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rosavelle2025-10-30 12:15 pm
royaldecreemods) wrote in rosavelle2025-10-30 12:15 pm
Entry tags:
Welcome to Rosavelle!
INVITATION
You're going about your day when you notice an envelope that most certainly wasn't there before. It's beautiful, if a little old-fashioned: pale pink paper, sealed with a pressed flower instead of wax and your name written in looping cursive that shimmers faintly in the light.
Inside, the letter begins;
... It goes on like that for a while, whole paragraphs assuring you that you can leave whenever you want, no time will pass back in your world, the Everbloom's magic will keep you safe, etc etc… honestly it gets to the point that it starts to sound less like an invitation and more like a contract. But then, mercifully, the writer finds their footing again:
Maybe you accept right away or maybe you dismiss it as a prank or something equally unimportant. No matter what you think when you first read it, your mind eventually turns back to that invite and your find yourself thinking that it might not be a bad idea…
And once you do, you feel the world going soft and sweet around you, the scent of blooming flowers filling your nose - and before you can quite process what's happening, you realize you've accepted.
Inside, the letter begins;
- Dearest friend—
Goodness, I hope that isn't too forward. We've not met, after all. But I have been told that when one writes an invitation, it's important to sound sincere.
My name is Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. I am the Crown Princess of Rosavelle. It's a little island kingdom far, far away - so far that it may not exist quite in the same world as yours.
I know this must sound terribly strange, but I'm writing because I need your help. You see, my coronation is approaching soon, and Rosavelle's magic - the Everbloom - responds to the strength of one's heart. It's said that a ruler must understand love to truly awaken it. Not just romance, mind you, but all kinds of love: friendship, kindness, care.
The trouble is… I'm not very good at it. I've read so many books about love, but real people don't seem to follow the same rules the novels do.
That is why I'm writing to you. The Everbloom - our most ancient and wondrous magic - has granted me the means to reach across worlds. I'm inviting a handful of remarkable individuals, like you, to Rosavelle to help me learn. Not only to teach me what love means to you, but to help me see how it can bloom between friends, companions, and strangers alike.
I promise you'll be treated as an honored guest.
... It goes on like that for a while, whole paragraphs assuring you that you can leave whenever you want, no time will pass back in your world, the Everbloom's magic will keep you safe, etc etc… honestly it gets to the point that it starts to sound less like an invitation and more like a contract. But then, mercifully, the writer finds their footing again:
- If you'll come, I'd be so very grateful. I know this is a strange request, and you owe me nothing - but still, I hope you'll consider it. Rosavelle is beautiful this time of year, and it is my hope that seeing it alongside fresh eyes will allow me to see it more clearly as well.
With all my thanks (and my hopes!)—
Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré
Maybe you accept right away or maybe you dismiss it as a prank or something equally unimportant. No matter what you think when you first read it, your mind eventually turns back to that invite and your find yourself thinking that it might not be a bad idea…
And once you do, you feel the world going soft and sweet around you, the scent of blooming flowers filling your nose - and before you can quite process what's happening, you realize you've accepted.
ARRIVAL
You arrive in a haze of soft, rosy light. For a moment, everything is weightless - the air around you hums faintly, thick with warmth and the heady scent of flowers. When the haze fades, you find yourself standing beneath a vast glass dome that stretches impossibly high overhead. The light filtering through its pink-tinted panes paints everything in gentle rose and gold and petals drift through the air like drifting snow.
You are standing in the Everbloom's Greenhouse. The walls curve upward in graceful arches, every pane glimmering faintly and the air is warm, fragrant, and shimmering with faint motes of magic. Flowering vines climb the supports, colorful blossoms of all kinds spill from hanging baskets, and everywhere you look there's flowers, flowers, flowers.
At its heart stands the Everbloom, a colossal tree the likes of which you've never seen before. Its smooth trunk is faintly luminous and the canopy stretches so high that you can't see where it ends, vanishing into a haze of golden light and drifting petals. The air around it hums softly with power and for a moment, all you can do is stare up at it in awe.
A moment later, movement stirs: castle attendants glide forward in elegant uniforms, carrying towels, refreshments, and generally doing their best to make sure everyone's arrived safely. After all, you're not alone. Around you, other figures begin to appear - some blinking in wonder, some already steady on their feet. Each seems as out of place as you, drawn from distant worlds and disparate lives but under the rosy light they all seem to come together like flowers gathered into the same bouquet.
Those who stumble are gently guided toward a bench cushioned with flowering moss. Cool towels and drinks infused with rose and mint are offered freely. Eventually, once it seems like everyone's arrived and mostly gotten their bearings, one of the attendants - a lady-in-waiting as you'll eventually find out - speaks up.
"You are most welcome to Rosavelle," she says, dipping into a polite bow. "Their Princess will be hosting a banquet this evening to greet you all properly. Until then, please take your time to get settled and familiar with your surroundings. If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask."
For now, you're free to mingle. This is your chance to get your bearings, meet your fellow arrivals, and explore your surroundings. Beyond the main atrium, you can glimpse winding paths lined with blooming hedges and fat, colorful blossoms. Somewhere in the distance, you can faintly hear birdsong. You feel a little tug somewhere in your chest and if you follow it, you might just come across a flowerbed somewhere in the Greenhouse that you somehow know as your own.
After some time to mingle and acclimate, the attendants return, clapping their hands gently to draw attention.
"It's nearly time to prepare for the evening banquet! If you'll come with us, we'll see to your attire."
DRESS UP
You're led from the warmth of the greenhouse through a series of winding marble corridors until you're ushered through a set of grand double doors into a suite of guest rooms bustling with motion. Tailors, stylists, and attendants hurry between privacy screens, racks of lavish garments and trays piled high with glittering jewelry. Silks and satins gleam and lace and velvet catch the light in soft waves of color.
Tailors and stylists bustle about, armed with measuring tapes, pins, and brushes. The staff are cheerfully firm about making sure everyone looks their best for the banquet but nobody's forced into anything they don't want; the attendants listen to everyone's preferences and somehow find something flattering for even the most reluctant participant. Whether you comply with good humor or grumble through the process, it's impossible not to get swept up in the flurry of preparation. … of course, if you're determined to be a grump about the whole thing, you're welcome to wait outside until everyone's dressed up nicely.
The attendants encourage everyone to chatter as they work or even to lend a hand to another guest struggling with their ensemble. Maybe it's out of curiosity - the staff are polite, professional, but it's clear that dressing guests from other worlds is a novelty they want to enjoy.
As final adjustments are made and mirrors fill with transformed reflections, the bustle slowly quiets. Attendants exchange satisfied looks, then guide the group once more through the corridors. The faint strains of music drift down the corridors until at last, you find yourself before the towering double doors of the Azurite Banquet Hall, carved from the stone it takes its name from. The lady in waiting pauses just long enough to smooth a wrinkle here, adjust a collar there, and make sure everyone is present before pushing the doors open.
Tailors and stylists bustle about, armed with measuring tapes, pins, and brushes. The staff are cheerfully firm about making sure everyone looks their best for the banquet but nobody's forced into anything they don't want; the attendants listen to everyone's preferences and somehow find something flattering for even the most reluctant participant. Whether you comply with good humor or grumble through the process, it's impossible not to get swept up in the flurry of preparation. … of course, if you're determined to be a grump about the whole thing, you're welcome to wait outside until everyone's dressed up nicely.
The attendants encourage everyone to chatter as they work or even to lend a hand to another guest struggling with their ensemble. Maybe it's out of curiosity - the staff are polite, professional, but it's clear that dressing guests from other worlds is a novelty they want to enjoy.
As final adjustments are made and mirrors fill with transformed reflections, the bustle slowly quiets. Attendants exchange satisfied looks, then guide the group once more through the corridors. The faint strains of music drift down the corridors until at last, you find yourself before the towering double doors of the Azurite Banquet Hall, carved from the stone it takes its name from. The lady in waiting pauses just long enough to smooth a wrinkle here, adjust a collar there, and make sure everyone is present before pushing the doors open.
BANQUET
The Azurite Banquet Hall glows with warm candlelight reflected in polished marble floors and the air inside smells of wine and roses. Long tables stretch the length of the hall, each one dressed in embroidered runners and heaped with platters of food that look almost too beautiful to eat and in the corner, a string quartet plays a soft, lilting melody.
At the head of the room stands your host, Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. Draped in pale gold, they look every bit the part of a royal... though the slightly nervous way they adjust their posture speaks of someone not entirely at ease in the spotlight. When they catch sight of the assembled guests, though, they brighten a bit. Their hands are clasped too tightly around their wine glass, but their voice is bright and earnest.
... suddenly, they look sheepish.
They raise their glass, cheeks pink but eyes bright.
As the toast echoes through the hall, the music swells again - a graceful waltz this time - and attendants sweep forward to usher guests toward the buffet tables.
There's something for every palate: platters of lemon-butter shrimp and rosemary-crusted fish, seared scallops on saffron rice and fillets of calendula-cured salmon alongside oysters resting in crushed ice and lobsters cracked open beside dishes of herb butter. It's not all seafood, either - whole roasted ducks glazed in something fruity dot the table, alongside lamb, chicken and a mouthwatering roast beef.
Between the platters, bowls of vegetables offer roasted root vegetables glistening with sweet glaze, delicate salads strewn with edible petals, caramelized carrots, blistered cherry tomatoes and crisp greens grown. And, of course, baskets of warm, golden bread wait beside whipped butter and creamy sauces.
If you're in the mood for sweets, there's desserts in dizzying abundance: sugared fruit tarts, meringues shaped like blossoms, chocolate soufflés dusted with candied violet, and pastries of all kinds filled with custard, chocolate and all manner of fruity, flowery fillings.
A side table gleams with crystal decanters and goblets: bottles of wine, deeply colored mead and delicate floral liqueurs seem to be the alcoholic offerings but there's carafes of chilled fruit water steeped with mint for anyone who's not inclined towards spirits.
If you're feeling bold, the cleared space near the musicians makes a perfect dance floor. Perhaps you find yourself drawn into a dance, or perhaps you linger at the buffet, trading stories with a stranger over a shared plate of sugared pastries. Or maybe you'll take the opportunity to introduce yourself to your host now they've made an appearance.
Eventually, as the night wears thin, the quartet's melody softens to a gentle hum. Candlelight flickers low. The attendants appear once more, smiling as they begin to guide everyone toward the final stop of the evening.
At the head of the room stands your host, Princess Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. Draped in pale gold, they look every bit the part of a royal... though the slightly nervous way they adjust their posture speaks of someone not entirely at ease in the spotlight. When they catch sight of the assembled guests, though, they brighten a bit. Their hands are clasped too tightly around their wine glass, but their voice is bright and earnest.
- "Ah - good evening, everyone! I - well, goodness, where does one even begin?
First of all, thank you. Truly, thank you all for coming here - to Rosavelle, and to me. I know this must all seem terribly strange - one moment you were in your own world, and the next you're here. It's strange to me too, you know. I've been imagining this for weeks, and yet somehow it still doesn't feel quite real.
Ah - oh! I suppose I should introduce myself properly. My name is Calanthe Rosabella Petalia de Amoré. I am the Crown Princess of Rosavelle, soon to be its sovereign, though I admit that still feels a little surreal to say aloud.
I invited you here because - well, I imagine all of you read your invitations. The Everbloom, our kingdom's oldest and most sacred magic, is bound to the heart and mine is… embarrassingly, quite uneducated in such matters. I couldn't imagine anyone in this world I could burden with such a problem and so I thought - perhaps - those who come from other worlds might help me."
... suddenly, they look sheepish.
- "That said, ah - there is a small complication. It is. Um. Frowned upon by most scholars to interfere with the affairs of other worlds, even with the best of intentions and I fear it would cause quite a stir if word got out. So for the time being, we'll need to keep your origins a secret. Please don't worry, though - we've arranged everything you'll need. Over the next month, we'll be teaching you about Rosavelle and all its customs so that when you venture out for the Wilting festival, you'll feel quite at home.
I realize that's rather a lot to ask, and I'm - well, I'm deeply grateful for your patience. I promise to do my best to make this worth your while.
So, once again, thank you. For answering my invitation. For being here, together, tonight.
Now then-"
They raise their glass, cheeks pink but eyes bright.
- "To new beginnings, and to the bonds we have yet to form. May they bloom as beautifully as the flowers of Rosavelle... oh, that sounded quite good, didn't it? A toast - to all of you!"
As the toast echoes through the hall, the music swells again - a graceful waltz this time - and attendants sweep forward to usher guests toward the buffet tables.
There's something for every palate: platters of lemon-butter shrimp and rosemary-crusted fish, seared scallops on saffron rice and fillets of calendula-cured salmon alongside oysters resting in crushed ice and lobsters cracked open beside dishes of herb butter. It's not all seafood, either - whole roasted ducks glazed in something fruity dot the table, alongside lamb, chicken and a mouthwatering roast beef.
Between the platters, bowls of vegetables offer roasted root vegetables glistening with sweet glaze, delicate salads strewn with edible petals, caramelized carrots, blistered cherry tomatoes and crisp greens grown. And, of course, baskets of warm, golden bread wait beside whipped butter and creamy sauces.
If you're in the mood for sweets, there's desserts in dizzying abundance: sugared fruit tarts, meringues shaped like blossoms, chocolate soufflés dusted with candied violet, and pastries of all kinds filled with custard, chocolate and all manner of fruity, flowery fillings.
A side table gleams with crystal decanters and goblets: bottles of wine, deeply colored mead and delicate floral liqueurs seem to be the alcoholic offerings but there's carafes of chilled fruit water steeped with mint for anyone who's not inclined towards spirits.
If you're feeling bold, the cleared space near the musicians makes a perfect dance floor. Perhaps you find yourself drawn into a dance, or perhaps you linger at the buffet, trading stories with a stranger over a shared plate of sugared pastries. Or maybe you'll take the opportunity to introduce yourself to your host now they've made an appearance.
Eventually, as the night wears thin, the quartet's melody softens to a gentle hum. Candlelight flickers low. The attendants appear once more, smiling as they begin to guide everyone toward the final stop of the evening.
HOUSEWARMING
The banquet winds to a gentle close and ne by one, the guests are gathered once more by the castle attendants who lead the way through dimly glowing corridors. The halls are quieter now, the rosy light of evening filtering through stained glass in sleepy shades of pink and gold. Everyone is lead through the castles and out into the grounds, their splendor only a little dulled by the darkness starting to settle over the castle.
"Your lodgings are just ahead," the lady in waiting says, her voice hushed out of respect for the hour. "You've each been assigned to a house - named for the flowers that chose you."
Slowly but surely, everyone's names are called and each person is supplied a heavy brass key to a house named for a flower you may have seen blooming somewhere today. When they speak the name of your house, something in you stirs with faint, inexplicable recognition, like you know it already - or maybe it knows you.
In any case, the barracks themselves are nothing like the name implies: warm, inviting, and softly lit by enchanted lanterns. Each house has its own cozy common area where low couches and plush chairs are gathered around softly glowing hearths. A long table in the center has been set with some late-night comforts, in case you somehow have any room left in your belly - plates of fruit and pastries, steaming pots of tea, and rich cocoa dusted with rose sugar.
The attendants leave you to settle in for the night, with a promise that the barracks staff will prepare meals from tomorrow onwards but mostly, you'll be left to your own devices. You could just track down your room and crash for the night but now seems as good a time as any to get to know your new housemates.
"Your lodgings are just ahead," the lady in waiting says, her voice hushed out of respect for the hour. "You've each been assigned to a house - named for the flowers that chose you."
Slowly but surely, everyone's names are called and each person is supplied a heavy brass key to a house named for a flower you may have seen blooming somewhere today. When they speak the name of your house, something in you stirs with faint, inexplicable recognition, like you know it already - or maybe it knows you.
In any case, the barracks themselves are nothing like the name implies: warm, inviting, and softly lit by enchanted lanterns. Each house has its own cozy common area where low couches and plush chairs are gathered around softly glowing hearths. A long table in the center has been set with some late-night comforts, in case you somehow have any room left in your belly - plates of fruit and pastries, steaming pots of tea, and rich cocoa dusted with rose sugar.
The attendants leave you to settle in for the night, with a promise that the barracks staff will prepare meals from tomorrow onwards but mostly, you'll be left to your own devices. You could just track down your room and crash for the night but now seems as good a time as any to get to know your new housemates.
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Wanting to be noticed?! I don't— what?! I've spent my life trying not to be!
Besides, that's rich coming from you! Pretty sure you broke several necks with the way you made heads turn in that getup!
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Yeah, seems she struck a nerve. Oh dear. ]
Probably. What about it?
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[He huffs and takes another drink.]
So...what, all the heads being turned and you're offended mine wasn't so you came over to bug me? I'm not interested in dancing.
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[ She lifts the uppermost ruffles of her skirt in a sort of curtsy. Give her a break, she's not used to it. ]
But I'll leave.
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[Nrgh. NRRRGHHHH.]
[Dammit. DAMMIT.]
Wait.
Just...
[He sighs heavily and takes another drink.]
You don't...have to. You're...probably as out of place as I am.
[...He reluctantly holds out the bottle.]
...Drink?
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Second thought: it's alcohol, it's naturally cootie-proof.
Third thought: not a bad face. Hm. ]
Thanks.
[ Maybe it's the fact that she's been sauced all evening, but she relaxes enough against the wall that any previous smarm is long gone. Replaced by a place to lean and relax her feet and a drink to burn her throat.
Down the hatch. Cough! Oh that's pretty intense. After swallowing the gulp of wine, she hands the bottle back to Darin to let the buzz wash over her. ]
Nice to meet you too. I'm Fatima.
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Darin. Darin Altway, Master Smith and second to the forgemaster at Belsaid's Blacksmith.
[There's an awkward pause as Darin tries to find the words to admit that maybe she didn't deserve his attitude.]
Look, I'm...a bit disoriented and I'm not exactly good at dealing with royals. Getting whisked away while I was on a journey, time supposedly stopping or not, has kinda got me wanting to challenge as much authority as I can.
You didn't deserve that. So...my bad.
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Then, maybe we can focus on something else.
[ "We." Plural. Now that her burning feet have a chance to rest, she's not moving anytime soon. Sorry, Darin. This wall is oh so comfortable. ]
You said you're a smith. Do you have a forge yet?
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[Darin's features soften for the first time tonight as he thinks about Acteon. And with those memories comes the heartache. That it's been about a month since he'd been home. He doesn't even know what happened to Acteon after he freed him from the cart transporting him to prison.]
...Figured I'd just inherit his forge but the idea always felt...I dunno.
Disappointing.
What do you do? Aside from turn heads?
[He offers a bit of a smirk along with the bottle.]
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Right now, nothing.
[ Gently she takes the bottle from him. This swig is bigger than the last, with her head tilting back. If she's going to finally broach this internal minefield, liquid courage is key.
The burn isn't as rough this time. She sighs deeply and drums her fingers on the bottle. ]
The last fifteen years of my life were dedicated to driving the Beast Fiends away. Now that they're gone for good...I don't really know what I want to do yet.
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[Huh. So her world had fiends. Does that mean she's got archfiend blood? She's got oddly colored hair like him...and her ears seemed pointed.]
[Still...'hey, are you a demon?' seemed like too rude of a question for even Darin to ask. And despite his countrymen's general fear of demonkin, Darin's always wanted to meet one.]
Well, it sounds to me that after fifteen years of dealing with that, you've earned the right to do whatever the hell you want. I say enjoy yourself. What you want to do after will probably come to you when you least expect it.
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[ She's content to leave it at that. Instead, she lets his words soak in a bit more. Maybe it's the wine, but his advice isn't half bad. She left Carnava at the first chance, didn't she? Rosavelle's princess gave her an out and by damn did she take it! She'll have to send them flowers once she's more situated. ]
But, you're not wrong. I told myself- [ and Roland ] That I'd think about what I wanted after that last battle. Now I'll just have to follow through with that thinking.
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[Kind of exciting, really.]
[Plus, well, look at her.]
[He lets out a short, sharp chuckle.]
Well, don't think too hard. Otherwise you might let a prime opportunity pass you by.
That's why I tend to act before I think too much.
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Yeah? Sounds like there are several foolish escapades behind a statement like that.
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Maybe one or two. Honestly, it depends on how bold I feel like being and if I'm in the mood to piss off anyone who particularly deserves it.
After all, I do have my principles to stand by.
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But hey! She can nod in agreement. And take another drink before passing the bottle back. ]
One's own principles are the only things you can trust, after all.
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Well...I like to think so. Honestly, I want to trust more but...some people make it hard.
[The smarm seems to leave his voice as he lets out a resigned huff. There's a smile there, albeit a sad one.]
Sometimes people just...don't want to understand. They take one look at you and decide your worth without ever getting to know the real you.
Sure, I can trust myself but...pretty sure trust is meant to be shared.
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It is.
[ She doesn't know what to think about this feeling settling over her. Sympathy for a common misery. It's almost as alien as someone showing such a sentiment to her! ]
It shouldn't be so difficult.
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[An uncomfortable level of familiarity.]
...Alright. [Darin takes another drink.]
Well, here's your chance. Ask me anything. I'll answer whatever you want. Can't trust unless the other person offers themselves up to be trusted, right?
Do your worst!
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What is your honest opinion of witches?
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Witches?
[He echoes the name.]
I...huh. I guess I never thought about it...
[He crosses his left arm under his chest and props his right elbow in his upturned palm, bringing his hands to his chin. If she wanted to know, and he's never thought about it before...well, it was time to consider it. Trust can't be earned unless he tries, right?]
I mean...I've never met one. People call them monsters and say they do bad things like cast curses and hexes, right? At least that's what people on my world say. They say they're hideous and nasty and will do all sorts of awful things to people. Especially kids.
[He pauses, his gaze lifting towards the ceiling.]
But people say things about everything. And one thing I've learned is that people don't know anything about anyone unless they make an effort to learn. The way I see it, if a witch doesn't hurt anyone, what right does anyone have to call her a monster? Maybe she's monstrous because no one wanted to give her a chance. Maybe all it takes is just asking her who she wants to be rather than deciding who she is for her.
[He nods, satisfied with the conclusion he's drawn and drops his hands to his hips with a smile.]
Doesn't everyone deserve the right to decide who they want to be? And doesn't everyone deserve the chance to prove everyone else wrong?
1/2
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She takes another drink from the bottle in the hopes it'll wash away this uncomfortable feeling. Instantly a fresh coat of red stains her cheeks and she has to glance away. Sheer habit.
Why should she feel bad for being suspicious? Why is this guilt knotting up in her chest? ]
That's pretty gracious.
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[Darin blinks twice owlishly.]
It just kinda sounds like common sense to me. Besides...
[He leans forward, hands on his hips, grinning from ear to ear right in her face.]
It's way more fun proving the world you're better than they think you are and seeing the looks on all the faces of the idiots who looked down on you.
[He shoots her a wink.]
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...kkhh- [ She can't help it. She's snickering before she can really stop. Best she can do is hide her mouth behind her hand. Relief makes her shoulders go slack. Tonight is a night of surprises and lowered guard.
She can't remember the last time she could relax at all. ]
Well, alright. You're not wrong...I guess.
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