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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1895. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.

Where will you fall?

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One of the cheapest homeless shelters in Victorian London charged four pennies to sleep in a coffin. Which was... still better than sleeping upright against a rope? — Jordan / Lynn
If he was being completely honest, the situation didn't look good, but Sylvano was not in the habit of being completely honest about anything. No reason to start now.
you & me & the war of the endtimes


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hi my name is pink and i'm really glad to meet you;;
#1
July 1892 — an elegant ball at An Estate
Poppy was completely and utterly breathless. Her toes hurt from her pinched shoes and her face was flush from a fresh dance, but the smile on her face was utter felicity. She had never expected to enjoy her debut the way she had, but there was something about meeting new people and making so many new first impressions that the diminutive brunette found exciting. It was like a slew of endless possibilities. Today felt much the same.

She’d just come off a wonderful little jig with Mr. Dempsey who was quickly becoming one of Poppy’s favorite partners. He was so jovial and had such splendid energy and interests! She hoped to see more of him in the coming weeks. Glancing down at her dance card, Poppy read the next name and her sudden eagerness to continue on bottomed out. Mr. Maxime. How did his name even get on her card in the first place? Poppy was sure it had to be a mistake. Frowning, she rubbed at it hoping it would smear so she might have plausible deniability if he came calling. Unfortunately his elegant scrawl stayed pristine on the glossy surface of her card. Poppy looked up and suddenly, there was was, making his way over. She panicked.

Turning to the nearest gentleman (that didn’t look like he was miserably unbearable), she grabbed him by the coat sleeve. “Please pretend you’ve asked me to dance or onto the balcony so that I might escape a dreadful next conversation,” she bleated, her tinkly little laugh coming out somewhat breathless. Poppy could only hope her savior was a true gentleman.

Tristan Devilder & muse song
it's so perfect lol





© Fox
#2
Where had that server gone? Tristan looked around the room, he could have sworn the server had been making his way over with glasses of champagne and now he was nowhere in sight. He sighed. It wasn't so much that he liked champagne, but rather that he'd prefer something, anything to drink at this point.

Determining the server was not indeed anywhere near him Tristan settled back into his stance watching the ballroom. Except suddenly there was a voice by his shoulder and Tristan found himself turning and looking down at Poppy Dashwood. He hadn't met her, of course, he wasn't that lucky. But he did know her and her family. He was fairly certain she was closer to his sisters' ages.

"Of course." He bowed over her hand slightly, looking up with a smile. "I'm at your service." He then took her hand as if she had offered it and led her onto the dance floor.

#3
Poppy didn’t recognize the face of the gentleman she’d latched onto but that was neither here nor there for her scheme. He was gallant and accepted her impromptu proposal without a question, earning him a point in her favor. Smiling gratefully at the sir, she found herself led onto the dance floor once again and away from Timoleon Maxime. (If she pulled a small face in her head at mere mention of him, well that was Poppy’s own business.)

The musicians started up on a waltz and Poppy was pleased by the distraction of it. She needed to thank her lovely savior, but the awkwardness of calling out to him across a jig had seemed intolerable. Curtsying to him now as they started their dance, she inclined her head to the left.

“Thank you,” she started out gently, voice brimming with genuine gratitude. “I don’t mean to be so forward or rude.” If a small blush stole across her cheeks, it was faint. Poppy had never been one to think about self-preservation in the moment almost until it was too late. “But I simply could not stomach the idea of another dreadful dance with a certain gentleman,” she admitted, perhaps too honestly. Though she kept his name from it for propriety sake. (Who knows? Her savior might have been in Maxime’s closest confidence.)






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