Medb woke up early, her pink hair cascading over her pillow like a soft cloud at dawn. She stretched languidly, her golden eyes flickering open with the grace of a doe in a meadow. Unlike her usual mornings, she didn't leap out of bed with the energy of a thousand suns. Instead, she sat up slowly, her movements as measured as the tick of a grandmother clock.
Her spacious room, adorned with shades of blush and gold, was unusually still. The curtains billowed gently, allowing soft beams of light to caress the plush carpet. She slid out of bed, her feet meeting the coolness of the floor with surprising gentleness. Medb was known for her boundless energy and playful spirit, so this serene demeanor was as peculiar as a quiet library in the middle of a festival.
She glided across the room to the vanity, her reflection in the mirror a picture of calmness. Her eyes searched the array of glitters and potions, but she bypassed them all, reaching for a simple string of pearls instead. They lay around her neck like a gentle embrace, the luster of each pearl echoing the tranquility in her eyes. As she tied her hair into a sleek bun, not a single strand dared to escape. It was as if the very essence of chaos had been banished from her being.
Descending the grand staircase, her steps were silent as a cat's. The castle, which usually reverberated with her laughter and antics, felt eerily subdued. The staff exchanged puzzled glances as she passed, her elegant gown sweeping the floor with a quiet dignity. This was not the Medb they knew, the one who painted the halls with laughter and mischief. It was like watching a storm cloud decide to be a gentle zephyr.
In the dining hall, she took her seat with poise, her long pink hair flowing down her back like a river of calm. The plates of food remained untouched, the smells of breakfast not even tickling her nose. The clinking of silverware and hushed whispers of the servants were the only sounds in the otherwise silent room. Scáthach, her dark crimson hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, sat at the head of the table with a furrowed brow, her scarlet eyes watching her wife with a blend of curiosity and skepticism. She knew that beneath this facade, the usual whirlwind of mischief was just waiting for the perfect moment to erupt. But for now, she waited, sipping her tea, the warm liquid a stark contrast to the cool anticipation in the air.
The day progressed much the same, with Medb engaging in activities that were far from her usual repertoire. She attended to her duties with the grace of a seasoned diplomat, her words measured and her actions precise. She even visited the garden, where she was known to cause more trouble than a horde of garden gnomes, and simply admired the flowers. The roses seemed to bow in her presence, as if they too were under her newfound spell of elegance. The castle buzzed with whispers and wonderment, everyone waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the moment when the serene Medb would reveal her true colors.
But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the castle in a warm glow of twilight, the tension grew. The evening meal was served with an air of expectation, the plates of food arranged like an offering to the gods of comedy. Still, Medb remained composed, her every gesture a study in poise. The candles flickered, throwing shadows across the walls as the last morsels of food were consumed. It was as if the castle itself was holding its breath, waiting for the punchline to this strange, drawn-out joke.
Finally, as the dessert plates were cleared and the night grew late, Medb set down her napkin with a soft flourish. She leaned back in her chair, her usual mischievous grin slowly spreading across her face like the crack of a dam holding back a river of laughter. Scáthach felt the tension in her shoulders ease as she saw the familiar twinkle in her wife's golden eyes. "Well," Medb began, her voice like a harp string plucked with the perfect amount of glee, "I think I've played the lady long enough for one day." And with that, she snatched a sugar cube from the bowl and flicked it across the room, where it landed in the unsuspecting maid's hair. The tension broke, and the room erupted in laughter as the maid squealed and the sugar cube tumbled to the ground. Scáthach couldn't help but chuckle, her crimson eyes sparkling with amusement. The storm cloud had decided to be a zephyr after all, but only for a fleeting moment.
The castle staff, who had been tiptoeing around her all day, visibly relaxed, their smiles breaking through their professional veneers like sunshine through a cloudy sky. The usual chaos of Medb's presence began to swirl back into the room, filling the space with warmth and light. The sound of her laughter washed over them like a melody, a reminder of the joy she brought to their otherwise orderly lives. Even the sternest of faces cracked a smile at the sight of her antics, and Scáthach felt a sense of homecoming in the familiar pandemonium.
As they retired to their chamber for the night, Scáthach couldn't resist poking fun at her wife's earlier attempt at elegance. "So, my love," she said, her voice a velvet purr, "what was that all about?" Medb's eyes danced with mirth as she unpinned her hair, letting it fall in soft waves around her shoulders. "Just wanted to keep you on your toes, darling," she replied, her voice a playful whisper. "But you know me, I can't resist stirring the pot every now and then."
The two of them climbed into bed, the soft fabric of their nightgowns whispering against their skin. Medb snuggled closer, her pink hair a stark contrast against the deep red of the bedspread. "But why today?" Scáthach pressed, her curiosity piqued. Medb leaned in, her breath warm against Scáthach's ear. "Because I knew you'd love the surprise, and let's face it, you were getting a bit too comfortable with your predictable little world," she teased, her words as sweet as the scent of blooming roses. Scáthach rolled her eyes, but her heart swelled with affection. It was moments like these, when Medb showed her softer side, that she truly appreciated the unpredictable whirlwind that was her wife.
With a final, lingering kiss, they turned off the lights, the room plunged into darkness. The castle outside their door had returned to its usual rhythm, the sound of laughter echoing through the halls once more. And as they drifted off to sleep, the soft sound of Medb's chuckles still lingered in the air, a gentle reminder that no matter how much she tried, she could never truly be the serene lady she had pretended to be that day. But Scáthach knew that was just fine, because she loved her just the way she was—mischief and all.