7 Apr 2025, 20:01
Regards, Rachelle 𖣂 |
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 | i |  |
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Over the course of the week of 6 April
A black eagle owl in the afternoon of a tired Monday was the last thing the Seer was expecting. What he expected less was the letter that it brought with it, and the stationary that signified that the message written upon it originated from Azkaban.
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Leonardo,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. According to what little I hear in this prison, the newspapers have made quite a spin cycle of our circumstances and that it is very popular. It has likely been a while since the Chiadovini name made the news, ever since the initially unpleasant business nearly four years ago or some of the nasty rumors that were circled about in the 1990s--some well-earned positive press concerning yourself as the redeemed heir most certainly can't harm you at this point, can it?
Pleasantries aside, my reasons for writing this letter to you is mostly of a diplomatic nature. Considering that we share a relationship through Ricardo, I rationalized that it would be fitting for us to speak--even if it is only in the form of a paper medium considering my current and permanent residence. Rumor has it you are as eloquent a writer as a speaker, if you will accept my flattery, and there are so few good works of art to relish in the circumstances of my confinement.
If you indulge me, I may find it in me to forget myself and let slip something I would usually keep close to my chest. Provided, of course, that is something you are interested in.
If not, then you may throw out this letter or burn it or do whatever pleases you with it. You can ignore it and let us keep our dirty little secrets to ourselves. Perhaps it would be better that way.
Though, I must say, Leonardo is quite a lovely name. It does not surprise me that Ricardo determined that that praenomen would suit you best considering its immense fame in your lineage.
Dante is quite a lovely name for a little boy as well. It seems that well-chosen names run rich in the recent generations of the Chiadovini family. Will he grow up in Venice as you did? Or is he to be raised in Inverness and Udine as he is currently?
Regards,
~ Rachelle 𖣂
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Reducio
Leonardo,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. According to what little I hear in this prison, the newspapers have made quite a spin cycle of our circumstances and that it is very popular. It has likely been a while since the Chiadovini name made the news, ever since the initially unpleasant business nearly four years ago or some of the nasty rumors that were circled about in the 1990s--some well-earned positive press concerning yourself as the redeemed heir most certainly can't harm you at this point, can it?
Pleasantries aside, my reasons for writing this letter to you is mostly of a diplomatic nature. Considering that we share a relationship through Ricardo, I rationalized that it would be fitting for us to speak--even if it is only in the form of a paper medium considering my current and permanent residence. Rumor has it you are as eloquent a writer as a speaker, if you will accept my flattery, and there are so few good works of art to relish in the circumstances of my confinement.
If you indulge me, I may find it in me to forget myself and let slip something I would usually keep close to my chest. Provided, of course, that is something you are interested in.
If not, then you may throw out this letter or burn it or do whatever pleases you with it. You can ignore it and let us keep our dirty little secrets to ourselves. Perhaps it would be better that way.
Though, I must say, Leonardo is quite a lovely name. It does not surprise me that Ricardo determined that that praenomen would suit you best considering its immense fame in your lineage.
Dante is quite a lovely name for a little boy as well. It seems that well-chosen names run rich in the recent generations of the Chiadovini family. Will he grow up in Venice as you did? Or is he to be raised in Inverness and Udine as he is currently?
I hope this letter finds you in good health. According to what little I hear in this prison, the newspapers have made quite a spin cycle of our circumstances and that it is very popular. It has likely been a while since the Chiadovini name made the news, ever since the initially unpleasant business nearly four years ago or some of the nasty rumors that were circled about in the 1990s--some well-earned positive press concerning yourself as the redeemed heir most certainly can't harm you at this point, can it?
Pleasantries aside, my reasons for writing this letter to you is mostly of a diplomatic nature. Considering that we share a relationship through Ricardo, I rationalized that it would be fitting for us to speak--even if it is only in the form of a paper medium considering my current and permanent residence. Rumor has it you are as eloquent a writer as a speaker, if you will accept my flattery, and there are so few good works of art to relish in the circumstances of my confinement.
If you indulge me, I may find it in me to forget myself and let slip something I would usually keep close to my chest. Provided, of course, that is something you are interested in.
If not, then you may throw out this letter or burn it or do whatever pleases you with it. You can ignore it and let us keep our dirty little secrets to ourselves. Perhaps it would be better that way.
Though, I must say, Leonardo is quite a lovely name. It does not surprise me that Ricardo determined that that praenomen would suit you best considering its immense fame in your lineage.
Dante is quite a lovely name for a little boy as well. It seems that well-chosen names run rich in the recent generations of the Chiadovini family. Will he grow up in Venice as you did? Or is he to be raised in Inverness and Udine as he is currently?
Regards,
~ Rachelle 𖣂
~ Rachelle 𖣂
Evidently Rachelle was exercising the freedoms that "good behavior" offered despite her sentence's entailment.
The letter was turned in his hands, uncertainty forming as the last clincher of the letter insinuated something much darker than her already black intents. Was the empty observation to be ignored, to have the bluff called, or was such information known due to some other reason?
The Chiadovinis had had many historic enemies. It would not be the first time in history that they banded together in an attempt to snuff out the lineage once and for all. It had been over two centuries since such an attempt had been tried, and the prices paid for it had been bloodily high, but old wounds scarred deep and festering rivalries never fully slumbered willingly.
Therefore, he did write a reply on a single half-parchment, the black eagle owl blotting out the sun as it left to deliver its prize to the convict kilometers and kilometers away--out of sight but not out of mind:
Why should I pay credence to the wild suppositions of a murderess?
Reducio
Why should I pay credence to the wild suppositions of a murderess?
Last edited by Leonardo Chiadovini on 11 Apr 2025, 15:05, edited 1 time in total.
⟣𝙱𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚜, / 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜⟢
8 Apr 2025, 02:12
Regards, Rachelle 𖣂 |
The owl returned whilst Leonardo was feeding the Unkindness, the time of night nearing the apex of midnight. The creature had blended in with the dark perfectly on totally silent wings, spooking the corvids and leaving Leonardo scowling at both the animal and the letter that it bore in sharpened claws.
The stationary was rather supple and thick, or else creases would have formed upon it as the Seer's hands curled tightly on its edges. The sheer impetuousness and haughtiness in the wording gambled with every moment, surely knowing that the more the knife twisted the higher the risk was that the Seer would simply refuse to entertain further diplomacy.
The blows she made were quite low indeed.
Yet, with every twist a small flash of the hand was shown--indications that more knowledge was present behind the simple, surface and subcutaneous glimpses into the inner workings of the family that was without exception kept close to the breast and forbidden to those outside were most certainly there.
Rachelle knew much more about the family that the average avid historian of the lineage. This was no mere case of incessant, rabid stalking or a simple mad radical who sought to tear down a Pureblood lineage for the simple sake of advancing their own. Rachelle had been disowned by her own married-in family, and as for her maiden family...
There had been no reports or retrievable information on her own family besides that which she had married into. A strange, black blot of information that was highly suspect in itself.
The reply was sent the next day.
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Leonardo,
By your reply alone, I know that you already pay me credence despite your very rational mind in attempting to dismiss me outright. Do not think that I am not aware of the tainted relationship you had with your late father─it is a relationship that the whole Wizarding world was privy to when it was learned that the "young Chiadovini heir" had broken tradition upon tradition of the House.
His little bouts of insanity sometimes got a little too out of hand, didn't they?
A simple "Thank You" may very well take you far. If you are anything like him, you notice and snatch up with ease the golden opportunities thrown into your lap.
The times are changing, Leonardo, and I know you have beheld them and all of their prophesied hallmarks thanks to your family's meticulously kept Prophecy records. What was old is new once more. What was retired is now to be taken up and used again. What has slumbered has now awoken with a great, all-consuming hunger. I may not be gifted in the talent of Sight as your family was, but my words spoken for the purposes of that article I continue to abide by.
It is time for the curtain to draw shut for the last time, the final act of what you would consider one of your beloved "Shakespearean tragedies" is now being played. If you oft consider yourself Hamlet, then madness has indeed set its table in preparation for your company.
So, Chiadovini, how many 'wild suppositions' from the 'murderess' are you willing to heed? Or do you allow yourself to go blind in hopes that the shadows you glimpse never come to take physical form?
Regards,
~ Rachelle 𖣂
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Reducio
Leonardo,
By your reply alone, I know that you already pay me credence despite your very rational mind in attempting to dismiss me outright. Do not think that I am not aware of the tainted relationship you had with your late father─it is a relationship that the whole Wizarding world was privy to when it was learned that the "young Chiadovini heir" had broken tradition upon tradition of the House.
His little bouts of insanity sometimes got a little too out of hand, didn't they?
A simple "Thank You" may very well take you far. If you are anything like him, you notice and snatch up with ease the golden opportunities thrown into your lap.
The times are changing, Leonardo, and I know you have beheld them and all of their prophesied hallmarks thanks to your family's meticulously kept Prophecy records. What was old is new once more. What was retired is now to be taken up and used again. What has slumbered has now awoken with a great, all-consuming hunger. I may not be gifted in the talent of Sight as your family was, but my words spoken for the purposes of that article I continue to abide by.
It is time for the curtain to draw shut for the last time, the final act of what you would consider one of your beloved "Shakespearean tragedies" is now being played. If you oft consider yourself Hamlet, then madness has indeed set its table in preparation for your company.
So, Chiadovini, how many 'wild suppositions' from the 'murderess' are you willing to heed? Or do you allow yourself to go blind in hopes that the shadows you glimpse never come to take physical form?
By your reply alone, I know that you already pay me credence despite your very rational mind in attempting to dismiss me outright. Do not think that I am not aware of the tainted relationship you had with your late father─it is a relationship that the whole Wizarding world was privy to when it was learned that the "young Chiadovini heir" had broken tradition upon tradition of the House.
His little bouts of insanity sometimes got a little too out of hand, didn't they?
A simple "Thank You" may very well take you far. If you are anything like him, you notice and snatch up with ease the golden opportunities thrown into your lap.
The times are changing, Leonardo, and I know you have beheld them and all of their prophesied hallmarks thanks to your family's meticulously kept Prophecy records. What was old is new once more. What was retired is now to be taken up and used again. What has slumbered has now awoken with a great, all-consuming hunger. I may not be gifted in the talent of Sight as your family was, but my words spoken for the purposes of that article I continue to abide by.
It is time for the curtain to draw shut for the last time, the final act of what you would consider one of your beloved "Shakespearean tragedies" is now being played. If you oft consider yourself Hamlet, then madness has indeed set its table in preparation for your company.
So, Chiadovini, how many 'wild suppositions' from the 'murderess' are you willing to heed? Or do you allow yourself to go blind in hopes that the shadows you glimpse never come to take physical form?
Regards,
~ Rachelle 𖣂
~ Rachelle 𖣂
The stationary was rather supple and thick, or else creases would have formed upon it as the Seer's hands curled tightly on its edges. The sheer impetuousness and haughtiness in the wording gambled with every moment, surely knowing that the more the knife twisted the higher the risk was that the Seer would simply refuse to entertain further diplomacy.
The blows she made were quite low indeed.
Yet, with every twist a small flash of the hand was shown--indications that more knowledge was present behind the simple, surface and subcutaneous glimpses into the inner workings of the family that was without exception kept close to the breast and forbidden to those outside were most certainly there.
Rachelle knew much more about the family that the average avid historian of the lineage. This was no mere case of incessant, rabid stalking or a simple mad radical who sought to tear down a Pureblood lineage for the simple sake of advancing their own. Rachelle had been disowned by her own married-in family, and as for her maiden family...
There had been no reports or retrievable information on her own family besides that which she had married into. A strange, black blot of information that was highly suspect in itself.
The reply was sent the next day.
Rachelle,
I believe you know as well as I that reporters do love to fantasize their findings. Talentless writers and reporters─of which there are many, as you would expect─would find themselves jobless if they could not spin such tales with the kind of intrigue that sells so as to make profit for them and their companies. While I have stood apart from my family on some matters that have led to points of contention, I have not brought myself so low as to harbor a resentment that results in my hand being bloodied by homicide as you have confessed to and acted upon in your incendiary confessions and actions.
And, while on the subject, I will never "thank" an act such as yours. No matter how much it may or may not benefit me.
You allude greatly to your own family but do not illuminate their own name, lineage, or the cause of the feud that resulted in your desire for bloodshed in this civilized era. Your invocations of prophetic wordings indicate you have a knowledge of our own but do not seem to fully grasp our historic determination. Do not mistake reservedness with passivity, or dormancy with sloth. With this knowledge, then, there is no need to either of us declare oaths. We understand each other in that we seek our own independent agenda.
Your pound of flesh has been had, and your hand has been caught for it. Allow me to find pleasure on my own in my own way. The curtain has fallen indeed, but not on me. No Father's Ghost has appeared to me, there is no Madness I intend to robe myself in for the sake of revengeance. Confess as you like my dear Witch, regardless of truth or lie spoken, I always find pleasure in dissecting the mind and I am not easily taken in.
What Prophecy has Caesar to say to the Sooth?
- L
Reducio
Rachelle,
I believe you know as well as I that reporters do love to fantasize their findings. Talentless writers and reporters─of which there are many, as you would expect─would find themselves jobless if they could not spin such tales with the kind of intrigue that sells so as to make profit for them and their companies. While I have stood apart from my family on some matters that have led to points of contention, I have not brought myself so low as to harbor a resentment that results in my hand being bloodied by homicide as you have confessed to and acted upon in your incendiary confessions and actions.
And, while on the subject, I will never "thank" an act such as yours. No matter how much it may or may not benefit me.
You allude greatly to your own family but do not illuminate their own name, lineage, or the cause of the feud that resulted in your desire for bloodshed in this civilized era. Your invocations of prophetic wordings indicate you have a knowledge of our own but do not seem to fully grasp our historic determination. Do not mistake reservedness with passivity, or dormancy with sloth. With this knowledge, then, there is no need to either of us declare oaths. We understand each other in that we seek our own independent agenda.
Your pound of flesh has been had, and your hand has been caught for it. Allow me to find pleasure on my own in my own way. The curtain has fallen indeed, but not on me. No Father's Ghost has appeared to me, there is no Madness I intend to robe myself in for the sake of revengeance. Confess as you like my dear Witch, regardless of truth or lie spoken, I always find pleasure in dissecting the mind and I am not easily taken in.
What Prophecy has Caesar to say to the Sooth?
I believe you know as well as I that reporters do love to fantasize their findings. Talentless writers and reporters─of which there are many, as you would expect─would find themselves jobless if they could not spin such tales with the kind of intrigue that sells so as to make profit for them and their companies. While I have stood apart from my family on some matters that have led to points of contention, I have not brought myself so low as to harbor a resentment that results in my hand being bloodied by homicide as you have confessed to and acted upon in your incendiary confessions and actions.
And, while on the subject, I will never "thank" an act such as yours. No matter how much it may or may not benefit me.
You allude greatly to your own family but do not illuminate their own name, lineage, or the cause of the feud that resulted in your desire for bloodshed in this civilized era. Your invocations of prophetic wordings indicate you have a knowledge of our own but do not seem to fully grasp our historic determination. Do not mistake reservedness with passivity, or dormancy with sloth. With this knowledge, then, there is no need to either of us declare oaths. We understand each other in that we seek our own independent agenda.
Your pound of flesh has been had, and your hand has been caught for it. Allow me to find pleasure on my own in my own way. The curtain has fallen indeed, but not on me. No Father's Ghost has appeared to me, there is no Madness I intend to robe myself in for the sake of revengeance. Confess as you like my dear Witch, regardless of truth or lie spoken, I always find pleasure in dissecting the mind and I am not easily taken in.
What Prophecy has Caesar to say to the Sooth?
- L
⟣𝙱𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚜, / 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜⟢
8 Apr 2025, 22:46
Regards, Rachelle 𖣂 |
When evening came, the black eagle owl did also. Wiping the dirt from his hands as he stood from the beginnings of his spring-sprouting vegetable garden, the Seer opened the letter only when he had returned inside and only after making himself a cup of tea.
The typical dark-weathered expression that typically graced the features of the Chiadovini transformed into a downright stormy visage, a cyclone of varying thoughts and logical passages of thought coming and going as he stitched together the story that was being told to him. Just as any other tale he had read, as he knew by heart, there was a fabula here. Rachelle, in her veiled threats which were like a dance of blades--glinting and present in danger but uncertain in when they would be thrown--was slowly opening up a tome of both family histories as if to mock him, as if to tempt him to unearth even the darkest secrets of his own family that they had worked so diligently to conceal and obscure from the eyes of those soft enough to ignore the shadow on the other side of the masque.
But it was the wording of some of those things that gave him pause, the very specific connection between two of the phrases.
Reminiscing the poisonous...
The kiss of the Amorveleno...
Amorveleno was a word that Leonardo, and presumably Rachelle, knew only because of Chiadovini family dialect. It was used sometimes in passing by his family to refer to the effects of a potion they called "Love Poison".
Love Poison being the phenomenon of poisoned love in the form of Amortentia, especially should the occurrence bring about a child who was "Love Poisoned". It was a highly derogatory term, both in reference to the parents themselves... and to the offspring of such a union.
Reminiscing the poisonous...
Poisonous: Velenoso.
What was the connection in referencing these two things as being elements of poison?
Reminiscing... Remember...
"Velenosi." He murmured with quiet realization, the cup of tea empty as his eyes flicked to it to observe the tealeaf remains. A sinuous presence of a serpent lazily twined about the center of the cup, twisting around upon itself with its impression of a 'head' seemingly prepared to bite its tail. An Ouroboros.
A blade in the dark...
Phantom impression of the knife in his chest ached for a moment, the glimmer of the edge of the weapon unmistakable in the memory of that oneiromantic prophecy a year ago.
It was impossible. It had been silent for centuries.
The serpent in the tea leaves seemed to 'slither' as the leaves slid towards the bowl of the cup. The Chiadovini watched them, the words of the letter emblazoning themselves in the pages of his memory as he mulled them over and over again. What a terrible, cruel lie she had spoken. "My family name would be of no interest to you."
"The Velenosi lineage persists?" The whisper was met by the creaking of insects in the forests, unanswered. He was left to his silence, troubled as he held the letter and sat upon his rocking chair, until the sun crossed the ground and dawn spread delicate fingers across the land.
Midday was when the letter would be returned. Carefully, carefully...
It would be a lie to say that there was not a modicum of something to be worried about that was now newly planted in the unshakable Seer's heart.
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Leonardo,
I am glad we finally understand each other, and I am glad you have finally responded to me with but a few of your velvet words. They are so delightful in my circumstance, as I have told you once before.
Saddened as I am that you have not taken at least a little comfort in my act of cutting from you but one of the whetstones you allowed to crush your throat for so long, I am quite blushing at the compliment of your feelings on my handiwork. Let us call it a family secret, as yours have many as well.
My family name would be of no interest to you. Perhaps it would be quite familiar to your familial phantasms. Speak to them, if you can stomach their flagrance and vainglory in reminiscing the poisonous. All you need know is that the day of reckoning is falling swiftly upon the Chiadovinis, for even you know that you have lived too long. Now at last divine retribution shall exact its payment for the sins that have gone for too long in debt.
Why have you allowed yourself to persist so long, anyhow? Do you simply prefer the longer, more painful route of liver failure? Truly a glutton for punishment, then, it would seem.
How bold of you to call your own father the Ghost. There's something to be said there, psychologically, but I believe between us we know the answer without it having to be annotated. Always looking in the wrong place. Always noticing the wrong shadow. Eternally blinded to the real world, truly an irony considering your remarkable weakness with the Eye.
My dear Leonardo. Must I spell out all for you? I thought you clever.
Both Ghost and Madness have already dug themselves deep into your heart: for I have spoken to you, and your lovelock son you hold close to your breast like a tether in a wild sea. Be cautious in your avarice for my answers. I am of the mind that you will not like what you hear.
But since you insist, I gladly shall indulge. My dear, it is I who is the Sooth, for your family is Caesar and his bloodline. Brutus already has prepared his hands for your blood being shed, and the Senate has plotted and come to agreement on the means of your downfall. Marc Antony will rise in a desire to avenge, as we know he shall when Brutus and Cassius falls─a Macbeth among the kings that remain─but even when Cleopatra stands by his side as his Lady Macbeth, Octavius will slay him and take his name.
Mark my words, Leonardo Ricardo. Mark them well, for there will be only one left standing in the end. You ask for prophesy, these words I shall invoke to you in reply.
By this way shall it be done: the kiss of the Amorveleno, a blade in the dark. A masterpiece painted in shadow and silence, until the name is nothing but a bitter echo that none shall dare to speak again.
See these signs, and despair at them. The day is marked.
Live your last with as little guilt as you can. Or struggle against them and allow that bladed snare to slice into your neck. It makes no difference to me, as I will delight in watching the moment you realize there is no more escape to be had.
What limb will you try to chew off first, I wonder? What piece of you will you try to sacrifice in your desperation to flee when your disciplined dormancy and reservation results in obliviousness to the imminent danger? When you are dismantled─piece by piece, sinew from bone─until you leave this world in the same way you came into it: miserably, wretchedly, helplessly, and cursed the moment that your name makes its virgin voyage from the lips of the damned.
How tragic.
The way you like it, I'm sure.
Regards,
~ Rachelle 𖣂
──────────────────────────────────────────────
Reducio
Leonardo,
I am glad we finally understand each other, and I am glad you have finally responded to me with but a few of your velvet words. They are so delightful in my circumstance, as I have told you once before.
Saddened as I am that you have not taken at least a little comfort in my act of cutting from you but one of the whetstones you allowed to crush your throat for so long, I am quite blushing at the compliment of your feelings on my handiwork. Let us call it a family secret, as yours have many as well.
My family name would be of no interest to you. Perhaps it would be quite familiar to your familial phantasms. Speak to them, if you can stomach their flagrance and vainglory in reminiscing the poisonous. All you need know is that the day of reckoning is falling swiftly upon the Chiadovinis, for even you know that you have lived too long. Now at last divine retribution shall exact its payment for the sins that have gone for too long in debt.
Why have you allowed yourself to persist so long, anyhow? Do you simply prefer the longer, more painful route of liver failure? Truly a glutton for punishment, then, it would seem.
How bold of you to call your own father the Ghost. There's something to be said there, psychologically, but I believe between us we know the answer without it having to be annotated. Always looking in the wrong place. Always noticing the wrong shadow. Eternally blinded to the real world, truly an irony considering your remarkable weakness with the Eye.
My dear Leonardo. Must I spell out all for you? I thought you clever.
Both Ghost and Madness have already dug themselves deep into your heart: for I have spoken to you, and your lovelock son you hold close to your breast like a tether in a wild sea. Be cautious in your avarice for my answers. I am of the mind that you will not like what you hear.
But since you insist, I gladly shall indulge. My dear, it is I who is the Sooth, for your family is Caesar and his bloodline. Brutus already has prepared his hands for your blood being shed, and the Senate has plotted and come to agreement on the means of your downfall. Marc Antony will rise in a desire to avenge, as we know he shall when Brutus and Cassius falls─a Macbeth among the kings that remain─but even when Cleopatra stands by his side as his Lady Macbeth Octavius will slay him and take his name.
Mark my words, Leonardo Ricardo. Mark them well, for there will be only one left standing in the end. You ask for prophesy, these words I shall invoke to you in reply.
By this way shall it be done: the kiss of the Amorveleno, a blade in the dark. A masterpiece painted in shadow and silence, until the name is nothing but a bitter echo that none shall dare to speak again.
See these signs, and despair at them. The day is marked.
Live your last with as little guilt as you can. Or struggle against them and allow that bladed snare to slice into your neck. It makes no difference to me, as I will delight in watching the moment you realize there is no more escape to be had.
What limb will you try to chew off first, I wonder? What piece of you will you try to sacrifice in your desperation to flee when your disciplined dormancy and reservation results in obliviousness to the imminent danger? When you are dismantled─piece by piece, sinew from bone─until you leave this world in the same way you came into it: miserably, wretchedly, helplessly, and cursed the moment that your name makes its virgin voyage from the lips of the damned.
How tragic.
The way you like it, I'm sure.
I am glad we finally understand each other, and I am glad you have finally responded to me with but a few of your velvet words. They are so delightful in my circumstance, as I have told you once before.
Saddened as I am that you have not taken at least a little comfort in my act of cutting from you but one of the whetstones you allowed to crush your throat for so long, I am quite blushing at the compliment of your feelings on my handiwork. Let us call it a family secret, as yours have many as well.
My family name would be of no interest to you. Perhaps it would be quite familiar to your familial phantasms. Speak to them, if you can stomach their flagrance and vainglory in reminiscing the poisonous. All you need know is that the day of reckoning is falling swiftly upon the Chiadovinis, for even you know that you have lived too long. Now at last divine retribution shall exact its payment for the sins that have gone for too long in debt.
Why have you allowed yourself to persist so long, anyhow? Do you simply prefer the longer, more painful route of liver failure? Truly a glutton for punishment, then, it would seem.
How bold of you to call your own father the Ghost. There's something to be said there, psychologically, but I believe between us we know the answer without it having to be annotated. Always looking in the wrong place. Always noticing the wrong shadow. Eternally blinded to the real world, truly an irony considering your remarkable weakness with the Eye.
My dear Leonardo. Must I spell out all for you? I thought you clever.
Both Ghost and Madness have already dug themselves deep into your heart: for I have spoken to you, and your lovelock son you hold close to your breast like a tether in a wild sea. Be cautious in your avarice for my answers. I am of the mind that you will not like what you hear.
But since you insist, I gladly shall indulge. My dear, it is I who is the Sooth, for your family is Caesar and his bloodline. Brutus already has prepared his hands for your blood being shed, and the Senate has plotted and come to agreement on the means of your downfall. Marc Antony will rise in a desire to avenge, as we know he shall when Brutus and Cassius falls─a Macbeth among the kings that remain─but even when Cleopatra stands by his side as his Lady Macbeth Octavius will slay him and take his name.
Mark my words, Leonardo Ricardo. Mark them well, for there will be only one left standing in the end. You ask for prophesy, these words I shall invoke to you in reply.
By this way shall it be done: the kiss of the Amorveleno, a blade in the dark. A masterpiece painted in shadow and silence, until the name is nothing but a bitter echo that none shall dare to speak again.
See these signs, and despair at them. The day is marked.
Live your last with as little guilt as you can. Or struggle against them and allow that bladed snare to slice into your neck. It makes no difference to me, as I will delight in watching the moment you realize there is no more escape to be had.
What limb will you try to chew off first, I wonder? What piece of you will you try to sacrifice in your desperation to flee when your disciplined dormancy and reservation results in obliviousness to the imminent danger? When you are dismantled─piece by piece, sinew from bone─until you leave this world in the same way you came into it: miserably, wretchedly, helplessly, and cursed the moment that your name makes its virgin voyage from the lips of the damned.
How tragic.
The way you like it, I'm sure.
Regards,
~ Rachelle 𖣂
~ Rachelle 𖣂
The typical dark-weathered expression that typically graced the features of the Chiadovini transformed into a downright stormy visage, a cyclone of varying thoughts and logical passages of thought coming and going as he stitched together the story that was being told to him. Just as any other tale he had read, as he knew by heart, there was a fabula here. Rachelle, in her veiled threats which were like a dance of blades--glinting and present in danger but uncertain in when they would be thrown--was slowly opening up a tome of both family histories as if to mock him, as if to tempt him to unearth even the darkest secrets of his own family that they had worked so diligently to conceal and obscure from the eyes of those soft enough to ignore the shadow on the other side of the masque.
But it was the wording of some of those things that gave him pause, the very specific connection between two of the phrases.
Reminiscing the poisonous...
The kiss of the Amorveleno...
Amorveleno was a word that Leonardo, and presumably Rachelle, knew only because of Chiadovini family dialect. It was used sometimes in passing by his family to refer to the effects of a potion they called "Love Poison".
Love Poison being the phenomenon of poisoned love in the form of Amortentia, especially should the occurrence bring about a child who was "Love Poisoned". It was a highly derogatory term, both in reference to the parents themselves... and to the offspring of such a union.
Reminiscing the poisonous...
Poisonous: Velenoso.
What was the connection in referencing these two things as being elements of poison?
Reminiscing... Remember...
"Velenosi." He murmured with quiet realization, the cup of tea empty as his eyes flicked to it to observe the tealeaf remains. A sinuous presence of a serpent lazily twined about the center of the cup, twisting around upon itself with its impression of a 'head' seemingly prepared to bite its tail. An Ouroboros.
A blade in the dark...
Phantom impression of the knife in his chest ached for a moment, the glimmer of the edge of the weapon unmistakable in the memory of that oneiromantic prophecy a year ago.
It was impossible. It had been silent for centuries.
The serpent in the tea leaves seemed to 'slither' as the leaves slid towards the bowl of the cup. The Chiadovini watched them, the words of the letter emblazoning themselves in the pages of his memory as he mulled them over and over again. What a terrible, cruel lie she had spoken. "My family name would be of no interest to you."
"The Velenosi lineage persists?" The whisper was met by the creaking of insects in the forests, unanswered. He was left to his silence, troubled as he held the letter and sat upon his rocking chair, until the sun crossed the ground and dawn spread delicate fingers across the land.
Midday was when the letter would be returned. Carefully, carefully...
It would be a lie to say that there was not a modicum of something to be worried about that was now newly planted in the unshakable Seer's heart.
Rachelle,
Your advice I shall take into account, and your prophecy I shall give its due respect as my family would give to any other. Note that I do not take the potential substance of your threats lightly: it is the only reason I continue to entertain your letters.
If you feel that there is no way to restore civility between ourselves, I will have no choice but to end this dialogue. If, however, closure is desired, then this chapter necessitates immediacy in it. You too have a daughter just as I have a son. This matter is between us, not our children that you seem more than willing to involve in this intimately vicious politic. They will not be the pawns in this game, and should you attempt to make it so it will degrade your allegedly righteous angers that I may find myself willing to be sympathetic towards instead into disgrace.
As you must know because of your motivation towards the drastic, the Chiadovinis have had many historic foes. Your family, while capable of merely being but one of those that we had to confront in the past for the purpose of what we believed then to be self-defense, obviously has not conflicted with our own in decades if not centuries. Old tensions we have worked to mend, and what we have not mended we have instead attempted to mitigate and dissuade. If your grievances stem from such affronts, I am more than willing to attempt to atone in a way befitting of the injury in whatever way is feasible. However, I will not imperil myself or my son for the sake of such "reparations".
Your intents, I am saddened to say, appear to be madly obsessed with outright elimination. As such, I can neither in good conscience allow or assist you to do as you say.
You will neither, I am afraid, find me or my son easy prey no matter what plots and affiliations you have planned or connected with. One way or another, this ends now.
The poison will be sucked out from the wound before it festers, or else I will ensure that what is indeed most precious to me will not meet the same injury. You as well as I know that life does not always end at the coil's expiration, especially considering the Chiadovinis and our ancestral phantasms.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, yet the damned man learned to suffer so as to no longer writhe even when fully engulfed. I do not fear my own mortality, a terror that causes even the hounds of hell and the seraphs of heaven to quell at the thought of tasting it.
Fare well, Rachelle. I hope that you too live without guilt even as your sand runs swift through the glass.
Regards,
- L
Reducio
Rachelle,
Your advice I shall take into account, and your prophecy I shall give its due respect as my family would give to any other. Note that I do not take the potential substance of your threats lightly: it is the only reason I continue to entertain your letters.
If you feel that there is no way to restore civility between ourselves, I will have no choice but to end this dialogue. If, however, closure is desired, then this chapter necessitates immediacy in it. You too have a daughter just as I have a son. This matter is between us, not our children that you seem more than willing to involve in this intimately vicious politic. They will not be the pawns in this game, and should you attempt to make it so it will degrade your allegedly righteous angers that I may find myself willing to be sympathetic towards instead into disgrace.
As you must know because of your motivation towards the drastic, the Chiadovinis have had many historic foes. Your family, while capable of merely being but one of those that we had to confront in the past for the purpose of what we believed then to be self-defense, obviously has not conflicted with our own in decades if not centuries. Old tensions we have worked to mend, and what we have not mended we have instead attempted to mitigate and dissuade. If your grievances stem from such affronts, I am more than willing to attempt to atone in a way befitting of the injury in whatever way is feasible. However, I will not imperil myself or my son for the sake of such "reparations".
Your intents, I am saddened to say, appear to be madly obsessed with outright elimination. As such, I can neither in good conscience allow or assist you to do as you say.
You will neither, I am afraid, find me or my son easy prey no matter what plots and affiliations you have planned or connected with. One way or another, this ends now.
The poison will be sucked out from the wound before it festers, or else I will ensure that what is indeed most precious to me will not meet the same injury. You as well as I know that life does not always end at the coil's expiration, especially considering the Chiadovinis and our ancestral phantasms.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, yet the damned man learned to suffer so as to no longer writhe even when fully engulfed. I do not fear my own mortality, a terror that causes even the hounds of hell and the seraphs of heaven to quell at the thought of tasting it.
Fare well, Rachelle. I hope that you too live without guilt even as your sand runs swift through the glass.
Your advice I shall take into account, and your prophecy I shall give its due respect as my family would give to any other. Note that I do not take the potential substance of your threats lightly: it is the only reason I continue to entertain your letters.
If you feel that there is no way to restore civility between ourselves, I will have no choice but to end this dialogue. If, however, closure is desired, then this chapter necessitates immediacy in it. You too have a daughter just as I have a son. This matter is between us, not our children that you seem more than willing to involve in this intimately vicious politic. They will not be the pawns in this game, and should you attempt to make it so it will degrade your allegedly righteous angers that I may find myself willing to be sympathetic towards instead into disgrace.
As you must know because of your motivation towards the drastic, the Chiadovinis have had many historic foes. Your family, while capable of merely being but one of those that we had to confront in the past for the purpose of what we believed then to be self-defense, obviously has not conflicted with our own in decades if not centuries. Old tensions we have worked to mend, and what we have not mended we have instead attempted to mitigate and dissuade. If your grievances stem from such affronts, I am more than willing to attempt to atone in a way befitting of the injury in whatever way is feasible. However, I will not imperil myself or my son for the sake of such "reparations".
Your intents, I am saddened to say, appear to be madly obsessed with outright elimination. As such, I can neither in good conscience allow or assist you to do as you say.
You will neither, I am afraid, find me or my son easy prey no matter what plots and affiliations you have planned or connected with. One way or another, this ends now.
The poison will be sucked out from the wound before it festers, or else I will ensure that what is indeed most precious to me will not meet the same injury. You as well as I know that life does not always end at the coil's expiration, especially considering the Chiadovinis and our ancestral phantasms.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, yet the damned man learned to suffer so as to no longer writhe even when fully engulfed. I do not fear my own mortality, a terror that causes even the hounds of hell and the seraphs of heaven to quell at the thought of tasting it.
Fare well, Rachelle. I hope that you too live without guilt even as your sand runs swift through the glass.
- L
⟣𝙱𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚜, / 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜⟢
11 Apr 2025, 15:05
Regards, Rachelle 𖣂 |
The letter came on a Friday, and once more was the Seer surprised that Rachelle had waited so long to deliver a retort to what he believed was to be the last letter in their communications.
It bore only a single sentence.
There was no further words to be exchanged. It would seem that the invocation had been issued, the iron had been struck, and the hatchet had now been dug up once more.
And while Leonardo had no particularly great fear concerning the fact that the gauntlet had been thrown upon the ground at his feet, he refused to doubt the certain powers of any enemy no matter their current condition. The ambitions of men were too houndingly hell-sent to allow even momentary allowance of a blind eye to be turned their way.
No Sign could be ignored.
No passing allusion could be waved off.
The Chiadovinis' enemies abounded about them once more, knowing that they themselves were now the predator and the Lineage was the prey.
Teeth gnashed hungrily for conflict, and the Raven now sharpened its beak in anticipation for war.
It bore only a single sentence.
──────────────────────────────────────────────
Quando poi l'Occhio e lo Specchio si rompono l'uno sull'altro, tentiamo il Diavolo
e fa ' che Dio guardi con timore
queste nostre spire mortali che ha battuto con la sua stessa mano.
𖣂
──────────────────────────────────────────────
Reducio
Quando poi l'Occhio e lo Specchio si rompono l'uno sull'altro, tentiamo il Diavolo
e fa ' che Dio guardi con timore
queste nostre spire mortali che ha battuto con la sua stessa mano.
Then when Eye and Looking Glass break upon the other, let us tempt the Devil
and make God look with fear upon
these mortal coils of ours that he wrought with his own hand.
𖣂
e fa ' che Dio guardi con timore
queste nostre spire mortali che ha battuto con la sua stessa mano.
Then when Eye and Looking Glass break upon the other, let us tempt the Devil
and make God look with fear upon
these mortal coils of ours that he wrought with his own hand.
𖣂
There was no further words to be exchanged. It would seem that the invocation had been issued, the iron had been struck, and the hatchet had now been dug up once more.
And while Leonardo had no particularly great fear concerning the fact that the gauntlet had been thrown upon the ground at his feet, he refused to doubt the certain powers of any enemy no matter their current condition. The ambitions of men were too houndingly hell-sent to allow even momentary allowance of a blind eye to be turned their way.
No Sign could be ignored.
No passing allusion could be waved off.
The Chiadovinis' enemies abounded about them once more, knowing that they themselves were now the predator and the Lineage was the prey.
Teeth gnashed hungrily for conflict, and the Raven now sharpened its beak in anticipation for war.
⟣𝙱𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚜, / 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜⟢