In Which Florian Loses a Dream

January 17, 1162

This was ridiculous. Every day for nearly a month, the baron had marched Florian and whatever guards had drawn the short straws that morning down the dungeon to see if Medea was in any state to be moved--until today, she had not been. If Florian had been the one making the decision, he would have given up after the first week--that is, if he had deemed it worth the effort in the first place.

Personally, he thought it was only fitting that the bitch should be locked up in the most unpleasant and uncomfortable of penitentiaries; the figurative prison cell she had built for her husband had certainly not been any better. The way Florian saw it, she deserved every piece of filth that dungeon contained and more.

But alas, the princess was of a different opinion, and the baron did as the princess wished because she was a pretty young thing whom he fancied--not to mention, he probably felt rather guilty about the whole ordeal. In some ways, he'd probably just been waiting for an excuse to make the switch.

And so here Florian was, standing around for a few minutes' observation as to how the baroness reacted to her new environment. So far, she seemed content to just stand around while muttering inaudible gibberish to herself, but Florian could not help but feel rather uncomfortable in this room, alone with a madwoman, the cowardly guards on the other side of the closed door.

It wasn't long, however, before the muttering ceased and she proceeded to scratch her now-jagged nails across the surface of the mirror by the bed.

"Don't touch that!" Florian snapped. "That belonged to the baron's mother, you know! God, she has daughter-in-laws and granddaughters in their right minds--why didn't her possessions go to them?"

It had been useless to ask; if she had even heard, she could not understand. But soon enough, she did grow tired of the mirror, and turned her claws instead to the stained glass window.

Florian gaped in horror. "Those are expensive, you know--if your husband has to replace those, who knows what will happen to my salary? Dammit, bitch! Must you continue to torment me even when you have no idea which way is up?"

She shot him an angry glare--but not before driving her fist through the window, laughing as the cracks spread and the glass crumbled.

"So much for Thetis's new dress," he grumbled. In hindsight, maybe he should have taken advantage of the open position at the castle following Aldhein's dismissal instead of just lingering around here...

What happened next, however, was truly serious.

Florian had been hoping to perhaps head home early that day--play with the kids, enjoy a nice dinner, make love to his wife, the whole routine--but that plan was now a lost dream. No, apparently the baroness had found the need to inflict upon him one last personal tragedy; thanks to her, he would now probably have to stay late, overseeing the cleanup.

Fantastic. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Uh... men?" he called the guards in the corridor behind him. "Are you still there? It would seem that we have a bit of a... situation..."

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