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"Your Grace? Please excuse the intrusion but Lord Sheogorath requires your presence." rang the golden voice of an Aureal messenger on her chamber threshold.

Thalia's heart leapt in her chest as she nearly dropped the flask and knife she was holding. As long as she had lived in the Isles and the mere mention of him sent her stomach into knots. Gingerly, she set down the glowing beaker of greenmote mixture and lay the knife on the table beside it. Slowly, she turned to face the messenger as she chewed nervously on her lip.

"And on what business does my Lord summon me?" she mused casually. The messenger's eyebrows arched, as if suprised by the question.

"My Lord... did not say. He said that he would await you outside in the Conservatory when you were ready," she drifted off absentmindedly as she scrutinized the young Duchess of Mania. Thalia tucked her long ebon hair behind her delicately pointed elven ear and sighed woefully as she stared into her lap.

"Is he lucid?" she questioned hesitantly. The messenger looked down contemplatingly for a moment before answering, and then nodded.

"Yes, Your Grace. The time is.... nearing. He will not be...er... remaining among us much longer, if I am any judge." she said quietly. Thalia did not let a single tear betray her, but somewhere in her mind, the audible confirmation of her fears killed a small portion of her tensing, fragile heart. Instead of commenting, she nodded and dismissed the messenger silently.

Slowly, she untied her alchemy and painting smock and shimmyed out of her slightly singed work trousers. Ages ago, in another era, when she performed the Ritual of Accession and took over the throne of Mania, she had been told that she would have cooks that would prepare her meals, with Greenmote if she wished. But Thalia, being a true paranoid Demented close at heart, insisted on preparing her own drugs to go with dinner.

The Duchess smiled amusedly to herself as she meditated the thought. A Demented holding the throne of Mania? What an idea! She made a quiet sound in the back of her throat that sounded a bit like a nervous laugh as she slipped into her vibrant daywear. Like every new ruler, when she took the throne, Thalia was granted a specialized wardrobe, unlike any other before made.

What an understatement that had been for Thalia.

What had started as a simple yellow gown had devoloped into a monstrously immense conglamoration of colors and light that appealed to every sense, designed to intoxicate others by her mere proximity. Banners and ribbons in every color and hue imaginable hung from any and every place possible. Bows adorned her waistline and her neckline was ruffled in fans of massive butterfly wings. She wore a stunning headpiece of glittering feathers woven together to encircle her head and lay down over the back of her head and neck. Her slippers were enchanted to make her seem as if she gracefully floated over the ground, and the entire ensemble radiated an alluring aura of light, joy, and joviality.

It was, essentially, the true representation of a ruler of Mania. And Thalia loved it, head to toe. To be honest, the effect of wearing was a stronger and more potent drug than greenmote or felldew or water root pod pit combined. It left her with a sense of giddiness that drove away those fleeting moments when the Dementia threatened to creep through.

Grinning, she gently lay her headress over her hair and lifted her chin up a notch. Inhaling the spores of greenmote that lingered on her fingers, Thalia floated obliviously to Sheogorath and the solemn news he brought.

Description
"Your Grace? Please excuse the intrusion but Lord Sheogorath requires your presence." rang the golden voice of an Aureal messenger on her chamber threshold.

Thalia's heart leapt in her chest as she nearly dropped the flask and knife she was holding. As long as she had lived in the Isles and the mere mention of him sent her stomach into knots. Gingerly, she set down the glowing beaker of greenmote mixture and lay the knife on the table beside it. Slowly, she turned to face the messenger as she chewed nervously on her lip.

"And on what business does my Lord summon me?" she mused casually. The messenger's eyebrows arched, as if suprised by the question.

"My Lord... did not say. He said that he would await you outside in the Conservatory when you were ready," she drifted off absentmindedly as she scrutinized the young Duchess of Mania. Thalia tucked her long ebon hair behind her delicately pointed elven ear and sighed woefully as she stared into her lap.

"Is he lucid?" she questioned hesitantly. The messenger looked down contemplatingly for a moment before answering, and then nodded.

"Yes, Your Grace. The time is.... nearing. He will not be...er... remaining among us much longer, if I am any judge." she said quietly. Thalia did not let a single tear betray her, but somewhere in her mind, the audible confirmation of her fears killed a small portion of her tensing, fragile heart. Instead of commenting, she nodded and dismissed the messenger silently.

Slowly, she untied her alchemy and painting smock and shimmyed out of her slightly singed work trousers. Ages ago, in another era, when she performed the Ritual of Accession and took over the throne of Mania, she had been told that she would have cooks that would prepare her meals, with Greenmote if she wished. But Thalia, being a true paranoid Demented close at heart, insisted on preparing her own drugs to go with dinner.

The Duchess smiled amusedly to herself as she meditated the thought. A Demented holding the throne of Mania? What an idea! She made a quiet sound in the back of her throat that sounded a bit like a nervous laugh as she slipped into her vibrant daywear. Like every new ruler, when she took the throne, Thalia was granted a specialized wardrobe, unlike any other before made.

What an understatement that had been for Thalia.

What had started as a simple yellow gown had devoloped into a monstrously immense conglamoration of colors and light that appealed to every sense, designed to intoxicate others by her mere proximity. Banners and ribbons in every color and hue imaginable hung from any and every place possible. Bows adorned her waistline and her neckline was ruffled in fans of massive butterfly wings. She wore a stunning headpiece of glittering feathers woven together to encircle her head and lay down over the back of her head and neck. Her slippers were enchanted to make her seem as if she gracefully floated over the ground, and the entire ensemble radiated an alluring aura of light, joy, and joviality.

It was, essentially, the true representation of a ruler of Mania. And Thalia loved it, head to toe. To be honest, the effect of wearing was a stronger and more potent drug than greenmote or felldew or water root pod pit combined. It left her with a sense of giddiness that drove away those fleeting moments when the Dementia threatened to creep through.

Grinning, she gently lay her headress over her hair and lifted her chin up a notch. Inhaling the spores of greenmote that lingered on her fingers, Thalia floated obliviously to Sheogorath and the solemn news he brought.