I'm ready to be your best friend

1. what gives your muse hope? 

2. what is your muse’s favorite joke?

3. what is your muse’s favorite hobby?

4. what is your muse’s happiest memory?

5. what does self-care look like to your muse?

6. what is your muse’s favorite kind of weather?

7. what would your muse consider a perfect day?

8. what does your muse love doing with other people?

9. what does your muse consider their biggest success?

10. who does your muse consider their best/closet friend?

11. does your muse think people deserve second chances? 

12. what is something that will always make your muse laugh?

13. what would your muse consider their best physical feature?

14. what was the best/funniest dream your muse has ever had?

15. what is something that’s made your muse so happy they’ve cried?

16. has your muse ever laughed so hard they’ve cried? what caused it?

17. what was the best/most thoughtful gift your muse has ever received?

18. what kind of hugs does your muse give? gentle? tight? pick and spin?

19. what would be the best way to cheer up your muse when they’re sad?

20. what is a way that your muse shows love and affection without words?

21. what is something good that your muse carries with them from childhood?

22. what does your muse consider the most beautiful place they’ve ever been?

23. does your muse like receiving gifts? what would be the best gift to get them?

24. what is your muse’s favorite animal? have they ever gotten to see one in person?

25. during difficult times, what is something your muse holds onto to get them through?

26. if your muse could go on vacation anywhere, what would be their dream destination?

27. when it comes to gift giving, does your muse tend to lean funny, practical, thoughtful? 

28. after a fight, how does your muse go about apologizing/making it up to the other person?

She feels a new kinship with her friend now, as she watches parts of her vanish in and out of visibility, seemingly in time with her sobs. A freak drowned by her emotions, and unable to truly conceal them - again, just like her. Her tail sways.

The question hurts, because Ammonia has asked it herself, to her reflection in the mirror late at night. And what does she do, when she succumbs to such hopelessness? Try to cling to her passions.

“Nothing that matters to you,” she finally speaks, soft and sure, “is a waste of time.” She brings her hand up a bit to rest upon the back of Agnes’ head. The girl’s scent wafts up from the brush of her hair, subtle but hers, and Ammonia finds herself so grateful for this bond, this trust. “Nor is trying.”

"Really?" The orange-haired girl lifted her visage ever so slightly from her concealment, allowing her green, tear-stained hues to gaze at those of Ammonia's.

I accept you as you are, the words echoed in Agnes' fragile thoughts, a solace that began to dispel the clouds that had formed.

Though Agnes still ebbed to and from sight, she met the soft smile with a slight, sad, but thankful one of her own.

"Oh, yeah. That's definitely broken."

"Why didn't you tell me you were injured?"

"Let me fix you up before you bleed out all over my ______."

"This is nothing. You should see the other guy."

"You're bleeding!"

"I'm fine. I'll walk it off."

"Please help. It hurts so much."

"Get back here! You can't just leave when you're injured!"

"I don't think I can walk. My leg is pretty messed up."

"That's a lot of blood."

"Hey, stay awake! You can't fall asleep with a head injury."

"Oh my god, your eye!"

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Why are you limping?"

Ammonia loathes being alone. Misunderstood and othered and unaccepted and unseen. Oh, Agnes, sweet Agnes, so young and hurting so much, just like her.

Agnes craves acceptance, to matter to those that matter to her. Just like herself.

“The trying is the hardest part,” Ammonia finally replies after her thought-filled pause, and her voice is small. “Because so often does it… fail. And you feel like you’re failing, because so many other people are doing so well and connect with others so easily - ”

Her throat has gotten tight. She won’t let herself cry. Agnes needs her to be strong right now. “But,” she shakes her own angst off, “you have to try anyway, because it’s the only way things will get better.”

Faint breath escaped Agnes' lips which relaxed from their pressing after Ammonia spoke again. Hearing her friend speak was enough to lift the weight that was bearing down on her-- never mind that she felt a delay in the way Ammonia's consolations penetrated through the fog of her defeat. In those moments, Agnes just needed to be assured that she was not on her own.

When she felt Ammonia's hand on her shoulder, Agnes felt her throat tighten, eyes widen, fists clench and lips quake. Soon enough, her gaze softened and so did the barriers that attempted to keep her tears at bay.

A sudden, uncanny whistle of cold wind and the rustling of the towering trees’ branches sent a quick shiver down Agnes’ body. There were stories of wood sprites in the forest outside the school, filled with mischief towards any wandering individual.

Agnes stood from her crouch and looked at Ariadne whose concern was laced behind her little smile. “You didn’t have any of those herbs, did you? You’re supposed to save those for potions class.” Agnes’ face twinkled with a soft giggle following her teasing.

Ariadne rose a brow and lift her head again to look at Agnes. She shook her head "There aren't any out here." She said, regarding the herbs they were looking for.

She then tilt her head a little watching the redhead. "Who looks like they have seen a ghost now?" She asked quietly.

"Hey, why don't we finish up here and head back? I'm sure its just one of the boys trying to freak us out, but its getting cold and dark, so we should head back." She smiled, walking towards Agnes and reassuringly reached up and squeezed her arm a little.

The wind came again. Cool. Strangely shrill. Agnes felt the hair on her skin rise accompanied by tiny bumps on the surface. She did not feel good about this. Her widened eyes could barely hide the unease she was being draped with.

The orange-haired girl held her basket by its handle in one hand and her cardigan’s collar with the other. When Agnes felt Ariadne’s touch on her arm, she shuffled closer to the older student like she was another form of cloaking against the elements and whatever else was out there— if there even was anything. Oh, she was not fond of whenever her mind raced so.

Embracing myself? Agnes questioned herself. It felt as though in order for her to be happy with her own being, she needed others to assure her of it. Her tenacity was her double-edged sword; she was one to set her mind on the pursuit of the absolutes, good and bad, self-perception not exempt from her self-imposed scrutiny.