Octavia's notes

[One]

** Octavia takes commissions for private collections, special occasions, or public works. Please leave a message on this thread with your IC wishes in faeletter form!

Finished:
"Xav and the Apple" - abstract oils/mixed media, her collection
"Mermaid in Sand" - sandstone sculpture residing on the beach - found objects/mixed media
"Ishtar Submits" - white marble sculpture (commissioned by Tehya,) in a personal shrine, the summer palace
"As Rubies, Two Burn" - black marble sculpture (commissioned by Tehya,) delivered and residing at the temple of Uvelcra
Private shrine, Imperial summer palace


In Progress:
Celebratory work for noble bonding
Primary palace, dome ceiling and floor mosiac
Inn mural
One painting in oils on starched canvas
A "to-do" list
A mother's lullabye

[One]

Find below logs of work 8/23 - please note all info is strictly IC knowledge currently between Octavia and Tehya .. thus far.

[00:24] <+Octavia> * she'd brought all of her things there .. slowly, the easels. then the tarpulins, the great expanses of white linen needed to protect the floor of Tehya's borrowed cottage from the work she would do .. a bag of personal belongings consisting mostly of clothes and paint brushes. amongst them, though, were precious bits of glass .. teardrops of many colors, which the halfbreed had hung carefully in the windows so that they would catch the light. now she stood outdoors with hands upon her hips, focusing narrowly upon the blocks of marble that had been delivered .. sitting upon pallettes with sculptures hidden within them. the pair of exceptional rubies she'd purchased she carried always in a pouch hung from her belts, afraid they would be misplaced or stolen. now, in starlight, she uncovered the blocks and studied them for perhaps the fiftieth time, attempting to divine their purposes.

[00:29] <+Octavia> * spread upon the pine needles and gravel was the leather case holding the new tools that she would use to break the blocks apart .. to see what was inside them, as one might seize upon a clam shell buried deep and only begin to wonder at its contents. the moon fell dappled and irregular through tree canopy, covering the blocks in a nodding pattern of silver. Octavia paced around them broodily. shucked her tunic, irritated by it's touch, and threw it upon the ground with a gust of dirt and forest refuse. half-naked, peered closely at the white marble block. reached out .. passed her long, dexterous hands over it's surface and stepped nearer. closer. breathing, pressing her nose to it. forehead, moulded, pushing bare breasts in pillows against the stone. "where are you," murmured at the piece inside it, towering high over her head. felt the wind gusting through both open doors of the cottage, breathing with it scents of enamel and oils, crushed pigments.

[00:36] <+Octavia> * the dark marble could wait. inside it she could already hear the dragon twisting, and understood what it would become. the tracing she'd taken of Tehya's mark was inside, but had illustrated the feral nature of the piece to perfection .. it would writhe and shine when it was finished, would be a perfect thing for Sorgram's temple of fire .. whether or not it was the symbol of a bonding, or simply a gift. the white marble, though .. it had a more divine design, it reached out unfocused and whispered things in her ears, it called to something underneath her breastbone. it was thicker, it was male and female. since the Bardess had spoken about Stormbringer and Ishtar, the goddess in his arms .. it consumed her, though it could not reach realization. she exhaled against the stone and bared her teeth, reached out with an eyetooth, raked it against the grain of the stone .. felt it cool, unyeilding, against her nipples. "i know," she said finally. stepping backward, kicking off her shoes.

[00:43] <+Octavia> * long legs brought her back into the house. by the time she reached it she was scowling in vague frustration .. sketches for the bath house for Tamryn, half-realized notions of the black marble dragon, also the much rumpled and smoothed beginnings of the white marble sculpture were all spread around the leather chair in front of the hearth and on the kitchen table, which had become her workbench. not a single surface in Tehya's borrowed cabin was not covered in work, in tools, in frames in the midst of building .. stretched, drying, starched canvas, herbs hanging, waiting to be crushed. Tamryn's relief would be a complicated matter .. she would need admittance to the place sooner than later. dark angels writhing. spiders, red mouths, twists of limbs and toes pointed in ecstacy. within her mind, it was already done .. it was in motion, dark winged Torian males hunched screaming against the bodies of nymphs and Moriel alike .. in fact, the sculpture in the white marble was her only saving grace. that it whispered, was not dark. it was a revelation, waiting. she could see it from where she sat, gleaming whitely.

[00:52] <+Octavia> * painter, sculptor's long body was draped across the chair as though it were a garment, tousels of hair scooped away from her nape. often she worked without clothes or half dressed, so that her upper body is brown and without line. eyes the color of coffee and dark northern earth peering intensely at the marble block standing in the yard as though it were seducing her - for her imagination it was strong, it was thick .. it was soft, its breasts were poignant .. it was two, Octavia knew it was two. how they would twist was another matter altogether. she exhaled through her nose and folded upward, scuffing toward the water pump .. gulped down a wooden cup or two from the works and decided finally to light a lantern and cut up some fruit .. understanding the carve of her middle was hungry, twisting around itself. not condusive. she would sketch more of the dark angels with their hands full of thighs and hair, the clouds, the bright sky and Tamryn's keep beyond .. would need to see the curve of the building before she made any final decisions, but felt certain it would be suitable. knife sliding through peaches was satisfying. the flesh, sugary gleam, the pit she tucked into her cheek to suck on. "alright." with finality, to the knife and the fruit and the marble. " .. alright."

[One]

Octavia rested her back against the doorjamb, sliding slowly to the threshold. she hung her wrists from her knees, shucked the gloves from her hands and tossed them against the cabin floor with a slap and a skidding hiss. the tool bench she'd constructed to bear up under the sculpting tools was covered in powder .. the ground littered with precise, satisfying rubble. the standing forms had not yet begun to take their shape .. they were hiding, yet, beneath the marble. the Valencian half-breed now had a certain sense of them .. but the visit had produced more questions than answers.

Ishtar was a blonde, he'd said. .. long brown hands rummaged through hair, a snort of laughter that only the stars and the whisper of the pines were witness to. it wasn't enough, immaterial as it happened. wished she could look into the eyes of the very goddess and wonder .. but Octavia was not a worshiper of deities .. only an admirer of the fervent. what could Tehya tell her? what could any divulge that would aid in the particular writhe of the divine in a state of passion. -did- divinity itself, herself, writhe with passion? was it controlled abandon, or was it completely given?

she would have to turn to the libraries. to the written word, lean heavily upon the illumination of others who had come before her. Octavia was no keeper of the histories .. the artist had no singing voice, her handwriting was minuscule and nearly illegible to others .. but her memory worked well enough. Octavia shifted her seat on the hardwood. her body was sore, not simply from the act of chipping and hammering at the marble. she rose with a groan and rubbed at her nape, squinting into the cabin's dimness .. shuffled and scuffed in through the door and dropped at the mostly-obscured writing desk, slouching on it's work stool. the letter had been written, as discussed. it was addressed to WhiteMist, printed carefully. the half-elf touched it's corner. it would be sent in the morning.

she pulled another piece of vellum toward herself and began a list, if only to empty her mind so that she could leave the night to it's devices. libraries, perhaps a priest or priestess of Ishtar with whom to discuss the piece .. there was also research to be done upon her other commission, the one hidden in the black marble. more materials. shadow of her shoulders crossed the page .. she rested on her arms, studying first drafts in clay strewn across the bench. some arched .. some clutched. others roared.

her thoughts went adrift, eyes losing focus .. then eyelids slipped and Octavia slept at the workbench, dreaming of fire. of laughter out of sight - of ringing bells - of cigar embers. of things yet to be revealed, which were down-turned Tarot cards and the fragrant blue smoke of sweetgrass .. cedar .. sage .. juniper ..

[One]

Brief worknotes from beginning of RP 9/5 (edited slightly for flow & grammar!)

[18:01] <+Octavia> * the emery moved; it whispered, it defined the bridge of his nose so slowly that it had taken her this day to define the Emperor's face from the white stone. as white marble had fallen away, the curtain of his hair had become - the rest of his lips on Ishtar's ear. the goddess had taken a distinct partition from Bennu in the days that followed her meeting with them .. having mostly to do with research, questioning of the devout. the goddess rose up on toes to listen to whatever he whispered. her fingers pushed, swept his hair away from his opposite ear; his solid hands clutched her breasts until flesh bunched between digits. soft marble plane of belly tipped downward and backward .. tiniest lips of the goddess' nethers disappeared between her thighs. the emery had long since defined these, and the shapely stems of her legs. -she- was finished. Stormbringer was not.

[18:07] <+Octavia> * marble hunks were piled neatly beside the cottage door. they would make suitable smaller works of their own, the ones that had broken cleanly .. the black marble piece for Tehya's bonding was also finished. at first Octavia had thought it would come into the world squalling, red-faced .. but the shape and aspect of the work was calm instead. inquisitive, almost, staring at whatever stood before it as though it might know secrets untold. the light was dying .. Octavia peered at the sky and sheltered her eyes from the sunset with a long brown hand .. soon it would be too dim to continue on. but the statue was nearly finished. she'd chosen to clothe the Emperor's lower half at the last minute, when his hips were emerging. his legs and feet were still rough-hewn, chunks unfocused. the artist took a step backward with the heavy emery stone in one hand and cloth in the other .. pushed up her face and realized she was hungry.

[18:20] <+Octavia> * workbenches comprised of many tools .. of picks and brushes, buckets of water from the river made a slurry by the dip of her cloth into them. in the dying light Ishtar's body was seductive and clever. it might have appeared submissive, offering itself; but in the sculpture's blank eyes there was a knowing, the faintest smile on her mouth, the attitude of her arms might say she understood all that she did - was unashamed. the column of Ishtar's neck had a pride, it's thrust disappearing succinctly beneath the shadow of her finely boned jaw. Octavia abandoned her tools on nearest bench and dusted her hands on loose skirt's folds .. shrugged back into mostly-unlaced tunic, feeling it slide against sunwarmed and browned skin. went inside to start the cookfire, the laundry in the rear yard floating in the windowpanes like ghosts in the blueblack twilight .. listened to the water, rushing, as she stoked the fire in the stove and made a place for her plates on the tall architect's desk inside. it was more of an adjustable -plank- .. at which she might sit on a stool, rather than deep in a chair.

[One]

[05:17] <+Octavia> * she pulled off her gloves and bent at the waist, pushing palms of her bare hands across the knees of her loose trousers. the step ladders were sentinels in the moonlight darkness. she'd built them so that she could reach the top-most reaches of the statue and sculpt even the jagged, unfocused part in the Emperor's hair .. though only the spiders and the spirits might see it. the statue was finished now, it had cracked from it's shell and the artist felt as though it were no less than a birth - but the very eruption of an animal, a thief, both a triumph and a gnawing. in form it was in such contrast to the pine and ash, the birch and maple that surrounded the cottage .. Octavia could not be truly satisfied with it until it had found it's place in Stormbringer's shrine. the Valencian halfbreed took three steps back and raked her hair away from her face with both calloused hands, peering .. studying the hands that clutched Ishtar's firm, round breasts in such a grip that they might have possessed them utterly .. were it not for the goddess' -face,- which was frustratingly secretive and divine. if Octavia had been the sort to have more than a generalized faith, she might have worshiped that clever and tiny smile. but the artist was ever a vessel .. for her, the divine was in the creation. stillness, and movement.

[05:26] <+Octavia> * though she suspected Tehya might have favored Stormbringer's nakedness, the marble had given her a pair of semi-loose leathers that allowed for 'wrinkles' below the knee .. but clung to his thighs and his hind-end. they'd appeared slouched low below the plane of his lower belly, the seam between torso and strong lean legs divided by a thick supple belt. in the end, his groin was hidden by the arch of Ishtar's sublimely bare behind into him .. the angle of her body such that they were one solid center of gravity from the first curve of goddess' bottom to the last. then, her long birch whip spine curved outward and back .. her belly defined. they joined once more at his hands and then at last where her face lifted itself. they were temple-to-temple, his head and neck bent in possessive seeming .. hers uplifted, seeming both to offer and to -restrain- .. neither were submissive, but clearly, in this depiction Ishtar was the prey.

[05:34] <+Octavia> * the time had come to write two letters. one would go to the Imperial Bardess, explaining that her commissions were complete and could be delivered at any time. the other could simply be left with a page when she went to the summer palace that morning to begin sorting her studio there. it would not include a sketch. it was Tehya's design, after all, wasn't it? these two hatched sentinels, ready for revelation. it was also time for food .. in the act of completion she'd not bothered with it, and felt the snarlings of it now. firstly - it was time to clean up. she summoned herself from reverie and sniffed to herself, lifting a brow .. then began to sing, softly, in her own plain voice (which was not so tonedeaf as she told most who asked,) as she gathered all of her picks and brushes .. the soft scouring stones and the wet rags, dumped the slurry buckets, laid her hammers in a row on her bench. then she covered the eight foot statue with tarpulins in sweeping movements, tossing them up and over, around like dusty shawls .. scuffed into the house to take off her work boots.

[05:43] <+Octavia> * though .. by the time she'd written to Tehya and sent it off with a bad-tempered and sleepy faerie .. Octavia had also realized her exhaustion. it had crept in like winter, an ache in her joints and muscles, vibrating buzz in shoulders and elbows from the chisel and the fine-edged work of polishing the smallest details of the statue. the artist nearly fell asleep once more at her workbench, nodding once .. then twice again over her quill as she attempted to piece together a missive that was plain and consise for the Emperor .. but, waking from a half-dream, she saw she had only written a fragmented 'to-do' list and a jumble that appeared to be part of a harp song her mother had used to sing. it was a song for a child, to be whispered while others dreamed, to soothe Octavia's mind .. who had always been restless, like her father. " .. bed .. " she grunted to herself and rolled her body forward, yanking her tunic off with it in a smooth motion .. dropped belts, pants, panties, and the leather thong from her hair on her way to her narrow bed .. dropped into it naked, and slept through the morning.

[Tehya]

Sometimes what she viewed in the magical mirror didn’t become real until she could see it for herself, but that’s a doubting Thomas type personality… which was Tehya’s. Years went by and Christolf finally gave up convincing her about Gaea, and the bard discovered her own god, which only a scattered few in her life were told who it was.

Art peaked the Imperial bard’s interest, and she could have sculpted it herself, but meeting Octavia she wanted to see another’s expression of what and who she thought her god was, besides the fire priest Sorgram would have smashed it to dust if she attempted sculpting it or telling him she commissioned it, after the ice soldiers she sculpted episode.

When the fae delivered the message the piece was completed, she sent back a message secretly to Octavia and a bag of money in payment. This wasn’t to get the Emperor’s attention, it was something she thought fitting and real, something she seen in the mirror to become everlasting art. Only a few could understand her passion for art, Relanoth for one, but it was also a replication of her god, a god that could control another god…she knew this to be true…even if another would argue the point.

It was exactly a year to date since she seen the vision in the mirror, and she hired Octavia incognito and asked that the person commissioning this piece was not revealed. It was best that way, Tehya was caught up in future plans, and the decorative statue proclaimed her god Stormbringer controlling Ishtar, would be somewhere she could go and worship. Octavia agreed to sculpt and not reveal to anyone who commissioned it.

With Octavia’s first piece seen and paid for, she hoped to see the other commissioned piece that would be part of the Wildfire Ceremony, and at that time she would express her appreciation personally to Octavia.

[One]

(( OOC: delivery of the statue will happen personally! ))

[Tehya]

Sorry assumed since a note was delivered to Tehya, deleted my part of Valaruko delivering it.

Enjoy1

[One]

she'd not been about the summer palace very often; or perhaps, if she had, had been cloistered in the small studio she'd chosen on a lower floor, a long and rough-hewn room with two doors and windows that made the best of afternoon light. a modest balcony was not wide enough for chairs, but enough to allow one to stand in the wind. deliveries to the palace made on her behalf consisted of wood for workbenches, frames .. a block of mahogany, a box of hinges and gears, worked latches, and buckets of pulverized marble. canvas also came, metal and tether for light scaffolding, alchemists bottles full of an astringent that stank like root cellar alcohol .. tools for carving, smallest finished pikes that seemed fit to go through wood and then through stone. signs of her presence were often no better than muddy boot prints in through a much-favored garden door with easy access to the beach, and breaths of sweet smoke from cigarillos or smaller hand-rolled cigarettes.

upon his desk as the weather began to turn it's face sincerely toward winter, and storms began to break themselves against the summer palace's stones .. several rolls of parchment, unsealed. at first there seemed no note accompanied these, but the measurement estimations in their margins implied whom they were from as strongly as the subject matter.

they were sketches of the shrine - perhaps not simply sketches - but rude schematics. their creator was no architect, however, and the drawings had more to do with the balance of shapes and form with existing structure rather than outright construction.

as one stepped into the shrine, the door was orientated in the far left and rear corner of the narrow room. the sketches marched in order from the wall directly ahead of the viewer's eye upon entering. here one would be greeted with a larger-than-life portrait of Ishtar bathed in silks the various colors of fire .. she lay arched, most purposefully, across an empty throne. her feet and legs hung wide over one side of the throne, while her back poured from the other side .. her blonde hair spilt in coils and spools below her head, her face turned toward the room. belly up, her left side to that audience, structure of her belly and her lithe legs caught in the silk's unending and gravity-defying drift .. between her legs, kneeling and half hidden, seemed to be the shapes of a nude man and woman feeding upon her sex with hands clasped behind their backs and knees in practiced posture; reverence.

her expression was blithe, almost bored .. tiniest text and penciled pastel color indicated that this wall was to be painted most richly. her mouth, pursed, blew a lazy exhalation over the head of a dandelion clasped in her left hand .. it's feather-parachuted seeds were caught by the same wind that blew her silks, spreading these seeds into the next wall - the farthest, behind the statue. before the statue was a richly carved altar with six binding cuffs. upon it was bound a helpless form, neither male nor female.

the wall behind the statue would be plaster, the tiny text indicated. a sculpture on the wall would evolve that cloud of floating seeds into the many races .. upon the wall they would at first be alone, and then as the figures formed would begin to twine and join - twist, and bend. the plaster wall would be a tumult of sex and creation, wings and fur and flesh .. until they began to reach the ground on the wall that included the door.

this wall would also be painted. here the seeds had become life, landscapes. forests, mountains, water, desert, farm fields, towns, and wilderness would join there. figures would farm and smith, practice with blades, hunt and weave. there would be jhore and mephos; there would be slaves, and masters. it was a portrait of his kingdom, and evermore would Ishtar gaze upon it - seed it - watch over it.

where at first there had seemed no note, beneath the parchment there was indeed an informal letter. more of a list.

(this has already been responded to in an OOC fashion, thank you!)

[One]

the door was heavy. it opened and closed on silent hinges, and fit so well into its moldings that it exhaled scented air, a secretive sigh, whenever it swung into place against its threshold. the threshold was padded and pressed, cushioned black velveteen. it was made to keep noise inside the chamber beyond .. as well, to cushion the most precious and satin-fleshed knees that crossed over it. footsteps that moved against the floor beyond were softened by thick carpets.

the door was orientated in the far left and rear corner of the long, 20 foot by 12 foot room. the (EAST) wall directly across from the door was a larger-than-life portrait of Ishtar bathed in silks the various colors of fire .. she lay arched, most purposefully, across the seat of an ornate and empty throne. her pointed feet, lifted knees, slightly spread legs hung over one side of the throne, while her back poured from the other side .. her blonde hair was spilt in bright coils and spools below her head, her face turned toward the room. belly up, her left side to that audience, structure of her stomach, hips, and her lithe legs caught in the silk gown's gravity-defying drift .. kneeling and half hidden were the shapes of a nude man and woman, their faces hidden between her thighs. they sat with hands clasped behind their backs and knees in practiced posture, naked bottoms saddled in the curves of their feet; reverence.

Ishtar's expression was blithe, half-asleep. her arm nearest the viewer lies bent against the stony mountaintop underneath the throne .. her mouth was pursed, blowing a lazy and never-ending exhalation over the head of a dandelion clasped in her left hand .. it's feather-parachuted seeds were caught by the same wind that blew her silks, spreading these seeds across a pagent of blue sky and into the next wall - the farthest (SOUTH,) a cream plaster backdrop for a tall statue of white marble. before the statue - at the base of its pedestal, with room to stride completely around it - was a richly carved altar with six binding cuffs. the altar was heavy oak, stained darkly to bring out the wood's strong textures.

.. while the sides and shaped corners of the altar gleamed, polished and bare .. the top surface of the altar was upholstered in the same butter-textured black velveteen as the threshold. small, winking silver rivets anchored it to the altar's broad shelf along with deep padding. hanging from two rings mounted in the ceiling over the altar, two pair of cuffs on two long chains that at first masqueraded as decoration proved themselves beautifully functional upon inspection. softest hare-lined cuffs waited motionless to hold a living bit of art. the chains were thick, hand-forged filagree'd mithril .. not simply bindings, but tethers for divine sacrifice.

the statue looked down on all. it was Ishtar on her toes, naked, arched .. her raised arms to make her body long, every supple muscle proportioned. her belly was thrust forward, her breasts clutched to near-bursting in Stormbringer's thick stone hands. the Emperor was naked to the waist, his torso leanly muscled .. Ishtar's arms were in dancer's angles raised to his neck, drawing down his head so that they were temple-to-temple. the statues looked at the beholder .. Ishtar was clever and half-smiling, coy and empassioned .. surrendered, yet not. Stormbringer's expression was possessive - calm - ferocious - quiet. it claimed, unquestionably. neither submissive .. but the goddess most clearly the prey. Emperor wore leathers clinging to thighs and loose, straight-legged around calves .. boots. the stone pedestal was 2 feet tall, the figures lifesized.

the raised plaster behind the statue was a detail of that cloud of floating seeds into the many races .. upon the wall they were at first alone, and then as the figures formed began to twine and join - twist, and bend. the plaster wall would be a tumult of sex and creation, wings and fur and flesh .. until they began to reach the ground on the wall that included the door (WEST.)

this wall was full, was rich - the bounty of Ishtar, the people and their own creation. here the seeds had become life, landscapes. forests, mountains, water, desert, farm fields, towns, and wilderness joined there. figures farmed and smithed, practiced with blades, hunted and wove. there were jhore and mephos; there were slaves, and masters. it was a portrait of his kingdom, and evermore would Ishtar gaze upon it - seed it - watch over it.

and finally, the back wall (NORTH;) thin but wide tiles of the finest black granite polished to a mirror sheen. they had been fitted together nearly without seam. within this wall, mounted at various heights, were steel rings suitable for chaining slave or visitor for display or desire .. so that they could be as attentive to the Emperor's goddess gazing down upon them as they were to the man himself. the polished black surface of the granite was repeated in the ceiling .. all would mirror the activity on the lush pillows below, the low tables, the dim-burning lamps with their undecorated bells and brass turnings.

only accessible through the Emperor's bedroom, this summer palace secret was meant for only the most decadent and depraved .. the Emperor's most favored. one can only hope to be invited into the sanctum, and be treated to the secretive stare of Isthar's everlasting gaze.

[One]

(edited 4/10 from input gathered - thank you, sources.)

the night was so thick that a silver spoon full of the color of Gaia's brightest midsummer moon could not have cut through the ink in the summer palace that night. the roar of the ocean was low, inexorable liquid lion that was the sea seemed to rest with sapphire eyes half-shut. it was true that Octavia had in the past few weeks been pre-posessed with the work that the Emperor had given her .. and that the more she set her mind against the tasks at hand, the more she realized their enormity. one project, however, haunted her mind .. because if her own creation, her own drive to -produce,- could be finally overcome with sleep .. the images he had given her with a simple touch would not rest. they sat beside her in silence, gazed at her across her drawing boards, stood alone in the dunes above the beach. they were unavoidable - she had no choice but to heed their memory.



the first was a small nymph with a mane of strange, thick brown-and-green hair with maddening properties - in the brown of the reeds or in the light of the studio - in the temple arch in Octavia's mind's eye - she was always naked but always demurely -covered- .. the color of her flesh was spice. in one posture she might be shy .. in another, intent, inquisitive .. or wanton. her body breathed from one step to the next, rather than stepping .. she sang, occasionally. Octavia knew she was singing .. but having never heard her voice, the implication was all her supple mouth produced.

the other was equine in body but feminine in the eye .. a body of the finest white, a belly and legs that wore ripples of black and white stripes as no horse the Valencian had ever seen in her lifetime. a long horn from her forehead, a unicorn .. her eyes were fine and sharp with wit, or subdued and silent. she had the look of a thing that had been stolen not once, but many times .. Octavia saw her lying down more often than standing, which inspired her posture most strongly in the Imperial artisan's first draft of the memorial portrait that she would paint on a wall of the Inn.

the backdrop was their domain. it was the forest - not a wood of straight pine and tall, uninterrupted marches of trunks .. but a lush green tangle, vines and willows, grass that erupted from the earth, flowers that did not simply bloom but climbed, reached. the unicorn lay serene, legs folded .. she bent her neck inward and downward toward the nymph, who was seated in the cradle of her body. the nymph's arm was lifted, a hand and wrist cradling the graceful face of feminine beast toward herself. she gazed into the distance, knees pushed left and feet posed right. a plain leather collar ringed the base of her throat, bearing the Emperor's initials. three giant butterflies - the foremost could have been a moth, a great white insect the size of a sparrow with yellow owl's eyes on it's first pair of wings - rested on the nymph at shoulder, knee, and highest little toe. they were the muses, the instruments, the unheard voices. a lute rested across her lap. a garland of bluebells, purple-and-yellow faced pansies, bright saffron-petaled daisies and creme roses cradled the unicorn's throat. the light of the portrait was green and yellow, living .. and across the unicorn's flanks - across, downward - then laid across the nymph's lap was a bolt of silk in the Imperial shade, jewel-bright emerald. the fabric poured, connecting both figures in a flow of rippling color.

of course, all of this was in pencil and pastels .. daubs of watercolor. it was a single fold .. it was not sealed or bound, nor did it contain a note .. it had a different tone than Octavia's official exchanges with the man. it was personal. long-bodied Valencian stood in the middle of the empty hall a moment, robe bound tightly around her. one calloused hand held the front of the garment closed, absently .. ember of her dark-leaf cigarillo glowed orange in the thick night. her other hand was laid low against her belly, beneath her navel .. it hid behind the border of that covering, cradling that plane, the lean muscle and caramel skin of the border between hip bones and above mons. then she studied something on the ceiling - or further, maybe wondering why the ocean's voice was so low. then she wandered in a strange veil of tired calm, back toward her studio. she'd sleep in the chair that was half on the narrow balcony, half in the workspace .. empty wine glass at her feet, dreams finally at peace.