Dinner is a very formal affair this evening; which is not to say that it is not formal on other evenings, but the presence of a delegation from Kashfa requires the King and Queen of Amber to pay attention to details and suffer through chitchat moreso than normal.

Vialle prefers the evenings in which she and her husband are allowed to dine out on the veranda that leads to the Queen's garden. Meals are more relaxed then. She's holding a conversation with the ambassador, a pompous fellow who feels he has to yell his replies, even though he is seated just to her right.

The lady would love to remind him that she is blind, not deaf, but wonders if the latter might not yet come to pass. It is during a lull in the current topic - establishing safer trade routes - that Vialle excuses herself from the table.

"Just a few minutes of fresh air," she reassures her husband, "and I will return." The woman strides quietly to the door and waits for the guard to open it for her, stepping through with a low 'Thank you'.

She has lived in this cell over two years now. Afforded one of the larger rooms only because two people share it instead of one, it has been a learning experience for her. Because Vialle cannot see, the darkness does not bother her.

Random's lady still has some trouble adjusting to how little she can move around. Perhaps it is only her imagination, but the cell seems to shrink some days, and it is all she can do to keep a scream behind her teeth.

There is only one bright spot in this half-life of waiting to find out if they live or die; her husband. Without him, she would be utterly lost.

Without him, her life would simply cease to exist in any real sense.

"... and there is nothing on the surface that would entice me to leave this city, my lady."

Vialle glances up towards the green-skinned woman reclining against the wall, then back to the bust on the table in front of her. Setting down her small scapel, she lifts her hands to lightly run across the exact marble duplicate of the youngest Prince of Amber. She has come to know this man well in the ten moon cycles since their wedding, and holds a radically different view of him than those who profess to know him intimately.

"Vialle, be reasonable. We are allied with other kingdoms. Perhaps Moire could find a diplomatic position for you in the court..." Her guest's voice holds as much cadence as the younger woman's, perhaps even more so for her close blood-tie to Amber.

"Lady Llewella, please! Lander society frightens me, and I would be so much food scraps for their dogs should I attempt to leave my home. You were the one who told me stories in my youth about your brothers and their ways." It is rare the sculptor raises her voice above a casual tone, and this is no exception, but her tone reeks of fear.

"His Highness is excluded, of course, from the foul reputations of the rest." Her head drops into her hands, allowing her to regain a measure of control.

"Random will be here shortly. Might I at least gift him with this in peace?"

Please direct any out-of-character concerns or comments you have to this post. Flames will probably be fed to the dragon under the staircase.