Lion Head Mesa kyōchikutō ♧
Ghost
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#1
All Welcome 
she left ramesses and his advisors in the throne room, dismissing herself without a word as they progressed to topics she did not have the energy to discuss.
feeling scatter-brained and tired, a touch overwhelmed, she steps in to an adjacent room for a breath of air alone.
the pungent scent of old flesh hits her nose too late. eyes wide; she sees the sunken figure of @Maggie on her deathbed.
turning abruptly, satsu cannot stop a wave of bile from erupting across the back of her tongue, splattering the stone floor just inside the lip of the archway.
Raventhorpe
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#2
tamar was happy to leave behind the masculine chaos.

she crept after satsu, a red-gold shadow that followed an appropriate distance behind. and so it was tamar who saw the queen stop and stiffen and retch, who rushed ready into the mingled scent of decay and vomitus.

"your highness, please!" tamar exclaimed, embracing satsu and drawing her along the corridor, away from the mess and the deathbed. she put herself close for the queen to lean upon.

she looked back only one time, in curiosity and horror.
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#3
satsu was hurried from the room in to the hall, deftly missing the warm stain with her toes, feeling disoriented for a moment or two.
the feeling of being handled did not immediately register. when it did she looked at tamar, grimaced, and shoved her back, to the sound of a shoulder clipping granite.
im fine, murmured the woman.
rubbing her lips across her wrist.
the image of death-as-harlot etched well in to her mind's eye.
Raventhorpe
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#4
she was shoved away.

tamar staggered, confused, but dipped closer again. the queen was shaken. sourness clung to her mouth. "let me call for the physcian," the maidservant urged, though she was loathe to receive the queen's wrath again.

she did not look toward the sick-room again. and she hoped that arsenio would not come upon them, that he was still being questioned in the throne room.

the girl bowed her crown and hovered, silent, anxious. a bruise began to form beneath her fur.
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#5
the girl maggie was nothing but a husk, her eyes shut, her wound a crusting mess, but there had been life there - breath.
tamar worried over her and satsu stepped away, frowning, and then sharply subdued her suggestion: you will not.
the taste hadn't left her mouth.
no-one, even lowly born as that bawdy harlot, deserved to fester in such a way, or waste slowly within view, with other more important things occuring.
satsu looked to tamar and leaned in close enough to smell the dust of autumn in her coat, and commanded of her one thing.
find the one called slate, servant to the bear man. they have their own medicines to spare for maggie.
it wasn't charity that spawned this idea.
better to have her slip away to endless sleep than waste more precious medicines, with the war looming.
go! better that than you hovering after me.
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#6
the servant girl blinked.

slate. merrick. servant. another maid, perhaps. she committed the names to memory, but not swiftly enough. 

the queen's voice scoured her ears again, and tamar cringed into a bow, flattening. 

with a low obeisance she backed from satsu's presence as she had been taught and then fled, higher and higher, to the surface until she might find this slate.

until she might be free of the queen's coldness and the cloying scent in the air.

she would return to clean the mess.