this moment.
Your father had been disappointed when your time in the ton had failed to find a husband to take you from your family home. Two seasons had passed and yet you were known to be a Wallflower. A woman destined to stick close to the walls, looking pretty but never plucked by anyone. It was embarrassing to hear your parents make excuses for you when they hosted small balls in hopes of finding someone, anyone to take you as a wife. With your siblings long gone and married with children of their own, you were left slowly coming to terms you might as well look forward to a life as a spinster.
The thought was somewhat welcoming, thinking of becoming a governess to find a somewhere to call your own away from the place you once called home. With how your parents scolded and shamed you, you knew it to be more of a prison. You had started to think of a new life plan, thinking it would be better to focus on moving on rather than worrying about the next season when your mother came knocking on your door with a smile that scared you.
She hadn't smiled like that since your younger sister was proposed to and whisked away by her husband at the beginning of the last season. You sat at your vanity, braiding your hair as your mother approached with that unbecoming smile.
“Darling,” the word made your skin crawl, knowing she only used it when she wanted you to agree to something, “It seems that your father has received an invitation. One that may concern you and your future.”
As if an entire bucket of ice cold mop water fell atop your head, your eyes widened in the reflection looking back at you. What did that mean? Who would send an invitation to your father so suddenly? The season was soon to be over and your mother had insisted that you prepare yourself. The last ball was coming up and no one was bold enough to hold one before the Ishgardian Royals.
Finally regaining the ability to breathe, you inhaled deeply before turning around to face your mother.
Her cheeks were flushed, her hands clasped together in front of her chest. She was waiting for you to ask what it meant and you were afraid to do so. So instead, you shrugged and turned back to the mirror to finish getting ready for bed. In the corner of your eye, you saw her smile falter, replaced with a glare as her hands landed on her hips with a huff.
“Darling. You must be curious what the invitation is for. And who could've possibly sent it. Knowing how many callings you've received since your first season.”
Her words were like poison, sinking under your skin to make you feel sick. You hated how she hung that over your head at any moment of defiance. It sickened you to call her your mother.
“Of course, Mother,” you practically hissed out the word, looking her in the eye of her reflection, “I am dying to know who wants the company of a wallflower.”
Her face darkened, stepping up to stand next to you and press a hand to your shoulder.
“You listen here, child. You are lucky this kind man has asked for an audience with your ungrateful self. You think yourself too good for those boys at these balls so let a man take care of you.”
The mention of a man asking to see you made your brow breakout in a sweat. This wasn't what you had expected. This couldn't be how it ended. You were going to be a wife of some old man who was expecting you to sire his children before he was on his death bed? You wanted to lash out, scream that you would never allow such a thing but when your mother squeezed your shoulder, all the rage you felt wilted. What else were you to do? You had no money. Your dowry was not your own to claim as much as you wished that. You couldn't ask any of your friends to protect you when all the wallflower friends you had made during the season finally bloomed and found husbands.
Even if you were to become a wife of an old man, at least he would take you away from this Hell.
With a defeated sigh, you placed your hand over your mother's and looked her in the eye. What else could you do but agree just to get away from the poison your parents fed you daily. So with a forced smile and a nod, you thanked her through gritted teeth and promised to meet with the man you knew would become your husband.
But when everyone had fallen asleep, you sat up in your bed with a new thought coming to your mind that kept you awake. What of the letter? Your mother didn't bring it with her nor seemed to want you to know it's exact contents for a reason you couldn't guess. Was there something she wasn't telling you? Had your father already corresponded with this man to make the arrangements behind your back and your mother only deemed you worthy to know once the negotiations were finished? The thought made your nails dig into your palms, gripping your fists on your knees before throwing your blanket aside. You wouldn't be auctioned off like livestock for the slaughter. You wanted to know at least the name of the man who was going to claim you as his wife. You had already agreed so what harm would there be trying to find out who he was.
You took soft steps against the plush carpet of the hall, careful of each stair step that would creak at the slightest bit of pressure. Tiptoeing across the front hall to your father's study, you found the door ajar with moonlight spilling into the room. You hadn't thought to bring a candle along, fearful of being caught sneaking around so you hurried inside with the door shutting behind you with a soft click.
Your father's office once could be called a place of comfort for you. It had once been a library, the shelves still stacked high to the ceiling once filled with fairy tales and books of romance. Your father had been a kind man but when there had been an accident with his leg, something changed about him. Bitterness ate up the man who used to sit by the fireplace to read his children stories of adventure. You stared at the fireplace, the embers of a roaring fire leftover to not even light up the hearth. You pushed those memories away, hurrying to his desk to see if you could find the letter.
It wasn't as if you were searching through documents of high importance. Most were letters from friends, family, invitations to dinners for him and your mother but never you. It didn't bother you. All that mattered is you find a letter with your name written somewhere.
In the light of the moon, you finally found it. A letter half folded on top of an envelope with a broken seal that you had never seen before. The wax seal reminded you of a mask of some sort. A strange sight that made you wonder what sort of crest that was.
With a deep inhale, you picked up the letter to tiptoe to the window where you could let out the breath and read the letter.
It started with a greeting to your father, hoping he was doing well as the seasons were changing. Your heart was in your throat as you started to whisper the words out loud to yourself as if it would help you understand the letter better.
“As you may have heard, I am in the market of looking for a wife. I am much too old to be dealing with those silly balls and courting as if I was a young suitor. I have heard you are looking for a husband for your daughter. I remember seeing her at my theater you had all attended earlier in the season. The memory has stayed with me. The look of awe on her face and the way she seemed entranced with the stage. A fellow enthusiast of the arts, I would think. Allow me to offer my hand to your daughter. I would only ask that you all come visit me at my home here in the city before we make any arrangements. I hope to hear your response as soon as possible. Time waits for no one, after all.”
You felt your stomach drop to the carpet, hands shaking as your fingers clutched at the parchment. You remember the show the letter spoke of. A beautiful play with all sorts of colors dancing across the stage with magic lighting up the entire room. It was something you had never seen before with no one ever inviting you out. Your parents for once took pity on you and dragged you to the theater. The Amaurot Theater.
You reread the letter, noting how the theater belonged to the man behind the paper. As your eyes lingered on the name at the bottom of the letter, you couldn't help but try to sound it out and see how it felt coming from your lips.
“Lord Emet-Selch.”
You hadn't meant to say it as loudly as you did, scaring yourself to almost drop the letter. You clutched it to your chest, suddenly confused as to why your heart wouldn't stop it's erratic thumping in your chest. You clenched your eyes shut, trying to catch your breath and calm the racing of your heart.
Who was this Emet-Selch and why had he asked for your hand?
Wandering back to your father's desk, you wondered if he had already answered or if he had left the letter somewhere amongst the rest of the letters left there. You folded the letter from the strange Lord, pushing aside papers in hopes of finding your father's answer letter but only found boring answers or invitations. Leaning back into his over sized, leather chair, you slid down into the seat with a sigh before looking out the window where the moon was peeking through the panes. It was your only companion tonight, watching over you as you got back to your feet and started back to your room.
No one knew you were there but you, the moon and the Lord Emet-Selch who wanted your hand in marriage.