Sir Lorenz Rochefort 02

(Related to the characters @Heide Froste , @Reinolt Froste, @Sir Lorenz Rochefort, @Sir Alaric Rochefort)

Scene: The Red Thread - @Heide Froste & @Reinolt Froste

Year of the Emperor 280, Beltane. Konigsheim.

@The Onyx Dragon was all lacquer and velvet, its walls paneled in blackwood and its chandeliers shaped like curling serpents. Nobles lounged in alcoves like coiled cats, sipping wine and trading pleasantries with the precision of fencing masters. The salon was a place to be seen, but never truly known.

@Reinolt Froste sat near the hearth, a glass of pale gold in his hand, his posture impeccable. He wore navy silk with silver trim, his signet ring turned inward. His expression was composed, but his eyes flicked too often toward the door.

@Heide Froste sat beside him, his little sister, dressed in black lace with a @Hardened Doll cradled in her lap. The doll’s eyes were glassy and its dress matched hers. Heide’s own eyes were darker—watchful, unreadable.

A baroness passed by and paused. “Reinolt,” she said with a smile too sharp, “I do hope you’re not expecting @Sir Lorenz Rochefort tonight. It would be… unfortunate.”

Reinolt’s smile was flawless. “I expect only civility, my lady. And the weather.”

She laughed, touched his shoulder, and moved on.

Heide tilted her head. “You wear your mask too tightly tonight.”

Reinolt didn’t look at her. “It’s @Konigsheim. One must breathe through porcelain.”

Heide stroked the doll’s hair. “There’s a village in the north. @Rotingen. They say a girl waits by a bleeding tree all winter. She weeps and lays out a red thread. If you follow it, she wraps it around your heart and pulls.”

Reinolt glanced at her, wary. “Heide…”

“When you return,” she continued softly, “you forget your name. Your memories. Yourself. So the villagers salt their doors and close their ears.”

The fire crackled.

“I feel sorry for Lorenz’s brother,” Heide said. “He followed the thread. Now Lorenz has to bury him under the tree.”

Reinolt’s hand tightened around his glass. “That’s enough.”

Heide looked at him, unblinking. “You’re salting your door, Reinolt. But you still hear the crying.”

He stood abruptly, smoothing his coat. “I have to speak with the maître d’.”

Heide watched him go, her doll resting in her lap like a silent witness.