Chapter Text
Lianne often visited between her bouts of endearing wanderlust. Rose would say it was a homecoming, but she’d been without one for a century and a half by then. She, frustratingly, would not accept Eryn as her second. Or her new one. Or stay for any extended period of time.
Rose ensured that they ‘made up for lost time’, after a certain point. Once intentions had been made clear as much as Rose was able to be. As much as she allowed herself to be. Then, on one visit, Lianne spoke nearly no words at all.
She passed through the barrier, entered Rose’s atelier, stared hauntingly at her as she tried to coax something out of Lianne, some sort of sound or phrase, asking every question she could possibly think of—but nothing worked. It was almost as if Lianne was sleepwalking, standing in the center of the room, her eyes glazed.
“Calvard is gone,” whispered Lianne, finally, her once unbreakable voice splintered and jagged, hitching on the edge of collapse. “I could not save it.”
“What happened?” Rose swallowed and set her work aside, fully prepared to do something to—anything so that she did not cry. “Was there a plague? Some sort of cataclysm? An artifact? Why didn’t you—you could have told me, and then I could have—”
“It was a social disease. It had no cure, and there was no end to the carriers.” Lianne took a very shaky breath. “The royal family is dead, the aristocracy beheaded, and all that is left is for that madwoman to watch her people suffer and die as they collapse under their own insane, delusional ambitions.”
Rose had read her fair share of political theory; several wandering witches had made it quite far into Calvard in their travels. They’d often return with books. The concept of a democratic republic was an odd one, as no nation would ever willingly transition to that form of governance. And, quite likely, that had been proven true.
“I never thought anyone would succeed in an attempted revolution,” said Rose. “What happens next is not certain doom, Lianne. This has never happened before. Blood has been spilled, yes, but it is possible, however unlikely, that—”
“They are children,” spat Lianne, her breathing uneven even as she paced around the workshop, shoulders and arms twitching. “They do not know what is best for them, or their country! They are going to kill each other in the ensuing chaos, in yet another war of succession, and then nothing will remain but ruins and brigands!”
“You’re right; of course, you’re right.” Rose bit her lip and nodded. “They’re merely children.”
Just as Lianne had been, once upon a time.