you're ͏͏͏ 𝙤𝙥𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙚.

✧･ﾟ— where: ⌜the transitionary space between the d.o.a.a.'s main lobby and the great halls⌟ ✧･ﾟ— when: ⌜shortly after the great ravens have passed around the challenge letters to all grymm⌟ ✧･ﾟ— status: ⌜open⌟

Osprey stood with her back to the Great Halls, her body held taut like a bowstring with her arms crossed over her chest. The slender fingers of her right hand rhythmically tapping on the edges of a slightly crumpled manila folder clutched tightly in her grip. Her eyebrows were furrowed in irritation, lips pursed in a pout as her eyes darted to and fro. Her gaze momentarily pausing on one of the hundreds of people milling around the common area before darting to the next. Her large wings were tucked closely to her back but an occasional involuntary twitch shifted the giant mass of browns like waves, making her feathers stand on end before they settled again. She let out a deep sigh still searching the crowd before here eyes came to a complete stop. She squinted before recognition and a bright smile broke out on her face; the attempt at friendliness immediately clashing with the almost wolfish look in her eyes. Unfurling her wings slightly, Osprey forcefully created space between herself and the sea of people moving around the Great Halls. A handful of shades shot her dirty looks as they begrudgingly walked around her but she paid them no mind as she stalked forward. “Oh my gosh, hi!” She said with a high inflection on the final word. “Wow! It’s so funny running into you here!” The smile from before was pinched tightly as she continued to step closer. Her wings opening wider to create a small alcove in the crowd around herself and the other person. “Anyway, since you are here I figure you either signed up for the challenge or declined the invitation—and that’s wonderful! Great even. Way to go for making a decision!” She said, pumping a celebratory fist up in the air, the motion slightly stiff. “That’s so cool! But, anyway, I have a slightly weird request. Well, not weird—just, uh, since you got all that,” She waved her hand in the general direction of the D.O.A.A. reception desk, “dealt with, you probably don’t need the letter anymore, right?” Taking another step she tucked the folder still in her hands under one of her arms before grasping her hands together, the smile growing thin-lipped. “Sooooo, do you think I could maybe have it instead?”

her mind always buzzed with an unending jazz—a perpetual symphony of melodies, scenes, and ideas, all overlapping in a chaotic yet harmonious performance. a script constantly in motion, each act layered with fragments of fiction unfurling in her imagination. so, when news of a certain hunt arrived, one that ever so significant for the magistrate, it felt like the heralding of a pivotal scene in her grand play.

enter "the psyche"—a new archetype in her evolving script, the overture of an unprecedented act.

questions swirled within her. when was the last time she’d felt such a surge of curiosity? such intense involvement? ah, that sudden flood of inspiration—breathe in, breathe out, starling. she'd unravel it all. first, there would be a thorough session dissecting every detail with her bosom friend, gull—a dialogue likely to span what would’ve been hours in the before. she’d need his perspective too, ensuring his insights were woven into her understanding.

oh. she was just standing there, conspiring, wasn’t she? the call of osprey’s voice abruptly pulled her back to the after's reality. her wings gave an almost imperceptible twitch, betraying just how lost in thought she’d been.

"ospy!" she greeted, her voice bright with enthusiasm. as she listened, her smile remained radiant, each nod assertive and engaged. but once osprey finished, it took her a moment—well, longer than a moment—to respond. concern shaded her expression.

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒, 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑...

Bravo,  𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐  and  congratulations  LAY,  𝚃𝚑𝚎  𝙼𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎  is  pleased  to  present  your  wings.  May  fortune  favor  you  in  the  hunt  for  𝙿𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚎.

The  stage  is  set  and  all  actors  are  in  their  spots  as  the  curtain  rises.  Act  One.  A  star  is  born;  or  perhaps  just  its  ember.  But  what  is  a  flame  if  not  a  spark  sustained,  its  cinders  kept  alive  by  the  very  element  that  sustains  all  life?  The  success  of  all  mankind  can  be  traced  to  the  single  first  single  blazing  inferno  and  what  better  metaphor  than  that  to  describe  Mine?  The  struggle  for  self-made  incandescence,  necessitated  to  cut  through  the  darkness  from  her  Before.  Act  Two.  With  the  help  of  a  good  friend,  this  little  starling  burst  into  the  limelight,  shining  ever  so  fiercely  in  the  haze.  Mine  explores  a  second  wind  blowing  over  the  coals.  And  now  the  Final  Act,  the  Magistrate's  casting  call:  the  role  of  an  afterlifetime.  While  Mine's  spirit  has  brightened  since  the  transition  to  the  After,  how  long  can  a  light  last?  Even  the  cosmos  will  have  its  final  curtain  call...

𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸 𝐹𝐿𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇.

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