picked

"Hm... Oh! I have a very clever answer! Are you ready?"

"Oh please. Do not think me one easily frightened."

"Oh, I like everything about Edwin!"

Too simple? Oh, but he doesn't possess the heart of a poet.

Easy, simple words. That's what fuels him and carries him through the day. "Luca loves Edwin!" can hold the same weight as a grand profession. A true smile brightening his eyes is the same as a love letter tucked between a bouquet of roses.

The sweetest scent and the easiest breath that's graced him in his short life is when they hug. But those words wouldn't leave his lips. They wouldn't come to him at all! Only a deep breath and a giggle relay the sentiment.

"Luca loves Edwin!"

Does your muse liken social interaction to a game of strategy, to think on every move with, or does your muse speak freely with little concern? If it depends on who they are speaking with, how does it differ between people?

"Thinking it a dance fits my taste more."

"Partners working together, floating as one as we follow the metronome. Some try to bend it. They might even try to force you into steps you're not willing to take. Finding my own rhythm among the noise is something I pride myself in~"

💢 - mannerisms that your muse has when they’re angry or sad

Oh, what did you do this time Frederick?

Anger. Hm. Somewhere between the silent treatment and telling you in an itemized list exactly what you did and how you will correct it. A light huff when you enter the room, a bored eye when you speak, ignoring you in favor for more pleasant things. Ah, and when there is a list, it will surely cite your additional transgressions against her as well. Oh, tender sadness. Somewhere perfectly between obvious enough to make you feel the weight and hidden enough for you to wonder what exactly is wrong and how you could help. A gentle sigh, a softness to her voice, keeping to herself...

Send me ☁️ + a word and my muse will tell you the first thing that comes to mind when they hear that word

"Well, thorns now~

Send me ☁️ + a word and my muse will tell you the first thing that comes to mind when they hear that word

Send me ☁️ + a word and my muse will tell you the first thing that comes to mind when they hear that word

"One sings at night. They never stop her... Two talk outside. I... wonder if they do it every day. They're always there when I go outside... ... ..."

"Huh..? I was at.. three? No, there- isn't a three-... ... Oh, one likes to play chess. But I always forget what they do. Th-The pieces. They were angry last time I forgot... I.. think- No, I was angry and-..."

"... Four have left. They didn't say goodbye. Three have gone. Didn't say goodbye."

"Oh, there's three..."

"... They told me I had a brother once. They asked about him. I do not remember their questions. ... I do not remember my answers."

He has this dream.

Distinct.

Simple, like any painting should be. A blue sky. Now, if it's splattered with clouds or flecks of rain doesn't matter. Through it, the blue shines. The weight of a sword in his hand is unforgettable, felt nearly the same as the weight of his arm. That familiarity stretches to the stench of death as well.

Familiar, it is, his father's cold eyes staring through him as his body lays still on the ground, his clothes soaked their own distinct deep red. The same shade at the end of his blade...

Familiar, as always, the looks sent from all his surrounding siblings. Hungry. Crowding around like animals at feeding time.

... The bend lies in who that corpse changes to. It happens in a flick of flames. The candle wavers for a moment and suddenly he'll be the one laying in his own blood. Some unknown hands taking his place on the handle. Some nights, it's one of his siblings. A few, even his mother and aunts lie there. ... He's yet to see her there, but he knows it's only a matter of time.

... Fears, is it?

Fears weaken you. A twist of your mind to mock you and lead you by the nose to some great lie. This, however, is grounded in reality.