the earth around your feet | medieval au

[sybil.]

[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 55%; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]Sybil detested this kingdom, these walls, these people. She longed - and she prayed every single night - for escape. She wanted to return to her own people, to her mothers and grandmothers, to nights of a thousand stars while traversing the country. She wanted the freedom of her nomadic tribe. She hated being barricaded behind these walls - though, as her people would say, she ought to be thankful.

The soothsayer snorted. Thankful. Not quite. She had been bartered: her tribe offered their best soothsayer for protection. Sybil had been traded like an animal's hide or a few swords. She had begged her tribal elders to rethink this decision, told them the gods would protect their flock, but they told her this was the path the gods had chosen. Why else would it have been offered? And besides, they said, Agathe Ashyver was chosen by the gods. This trade would have more than one benefit.

And so, she played her part. She was on the royal advising committee, tasked with reading the future for the kingdom as a whole. Four weeks. It had been four weeks, and she felt her skin crawl every time the high court demanded to know the outcome of a battle or the results of this or that. This was not her purpose. It couldn't be. She had to be destined for something more... She inhaled, not allowing herself to be worked up. At least there was something alluring about Agathe. She didn't seem to want to be here anymore than Sybil.

Clad in dark purple robes, the soothsayer moved towards the commotion in the garden. Her hood was pulled forward, shielding her eyes from the harsh, new sunlight. Gods, how she wished for the night again. "Again new," she replied, voice cold and heavily accented. "Grow weary of that."

Her eyes cut from Atticus to Agathe and back again. "Hm. You leave him when you go?" She removed the hood from her face. "Unsafe but that's desired." She turned to Atticus. "Closer eye perhaps." Though her speech broken and cryptic, she was alluding to Agathe's horseback riding and how Atticus ought to watch out for the queen a bit more. With a sudden start, she realized she had been sorting through Agathe's thoughts again (which is how she happened upon the information). She hated when she did that.