Back in her room, she closed her eyes and fell into her velvet covered chair. She looked at herself in the vanity. A pure image of her mother. The painting of that long lived woman sat above her bed.
Not even the slightest sound from the ground floor reached her bedroom and she more lonely than every before. She felt the slightest feeling of tears wanting to break through her ducts, but she blinked them away. Not now. Not so soon.
She still needed to show her strength and claim. She needed to show that the name she held, the one passed down through marriage and birth still ment something. Lievantian. It needed to continue to be powerful. And elegant.