#file.events.wtwbingo

[veneritia]

WTW BINGO → ESPIONAGE

WIP: When Comes the Dawn

Word Count: 485

Note: Takes place in the same universe as Sola's spy AU here

Eirene Verinor knew something was wrong with her husband when he stopped wearing the tie pin she had gifted him.

Fenice vi Drochona realized her identity was compromised when her husband sent a detective to stalk her.

Losing her tail was no easy feat; the detective was persistent, she would give him that. But Fenice had worn Eirene’s skin for nearly a decade now, had known the girl’s quirks and eccentricities better than she knew her own father. Not that such a feat was difficult. Her father had been nothing more than some vague idea and a dusty old painting for twelve years, and an unforgiving teacher in the art of espionage for the four years she had met him.

Those four years were hellish, to be certain. She had to take what bit of her own identity she had and melt it down, mold and polish it until what emerged from the fires was Eirene. Sprung from Vasilian earth as if she had always belonged there. As if she had never seen the golden plains of Aetier nor laid eyes to its roaring seas.

(After the first few months, she no longer flinched at the sound of her own name.)

The Agency had always considered the possibility of her identity being uncovered. To spy on one of the highest-ranking members of the Vasilian regime—one of the Verinor no less—was not without risk. Her father had drilled every procedure he could into her memory in the event that she was compromised and needed to be extracted. She had expected this. Waited for it even. Fenice, however, did not expect the sharp pang of betrayal at Nikephoros’ doubt in her.

Spies dealt in truth and lies. The best lies are rooted in truth, just as how the best identities are the ones that are closest to one’s self. Or what one mold’s into their 'self.' Perhaps these were Eirene’s feelings that bled into Fenice. Dubious circumstances aside, one doesn’t stay married for almost eight years without developing some affection.

Fenice spied the detective from his reflection on the many shop-front windows. She had been pretending to browse the selection of flowers placed in front of the florist, taking the opportunity to observe her watcher. He sat on one of the many benches that lined the sidewalk, hat drawn low on his face and a newspaper opened up. There was something familiar about him, though Fenice couldn’t place her finger on it.

She picks a random assortment of flowers and has them wrapped in a bouquet.

“Would you mind writing a message for me? I seem to have forgotten my pen.”

The shopkeeper smiled cordially. “Certainly. What would you like?”

Fenice kept her voice level, confident that the late-morning noise will shroud her words from prying eyes.

“To my dearest Leda, I wish for your speedy recovery. I hope to visit you soon. Sincerely, Eirene.”

#speed running this bingo lmao #wtwcommunity #wtwbingo #collection.event #file.events.wtwbingo #series.wctd #no taglist this time guys #collection.my projects

[veneritia]

WTW BINGO → RIVAL KINGDOMS

WIP: Family Values

Word Count: 324

“You won’t do it.”

“What?” He stared at her in disbelief and laughed. Quietly, of course. Even if Arthur did replace her guards with a few of his own men and laced her ladies’ wine with a potent sleeping draught, he would rather not tempt fate by being too loud.

He held the front of her shift tighter, silk bunching in his fist, and shoved her further out the window. The guards on rotation were bribed with enough gold to set them for life to keep their eyes closed and mouth shut. And even if they didn’t very few of them would think to look up. By the time the princess so much as screams, she’s already halfway to becoming a mesh of broken bones.

Her nails dug deeper into his arm. Admirably, she managed to keep on that damnably pretty smile of hers. “You won’t do it. You won’t kill me.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

“Because I know who you are. You’re Arthur; King Richard’s son. The one he uses to do all his dirty work.”

His bastard son. One of the many poor unfortunate souls saddled with that whoreson’s cursed blood.

Arthur grinned. “Even more reason to let go, princess Evelyn, don’t you think? You’re Cathian. I’m Volyrian. The two of us are destined to hate each other until the end of time.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. Her pale hands slid up his arm to cradle the curve of his jaw, a glint of something in her eye. “But do you hate me more than you hate your sire?”

“Bold of you to assume that I’d be a fucking turncoat.”

He loosened his grip on her collar, could see brief flashes of realization and raw, unmistakable fear across her face as she realized her gamble failed—

– and pulled her back inside her chambers.

“But in this instance, you assumed right. Congratulations, princess, you’ve won yourself a traitor.”

#wtwcommunity #wtwbingo #collection.event #file.events.wtwbingo #series.fv #pre-relationship arthur and evelyn my beloved <33333 #i like them better when they're married but this is fun too

[veneritia]

WTW BINGO → GHOST

WIP: The Stars do not Bind Us Word Count: 297

TW: Death, implied violent death

Note: As opposed to hearing the voices of her past lives, Six, instead, sees their ghosts.

You spent your entire life living beside the ghosts of your former selves.

You don’t exactly remember when you realized that they weren’t real—or perhaps corporeal would be a better term—only that you knew they were dead and that no one but you could see them. Surprisingly, you could not see other ghosts. Just the ghosts of you. The Yous-who-were-once-you-but-are-not-you. The heroes that succeeded in their quest and perished for it.

Never were you more aware of your immortal mortality than in the presence of those ghosts. They were a constant reminder of your destiny, your victory, and your inevitable death. All heroes die victorious, after all.

They don’t speak, these shades. Rarely do they ever leave your shadow, either. Sometimes you will see one shambling about, drawn to whatever thing they had been attached to in life. Four, you learned, still approached dogs, her shredded throat aside.

Sometimes at night, when you stare into the painted murals of the first hero above your ceiling, you wonder if they, too, could see ghosts when they were once living. (You can never look at that mural the same, seeing One as you do now. They’re a pitiful thing, that child of gods. All blood and bone and gaping wounds on the back; a scar that never healed even after six lives). How did they feel, staring at the visage of who they once were and who they will soon become? To know that when they die, their soul will be taken and ripped apart, reformed, and shoved into a new body. Another hero born to repeat this same cycle, all for the good of the world.

Gods willing, you will be the last.

And maybe then, you and your ghosts can finally be laid to rest.

#wtwcommunity #wtwbingo #series.tsdnbu #collection.event #file.events.wtwbingo