Private Among Wilted Flowers

[Loria Sorelle]

AMONG WILTED FLOWERS
A Story of a Grief & Sorrow
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LORIA SORELLE
The Sorelle Estate, Naboo

Tick, tick, tick.

Silence. Awkward silence.

Marcellan & Loria's eyes locked for a second before returning to the desk they shared. A single candle fighting the looming darkness that enveloped the pair, illuminating the dust that lingered in the air as it did so. An office, a home that once felt full of life now felt hollow - a shell of what it once was; a cultural landmark of Nabooian culture.

Still, the House of Sorelle lingered in a state of mourning over the death of their matriarch, Elenara Sorelle.

Wilted flowers lined the dark halls of the Sorelle estate, a sombre tone to be heard in the voices of passing servants, and an air of awkwardness consuming all who had the courage to approach the grieving Marcellan.

In their absence from public life, they had both changed. Her father, Marcellan, had gone quiet - for good. He ate alone, sat alone, drank alone, and shirked whatever responsibilities awaited him, alone.

Subsequently, Loria soon had responsibility thrust upon her in the form of administration of House Sorelle and all it encompassed on Naboo, a responsibility that had previously been managed by two experienced individuals was now placed upon the inexperienced heiress.

As the sound of rain upon glass filled the study, Loria gazed up from her datapad towards her father; Morose, slumped in his chair with a glass in his hand and almost lifeless eyes resting upon the floor, she found her voice.

'Go,' she spoke softly, 'I'll finish up here for the night, there's... not much left to do.'

Marcellan wearily glazed over Loria as he rose from his chair, releasing a quiet murmur of acknowledgement as he did so. Loria did, in-fact, have much left to do, though she watched with a frown as her father stumbled out of the office, destined for the comfort of an empty bed.

As the door shut behind him, she found her eyes lingering upon the doorway, her mind wandering to a memory of normality. A memory that she felt would exist no more...

After a few moments, her reminiscence was interrupted by a chime at the same door she found herself lost upon.

'Come in!'

Dominic Praxon

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[Dominic Praxon]

By order of Lord Sorelle, the curtains in the main hall were rarely opened. Issuing that command had been one of the few times since the passing of the lovely Elenara that he had spoken to the staff. The day the Lady died was the day the light left, and the widower clearly had no intention of letting it encroach upon the halls of his estate ever again.

The sharp, clipped steps of pristinely polished heels filled the grand room, creating an echo that only made the space feel emptier. The sound served as a warning to anyone within earshot, Dalen Tarr was on her morning rounds, and she was thoroughly displeased with the lack of cleanliness in the scullery.

The determined clicking of her shoes faltered as she approached the parlour door. Even someone as severe and matronly as Dalen was tempered by the melancholy radiating from the room. With a heartbeat of hesitation, her finger lingered over the door controls before she finally pressed the chime to signal her arrival.

The door slid open, allowing Dalen to catch the final moments of Lady Loria's command. Quickly grasping the context, Dalen stepped inside and maintained her rigid, professional posture.

"My Lord. My Lady." She dipped her head to each in turn, though she expected no response from the bereaved Lord. "Senator Praxon sends his apologies...he shall not be attending high tea as intended."

She paused, allowing the young Lady time to process the sudden change to her day. Dalen knew how fond she was of the Senator, and considered him to be one of the few bright spots left in Loria's life.

"I am told that the passing of the Outbound Flight bill has been finalised," Dalen continued, "with the stipulation that Senator Praxon take the role of diplomatic lead upon the vessel. I...am sorry, my Lady."

Her stoic facade shook only briefly, but noticeably.

Loria Sorelle​