Cassandra is here with Okie, enjoying the chance to dress up and celebrate -- but alert for the political undercurrents of the day. When Dahlia is announced the Flower Queen and applauded by the crowd, her own smile and applause are genuine, but also concealing some more complicated feelings, primarily relief; she's been aware all morning of how badly this could go, and for the town to turn out so thoroughly in favor of Dahlia after everything is a better outcome than she feared.
She'll give herself over to the celebration after that, partaking of the feast, the flower braiding, the dancing. And she'll make sure to take a moment to congratulate Dahlia in person.
b. doth laugh at winter sadness
With the first somber notes of the music come the feelings she's been trying, mostly successfully, to bury.
It must be nice, it whispers. Can you imagine the people of Whitestone learning what you've done and still embracing you as their lady? The very idea. It would be comical if it weren't so sad. And underneath, insinuating, mocking: Oh, did you cherish some fond hope that you might get some public acclaim you weren't born to? You know better. That's for others, never for you.
Stop it, she tries to tell herself. This is foolish. You're not a child, to sit here feeling sorry for yourself. Stop it, now. Stop.
Guilt, desolation, humiliating envy; shame at feeling any of those, that builds on all of them in a corrosive spiral, and feeds them in turn. She wants to sink down and vanish into the froth of her abruptly ridiculous-feeling skirts, curl up under a table and never be seen again.
Vanishing entirely isn't an option, much as she might wish it. Anyone could find her here.
Cassandra de Rolo | Critical Role | OTA
Cassandra is here with Okie, enjoying the chance to dress up and celebrate -- but alert for the political undercurrents of the day. When Dahlia is announced the Flower Queen and applauded by the crowd, her own smile and applause are genuine, but also concealing some more complicated feelings, primarily relief; she's been aware all morning of how badly this could go, and for the town to turn out so thoroughly in favor of Dahlia after everything is a better outcome than she feared.
She'll give herself over to the celebration after that, partaking of the feast, the flower braiding, the dancing. And she'll make sure to take a moment to congratulate Dahlia in person.
b. doth laugh at winter sadness
With the first somber notes of the music come the feelings she's been trying, mostly successfully, to bury.
It must be nice, it whispers. Can you imagine the people of Whitestone learning what you've done and still embracing you as their lady? The very idea. It would be comical if it weren't so sad. And underneath, insinuating, mocking: Oh, did you cherish some fond hope that you might get some public acclaim you weren't born to? You know better. That's for others, never for you.
Stop it, she tries to tell herself. This is foolish. You're not a child, to sit here feeling sorry for yourself. Stop it, now. Stop.
Guilt, desolation, humiliating envy; shame at feeling any of those, that builds on all of them in a corrosive spiral, and feeds them in turn. She wants to sink down and vanish into the froth of her abruptly ridiculous-feeling skirts, curl up under a table and never be seen again.
Vanishing entirely isn't an option, much as she might wish it. Anyone could find her here.
c. wildcard
Hit me!