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<blockquote data-quote="CPT馬冠宇" data-source="post: 73640" data-attributes="member: 162">ChestnutthielHearthmount&#039;s voice drones on about the month&#039;s delay, the payment in Lepidstadt, and the name Embreth Daramid, but I&#039;m not listening. I&#039;m focused on the folio in front of me, its serpent cover worn smooth by time. The serpent&#039;s eye, surprisingly deep, catches the lamplight, giving the illusion that it watches me.&nbsp; My hand finds the bell ribbon, warm from the day&#039;s wear. I hold it, much like one might hold a door handle in a dark corridor, unsure whether to open it. Hearthmount continues reading, and someone shifts impatiently in their chair—likely Skender. The lamp casts its amber glow across the shelves, and the key rests on the table. The room hums with its usual activities.&nbsp; Suddenly, Aerel&#039;s voice, low and precise, cuts through the air from my left: &quot;Royal Daughter.&quot;&nbsp; I freeze, not with attention, but with a deeper stillness, a bodily recognition before the mind can process. My knuckles tighten around the bell, turning pale.&nbsp; I turn to see Aerel, his emerald eyes following Hearthmount&#039;s progress on the parchment, his expression remote and slightly sad, as always. His lips haven&#039;t moved. The room hasn&#039;t changed. Hearthmount&#039;s voice fills the space with talk of Lepidstadt and tomes, but no one has mentioned a Royal Daughter.&nbsp; I look back at the folio. The words &quot;Royal Daughter&quot; linger in my mind, unspoken yet heard. I say them aloud, but they come out wrong—flat and hollow, like a phrase from a forgotten language. The serpent&#039;s eye holds its lamplight, offering no answer.&nbsp; I realize I must be thinking of the household the folio relates to—some old family, a domestic lineage. The serpent is likely a heraldic detail, worn smooth by handling. The craftsmanship is notable, with the eye retaining its depth while the body has flattened, a technique I&#039;ve seen before in objects meant to be held rather than read.&nbsp; &quot;I was just admiring the craftsmanship,&quot; I say to the room, my words more correct this time, but they fall on deaf ears as Hearthmount continues reading, and no one was watching me.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="CPT馬冠宇, post: 73640, member: 162"] Chestnutthiel Hearthmount's voice drones on about the month's delay, the payment in Lepidstadt, and the name Embreth Daramid, but I'm not listening. I'm focused on the folio in front of me, its serpent cover worn smooth by time. The serpent's eye, surprisingly deep, catches the lamplight, giving the illusion that it watches me. My hand finds the bell ribbon, warm from the day's wear. I hold it, much like one might hold a door handle in a dark corridor, unsure whether to open it. Hearthmount continues reading, and someone shifts impatiently in their chair—likely Skender. The lamp casts its amber glow across the shelves, and the key rests on the table. The room hums with its usual activities. Suddenly, Aerel's voice, low and precise, cuts through the air from my left: "Royal Daughter." I freeze, not with attention, but with a deeper stillness, a bodily recognition before the mind can process. My knuckles tighten around the bell, turning pale. I turn to see Aerel, his emerald eyes following Hearthmount's progress on the parchment, his expression remote and slightly sad, as always. His lips haven't moved. The room hasn't changed. Hearthmount's voice fills the space with talk of Lepidstadt and tomes, but no one has mentioned a Royal Daughter. I look back at the folio. The words "Royal Daughter" linger in my mind, unspoken yet heard. I say them aloud, but they come out wrong—flat and hollow, like a phrase from a forgotten language. The serpent's eye holds its lamplight, offering no answer. I realize I must be thinking of the household the folio relates to—some old family, a domestic lineage. The serpent is likely a heraldic detail, worn smooth by handling. The craftsmanship is notable, with the eye retaining its depth while the body has flattened, a technique I've seen before in objects meant to be held rather than read. "I was just admiring the craftsmanship," I say to the room, my words more correct this time, but they fall on deaf ears as Hearthmount continues reading, and no one was watching me. [/QUOTE]

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