20th August, 1891 — Destiny Hotel, directly before this

The ball had been a bore, as balls usually were, but the note from Ophelia – purely by its appearance, before even she had read it – promised something worthwhile from the evening. Not that the note said a great deal: instructions only to meet her in another hotel room two floors above.

Having taken the scenic route up the grand hotel stairs, Porphyria meandered down the hallway looking for the room to which she had been directed, only half-paying attention; turning a corner, she strode right into someone else, and stumbled back slightly. At least she knew who it was immediately, from the merest glimpse of light blonde hair.

“Oh, November,” Phyri exclaimed, and while they had seen one another here and there since the Sonata, she didn’t think they were quite friends yet; in fact, she still wasn’t sure Mrs. Malfoy liked her at all, or that she would take kindly to the use of her first name – but Phyri had decided she may as well force the issue. “Pardon me,” she added, pressing her hand to the taller woman’s arm to steady them both in an absent-minded apology, leaping instead to the easy conclusion here. She couldn’t imagine Mrs. Malfoy was haunting this particular hotel hallway for any other reason. “I take it you got her note too?”

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November Malfoy / Ursula Black

  

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

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The saying 'curiosity killed the cat' was not one that had often had cause to be hurled Nova's way. Of course she had a healthy amount of curiosity as any Ravenclaw alumnus ought, perhaps even more so than merely healthy, but the difference was that she rarely acted on impulse. Following the directions in the missive from Ophelia didn't seem particularly ill-advised, however, and so Nova was quite willing to indulge her curiosity on this occasion. Her first inkling of a second thought only came when she quite suddenly found herself in a collision with another woman. Fortunately neither had been moving fast enough for anyone to end up on the floor but Nova's composure was certainly knocked to the floor.

Her heart raced at the shock of it all (it was definitely just the shock) and she was both thankful and not for the steadying hand of Miss Dempsey on her arm. It surprised her too to hear her first name on Miss Dempsey's lips though the realization was a little delayed. Ever since the revelations at the theater she'd privately hoped for a letter, an invitation, a something to indicate that it hadn't been a vivid figment of her imagination. Hadn't they found unexpected common ground and a likeness (at least in some ways) of mind? Did Miss Dempsey change her mind or perhaps never have any wish to know her better? Why hadn't she written? Of course owls could fly both ways but Nova was far too shy in this instance to even dare think of writing the first letter. Better to imagine Miss Dempsey would give her the time of day but never get to know her better than to find out for certain that she wouldn't.

Miss De- Por- Her sputtering was thankfully, she believed, quiet enough that Miss Dempsey might not properly catch it. She decided to skip straight to answering the question put to her. Y-yes, I did. Her mind briefly wandered back to the contents of Ophelia's peculiar letter but quickly abandoned it again in favor of all things Miss Dempsey. How had it not crossed her mind sooner that there was a good chance Miss Dempsey would've been summoned too? Not that she knew the nature of the invitation but if anyone else were to come along the surest bet would be her. It's rather mysterious of her, she proffered, wanting to seize the opportunity for a private conversation with Miss Dempsey before it was lost.

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Outfit | Tag: Porphyria Dempsey | Notes:

  

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She had forgotten just how quiet November Malfoy was. She had known it before the sonata and known it since, but not being in her company had lessened the impression – until one was here, and faced with it, the blonde beginning with a murmur so soft Porphyria had not the slightest hope of deciphering it.

Fortunately, her next answer was audible, which saved Phyri from leaning in far too close; she grinned as she considered the mysterious note again. “She does have a taste for the dramatic,” – and a mystery was inherently that, the lingering suspense all for the audience’s sake – “but I suspect that is why we both like her so dearly.” She gave Mrs. Malfoy a pointed glance. “Shall we?”

She checked the note again, and shot November another look, this one with a glimmer of merriment, before she swung open the door in question and stepped through purposefully.

To little effect, in the end. Just an ordinary room, as far as she could tell, with mirrors lining the wall. And no Ophelia, as yet. “The mystery continues,” Phyri declared with a thoughtful hum, her gaze drifting about the room until there was nowhere left to look but back at Mrs. Malfoy again. Which she did. Expectantly.

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

---

She rather had a point, Ophelia was prone to the dramatic and Nova had to admit to herself that she found it quite enlivening. Miss Dempsey was also guilty of this, though not quite in the same way exactly.

Nova felt an unwelcome rush of something in response to the look Miss Dempsey gave her before leading her into the next room. The room was empty as far as she could tell. The mirrors were a little unusual perhaps but gave nothing away as to what the purpose of them gathering was. They were highly inconvenient, however. She quickly decided she resented the mirrors for she could turn her back on Miss Dempsey and still be seen from all angles, worse still she'd be able to see the cracks in her own composure as they appeared.

She caught Miss Dempsey's look first from her reflection and then turned to look at her directly and rather wished she hadn't. This was when Miss Dempsey would write her off as a bore in light of all the excitement, none of which Nova thought she was able to contribute. She was positively lost for words which was terribly inconvenient when Miss Dempsey was giving her a very pointed look. Yes. Something was better than nothing, right? It would seem that way. She felt incredibly stupid and dull. Perhaps the mirrors have something to do with it...?

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Outfit | Tag: Porphyria Dempsey | Notes:

  

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“Yes, I’m sure they must,” Porphyria returned, head inclined ever so slightly in a nod, and she briefly touched her fingertips to one of the mirrors to test this – but again, they seemed quite mundane from here. And the mirrors were only half of the mystery here – her attentions were quite torn, with Mrs. Malfoy’s presence to distract her. A real mystery of a woman, indeed.

So Porphyria perched in a plush chair – some of the only furniture in here, barring the mirrors – and kept her gaze on her companion. “Well, we shall have to wait and see, I suppose,” – Ophelia would reveal all, when she appeared – “but I confess I have never been a particularly patient person.” Phyri offered it as if this would remotely surprise a soul, running her fingers idly along the folds of her dress for a moment before she grinned at Mrs. Malfoy, uttering a pronouncement she was absolutely certain would horrify her. “In the meantime, you will simply have to entertain me.”

She was teasing. Probably. Maybe. She hadn’t quite decided.

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   November Malfoy

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

---

Nova both marveled and envied the self-assuredness and ease with which Miss Dempsey conducted herself. The situation they found themselves in was strange and unusual and Nova's instinct was towards apprehension, the added complication of Miss Dempsey herself only served to exacerbate her unease. Meanwhile Miss Dempsey appeared to be entirely unfazed by it all, perhaps even relishing it. It was admirable and terribly unfair and Nova felt all the more aware of her awkwardness.

Entertain her? Nova's stomach flipped and knotted in horror. Miss Dempsey would realize now that, despite all they seemed to have in common, she was dreary company and not worth her notice. The color was already rising in her cheeks as she stood before the other woman feeling as uncomfortable as she might have been if stood under a spotlight. Her heart thrummed and she felt sick, sick with the pressure of making a good impression whilst being aware that she'd fraudulently caught Miss Dempsey's notice and would inevitably fail to live up to expectation.

She was starting to feel unsteady and increasingly so the more aware of it she became. Suddenly her priority was no longer making a good impression but trying not to make the very worst one by swooning ridiculously. Miss Dempsey occupied the nearest seat and she didn't think she could gracefully maneuver herself to nearby stool without upsetting it and herself in the process. She might have requested entertainment but Nova didn't wish to grant it at the cost of her self-respect. Fainting would be preferable.

Nova resigned herself to staying put and whatever the consequences of doing so might be. If she could just steady herself... She made the mistake of looking directly at Miss Dempsey's face. How long had she been stood there mutely, her shallow rapid breathing the only indication she hadn't become a statue? Too long - minutes it seemed - it had to be minutes. Maybe if she could just say something clever or witty the room might stop spinning so fast... There were no words of her own she could summon up, there was only a gaping void of horror where her coherent thoughts usually were. She bit the inside of her lip as she felt herself fading. Through her now clouded vision she could just about make out Miss Dempsey's face and it inspired her to make one last feeble attempt to save herself.

The breath of night like death did flo- And like a sack of potatoes she went down.

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Outfit | Tag: Porphyria Dempsey | Notes:

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   Elias Grimstone

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She had been right about that: Mrs. Malfoy was evidently horror-struck. Porphyria might have made a joke that her freezing like that was entertainment enough in itself, if she hadn’t thought Mrs. Malfoy would take being made fun of as a mortal wound.

Still, supposing she had the measure of the other woman, Phyri was fully expecting a near-whispered protestation of some kind or another, some elegant demurral or a question of poetry – not that, the standing and the staring. Had she been too cruel? What had she done, had she somehow broken her?

Porphyria’s bewilderment reached a peak when Mrs. Malfoy swooned – not in intended dramatic fashion, she could only imagine; but out of sheer offense to the demand, or because she was one of those ladies who wore too tight-fitting a corset – but she pushed out of her chair and dropped to her knees.

Now close at her side, she touched a hand to the other’s woman’s temples and then her cheek, waiting for her to come around with a faint pang of concern. She supposed she would do so naturally; though the line of verse Mrs. Malfoy had half-uttered was sparking something in Phyri’s brain as she observed her there, as perfectly made to be a pretty corpse as any specimen she’d ever seen. She could not remember the whole poem, but a dash of it came to her here and there – and it yellow’d the strings of thy tangled hair – and then aloud, when she seemed to be rousing, offered half in humour and half apology: “The moon made thy lips pale, beloved; / The wind made thy bosom chill. Well, I daresay you exceeded my expectations,” Phyri added lightly: Mrs. Malfoy had caught her by surprise again, after all. “How do you feel?”

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   November Malfoy

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

---

Perhaps if she'd thought ahead to what might happen after she was finished swooning she might've found it sobering enough to keep her head but instead she woke to find Miss Dempsey staring down at her vignetted by Nova's barely parted eyelashes which was... Well it was. Then it all took on a disturbingly dream-like quality as verse was rained down upon her. It couldn't possibly be that she was awake, she must be dreaming for how often had she longed for someone to quote romantic poetry to her in the midst of a deeply dramatic event?

It was a good thing she was already safely grounded for she felt suddenly seized by flutterings and giddiness - was she taking ill? She moved her hand weakly to her stomach where it hesitated a moment and then started to move away but suddenly stopped and fell back to her side, almost as if she'd been about to reach out to Miss Dempsey but quickly changed her mind. Let this be real, she thought desperately to herself.

At sea. By now her eyes were fully open and exceptionally bright. She couldn't articulate to herself what she was feeling or why, only that what she wanted above all things was to secure Miss Dempsey as her dearest friend. It simply wouldn't be fair for someone like Porphyria Dempsey to exist in a separate world from her. Nova was so caught up in herself that she had forgotten to consider yet what Miss Dempsey might be thinking of her.

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Outfit | Tag: Porphyria Dempsey | Notes:

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   Porphyria Dempsey

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At sea. It was an unfathomably poetic answer, but also seemed entirely accurate: Mrs. Malfoy seemed lost and bewildered, certainly conscious but possibly still too confused to qualify as quite well. That was unfortunate. Phyri was not especially used to feeling worried for people – nor indeed to people swooning in her company – and she did not exactly know how she would explain this to anyone, nor whether or not it had been partially her fault.

Her eyes had fluttered open, though. That was a start. “Well, you are breathing,” Phyri teased, leaning in over her as if to test it, “so I suppose you’ll live. Thankfully.” (In truth she fancied November Malfoy might actually have some internal frailty or wasting sickness that would send her to an early grave, but she did not want to suggest it out loud in case Mrs. Malfoy deteriorated on the spot.)

“Can you sit up, do you think?” Porphyria offered November her hand, in case she needed the help to be pulled upright; if not, she could stay there, but if she felt that weak then Phyri suspected her gown might need loosening about the waist.

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

---

Her heart was racing obscenely and it was all she could do but to endure it with some semblance of composure. Miss Dempsey was simply too much, her very presence was suffocating. Or so it seemed to Nova who understood very little of what was happening nor felt certain she wanted to.

Nova's hand shakily reached out to accept the one offered by Miss Dempsey. It had been a subconscious decision to do so, one that hadn't registered until she felt the other woman's hand beneath her own. Merlin, her hand was shaking enough as it was but she was sure she could feel it getting worse. I must apologize this is... most unseemly of me. The words came out barely louder than a whisper and were accompanied by a very unwelcome warmth in her face. Nova took the most steadying of breaths she could muster, cast her eyes to one side so they weren't in danger of accidentally seeking out Miss Dempsey's, and then tried to sit herself up.

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Outfit | Tag: Porphyria Dempsey | Notes:

  

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“Don’t apologise,” Porphyria scoffed firmly, and perhaps a little fond; she was not terribly interested in hearing Mrs. Malfoy make excuses for herself. She hardly expected the woman had done it on purpose, after all. So, as she attempted to gently pull her up to a sitting position, Phyri shifted beside her and tucked her arm around November’s back to steady her there.

(She tried very hard not to be reminded of her own Browning poem, sitting side by side like this, an arm about the waist; Porphyria’s yellow head and still-blushing cheek propped against her lover’s shoulder through the night. That thought stirred something in her before she could help herself.)

“Does it happen often?” Phyri asked after a movement, curious but guessing November Malfoy might indeed have a habit of it – for her part, this whole circumstance was rather uncommon. “I could almost thank you for it, besides,” she added (to make her feel less embarrassed), with a little ironic smile. “Now I know just what it must feel like to be a handsome rake.” She shook her head with scornful amusement at the thought – she felt like handsome rakes in general were already afforded too much power by society, even before eligible young ladies came swooning at their feet to catch their attention or their hand.

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

---

I had all taken a turn for the surreal, so much so that Nova's hand reached across to her other arm and pinched the underside of it. She was very much awake, very much real, very much trapped in this unlikely moment. She had to learn how to see Miss Dempsey not as an unearthly mythical creature but as any other mortal like herself, like she must have once before. Had she always shattered the moment Miss Dempsey turned the full, unbearable weight of her attention upon her? It wasn't as though Miss Dempsey had paid much mind to her in the past, not until somewhat recently had she seemed to really See her. It was exciting yet equally terrifying. It was for the best that Miss Dempsey didn't know the effect she had upon her, it was inexplicable and she'd certainly think less of her for it.

This was hard, however, when Miss Dempsey had arm around her and seemed to have no regard for Nova's delicate sensibilities as she bombarded them with relentless informality and what comment - a handsome rake! Was she blushing again or was blushing now her constant state of being? Miss Dempsey had probably forgotten that her face could ever be anything but pink.

N-No, not really. After all it wasn't often in her day to day that she was so thoroughly tested, emotionally speaking. It was usually embarrassment or horror that cut her adrift from her senses and her life was not particularly abundant with either. She still didn't know how to acknowledge Miss Dempsey's rake comment but felt she ought to. It had been, she suspected, an attempt at levity for her benefit after all. I think a handsome rake would not be quite so... So what? She realized too late that she'd trapped herself with her own sentence. Sweet. The word felt insipid and utterly wrong. She grimaced, a change of expression that looked more like the feeblest beam of sunlight had just been shone in her eyes.

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Outfit | Tag: Porphyria Dempsey | Notes:

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   Porphyria Dempsey

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Not really. Phyri was surprised, but she wouldn’t make Mrs. Malfoy feel any worse by further interrogating it. Instead, she was mostly just regarding her to see her progress in recovering – and she was relieved to see some blood returning to her face, a healthy flush on her cheeks. (It was for the best, that she might let all thought of Browning poems subside.)

All thought of anything else dropped from Porphyria’s mind at that last remark, as did Porphyria’s jaw, her mouth falling open in pure surprise. Now this was as surreal a moment as she had ever had; she made a noise at the back of her throat before she could help herself, and found herself otherwise speechless for a moment. She had to have imagined that. Whatever had happened to coarse and alarming? Bold, improper, outspoken? Sweet? Whatever was she supposed to do with that?

“November Malfoy,” Porphyria professed, once she had at last found her voice again – and there was a little high colour in her own cheeks now, most unusually, beneath the lilt of amusement in her voice – “I think you are the very first person on earth to call me sweet.” Was she the light-headed one here? What was going on? Determined to shake this strange confusion, Phyri sprung to her feet, keeping a hand extended for Mrs. Malfoy. “Do you think you can stand, again?”

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

---

Nova watched with deep consternation as Miss Dempsey's reaction to her words played out on her face. It didn't help that she was already self-conscious about her choice of vocabulary. Sweet wasn't incorrect, it wasn't even far off from what she'd meant but it lacked a certain nuance she couldn't put her finger on exactly. The word she wanted floated somewhere in the vicinity of sweet, attentive, chivalrous, safe... And what underlined all of these things was her surprise at finding them in Miss Dempsey's character of all people. Not that she'd thought her to be the opposite of such attributes but she'd thought Miss Dempsey to be too aloof, too wild, too free to be weighed down by the earthly concerns of other mortals.

She thought she observed the telltale signs of a blush in Miss Dempsey's face and forced herself to look away before she could be absolutely certain. What did it signify if she was indeed blushing? Of course she was eager to overthink it, she was so wrapped up in her romantic notions that she was creating significance where there was none. How foolish of her! Miss Dempsey had every reason to flush, the entire situation had been awkward since she'd irresponsibly lost her wits and wilted like a hothoused flower.

Still, it surprised her to hear that 'sweet' wasn't something Miss Dempsey was often called. Then again on second thought the word had seemed like a poor fit, it only seemed odd for a moment because Nova was quite used to being called 'sweet' herself.

Could she stand indeed? Honestly she wasn't sure but she was also unwilling to say anything to the contrary and make a strange situation worse. Nova took Miss Dempsey's hand in hers like she was being forced to crush a butterfly by doing so. Despite her tentative and rather uneasy grip of Miss Dempsey's hand, Nova was miraculously back on her feet mere seconds later. Thank you. She murmured this more to her wrist than Miss Dempsey herself. Her hand seemed to have forgotten how to politely extract itself - her fingers had gone mostly slack as if she'd given up halfway while her thumb clearly hadn't received the memo. Realizing how weird it might seem to Miss Dempsey who was sure to notice any moment - if she hadn't already - she suddenly slipped her hand free and clasped it in her own.

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Outfit | Tag: Porphyria Dempsey | Notes:

  

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The mirrors on the wall seemed, all of a sudden, to be compressing the room around them – Porphyria was trying determinedly not to catch sight of herself, as if her reflection would reveal something strange about her – some apparent ‘sweetness’, perhaps. Was this what had made Mrs. Malfoy swoon mere minutes ago, their sharp kaleidoscopic surroundings making the world spin? Everything did seem... well, somehow upturned and irregular. Sweet.

Or maybe it was Mrs. Malfoy’s very delicate grasp that was making her lightheaded, like this woman was a wraith, some figure flitted out of her imagination, scarcely real to the touch – and then the hand was gone. It had been there for quite some time, and yet Porphyria’s fingers closed in on nothing now in something like dismay. As if she had missed a chance of something.

But if she was trying to avoid catch her own eye in the mirrors, there was nowhere to look at in the room but Mrs. Malfoy. So she surrendered her gaze to the blonde again – schooling her face into an impassive regard – in case November happened to swoon again. She didn’t look likely to, which was probably fortunate... but now it was difficult to continue on as if nothing had happened. Phyri couldn’t help herself; she reached out for a fold of gauzy pink fabric at Mrs. Malfoy’s shoulder where it had gotten mussed in her fall, running her fingers gently under it to fix it, and forcing herself to seem unmoved. “Shall I...” get you some water, help you sit, leave you be; Phyri didn’t know precisely what she was going to offer, but she trailed off, still considering, and before she could decide the best course of action, there was a rap at the door that made her leap out of her skin.

“Oh!” Porphyria exclaimed in a rush, pulse racing faster than it had any excuse to as her reason finally caught up, “that’ll be Ophelia –” Why it felt like Ophelia was interrupting something when they had only been waiting here in the first place, Phyri couldn’t quite say, but, trying to shake herself out of it, she lurched for the door.

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wrap and something new? <3

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   Ursula Black

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a sublime set by Lady! <3