We Didn't Start the Fire
EM Godiva
Lady Charlotte Christianson watched helplessly from behind the castle walls as the world exploded around her. A seemingly infinite array of bright flashes peppered the evening sky and she did not know what was happening. She was frustrated and scared.
Charlotte had repeatedly tried to leave but the palace guards stopped her each time, informing her in annoyed tones that it was “for [her] own safety”. Eventually, they escorted her to a private room in the castle, and locked her inside. Again, they claimed it was “for [her] own safety”.
Charlotte began pacing back and forth, her fists balled up at her sides. She felt like a prisoner…again. She let out a scream, low and primal, as she kicked her runebook across the room. The runes scattered across the floor but she did not care. It was currently useless anyway. As soon as the chaos began, a powerful mage was called in to limit traveling magic both to and from the castle.
Her rage quickly subsided when she realized where she was. It was the room Nicholas Tarrant had brought her after she was rescued. That seemed like a lifetime ago. Suddenly exhausted, Charlotte flopped down on the bed and wept as she was assaulted by memories she wished would just remain buried.
Tortured
Abandoned
Kidnapped
Orphaned
Possessed
Comatose
Charlotte’s trip down memory lane was mercifully cut short when a large explosion from the North-East violently shook the walls of Castle British. She immediately leapt from the bed and began pounding her fists against the door, calling out for someone to unlock it. No one came. Charlotte stopped and listened, trying to make out anything from beyond the thick, wooden door.
“…bridge…Castle Blackthorn…incinerated”
EM Godiva
Lady Charlotte Christianson watched helplessly from behind the castle walls as the world exploded around her. A seemingly infinite array of bright flashes peppered the evening sky and she did not know what was happening. She was frustrated and scared.
Charlotte had repeatedly tried to leave but the palace guards stopped her each time, informing her in annoyed tones that it was “for [her] own safety”. Eventually, they escorted her to a private room in the castle, and locked her inside. Again, they claimed it was “for [her] own safety”.
Charlotte began pacing back and forth, her fists balled up at her sides. She felt like a prisoner…again. She let out a scream, low and primal, as she kicked her runebook across the room. The runes scattered across the floor but she did not care. It was currently useless anyway. As soon as the chaos began, a powerful mage was called in to limit traveling magic both to and from the castle.
Her rage quickly subsided when she realized where she was. It was the room Nicholas Tarrant had brought her after she was rescued. That seemed like a lifetime ago. Suddenly exhausted, Charlotte flopped down on the bed and wept as she was assaulted by memories she wished would just remain buried.
Tortured
Abandoned
Kidnapped
Orphaned
Possessed
Comatose
Charlotte’s trip down memory lane was mercifully cut short when a large explosion from the North-East violently shook the walls of Castle British. She immediately leapt from the bed and began pounding her fists against the door, calling out for someone to unlock it. No one came. Charlotte stopped and listened, trying to make out anything from beyond the thick, wooden door.
“…bridge…Castle Blackthorn…incinerated”
