Ca Ira | yoonmin

Eight

It's odd to see Galerie Doree back to its former glory, jarring almost.

All the chandeliers have been polished and lit up, a million flickering flames reflected in the endless wall of mirrors, like an extravagant rococo dream that has suddenly been brought into life again.

The attendees are all dressed for the occasion - damask vests and vibrant dancing gowns, diplomatic royals mingling with the few revolutionaries dotting in between. The chatters of the crowds are eerily jovial, as relics of the past waltz beside the rising stars of the new political arena.

There's wine and powdery perfume in the air, decadent and familiar. If he shuts off his mind just enough, he can pretend that they are back to a moment in the past, and all is well outside of the cozy little bubble they've built around themselves.

Too bad, the bubble is ephemeral, can barely last for the night.

Jimin straightens his back, and pulls his gaze away from the boisterous party in the gilded hallway, turning to face the dark courtyard outside. The silhouette beside him follows, like a reassuring shadow that's never too far away.

He sighs and finally speaks up, "You haven't heard back from Victoria?"

"No, she never responded to the invite, and the messenger we sent tonight isn't back yet." Jin responds, adding after a pause, "I can go check if you prefer..."

"It's fine. A lot to do here, better if you stay." Jimin murmurs, tugging on the ruffled collar of his embroidered cotton shirt. The chilly winter air whispers around him and brushes against his skin.

"Maybe she's on her way, I'm sure we will hear from her soon." Jin's voice is calm, as he inches closer and drapes the silk brocade coat in his hand over Jimin's shoulders.

The weight of the lined coat is comforting, grounding Jimin with warmth. His fingers trace the familiar outline of the ring on his left hand, feeling the grooves of the setting and the polished surface of the gem.

He knows every detail of the ring by heart, yet something about the courtyard in the moment, isolated and chilling, makes him pull it off his finger for a closer look.

The pale blue gem gleams in his hand, against the flickering light and waves of clamor from the grand hall. He thumbs at the fleur-de-lis engraved on the inside, as a muted sigh escapes from the back of his throat.

"I should really keep this at Rambouillet..." he murmurs, seemingly to himself.

"Sometimes it doesn't hurt to keep what's important to us close by." Jin's figure is courteous to a fault, but his voice soft and gentle.

Jimin smiles at the words, "That's a nice thing to say."

An image flashes across his mind, of mother's pale profile, and two rings in her open palm. Her eyes shone with fondness and something more, something wistful and deeply personal, of which he couldn't comprehend until years later, "Two gems cut from the regent's Tavernier Blue - one for you, one for Taehyung. I wish for both of you the happiness I never deserved."

Jimin murmurs, "She wanted us to continue the glory of the two families. And look where we are now, one dead, the other..."

A puppet for the enemy...

"I wouldn't say so, sir. I think madame would only wish for you to be content and safe."

Jimin blinks hard, the weight of each word to sinking in. It takes him a moment to respond, "I hope you're right."

He breathes in the night air, as the somberness of the night seeps into his mind. The words slip out, finally unguarded, "It's so hard to let go. I miss all of them so much, the ones we've lost along the way. But he of them all. I took it for granted all these years, growing up trapped together, wasting our youth away and pretending we had all the time in the world..."