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Back in the Golmore Jungle, there weren’t many mirrors to speak of. It wasn’t out of any superstition nor was it a taboo born out of the Green Word. Viera simply felt that to stare at a mirror was an unnecessary act, that you would never be able to see yourself in your full glory in the glass of a mirror. It would be a poor imitation to how your sisters experience you and even then no one, not even yourself, would be able to see you as you actually exist. Even the face you could see on the surface of a calm river or in the reflection of your mother’s eyes would be distorted by the ripples of the water or the curvature of the iris. To stare at a mirror is to look for something that you cannot find with your eyes. It would be better to simply exist, to rely on those you earned your loyalty and trust in your own body instead. Perhaps that’s why Mavre has not put much stock into the stares she has gotten since reached Dalmasca. They were searching for something that they would never be privy to, not without at least approaching her. She knew and understood the depth of who she is, and there would be no reason to seek it out in others. Try as they might, they would never know her or own any part of her that she did not freely give. She thought this without question.
But here she is now, staring in front of a mirror and trying to recognize the reflection she saw in it. The clothes that she is wearing are not her own, a generous gift from a generous donor. She hasn’t decided yet, if these clothes suit her yet or not. The fabric is gorgeous and the dark red tones compliment her skin nicely. The gold was a nice touch, she decided, her hands carefully gliding over the necklace that adorned her collarbone. Even the structure of the dress is no less exposing than the clothing she usually opts to wear, perhaps even a bit more conservative all things considered. Yet her hand travels downward, stopping at the body chain that she took a good ten minutes to figure out how to get into. These aren’t clothes she had picked for herself, even if they framed her body immaculately. No, perhaps it was this knowledge that threw her off the most. The person who picked this dress, this jewelry, these gloves, these shoes with intimate knowledge of her body and the way she carries herself. He would have had to have watched her or paid someone more likely to have watched her enough to know what she liked, all without ever really meeting her in person. Her body was seen and understood and she never even slept with this man before. The dress is nice. But the gold and the silk have her in a chokehold.
Her reverie is interrupted for a moment when her friend, Adolin walks in to check if she’s ready to go. She catches the look on his face reflected in the mirror, brightening at the sight of her beauty. It quickly disappears though and she knows he is reprimanding himself for thoughts that crossed his mind. Mavre too reprimands herself, for feeling relief in watching him punish himself for the desire she knows exists in his breast. There shouldn’t be any delight in that, no joy to be found in watching a man discipline himself for not asking permission to gaze at her. Yet the thought doesn’t leave her, as she watches him approach her at a respectable distance, hands folded behind his back as if he needed to restrain himself from the temptation. It was a little silly to her, knowing that Adolin would sooner prostrate himself before her like a sinner before the idol of their lord, than even think to touch her.
“You’re too polite for a Garlean you know. Much less one of your supposed rank.” She tells him without turning to look at him.
He laughs dryly at this, “My shoulders are very tired from carrying the burden of being one of the few well-raised ones.”
And they laugh together at this, despite herself. When the laughter dies down, Mavre finds her hand still clinging onto the chain that wraps around her chest. And she doesn’t want to ask. But the question bubbles up to the surface despite herself. So she breathes, lets her hand drop to her side and looks back up at his reflection in her mirror. “Are you the one who suggested this dress for me, Adolin?”
He freezes instantly and she has her answer. “A-ah. Well- That’s-” He stumbles over his words and he has to clear his throat to gain any modicum of composure, “I was asked for my recommendations for a gift for you. Since it was me who introduced him to you.” Mavre could see him fidget behind her, could feel him fumble with his fingers behind his back. “Let me know if it doesn’t suit you. I just- I just thought you should wear something you might like.”
The chain around her no longer feels constricting. It’s just an object against her breast now, instead of some snake coiling around her. “It is quite nice. You have good taste, Adolin.” And she smiles softly as the wave of relief seems to wash over him, before turning back to her own reflection. She felt silly for thinking it could have been anyone else but someone who knew her to have picked out something like this. But more so there was relief in knowing it was because of him, trusting that he would have used every ounce of brainpower to find something that would suit this dinner as well as being mindful of her. But the pit of dread that pools at the bottom of her stomach is still there. This dress is now armor rather than shackles and more and more she feels like she has to brace herself for-- something. And she still searches her reflection for something, anything that would guide her. All she could find was thoughts of how she is starting to look more like her mother, stern expression always prepared for the worst.
She turns away from the glass and faces the Garlean in her room, “Unless there’s anything else I should do, I’m ready to go.” She would much rather walk into danger than spiral continuously like this any longer.
----
Mavre never was one to put much stock into appearances but there is something about this man that disgusts her immediately. She muses to herself that it has to be the disgusting leer on his face, as she stabs at the food on her plate. It looked to be permanently affixed to his face, at least when there wasn’t a superior looking in his direction. She didn’t expect much better from a “date” if she was being honest and he was hardly different from her usual “suitors” as her friends were a little too apt to call them. He is partial to keeping a hand at her waist when they walk together or resting his hand on the back of her chair. It’s not for himself, just to show off. The idea that he harbored as much power as would be necessary to even own this viera’s time and presence. As if the amount he has paid for this was not enough for her to consider buying a small plot of land for herself. But clearly, it wasn’t about the money or her body. Instead, it was all for appearances. That’s why she wasn’t even paid to sleep with this one, just show up at a dinner and look pretty and be quiet.
So her disgust aside, Mavre chose to instead focus on other things. Starting with the dining room she was sitting in, she couldn’t help but note how austere the architecture of Garlean buildings seemed to be. Everything they ever built was harsh and colorless and devoid of any color or life. It was ugly. And perhaps she was biased to both the lushness of the jungle or the saturation of Dalmasca but both of these places were full of life and love and breath. In this room, she felt like she was choking. She shoved a piece of pheasant into her mouth and it fell apart instantly. She forced herself to swallow it down without an expression despite the way it lacked any sort of flavor. If it was still bleeding, the blood might have given it more spice.
In the meantime, she moves her focus back onto the topic of conversation that her date seemed to be having with his superiors. Most of it goes over her head, with jargon and details that she has to mentally pack away to research more into later. But there is a general gist that she does gather here, that her date is doing his best to bluster about his accomplishments, likely as a way to position himself for promotion. It’s a song and dance she’s been privy to before, although perhaps not this high up in their ranks. Their dinner companion, who has brought no date of his own, continues to look less than impressed, all things considered. Like he is simply entertaining this conversation out of boredom alone. Time again, the higher up would turn his attention to her, piercing gray eyes scanning over her with an interest she wasn’t keen on feeding. Mavre felt herself straighten her posture under his gaze, returning to her meal as if to cover the fact that she had been observing this entire exchange. Her date would turn to her and she would plaster on a smile and pretend as if he was the most handsome man she’s ever seen, hands combing through his hair. And she pretended not to notice the frown on his superior’s face when she would do this. Only a couple more hours of this and she would be free, the prickly sensation of being watched no longer burning into her flesh.
“Tell me rabbit, I don’t believe I caught your name.”
Mavre blinked in surprise, mid-bite as the superior officer addressed her suddenly, in the middle of another spiel from her date. She swallows and pats her mouth with a napkin before responding, “It’s Alesta, sir. Alesta Cen Durena.”
He gave a burst of laughter so devoid of humor, “A Garlean name, much less an artisan? How quaint! Although one looks at you and it’s obvious to tell that you aren’t from here.”
Her date thought it best to interject her, “Ah that’s right, sir! She’s fresh from Golmore Jungle itself. Just barely reformed from savagery no less.”
“Hm, I don’t remember asking for your input, Corpick.” Her date shriveled quite noticeably at the barb but the superior officer simply continued to address Mavre, “Tell me though. I believe that’s what they call a ‘city name,’ am I correct?”
Mavre bit the inside of her cheek, “You are well informed, my lord.”
“I simply have an interest in your kind although one I often am not afforded to delight in” He breaks out into a grin and she swears she could taste blood in her mouth, “So what is it then? Your forest name.”
“Yelna, my lord.”
“Yelna, that’s a beautiful name rabbit.” Yet clearly one he had no intention of referring to her as, much less than the one she first gave him.
“Thank you, sir.” She smiled, forcing it to reach her eyes as well, “That’s quite the compliment in of itself. Names carry a lot of weight in my culture.” That is why each one she gave was a lie, like the clothes that adorned her breast.
But before she could even think about relaxing into her performance, their dinner was interrupted by a soldier rushing into the room. He goes on to apologize to intruding but that there was urgent news. He went on to explain to his higher-up about the reports that he had caught wind of, frantic energy bubbling in his voice. Mavre glanced over to see her date sweating bullets and she couldn’t understand why. Surely this was a common sight in this base since plenty of information would pass through. Yet when she turned back to look, the superior officer had gestured for the soldier to come closer and remove his helmet. And without a single warning, the moment he approached the table, the soldier was shot from underneath his jaw with a gun she wasn’t even aware of being by his side. The soldier collapsed forward, hitting the table with a loud bang that shook the plates and table dressing. She was frozen on the spot, her countenance betraying no emotion but she could feel her joints lock up out of-- Shock? Fear? She couldn’t be quite certain.
“Oh dear. What a mess that ended up making.” The superior officer reached over to run a thumb over Mavre’s cheek as she fought every urge to flinch at his caress, “Sorry about that, lovely. How about you wash that off?”
She looked down at his hand as he pulled it away from her face, staring at the bright red splotches staining his glove. Her stomach churns and her food threatens to crawl back up her esophagus. “...Yes, I suppose I should. Please pardon me one moment.”
“Just make sure you hurry back soon, won’t you rabbit?”
Her stomach churns again and she rushes out of the room before her rage could follow suit. She stepped out onto the corridor, each closed door lined with a soldier lying in wait. The thought occurred to her that not a single one stirred as one of their own was shot in cold blood over something trivial. She took a deep breath and scanned the area before finally spotting a door leading to a bathroom, Her heels clicked loudly against the tile and her dress fluttered behind her as she dashed towards it, crashing into the door as she ran in. She had to be careful, she reminded herself as she grabbed a tissue to wet, leaving the faucet running. She brought up the damp tissue to her face but had to pause as she caught her reflection in the mirror. The blood splatter spread across much of her face although she didn’t feel a single drop of it. Gently she brought the tissue to her cheek, the act of wiping leaving smudged streaks across her jaw.
She couldn’t recognize what she saw in the glass. Mavre would have reacted louder than that. She would have sprung up and stabbed him in his throat and ran out before she could be caught. Anger and rage should be beating behind her chest in rhythm with her heart palpitations. Yet she felt nothing, could feel nothing like she was just watching animals tear each other apart for the sake of sustenance and territory. She shook her head, returning to wiping her face clean of blood, careful to keep her makeup as intact as possible. She only glanced up to check her work, before turning out of the bathroom before they could start to “miss” her.
Yet she stopped in her tracks just outside of the bathroom door. What would she be walking into when she stepped back into that dining room? Her throat tightened at the thought of the corpse that laid on the dining table and the idea of having to balance a plate on his still bleeding skull began to play out in her mind. She shut her eyes, forcing herself to breathe slowly as she pushed the thoughts out of her mind. If she focused on her breathing, then everything else would come into focus. She was grateful for the shadow of pillar next to her serving to hide her in some capacity as she stitched herself back together. Yet her trance was interrupted when another set of footsteps started to approach her from down the hallway. Her back pressed against the pillar as if willing herself to blend further into the shadows. And for a moment, it seemed as if she would completely escape notice as the two continued to walk at a steady pace, even past her spot.
Yet, when she turned to peek from the pillar, she only found a man, tall and dressed in regal militant robes and staring back at her with sharp yellow eyes like a feline. She couldn’t quite read the expression on his face as they stared at each other but it wasn’t long before he turned to his companion. Still, she was close enough to catch a bit of their conversation.
“Who is that Viera back there?”
“Oh? I believe that is the guest of Lord Corpick Fae Lovaso, Your Grace. He’s supposed to be having dinner with--”
“I see.” He interrupts her, turning away from Mavre and continuing down the hall, “I don’t have time to waste on rabble. Continue your report.”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty!”
She watched as he continued away, staring at his back as the distance between them increased. She could feel her blood pressure start to lower, it having spiked when she was suddenly spotted. And she couldn’t quite describe the feeling that swirled in her chest as she had just narrowly avoided a terrible fate. Yet there was an odd sense of familiarity like a predator she had hunted before. She shook her head, tucking away the thought another time. She would simply have to describe the man’s appearance to Adolin, committing his looks to memory. By the time she returned to the dining room, the body and the blood had been cleaned up quickly, as if it never happened at all. The ugly smirk on her date’s face was long since gone but his superior looked quite relaxed, giving a disgustingly easy smile as Mavre walked back into the room.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to wrap this up here, rabbit. But I’ll trust we’ll see each other again.” And he stood up, closing the distance between them as he moved to leave the room, “I’ll be sure to be the one to request your services. Yelna, right?”
So he had found out then. That part didn't matter even if it still sent a chill down her spine. She simply nodded and stepped aside so he could leave the room. Her gaze went from the man left behind to the chains still wrapped around her body. And the sensation of being choked was back again.