Fantasy Do you think history wants you to have lived? (EmperorNorton1 and Solivagante)

[Solivagante]

Original prompt: The royal family is dead and gone. The revolution has swept away the corrupt and obsolete institution, and a more just society is rising in the ashes. at least, that's what Character A believes. There is a democracy, social welfare, and non-noble magic holders are no longer relentlessly persecuted. The other nations, all kingdoms and all with varying levels of persecutions of their own, wish to crush the uprising, to prevent it from happening elsewhere. When an amnesiac orphan (character B) is presented by a neighboring kingdom as the missing princess, her mind allegedly wiped by magic, the new government sends Character A as an ambassador to talk Character B down from continuing to claim to be the dead princess.

 

[Solivagante]

Don't forget to breathe.
Irina held the words in her mind as a mantra: as her corset was laced, the heavy overskirt settled around her hips, the kokoshnik tiara placed atop her carefully arranged hair. She barely heard Maria's approving words as the countess surveyed the final effect, coming back to herself briefly when her guardian approached and gently took her gloved hands.
"You look radiant," the older woman said, with a soft smile. "Remember what we spoke of. This is the first step to reclaiming your home." At Irina's nod, she leaned in for a careful hug, the barest brush of an embrace, and whispered, "I'm so proud of you, Irinushka. Your parents would be, too."
Breathe. As she walked down the glittering halls of the Palace of Semailles trailed by servants and guards, as she came to a halt before the doors into the ballroom, as an attendant gave her title to the footman to be announced. The ball had started half an hour before, but she - the guest of honor - arrived late, to ensure that she would draw every eye when she entered. King Philip had announced the ball "to reintroduce our royal cousin to the world, and celebrate her miraculous survival", so her existence was no surprise, but this would be the first time most of the Lutecian nobles and foreign dignitaries would actually see Irina's face, the first chance they would have to look at her and decide whether to support her claim. And, as Marquis de Chaumont was wont to remind her, the first chance for the young men of the court to consider her as a bride.
The great doors swung open and a carrying voice proclaimed, "Her Imperial Majesty Irina Fyodorovna Vasarov, Empress of All Volhynia!"
Irina lifted her chin, set her shoulders back, and walked into the dazzle of light and color beyond.

---

She felt like nothing so much as a marionette, moving through the steps as she had been taught. Approach King Philip and Queen Anne on their dais, greet them with the courtesy and dignity of a co-equal royal, resist the urge to drop her eyes at His Majesty's direct gaze or react at all when he clearly stared at her bare shoulders. Chin up, jaw soft and unclenched, breathe. The Lutecian king asked for the first dance, as planned, and she assented, as planned, and they swirled through the empty center of the ballroom. At least the dance gave her a reason for her heart to pound beyond sheer anxiety. And all eyes were on them, on the swirl of her embroidered cloth-of-silver skirt and slit sleeves, and on King Philip's royal purple jacket which matched the hue of her sash exactly. The message was clear: Lutecia stands with Volhynia's empress, and supports her claim.
After the dance ended, and after she'd curtsied to the king and received his bow in return, she was swept up by another partner, and another, and another. The Duke of this, the Comte of that, and more than anything, their sons. Most, she recognized from de Chaumont's lessons, and she smiled and made what small talk she could with each, though she barely remembered the conversations a minute later. Finally, after what felt like eternity, she begged a chance to wet her throat and withdrew to the side of the room, where Maria welcomed her with a glass of champagne. She downed half of it in a single gulp, the bubbles burning her parched throat, struggling not to cough.
"I do believe they're quite taken with you," Maria said, tilting her head to one side. "This is going quite magnificently."
"Thank you," Irina said; it came out hoarse and she took another sip of champagne. "I don't believe I've ever danced this much in my life - how long did you say the ball will go on?"
Maria laughed and clinked her glass to Irina's in a faux toast. "Why, it's not a ball if we're not dancing until dawn, your Majesty! But perhaps it would be best to take things a little more slowly. Stay with me for a while, and we shall introduce you to the ladies of the court once you've caught your breath."

 

[EmperorNorton1]

Keep steady. You’ve a duty to do.
Chana kept the words a steady drumbeat in her mind as her comrades and her prepared to leave the rented flat in the Radical’s Quarter of Senonces, and head for Semailles. Glancing in the mirror, the ambassador reached up, straightening the collar of her dress shirt. They all had to look formal, and respectable, even if those who they were trying to impress weren't worthy of even the tiniest grain of politeness and decency.

"Chana, are you ready for this?"

Rivka Shtime stood up from the bed that the two were sharing, moving to stand beside her comrade and carefully taking Chana's hand, unclenching the fist that the other woman had made.

"you know, if you get angry, Vlad won't let you go to any more balls." she half-teased. in fact, it was because of that fear that Rivka was shoeless and in a simple grey dress. The other young woman had been a conscript in the Emperor's army, and Vlad, as well as the Premier and Secretary of foreign affairs, had come to the conclusion that it was a safety risk to put a powerful magic user in the same room as her former captors could result in another one of what had been dubbed a "Stenson Affair".

Chana simply nodded, giving a tiny smile to her roommate. "If I had the same magic you have, or even a gun, they wouldn't let me anywhere near those murderers. But they need me to get close to the imposter." She glanced down at the watch on her wrist, before taking a step for the door. "Rich killers dancing isn't so terrible of a thing to miss out on."

There was a small knock on the door before the tenor of their commander's voice rang through the door. "Teper, our ride is here, we'll need to head out."

Chana opened the door, to see Vladyslav Bogandov standing in front of her, clad in his dress (and only) uniform from the Civil War, the bars on his chest flashing his rank as a brigadier general. beside him stood Sender Mikhailov, in formal dress rather than military as he had been unable to fight due to his leg. The latter smiled at Chana while the formal kept on his "resting serious face".

"Give 'em hell for me, Chana!" Rivka called out to the other woman as she walked out the door, her voice light but her eyes serious. Chana tossed back a nod and a thumbs up, her eyes matching the intensity.

---

The three Volhynians arrived at the palace forty-five minutes after the ball began. at this point, security would be lax, and their carriage would simply be one among many. Sender led the trio through the twisting hallways of the gilded palace, his wooden cane tapping against chiseled marble serving as the only sound. the staff was all in the ballroom, and once they were in, there would be no way to remove the trio without causing a scene.

gradually the sound of talking voices and the hum of a string quartet grew louder, until the three diplomats were posed in the room just before the grand doors that led into the great ballroom. two servants were waiting, both men in antique powdered wigs and finery, clearly butlers costumed up for the ball. Vlad approached one, his head high as he handed a small slip of paper into the hand of the man on the right, who glanced up, his eyes narrowing in confusion, then a look of brief shock flitted through his eyes. he tried to pass the slip back to the one who gave it to him.
"they'll sac me if I open the doors for you!"

Bogandov nodded. "Then we'll open them for ourselves. you can say that you were simply following orders, all foreign diplomats are to be allowed in, it said on the invitation."

Mikhailov nodded his agreement, leaning over to whisper something in the man's ear. the man nodded, and Chana, who had been lingering just behind the two men, took a breath to steady herself, before moving to one door, and going to the other, Sender standing between them before nodding at the both of them.

"The Diplomats from the Volhynian Soviet Socialist Republic" the butler's voice boomed out through the ballroom, as Chana and Vlad opened the doors. Chana's eyes were bombarded with the garish glow of ten thousand candle flames reflecting off of tens of thousands of jewels. the mass of richly clothed men and women in bright purples, blues, and silvers was nearly overwhelming.

it was the most finery Chana had ever seen in her life, and every single possessor of a wealth she did not envy had their eyes on her, on Vlad, and on Sender. Thankfully, her eyes adjusted quickly. each gem was no doubt charmed to sparkle even more, and while all but the first glimpse of the magic had bounced off of her, her two comrades had to blink for a few moments to adjust to the lights.

The music came to a halted, screeching stop as a wave of silence rippled through the crowd, only to be replaced with whispers, as the mass of the wealthy seemed to retreat a step or two. They were.. afraid of her and her compatriots. Good. were the trio intruding? perhaps. would they be confronted by the king over all this stolen and hoarded gold himself? hopefully. but for the moment, her aim was finding her. The imposter empress.

Finally, she spotted the face she'd studied, off in the corner, rather than beside the king, where she was expected to be. no mind. As per the plan, Chana alone descended the stairs, the crowd lurching back from her as though she were infected with some contagious disease, that a single brush against her would infect them with foul communism. She cut a path through the crowd like Moses through the waves, making her way to Katya, her own brown eyes locking ahold of Katya's gray ones, before, instead of bowing, simply holding out a hand for the false queen to shake. "Irina Fyodorovna Vasarova." her voice a firm mezzo as she stated her suposed name, as unwavering as the neutral, distantly polite, but intense look on her face.

 

[Solivagante]

Irina had just recovered her breath when the ballroom doors, to her complete shock, opened again. That had not been part of the careful pageantry Maria, Marquis de Chaumont, and King Philip had concocted. There should be no surprises this evening, not in the royal palace.
At the announcement of the newcomers as Volhynian diplomats, Maria cursed under her breath in a most undignified fashion and signaled to Irina's personal guards, who had previously been standing along the wall nearby trying to be unobtrusive. They stepped forward to flank her as the music stopped, but somehow having two looming Lutecian soldiers at her shoulders did not give Irina much comfort. She should step back - let Maria and the guards block her from view, from assassins - if they had a gun she was too obvious a target - but she felt rooted to the ground.
They looked... like ordinary people. Not like the finely coiffed Volhynian expatriates and Lutecian nobles and foreign dignitaries whose portraits she'd studied, but like the kind of ordinary folk she'd known during her time at the orphanage in-
In-
The thought slipped from her mind like quicksilver. She watched in fascination as the one woman in the Volhynian delegation cut across the room, walking with an almost martial confidence in a simple, plain skirt and black jacket. The woman could have been an ordinary resident of Senonces but for the splash of red at her throat and the intensity of her gaze - which was, of course, fixed on Irina's own face, in a way that made her feel a bit like a deer being sighted down a hunting rifle.
As she reached them, Irina took a half-step backwards. Surely no reasonable diplomat would also act as an assassin, and especially not so publicly in Semailles itself, but that logic didn't slow her heartbeat. That half-step gave Maria space to slide in between, batting the diplomat's outstretched bare hand away with a flick of her folded fan.
"I do not believe you have been introduced to her Imperial Majesty," she said, voice icy and chin lifted so she could look down her nose at the other woman. "Nor do I believe you would deserve the honor, waltzing into the Sun Palace dressed like a shopgirl."
Irina half-lifted a hand to try to calm the Countess, then thought better of it. She'd never heard her guardian speak to someone so rudely, but perhaps that meant there was more danger here than she understood.
"Is this how the new 'republic' conducts itself?" Maria continued, raising her voice to carry further across the ballroom. "Barging in uninvited, imposing upon His Majesty King Philip's hospitality, without even doing him the courtesy of presenting credentials first? How do we know you are diplomats at all, and not just thieves with a clever scheme to enter the palace?" The assembled nobility murmured, and not a few hands went to precious necklaces, as if the delegation might somehow have already snatched their jewels away.
Across the room, Irina caught sight of Henry whispering to King Philip, and the king's decisive nod. She studied the other two so-called ambassadors - both older men, one in a military uniform with the glint of medals on his chest and the other in civilian formal dress. They looked... tired. From what Maria had told her, conditions in Volhynia could charitably described as 'poor'; it would be no wonder if their upstart government had sent them with no knowledge about the Lutecian court's protocols. And whether they believed it or not, they were her people. A benevolent empress could hardly stand aside and let her citizens be detained, or worse, by the Lutecian royal guard.
Drawing in a fortifying breath, she stepped around Maria in a rustle of skirts to face the Volhynian delegate again. Over the woman's shoulder, King Philip lifted a hand and his guards paused.
"It is a joy and an pleasure to meet one of our beloved citizens," she declared, loudly and clearly enough to be heard across the room. "We are honored that the diplomatic delegation has come to celebrate our return." And she lifted her gloved left hand towards the diplomat, wrist limp, in an unmistakable invitation that the woman kiss her hand.

 

[EmperorNorton1]

There was fear in Irina's eyes when Chana approached. fear of being discovered for the fake she was? or perhaps fear that a bullet or a blade would be plunged into her chest. given the way that two burly men moved to guard her with a flick of the older woman's fan, it was clear her handler felt the same worry. Only the anarchists dealt in assassination. well, the anarchists and the grieving, and Chana was wearing red and mourning black. Before she really had a moment to think after offering a hand to the empress in the new, modern, greeting, the same ornate thing that the old royalist held was slapped down on her wrist, pushing her hand aside.

"I do not believe you have been introduced to her Imperial Majesty," the woman crowed, looking down on Chana with disdain. As she ranted on and on about court proceedings, the diplomat had to resist the urge to roll her eyes or completely tune her ranting out, though she wasnt quite unable to keep an eyebrow from inching up her face. Of course, Chana knew she was not the expert, Sender was. but that didn't mean she didn't know what the aristocracy valued. It didn't escape Chana the way that the girl almost raised a hand to make the ranting stop, only to shrink back. clearly, she'd been trained to be a good puppet.

"Is this how the new 'republic' conducts itself?" The noblewoman's voice got louder, shriller, as even more eyes were drawn to Chana and away from her compatriots, as well as the king, who had been speaking with a few nobles, before directing some of his guards at her comrades. as the nobles clutched at their pearls, Chana switched focus back onto the royals directly infront of her, opening her mouth to give some reply, only for Irina to cut ahead of her handler.


"It is a joy and a pleasure to meet one of our beloved citizens, We are honored that the diplomatic delegation has come to celebrate our return."
The imposter princess spoke eloquently, it was clear that the two years of grooming had paid off. there was something... sincere in Irina's voice, despite the use of the pretentious royal we, something nearly protective, that prevented the lutecian king from sicking his guards on her comrades, that hushed the whispers. but she was not the empress. Chana knew that. the royal family was dead in its entirety, and diplomacy was a skill taught, not given to one by birth.

Chana knew full well the intention of a bent wrist. but she would not bow to a pretender, she would not bow even if this was really Irina. She was a Volhynian. A proud revolutionary. And revolutionists do not bend the knee to their oppressors. Chana grasped the hand offered, her ungloved fingers wrapping around the other woman's silk-coated hand, her grip gentle yet controlled, shaking her hand.

"Citizen Vasarova." Chana began again, dropping the title, and replacing it with the epithet used to apply to all Volhynian people, regardless of politic. "The People's Republic of Volhynia requests that you drop the facade of playing princess. The demise of the Vasarov Children will remain a stain on the revolutionary banner, but the woman you claim to be is dead. the Volhynian people reject your claim to a throne that no longer exists."

There. That was the line. that was what Chana and her comrades had come here to say, or at least what had to be said directly to the pretender in public. Sender had the next line of their recitation.

"The People's Republic of Volhynia and the Krajinan Confederacy extend an open hand to Lutecia and Zentralimperium, as well as Pritaini and all other nations present, in the hopes of establishing diplomatic relationships." The man spoke from the top of the stairs, a not-quite-smile, but a polite, welcoming look on his face, as though he was the genial host of the party. He descended a step, then another, Vlad following just behind, giving a nod towards Chana, before returning focus to the king, who both men were headed for.

Chana watched them for just a moment more, before turning back to the imposter and her handler, though it was certainly amusing to watch as the nobles clutched at their pearls and went shades of red and purple. She spoke again, softer and directed mostly at Maria. "Citizen Yusupova, while we may not care so much for court etiquette in the 'new republic', it is because that concern is instead devoted to the wellbeing of our citizens." She gave a pointed look. after all, the Yusupova family was among many that profited off of stolen labor, and the woman's husband, who she seemed so desperate to if not resurrect then to regain the status of being married to him brought, was executed for funding the breaking and brainwashing of children with magic. Children like Rivka.

 

[Solivagante]

There was something oddly resonant about the way the diplomat took Irina's hand, some memory of another grasp, another moment, but at the time she'd recoiled - from who, she couldn't recall. It didn't matter, anyway, because in a moment her hand was released and what the dark-haired woman said next was a disaster for all of their plans. More than that, it was a personal insult, and Irina felt heat rising into her cheeks. The powder on her face might disguise it, if she was lucky. Lutecians might pride themselves on being a passionate people, but only men had the pleasure of challenging someone to a duel over an insult; women were expected to trade thinly veiled barbs over tea and pretend to have no reaction. She could not snap at this diplomat without losing face, and she desperately needed it now.
The male diplomats apparently intended to make their introductions to King Philip now - it would likely be a frosty reception, but that was the bed they had made for themselves. Irina took the opportunity, while attention was focused on the rest of the Volhynian delegation, to draw in a long steadying breath and relax her shoulders. Breathe, she thought again, and the anxiety she had felt not long ago at just entering this room now seemed so small and shortsighted. What was that fear next to this disorienting disruption?
While Irina was still gathering herself to respond to the diplomat's 'request', the woman instead turned to Maria, whose lips were already tightly pursed at Irina's interruption.
"Citizen Yusupova, while we may not care so much for court etiquette in the 'new republic', it is because that concern is instead devoted to the wellbeing of our citizens." Though her expression was largely neutral, there was something unmistakably accusatory in those sharp brown eyes.
Maria, to Irina's surprise, laughed. She flicked her fan open to hide her mouth as she tittered, a high-pitched sound Irina had never heard her guardian make before.
"Etiquette is what separates man from beast," Maria replied, closing the fan with a snap, her blue eyes cold. "Without rules and order, humans are answerable only to their base natures and descend into senseless violence... and the murder of innocent children."
She was clearly trying to antagonize the diplomat, most likely to drive her away, and Irina realized she didn't share Maria's goal. Insulting and presumptuous the woman might be, but this was the first time she'd had the chance to speak to one of her people who had lived in Volhynia since the revolution. Of course, anything she said would be suspect and likely at least half propaganda, if not more, but there might well be some nugget of information to gain by talking. At the very least, it would show the Lutecians that she would not be deterred by this challenge.
Before the diplomat could respond to Maria's words, Irina interjected again, holding up a hand in a placating gesture.
"The wellbeing of our citizens is all that we desire as well," she said, keeping her voice soft and even. "It is our duty and solemn gods-given responsibility to them, and to Volhynia herself. Our great hope is to restore the era of peace and prosperity of our ancestress Empress Ekaterin, and heal the wounds of the recent war." She turned directly to the diplomat and, for the first time, was calm enough to notice the scar crossing the woman's left cheekbone.
"May we have your name, mistress?"

 

[EmperorNorton1]

Maria laughed. Maria LAUGHED! the woman reveled in slaughter, the blood upon her hands and staining every inch of her soul filled her with pride. Chana's stomach turned as the polite, neutral line of her mouth slid into a frown. The bitch was playing on her nerves, picking and prodding and tucking at the only string that could be pulled to elicit a reaction. Chana's left hand began to tremble slightly, her heart pounding in her throat. the urge to- to curl her right one, to raise it and swing it down onto the pale throat from which that hideous laughter emanated flashed through her mind. just do it then, think of Rivka, of a people, a family-
Keep steady. you've a duty to do.
Chana forced herself to breathe, pulling down her arm, which had been lingering after the handshake with the imposter. with both limbs by her sides, she bit down on part of her lip in an effort to keep quiet. the room was focused on the other two, but she couldn't make a scene, no matter how much the bitch seemed to need a punch in the face. but there couldn't be another Stenson incident, especially not by someone affiliated with the government. and it was Rivka who would have more claim to the "right of executor" should she want it. but to hate and grieve, without being able to act on that rage felt as though her heart was being pierced.
The Bitch rambled on about etiquette, how those without it were subhuman. ah, like peasant magic users, those who magic won't work on, and the nontheists and unitheists. Chana drew herself up, her five feet and five inches were by far no match for Maria's height, but Chana's posture shifted to almost match the haughty one held by Maria. but it was when Maria spoke of "the murder of innocent children." that Chana nearly slapped again. oh, the Yusipova family was certainly one that loved children, what with their ripping them away from their families. yes, the revolution had five stains on its banner. but the royalist flag was drenched, drowning in its
About to respond, Chana, opened her mouth, only to be cut off by the imposter, who could sense that this conflict was going to escalate. "The wellbeing of our citizens is all that we desire as well, It is our duty and solemn gods-given responsibility to them, and to Volhynia herself. Our great hope is to restore the era of peace and prosperity of our ancestress Empress Ekaterin, and heal the wounds of the recent war."
Again with the pretentious royal we! She speaks for herself, she stands for herself, and the voice of a people does not flow through her lips. One woman cannot be a nation. Chana yet again had to bite back a snark, only for the imposter to look her in the eyes and address her directly.
"May we have your name, mistress?"
"My name is Chana Teper, Citisen. I'm a mistress to none, I want none of your titles" The diplomat gave an even reply. "But I must question why you claim that there was ever an era of peace in Volhynia under any emperor or empress. You talk of healing wounds, yet your alleged father's orders are the ones that have inflicted thousands of times more wounds than any revolution." her left hand absentmindedly drifted up to her face, two of her fingers running down the outline of the twelve-years healed gash from a cossack's saber.
"not that... present company will let me speak fully on this. it 'isn't proper etiquette to provide evidence of one's company being party to mass slaughter.'" Chana mimicked the more proper and posh accent spoken by nobles, dropping the accent of the lower class Lutecian-speaking Volhynian that she was, and gesturing with the refined distaste that nobles use for each other at Maria. Chana could tell that the woman was intrigued by her. The imposter had been kept in the dark by her minders and likely wanted to know the state of Chava's nations. If she could... worm her way into the princess's consciousness, and plant the seed of doubt, Katya would admit this was a hoax with enough prodding. Chana just had to get close. She'd never been the best at manipulation, honesty was the best policy. and if people are shown just a glimpse of truth, they'll seek you out the rest of it as quickly as they can.

 

[Solivagante]

Irina was increasingly sure of two things: first, if she let Maria and Miss Teper speak stay in speaking range of one another, one or the other would lose her temper; and second, that she did need to hear what the diplomat had to say, even if she couldn't trust a word of it. There was a solution to both, though it required disrupting Maria and de Chaumont's plans for the evening any further - as if they could be salvaged at this point. And as if she wanted to spend hours 'dancing until dawn' with Lutecian courtiers who would be desperate for gossip about this very conversation.
"Please pardon us one moment, Miss Teper, she said, and catching Maria by the wrist, she actually tugged her guardian away, not realizing until her grip closed on the older woman's glove that she had never done this before - embraced Maria, been guided or nudged by her, but this was a strange role reversal.
Then again, the world knows I'm the empress now. She can hardly refuse. And indeed, Maria went along easily, though the tension in her wrist betrayed her frustration at the situation. At a short distance, Irina stopped and turned towards the countess, and without needing to be asked Maria opened her fan and shielded the space between them, just in case Miss Teper read lips.
"I can't run away from them, Maria," Irina whispered. "They're part of Volhynia as much as you or I are."
"That doesn't mean you have to listen to their lies, Irinushka. You heard what she was saying about your family! About your father!" Hidden from the world, Maria's public mask dropped and she wore her agitation clearly. Irina reached out and clasped her free hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.
"But the rest of Volhynia is forced to listen to those lies, so don't I need to know what they are being told?"
"We can deal with that later, after you take the throne. We can hire whole bureaus of people to fix the damage they have done!"
"Please, tetushka," Irina said, looking up into Maria's eyes. "You told me an empress's duty is to her people. Trust me to handle this. We may learn a lot by the propaganda they are spreading."
The countess couldn't keep her gaze, and finally huffed out a sigh of clear defeat.
"If you must... the balcony at the northern end of the hall. Keep the guards at the door. I should come as a chaperone-"
That made Irina laugh, a short breathy release of tension. "She won't speak to me if you're there. Besides, what need have two women of a chaperone?"
That made Maria give her a strange look, but then she shook her head and closed her fan in final assent.
"As you say, Your Majesty," she said, and dipped a short curtsy. "If you need me, send one of your guards for me and I will attend you in all haste."
"You have our gratitude, Countess," Irina replied, folding her hands at her waist and inclining her head in acknowledgement. As she turned back to Miss Teper, she heard Maria giving rapid-fire instructions to the Lutecian guards.
"We are curious to hear more of... your perspective, Miss Teper," she declared, gesturing towards the nearby balcony doors. "If privacy is your wish, you may attend us on the balcony."

 

[EmperorNorton1]

The imposter dragged Yusipova off, the pair likely frantically planning on what to do with her. Chana knew there was no way she'd be able to eavesdrop properly, the woman instead shifting her focus to her other two comrades. Sender was talking with the king, though the smile on his face looked just a touch more forced than when she'd last given a glance. Vlad was beside him, his shoulders tensed, a clear sign that his resting angry face was backed with genuine feeling. But the king was bright red in the face, and whenever Chana locked eyes with a noble, they'd cower, and if a woman, she'd clutch her jewels as though a communist looking at her gold would make it melt away into nothing. it was almost funny and bitterly ironic, considering how it was the nobles that used their own alchemy to turn the blood of the workers into gold.
When the imposter returned, Chana was expecting to be ordered out, as per the wishes of the nobility. but instead, she was greeted with a proposal.
"We are curious to hear more of... your perspective, Miss Teper, If privacy is your wish, you may attend us on the balcony."
Well, at least they didn't think she was here to assassinate the imposter. And she wasn't, not here at least, and not now. this was a favorable turn of events. while the assertion of fact as perspective belayed some distrust, well... Chana couldn't blame her. she'd been brainwashed for two years!
"Very well, Citezen." Chana gave a nod, asserting her consent to this plan, before beginning to walk towards the alcove that the pair were to speak in, her head high, hesitating just a moment as she walked beside Maria to mutter "The 'new republic' is not so uncivilized to send an assassin towards an imposter who offers nothing but words." Words were deadly, even more fatal than a bullet or a blade. But better to shame the old Volhynian court, after all, they would send their knives after criminals for lesser offenses.
Chana opened the door for the princess, gesturing for her to enter, before shutting the door behind them both, closing off the noise from the ballroom.
Teper took a few steps forward, briefly ignoring the princess to peer into the gardens, her hands on the marble railing. Some part of Chana wished she could enjoy the scent and sight of roses, but the first thoughts in her head were battle strategies. there would be snipers from the building, but perhaps, if the foliage could be used as cover- no, when the revolution comes to lutecia, it will not be fought in the gardens. "The gardens of Semailles really are lovely, as they do love to brag" Chana murmured, switching to not her birth tounge, but to her native one, still gasing out, before turning to face Irina.
"So... Katya" She paused for a moment to study the other woman's face in the light of the dying sun. "Nobles love to make games out of their people's lives. and if you are one, why not play one? You may ask me three questions. I will answer each one truthfuly, but for each set of three I answer, I get to ask one question of you." Chana set the rules in calm volhynian, though her heart sudenly found itself thrumming, and the slightest of trembles set into her palms, as a suden rush of adrenalin coursed through her veins. "Is that a fair game, Katya?" She took a step towards the other woman, her eyes locked on the other. there was this... strange urge in her mind. to smirk, to lean forward. this was a fair trade, both of them would be reciving information. In fact, Katya was reciving more. but there was something nearly exhilarating in setting the tempo to this strange waltz that she and the imposter would be dancing to.
"Or shall we begin?"

 

[Solivagante]

Irina was calm and sure all the way through the ballroom, inclining her head to Miss Teper as they stepped out onto the balcony, drawing in a deep lungful of cool evening air. She took the opportunity to sit on a small stone bench to one side of the glass doors, looking out over the shadowed gardens and enjoying a brief relief from the weight of her elaborate skirts. It was so pleasant to be out of doors, out of the crowded ballroom, out of sight of calculating eyes. Or, well, most of them.
And then the diplomat turned, the reddening sunset behind her, and said something Irina had not expected.
"So... Katya."
Irina flinched and looked away, looked anywhere else. The power balance between them had just shifted, and she was certain Miss Teper knew it - if she hadn't planned exactly that, she would certainly have realized now as Irina's well-honed control slipped. The anxiety and fear that had plagued her before her entrance came rushing back.
"Nobles love to make games out of their people's lives. and if you are one, why not play one? You may ask me three questions. I will answer each one truthfully, but for each set of three I answer, I get to ask one question of you. Is that a fair game, Katya?" And she stepped closer, but Irina had cut off her own escape by sitting down in the first place. She pressed her lips together and tried to steady her breathing.
"Or shall we begin?"
Too much, much too much to simply sit there and be taunted. Irina stood, abruptly, and realized that Miss Teper was much too close for comfort. The sunlight was fading behind her and the golden illumination from the ballroom lit her face instead, outlining a proud nose and making the dark circles under her eyes all too visible - those intense eyes which were fixed on Irina still.
"That is not," Irina said, not quite keeping a quaver out of my voice, "my name." She had to get into open air somehow, which suddenly seemed in improbably short supply on the balcony. Sidling away along the length of the bench in full skirts would look ridiculous, so she tried to imitate Maria and simply brushed past the diplomat - though she managed it with less grace than Maria would have, and knocked her shoulder against the other woman's as she went. That didn't matter, though, when she was a few steps away and could properly breathe.
"That was never my name," she said, mostly to herself. You know who you are now, and nobody can take that from you, said Maria's voice in her head, soft and warm. Heart still beating too fast, but lungs steady, Irina gathered herself to turn back to her interlocutor - her adversary. After all, Chana Teper would hardly be the last person to try to use her past against her, and a fine leader Irina would be if she folded so easily.
"Very well, then. Let us, as you say, begin." She held up three fingers, for her first round of questions. "How many of my people starved this past winter? Who bears the weight of deciding to go to war in your new 'republic'? Do you not fear the consequences of opposing the will of the gods?"

 

[EmperorNorton1]

Irina looked shaken, shocked, then angry, but rattled, thrown off her guard. the woman stood abruptly, before forcefully asserting that her name was that of the dead royal. Calling her Katya really angered her then. Good to know, that was what made her tick. But Chana didn’t want the imposter to hate her. You catch more flies with honey, as they say. and it's always kinder to refer to people by the name they want to go by.
Irina strode past Chana, her heavy skirts swishing against Chana's plain one, a shoulder brushing into her side. but then finally, she agreed to begin.
“How many of my people starved this past winter? Who bears the weight of deciding to go to war in your new 'republic'? Do you not fear the consequences of opposing the will of the gods?"
“How many of your people? None. How many citizens of the VSSR? Because the civil war and embargo by Lutecia and the other monarchies ended, we’ve finally been able to grow most of what we need and import the rest. The hardest problem is getting food where it needs to go, as the civil war destroyed what little infrastructure there was. I don’t know the exact number. But the disease is the real killer. The deaths by typhus number twenty-eight thousand too many. Soup kitchens and rationing have ensured that not many have starved.” Though initially pointed, and accusatory, the tone softened as Chana stated the number of dead. The woman herself had fallen Ill with the disease three winters ago, it had nearly killed her. And even with healers working for free round the clock, too many people were too far gone to be saved. If the trains were faster, if there were more hospitals, more healers... but Volhynia has been bearly staving off famine. it takes time to build and to teach. but the old king left little to build off of, so Volhynia was mostly on its own.
“As for who decides if we go to war, the answer is simple. Popular vote. The entire nation has a say. With any luck, we will never have to fight any more wars. If we or the Confederacy are attacked, we have made a pact to defend each other, but in that case, well… they are the ones who decide if we fight.” Chana gestured back to the palace. “The Volhynian people know that there is no glory in war. Do you remember Lutecia’s fight ten years ago? How many people died on both sides in a war fought over petty nationalism?”
And then the final question, the most accusatory. “Irina, The new republic is a secular state. God is unknowable, they watch, but they do not act. Or at least that is what I believe. You are entitled to your own, as is every citizen, contrary to the old regime's rules..." Chana drifted off for half a second, her eyes glassing over with memories, of smoke, of a blade slicing down on her face, of a strong hand grabbing her arm and pulling her from the fire, a finger rising to that scar, only to quickly shake it away, her voice softer, just a little less sure for the start of the next sentences" but it is not god that controls this world but rather as series of sciences."Chana glanced away from Irina for the first time in her answers, gazing over to the west, as the sun slipped its last rays into the sky "and the actions of man”
Chana strode forward to that same place by the railing, peering out at the horizons. "You know, magic, the supposed gift of the gods. But it follows a set of rules, just like the seasons. Science and human action have always been more tangible to me than magic or some god."
She once again turned to face her... not quite adversary, not quite enemy. her... sparing partner, at least for the moment
"I believe i get a question now. so, Irina. How did you survive?"

 

[Solivagante]

Twenty-eight thousand dead of typhus, and still some who had starved - even if Irina took Miss Teper at her word that starvation deaths had been few, that was still too many lives lost. And how many had left widows, widowers, or orphans? She pressed her lips together, trying not to imagine it too deeply. At the scale of a nation, the problem was one of numbers, not of people, but she couldn't shake the image of a dour-looking teenager from her mind, even if she had no name to go with the face.
"By popular vote," she echoed as Teper continued. It was a strange idea - an absurd one, of course. How could an entire country make a military decision fast enough? If an enemy invaded, would they wait days or even weeks to gather and tally votes, when every hour counted? Surely not. That would fall apart the first time it was tested, if it ever was, and she hoped events would not come to that. Twenty-eight thousand dead in one year was already too much to countenance.
Teper's answer regarding the gods felt different. More personal, though she had answered all of Irina's questions with an emotional undercurrent clear in her voice. She was either a very talented liar and dissembler, or she truly believed what she said, and in the case of her last answer Irina's gut said it was the latter. That raised an entire other set of questions, not really germane to this conversation. The essential answer, though, was that they didn't fear the gods - they simply ignored the risk. Irina thought of her own magic, curling her fingers into a fist as if to protect them. Svyatibog's power was real enough; she should know, as she carried the gift.
Somehow during that conversation the other woman had gotten close to her again, and now caught and held her gaze to ask her one question in return.
"I believe I get a question now. so, Irina. How did you survive?"
If Maria were in her place, she'd simply refuse to answer. Marquis de Chaumont would lie. But that seemed... unjust. And besides, what would she say? She had no answer, true or false, which would satisfy Miss Teper, or the revolutionary government for that matter.
So, honesty it was.
"I don't know," she said, holding eye contact, hoping that Miss Teper could see the truth of it in her face. "I remember... nothing. The first thing I can recall is - waking up under a bush somewhere, I think. I knew I had to go away. There... was a family with a wagon, whose farm had been burned down. They let me ride with them to the border." Even those recollections were hazy, soft at the edges and hard to grasp long enough to describe. Trying to dredge them up left her feeling disoriented, a little dizzy. She turned to lean one hip against the railing, gripping the stonework to steady herself.
"After that I was... like any other refugee. They sent me to an orphanage in Aduatucine, near the border with Zenteremperium. I was there until Maria - Countess Yusapova - and Marquis de Chaumont found me. Before they came, I was nothing." The dizziness was passing, mercifully, enough that she could turn her head to look over the gardens without feeling as if she was about to tip over the edge.
"I know that doesn't give you anyone to blame or jail for my escape, but it is all the answer I can give." A breeze rustled the trees below and rose towards them, cooled by its passage over the fountains and reflecting pools, and Irina closed her eyes as it lifted the few tendrils of hair loosened from her elaborate style. The kokoshnik was starting to feel especially heavy, but she'd never get it settled correctly if she took it off, and eventually she would have to return to the ballroom. To the dancing, and the gossip, and every scheming noble's son. The longer they lingered outside, away from all of that, the less she wanted to go back.
"My turn, then. One at a time this time. My - my family. Were they given an honorable burial?"

 

[EmperorNorton1]

Chana listened to Irina's story, how hard she had to try to force it out. That horrible sense of being in danger, relying on the kindness of strangers... Chana at least had Josef- had her brother when the two fled. Irina's story... that part at least was genuine. was Irina like her? Had the imposter survived a pogrom? was that what happened, why she so earnestly believed her family was deceased, why she was so desperate to find a place for herself, willing to adopt a fake identity just to have a family again?
Irina wavered, and Chana could tell she was dizzy, instinctively moving closer as the other woman's head swam, in case she needed to prevent her from falling. irina's narration held a grain of truth, but clearly, someone had spelled her, blocking out more memories. a breeze blew through the garden, the wind brushing against both women with a cooling touch, before Irina spoke up.
"My turn, then. One at a time this time. My - my family. Were they given an honorable burial?"
"I-" Chana was not expecting that. the woman paused, her mouth slightly opened, as her eyes settled on the floor. "I do not know. My guess? no." the royal family were dumped into a pit somewhere in the woods by soldiers drunk on blood. "Everyone should have the right to a burial, even if they were tyrants." She added, her voice wavering slightly, as she fought the distress rising up in her Chana's own mother, father, sister... their entire town... most likely left unburied, left for vultures and crows. Chana gripped the railing of the balcony, her fingers white, the thought twisting her gut as she stared over the ledge, her jaw clenching shut.
keep CALM damnit! you've a duty to do!

 

[Solivagante]

Irina didn't expect her question to affect the other woman so. It had been genuine, though she hadn't actually expected to hear that there was a grave somewhere where she could pay her respects - but she'd also intended it as a confrontation of sorts, to drag the focus back to the cruelty of the revolution. Clearly, to Miss Teper, there was more to it. Perhaps experiences during the civil war? Whatever it had been, even in the dim light the tension in her hands on the railing was clear.
Again, Irina found herself wondering if this woman was a preternaturally gifted actress, or if perhaps she was really being honest. Could it be some kind of spell cast on Irina herself, to make her easy to fool? But gods, what would the benefit be? Because she didn't want to march back into the ballroom and renounce her crown - she wanted to reach out to the woman in front of her. Unless Chana Teper really was an assassin, that would do Irina's enemies no good, and any assassin who had arrived so publicly would no doubt have already killed her and fled by this point.
It probably wasn't politically expedient. Any faint hope Irina had had of winning Miss Teper over to her cause had faded quickly. There was no advantage to be gained here, other than information, and she could get that by trading barbs as well as any other way. But that didn't seem like the right thing to do.
"Are... you alright?" she asked softly, lifting her hand as if to lay it on the diplomat's shoulder before thinking better of it. Physical touch from someone Chana hated would hardly be comforting, after all.

 

[EmperorNorton1]

Chana forced herself to take a few slow breaths through her nose, her shoulders hunched, before glancing over at the imposter, her face creasing in confusion. Why was the imposter, who Chana was decently certain hated her, acting polite? damn royals, guilding their loathing in false niceties. only... Katya sounded... almost kind. Chana forced herself to meet the other woman's eyes for a moment, studying her face, before glancing down, brushing off nothing from her skirt, before looking up again, her face finally reschooled into the serious, official self she put on for doing her duty.
"Yeah- " she cleared her throat softly, before beginning again, her voice a pitch or two lower. "Yes. I am alright." if she said it enough times, she could believe it. god, she needed a drink.
chana shifted on her heels, before resettling herself as though none of that happened. "So, Citisen. What's your next question? or do you intend to berate me more for a crime I didn't commit?"

 

[Solivagante]

Ah. The moment was gone; in fact, Irina felt as if she was speaking to the woman who had marched up to her in the ballroom, someone cold and businesslike and motivated only by her cause. It hurt, a little; she'd thought trading honesty for honesty was progress, a detente of some kind. Either Miss Teper didn't want that, or she was better than Irina at putting up walls to achieve her larger goals.
"I've not berated you at all," she said, a little defensive, "but very well. My next question-" What had she been meaning to ask? It felt pointless and self-centered to ask more about how her family had died. There had been something about refugees, but she couldn't quite put that question into words.
Something else came to the tip of her tongue, something that had prompted this entire exchange. Irina hesitated; whether it was true or not, any answer Miss Teper gave would be painful to hear. But she'd persuaded Maria to let her speak to the revolutionary exactly to learn things like this, to better understand what her people were being told and what they might think of her, if they ever got the chance.
"You said, in the ballroom, that my father's orders had inflicted more wounds than the revolution." Pause, draw in a steadying breath. Forge forward. "What did you mean?"

 

[EmperorNorton1]

you catch more flies with honey, but even more with blood, then. As soon as Irina asked her question, Chana froze, looking like whatever the equivalent of a deer in headlights would be for a universe without cars yet. As the blood drained from her face, her mind began to lurch with terrible clarity into the worst day of her life. the sun was so so bright, the sky was clear, and the screaming-

She was going to need a drink.

after a few moments though, she was able to steer her thoughts back to the present day. this wasn't a dusty little shtetl in West Volhynia. this was the palace of Lutecia, and the pretender to a nonexistent throne had just asked her why she called the king a murderer. you should have prepared for this question better, shouldn't have gotten off guard.
"Do you know what a pogrom is, Irina?" Chana asked quietly, her eyes staring just over Irina's shoulder, one hand reaching up to start to rub at, then scratch at the scar on her face "Do you know the way it feels to live in fear, to know that every day the ruler of your nation edges on your fellow citizens, no, not that, we're not citizens if we aren't people... fellow occupants to slaughter you wholesale for religious practice?" Her hands started to shake, as the intensity of her voice started to grow, and her nails began to claw harder and harder into that line, as she glared intensely at Irina, or something just beyond her "Or do you know how it feels to be a child, who can do strange little things that the other children cant, only to find yourself taken from your home, your mind wrapped in so many memory charms that you can't even remember and trained to kill without remorse under your captor's order? Rivka. her dearest friend, who had suffered so greatly. the dead don't hurt, Chana simply had no time to be hurt, but Rivka, dear, sweet Rivka, who always did her best to smile and stay hopeful, who the king's men had kept locked away.
"because THAT is the legacy you claim, when you say you are your father's daughter!" Chana was nearly shouting, no doubt the guards with their ears pressed to the door would be able to hear that even without the effect of the heightened volume spell that Chana was most likely blocking. But Chana didn't care as she pointed an accusatory finger stained with a small drop of fresh red at Irina, taking several steps forward until she was practically on top of her, the shorter woman's eyes locked on the taller ones, her own brown ones dark, her shoulders heaving with hot breath that caressed the bottom of the other woman's chin.
But she didn't touch her. Chana was not the kind to attack physically without provocation... or to touch without consent.

 

[Solivagante]

Irina had expected anger, had expected to be... 'scolded', was the word that came to mind, for not knowing whatever it was the revolutionaries had claimed Emperor Fyodor had done.
She had not expected the complete and utter rawness of Chana's response. The words didn't make sense - slaughtering people for their religions? Training children to kill? Maria had told her none of this, nor had it been in any of the books she'd studied over the last two years - but what she thought she knew shrank in the face of the palpable anger and pain before her. The urge to protest died on her tongue. Later it would matter who was telling the truth and who had lied. Later there wouldn't be someone so clearly suffering in front of her.
As Chana approached, Irina gave ground but not nearly fast enough, encumbered as she was by skirts and petticoats. Mercifully, just as she took a half-step and felt her heel catch and drag against fabric, Chana stopped and Irina was able to recover her balance. Her physical balance, at least. Her thoughts were in wild disarray and the only steady point was help her. But gods, how was she supposed to offer comfort to someone who so clearly held her accountable?
The blood beading at Chana's cheek, and the drop of red on her finger, drew her attention. As gently as she could, Irina reached out and caught Chana's wrist, pulling her arm down and away from any further scratching. With her free hand, she fumbled in the bodice of her gown for her handkerchief, pulling it out rather undelicately and daubing carefully at Chana's cheek. Of course it was then that the balcony doors rattled with a firm knock.
"Your Imperial Majesty, do you require assistance?" It was one of her Lutecian guards, sounding hesitant. "We heard... shouting."
"I - we are well," she called back quickly. "Carry on as you were. You have our gratitude for your vigilance." And thanks to Svyatibog or Sulevae or whatever other gods are watching that Maria or de Chaumont didn't hear that. Some of the courtiers probably had, but that could be managed. She hoped.
"Please don't hurt yourself," Irina murmured as she returned her focus to Chana. They were locked in an odd sort of almost-embrace, intimately close and yet barely touching, and a traitorous part of her thrilled at it. What's wrong with me? There is nothing exciting about this. Irina bit her bottom lip and tried to focus on applying steady pressure to Chana's cheek... without looking in the other woman's eyes.

 

[EmperorNorton1]

The other woman stumbled away from her, seeming truly... shocked. Chana had been hard on her, too harsh to a woman who simply didn't know better. in fact, the way she escaped, losing her family so suddenly and feeling across the border, a burnt home... was she another Unideist, persecuted, her family killed, who had now been spelled into forgetting her past by multiple greedy monarchists? remorse came swift, biting at her heels, as the imposter to the throne fumbled for a white lacy handkerchief, before pressing it against her face.
oh, she was bleeding again? her thoughts felt oddly fuzzy. but she didnt have time for a spiral. only... only if this was the best way, making herself pitiful for the imposter to convince her she couldn't claim the throne, then.... it would be humiliating. but Vlad chose her expecting results. and the way that she had talked most of the Cantonists down was with kindness and empathy.
A guard or two voiced their concerns, but Chana didn't really notice what they were saying her mind still racing to compile a plan. Irina then asked her not to hurt herself. that seemed to be in character.
"the Royal We doesn't suit you." Chana muttered softly, her hand reaching up to take over holding the handkerchief that was gently being pressed against her face... irina was holding onto her in a half-embrace, and hadn't pulled away. she should pull back, push back.
"You'd be happier as just an I. To be a nation is a lonely job." damnit, why was she rambling drunkenly? Control yourself.
Chana stepped back carefuly, untangling herself from Irnia’s arms, and swept at her skirt.
“I apologize for my unprofessional behavior,” Chana stated firmly. “I sincerely hope that this won’t… negatively affect… it’s just a hard thing to talk about. I assure you, I will be professional in the future.”

 

[Solivagante]

As Chana stepped back out of her hold, Irina reached out to steady herself on the railing, carefully freeing her caught petticoat from her heel. It gave her an excuse to keep her eyes down and not watch Chana, still holding a handkerchief with Irina's initials embroidered in one corner. Doubtless she'd throw it away when she noticed that, and it would probably be best for both of them if she did, rather than have to answer questions about why Irina's handkerchief was spotted with Chana's blood.
And of course - had she expected any different? - Chana was retreating again, behind a polite facade of 'professionalism'. That was starting to become irritating, though Irina knew that was her own failure. It didn't matter what one diplomat thought of her, except in that one diplomat was also one of her subjects. She wouldn't change Chana's mind, so she didn't need her approval, much less her openness.
Yet every glimpse of that openness hinted at a wider world of which Irina was woefully ignorant, and events which caused this much pain were things she had to understand if she wanted to be Empress. At least, if she wanted to do any good with the position.
"I... would simply ask for your honesty," she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. "And I think you have given me that." The breeze from the garden rose again, and this time it made her shiver as it brushed her exposed neck and shoulders. Had she been sweating? Gods, that was embarrassing.
"The next question is yours, I believe." She lifted her chin, trying to keep from reacting to the cold. "What else did you want to know?"

 

[EmperorNorton1]

Chana carefully folded up the handkerchief after a few moments more of pressing it, tucking it into her pocket. "It would be a hard thing to explain to your puppeteers." She quietly explained her thievery. getting no resistance, she strode on.
" And as for my honesty Irina, I've found that while tears are more compelling to inspire belief, what I'm saying is accurate, even if I do it dry-eyed." not that Chana was unwilling to cry, to beg, to grovel, if it meant the imposter would cease "moreover, it's the republic's policy to not bother with intrigue like the royals do. I bear my heart on my sleeve Irina, for better or for worse." chana tugged lightly at the cuffs of her jacket, fidgeting with parts of her jacket
"They only chose me for the job because I'm good at talking down cantonists and removing their memory charms. Im not used to... that." she gestured at the palace. Sender was a natural diplomat, Vlad was there to show force, Rivka was a bodyguard. but Chana, well, she was here for one reason only. "so... I suppose my question would be... how best can i convince you that if you attempt to re-establish the Volhynian throne, it will destroy so many lives. " Chana met Irina's eyes for a moment, her own earnest, as a wind blew past her, causing her to shiver slightly. She shouldn't have been cold, Lutecia was much warmer than Volhynia, but something about irina made her feel off-kilter.[/pindent]

 

[Solivagante]

"You know that is a question I can't answer," Irina said, frowning. She filed one of the words Chana had used, 'cantonist', away for future investigation. Yet another thing that Chana spoke of as if she should know, which might as well have been in Pritani.
"I have a duty to my people, even if they don't think of themselves as mine. You say that re-establishing the throne would be destructive, but how can you be so sure? I could rebuild trade with Lutecia and the other royal houses. I could-" There was a lump in her throat suddenly; she swallowed it and carried on. "I could marry to forge an alliance to make Volhynia stronger and safer. I could help people." She was filled with restless energy, lingering in the pit of her stomach from that moment of closeness, and clenched her hands at her sides keep from making wild gestures.
"You say that my father's legacy is tainted, but I can do better, be better." A bitter laugh. "It's not as if I have any fond memories of him to cling to. Maybe I accept your argument. Maybe Emperor Fyodor was a monster. I'm not." Irina stopped to draw in a deep breath, her shoulders shaking with suppressed emotion.
"You can't convince me to walk away from that duty. Why else would the gods have spared my life, if not for Volhynia's sake?"

 

[EmperorNorton1]

A murdered family, a demise that shouldn't have been escaped, and a duty to fulfill. Chana had turned her grief into vengeance. and she and her comrades had ended the system that slaughtered families. but now she was stood across from someone who claimed to be the one survivor of the one slaughter that her revolution was wholley guilty of, guilty in the same way that Fyodor was guilty.
"You want to help the Volhynian people. " Chana quietly conceded, moving just a step closer to Chana, her movements slow, though not necessarily the most calculated.
"I believe that. you are a Volhynian, and you can still help Volhynina, even if your name is Katya, and you are one of many pogrom survivors. that's what I think happened to you. they magicked you into forgetting your past, and promised you a family and a place if you took the name of the dead princess." Chana's voice was soft, but there was a slight hoarseness to it. "Do you want a loveless political marriage? do you want every aspect of your life to be stared at and scrutinized? do you want to drown in stolen wealth, don a bloody crown as your heart grows colder, fond only of gold and power?" To be born royal is a terrible fate, one Chana could never envy. to be puppeted around, to be used by a regime that claims to love you, to be loathed by those who lord over, to never be able to trust anyone, to be driven mad with a quest for vengeance that doesn't stop until the beast you've created consumes the innocents and itself.
"Or would you rather have flowers in your hair than diamonds?"
The Volhyninan people had made their choice. freedom over safety. Chana held out one outstretched palm for Katya to take. "would you want to try to remember who you were before you were shackled in silver?"

 

[Solivagante]

Of course Chana didn't understand. Didn't want to understand. It must be so simple to speak of flowers in your hair when your head didn't carry the weight of a crown.
"I told you, that isn't my name," Irina said, drawing herself up as straight as she could manage, trying to take advantage of the extra inches her heels gave her over the other woman. "It's just what the guard at the Zenterimperium border called me." A wave of dizziness ran through her. "He said - 'There are so many Katyas, you might as well just be another one'." More vertigo, this time starting in the pit of her stomach and making her feel slightly queasy as it ran up her spine. "It wasn't cruelty - he didn't care-"
The remembered words rang in her head, the soldier's toneless voice and the barest glance he'd given her before he made his declaration, and Irina swayed on her feet. Her head felt like it was pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Closing her eyes made it worse. She reached out to steady herself and caught Chana's arm instead of the balcony railing, stumbling a half-step forward.
"Apologies," she said, trying to breathe deeply to dispel the dizziness. "I'll be - well in a moment -" Her grip on the diplomat's forearm was too tight, but if she let go she'd fall, and that would be worse.

 

[EmperorNorton1]

Chana reached out quickly to steady the woman as she was overwhelmed by the consequences of the memory magic. Katya's gloved fingers were clasped tightly around her arm, but chana ignored that, guiding the woman to the bench and sitting beside her, slipping off one of her gloves and pressing a few fingers against the pressure point a few inches below her wrist. that more natural balm for a spinning head, along with har magic stopping abilities would ease the headache.
"You've been charmed, irina. what you said got to close to whatever is being blocked." chana quietly explained. "whenever you think about your past, you get dizzy like that, dont you." it wasnt a question the way she said that, but rather a statement. chana was used to dealing with this. in fact, this should be a litttle easier, as irina wasnt trying to kill her.
"I want you to just focus on breathing for me, alright? and once your head is clearer, i'll try and remove some the spell, if you'll let me. but for right now, just breath. in..... out" letting her free hand rise and fall with each breath.