THE PLAY OF LIGHT ON BRIGHT STONES

headcanons about our muses.

[ 1 ] the place in which leda stabbed aylen to kill her at the very end of the needle knight massacre is the reverse of where she was stabbed upon arriving to the lands between. aylen's old exit wound, a blade in the front just between the ribs and the very same that was then nursed away, became leda's target point from the back. an injury which has no beginning or end.

[ 2 ] aylen probably gave leda some sort of keepsake before everything went to utter shit and it would be very fun for her to have kept it all this time despite everything that happened. probably some kind of hair comb. tucked into her bun ... something like these maybe ?

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞. at the junctions where new flesh meets her original body, there is a slight gap. it is in this space that ligament and membrane rub together uncomfortably and sephiroth is left with dull throbbing along her spine, in sets of twos: one right below the other at the wings of her shoulder blades, and the last in the divot above her hips. her body is more now and that means something. these gifts, hacked from the bodies of knights and another beast, feathered and large - bodied, signal that the maiden’s flesh is desirable. she was chosen for this but that does not make bearing holiness any easier.

the earth, softened by rain, gives below her feet. she is weak. this is why the maiden is made heavy by visions of her blade in another’s stomach and the way that blood spilled out over her hands like hot paint. it was so cold in the snowfield that his innards were steaming as they turned outward. iron burned her nostrils and the back of her throat with each gasp of air, but she did not stop breathing, she is still breathing, and that is only by kindly miquella’s grace. this is not something so easily forgotten.

leda looks small like this, which comes as a surprise. the knight had always seemed very large to sephiroth, not in stature but in presence, like a mirror of the lord’s own grace. now, she is dwarfed: hand on pommel, shoulders heavy, she appears to be staring at her companion as she draws closer, though sephiroth cannot see her eyes and does not think she ever has, so it is hard to tell if she is looking at her or past her. unobscured, her own face is pallid in the fetid light of the scadutree. she has never felt the need to wear a helm or head covering like her compatriots; maidens are not warriors, they have nothing to hide, not from god, nor from any who may look at them, and this sort of piety is a hard habit to break.

myriad hands fold over one another, on top of her stomach. her head falls to one side as if it weighs several tons, or least too much for the thin pillar of her neck, swathed in dark cloth but trembling with breath, or maybe it is that the threads holding sephiroth upright were, all at once, snipped. robes and metal plates shift against one another with the irregular movement of her body; light twinkling off the surface of choppy waters. a storm is coming. this must be why leda is humming with something, some kind of frenzy. that sort of fanaticism can make one very small.

“ ... i did. ” in place of any real greeting, she assents. they all felt it, that great severing. a veil was lifted from the eyes of all lord miquella’s chosen, not at first obvious but soon apparent as one by one, her limbs began to feel again as though they were again her own. the cotton gauze in her head, too, fell out. ‘ ah, ’ she thought, at the time knee - deep in murky water and with the moon against her back. ‘ the dream has ended. ’ and that is all. some of the others may feel betrayed, though over what, sephiroth cannot fathom. that warmth, that numbing goodness— was that not a blessing? living is much easier with kindly miquella’s hand on one’s back. her head shakes, firm. feathers rustle against her robes. “ little difference it makes to me,  however. ”

there are creatures in the deep ocean with growths— appendages of a sort— with their own incandescence, for that far below the surface of the water, it is very dark, and terribly cold. the lights on these beasts are used to draw prey near so that they may be eaten with swiftness. sephiroth’s eyes, peering out from under the shadow cast by the white thicket of hair atop her head, mimic these false beacons. she looks not into leda’s own eyes but the darkness where they should be. they glow softly in the socket. “ my heart remains steadfast.  i’ve no intention of abandoning him now. ” she lays herself bare. uphold the contract. no lying. “ —  you knew of my purity.  you’ve known from the beginning. ” this is why, she thinks, leda has let her come so close. i do not mean physically, for there is always a wide rift between the two women. there is an unspoken understanding that to cross this is to contaminate one another; that their bodies, profane, must keep to themselves. i mean in spirit, or perhaps in heart. why else would she confess like this, and without drawing her blade? there is trust between them, however brittle.

“ the age of compassion …, ” her voice trails off into the mist. the words alone have a strange sort of weight to them, their own power. a minute shudder runs down her neck, then her arms, all the way down to her hips, blanched lashes fluttering at the sensation. spine straightening, one set of hands compulsively grasps one another more tightly, her muscled shoulders drawing back taut. before her god, she is unwavering. this has not changed, and never will. a trembling inhale punctuates that amputated thought, now followed up by another, fully - formed: “ if you’ll have me,  i will continue this journey by your side.  it will be easier,  i think,  this way.  the culling,  that is. ”

dialogue.

i hate this country.

it would go against everything i believe in.

who doesn't love the company of monsters?

i don’t care what you think, i want your truth.

you have to work quickly, tie up all the loose ends before it’s too late.

well, you beat him up, didn’t you?

this world of yours in its current form is one hell of a shithole.

it’s only a tool for me. i myself am only a tool.

i was just fifteen then, i was so stupid...

i left a bad impression.

that'd be why you smell like a flower!

i can't hear you, some pig keeps squealing.

we've got to take action, immediately!

i lost her. that's what happened.

it wouldn’t be very chic of me to call three hours earlier than agreed.

i must have caught a little cold.

the things i do want to remember, i don’t remember.

you don't understand, i'm leaving today.

are you sure we're at the right place?

party's over. go home.

you are never alone. you have yourself!

how is he so hardcore?!

where did you get my number?

it's good to know that you're still cool.

this is my crown jewel! this is the apple of my eye!

you always listen to me, don't you.

i could give you some slick answer, but it would be too cruel.

you and your taxis. i'd rather walk.

do you want me to make you some tea?

listen, be a good man, tell me what it is.

i feel like... i don't know how to feel.

everything is still possible for this world.

when i do my job, i don't do it for the rule of law.

the need for closeness is just so deadly.

where do you want to flee from then? countries are enormous.

i sincerely hope there will be a next time.

it's beautiful when you believe in a person.

i put my heart into what i do.

i love the world, every last atom of it.

action. switch sender and receiver’s places as you please.

pale. the sender and receiver stand in a dense fog, the clearest thing in their view being each other.

rideshare. the sender and receiver ride a speedy and rough taxi together.

meet again. the sender and receiver meet again at a formal reunion party.

found. the sender discovers that the receiver keeps forged documents for travel.

meat grinder. the sender catches the receiver as they are on the brink of passing out.

dinner. the sender and receiver eat a meal as they work through documents, the surface a mess of plates and paper.

shoreline. the sender waits to meet up with the receiver at the beach on a grey and windy day.

memories. the sender and receiver find an old trinket that immediately hits them with nostalgia for their shared past.

tune-in. the sender and receiver hear devastating news as it comes on the radio.

rest. the sender crashes and spends a few days in the receiver’s residence.

rain. the sender huddles under the receiver’s umbrella as they walk through a downpour, sharing the space.

corner store. the sender accompanies the receiver as they stop by a corner store to get change.

❛ When you see beauty in desolation it changes something inside you. ❜

❛ That’s how the madness of the world tries to colonise you: from the outside in, forcing you to live in its reality. ❜

❛ The shadows of the abyss are like the petals of a monstrous flower that shall blossom within the skull and expand the mind beyond what any man can bear. ❜

❛ Silence creates violence. ❜

❛ Some questions will ruin you if you are denied the answer long enough. ❜

❛ There are certain kinds of connections that are so deep that when broken you feel the snap of it inside you. ❜

❛ Nothing that ever lived and breathed was truly objective—even in a vacuum, even if all that possessed the brain was a self-immolating desire for the truth. ❜

❛ We all live in a kind of continuous dream. ❜

❛ You can either waste time worrying about a death that might not come or concentrate on what’s left to you. ❜

❛ What can you do when your five senses are not enough? ❜

❛ We will neither be what we had been nor what we would become once we reach our destination. ❜

❛ Perhaps my only real expertise, my only talent, is to endure beyond the endurable. ❜

❛ When you are too close to the centre of a mystery there is no way to pull back. ❜

❛ I long ago stopped believing in promises. Biological imperatives, yes. Environmental factors, yes. Promises, no. ❜

❛ I look not for shooting stars but for fixed ones, and I try to imagine what kind of life lives in those celestial tidal pools so far from us. ❜

❛ I hesitated for just a moment. Some part of me wanted to see the creature, I think. If so, it was a very small part. I ran. ❜

❛ I don’t require any of this to have a deeper meaning. ❜

❛ All of this speculation is incomplete, inexact, inaccurate, useless. ❜

❛ We don’t have real answers, because we still don’t know what questions to ask. Our instruments are useless, our methodology broken, our motivations selfish. ❜

❛ This part I will do alone. Don’t follow. ❜

❛ People my entire life have told me I am too much in control, but that has never been the case. I have never truly been in control. ❜

❛ Has there always been someone like me to bury the bodies, to have regrets, to carry on after everyone else was dead? ❜

❛ I loved them, but I didn’t need them, and I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. ❜

❛ Places can impress themselves upon me, and I can become part of them with ease. ❜

❛ There is no one with me. I am all by myself. ❜

❛ Pretending often leads to becoming a reasonable facsimile of what you mimic. ❜

❛ I think you’re confusing suicide with self-destruction, and they’re very different. Almost none of us commit suicide, whereas almost all of us self-destruct. ❜

❛ What did you eat? You had rations for only two weeks. You were there for nearly four months. ❜

❛ Something here is making giant waves in the gene pool. ❜

❛ I need to know what’s inside. ❜

❛ These aren’t decisions. They’re impulses ❜

❛ What do you think I do when you’re away? Do you think I’m out in the garden pinning, looking up at the sky? ❜

❛ If I know what’s happened I can save their life. ❜

❛ They either went crazy or something in here killed them. ❜

their hand slows on the out push and pauses mid-polish. aylen looks up towards the woman, equally flat from an onlooker's perspective, and blinks at the suddenness of her words. here, at the needle knights' haven in a room loaned by charity, they sit straitlaced upon the floor. their legs are tucked neatly beneath their body with the heft of their sword laid in their lap, and they listen.

" i thank you, " said earnestly. aylen bows their head, slow and careful, as not to open the fine stitch-work of their wounds. " i am alright. my wounds are healing well and i do not wish to overstay my welcome. you and yours have already been generous enough. "

aylen has not been here too terribly long. the memory of their rescue is still fresh in their mind, the slivers of battle that robbed them of their blood. the moon had yet to fully crescent that night. absently, they drift to cradle the gash in their side: once deep and butchered, scarlet and sticky. it was a wonder that they still breathe. they were informed of the knight who happened upon their body several days after they awoke. quite unusual for her, the captain had laughed, and what a sight to see.

" ... leda, was it ? "

a selection of dialogue prompts from the game who's lila? feel free to change pronouns / details as needed.

"must be really scary."

"so not existing is like being asleep?"

"you aren't making any sense right now."

"so you are your personality and your memories? is that what you're trying to say?"

"you see, there's a problem with what you just said."

"oh, i wouldn't trust the mirror, my dear. the ghosts on the other side may only look like us."

"the pupil can never see itself."

"you can analyse your memories and your personality, yet the real perceiver always stays in the shadows."

"in that sense, there isn't really a difference between you and other people."

"you have no ability to see what's inside someone's head."

"what's the definition of imaginary?"

"please, don't go closer. stay in the corner there, please."

"they are all dead, aren't they?"

"why did you tell me to stay home that day?"

"i'm sorry, i can't do this anymore. you have to leave."

"please, stop with this nonsense."

"you know, i can't leave you. but something has to change..."

"don't worry too much about it. it's important to keep a clear mind."

"no! don't touch me!"

"it's useless now. you think you've got the upper hand?"

"you are just delaying the inevitable."

"this is so wrong, isn't it?"

"do you love me?"

"i mean, i get it. if i were you, i wouldn't trust myself either."

"no, it's not about that. you just remind me of someone i knew."

"after what i did, i don't really deserve anything better, do i?"

"is that so? honestly, i feel a bit offended."

"what? if it's a joke, i don't get it."

"who's lila? some girl you like?"

"i'm alright. my face just doing its shenanigans again, i guess."

"what the hell's going on?"

"please be quiet. everything's alright. what's gotten into you?"

"this is what you get for trying to get rid of me."

"there's no need to scream. you look very cute today. don't scream."

"it's difficult for me to express emotions."

"i envy other people, they make faces naturally, but i have to make a conscious decision each time i move a muscle."

"every morning i go to the bathroom to rehearse what my face is going to show today."

"do you think we don't know what's happening between you two?"

"it's really not good to spread rumours. that's a sign of a very, very bad friend."

"so you wanted to see so badly? well. feast your eyes."

"well, are you satiated... now?"

"i do not desire to feed for now."

"your endeavours amuse me. but now it's time for us to cease."

"thanks for coming today. i rarely see you these days."

"you see, i've been studying you very intently."

"at the end of the day, i'd like to find out who you are."

"you amuse me. you really are nothing like those fools."

"oh, i expect an exquisite feast."

"we aren't going to talk here. meet me at a familiar place. i'll be waiting."

"well, if that's the game you want to play... let's do it."

"it is delightful to see your optimism."

"oh well, enough chit-chat. please, pick a card."

"i don't envy anybody. there's no use in comparing stupid glass shards, even if you think one of them is yours."

"hm, playful as usual, i see."

"don't worry. i won't stop until i find out."

"are you trying to be funny?"

"no need to be so hostile. after all, you are the one who came here."

"i couldn't help myself, i always come when someone calls."

"so it was you lot who stole all my food?"

"there doesn't seem to be a different way to do it. i'm so sorry."

"it's never that simple, is it?"

"you... you tricked me."

"your sorrow is exquisite."

"you are horrible."

"well, that's a harsh thing to say."

"you need to leave... i need a moment."

"not bad. you are much smarter than you look."

"no nourishment for me today, i guess."

"well, i'm sorry, but you won't trick me that easily."

"i don't believe you."

"was it your plan all along?"

"you don't have to be a genius to understand that there are multiple possible routes."

"you seem to think that some of the dreams you see are more important than others. i suggest you reconsider. all of them are equally ephemeral. all of them are nothing but dreams."

"you might not know it, but i've been watching you intently."

"so? did it help you?"

"if i'm being frank, i have almost no damn idea about what happened before or after this day."

"i appreciate your bluntness."

"to be quite honest with you, i feel a bit cheated."

"i'm not sure if the way it ended was a victory of good, or a terrible mistake."

"i... thought you'd be gone after that."

"does everyone see you the same way?"

"there are some who can see better than others."

"are you afraid of death?"

"i think death means different things to us."

"i've died many times, but all i was met with was a different dream."

"you are in a very special position right now. don't waste it."

"you have the opportunity to either jump into the wheel again, or be free of dreams forever."

"it's such a shame. i wish we could talk more like this."

"so, the trickster gets tricked, eh?"

"are we getting jealous?"

"what? i don't possess such feelings for anyone."

"what was that figure in the corner?"

"you love when it's about you, don't you?"

"i mean, i don't care, we can talk about something else if you'd like."

"you are so close to finding out the truth... do you realise that?"

"why are you saying that it's up to me?"

"come on. you are almost there."

"what a strange outcome that was."

"i wish i could do something about it."

"you do have the power to divert the way some events go."

"you won't lull me into a false sense of safety."

"i'm not sure if i can grasp the picture in its entirety yet."

unprompted asks, always accepting

When violence is imminent, the spirit once fraught with uncertainty due to contradictory alliances to the insipid compulsory and the glory of liberation enacted through true exercise of the will becomes illuminated by intentionality. He guises the flutter of his phantom anticipation with a hum of contemplation toward the warning given as he bears his own cautionary tale in plain sight, the sharpness of the light dappling upon the water that threatens to pierce through its murkiness to reveal what lurked within its depths. An anarchist sat in a confessional booth in this monochrome world where truth has been buried glows red, like a herring whose relevance was disputed by detectives in bygone days or a siren that bursts through the night to splinter the minds of the slumbering lambs with its cry of urgency to command a certain level of vigilance.

Though religion has long become obsolete in this era where one's allegiance to the system was advertised by public welfare bureaus and government-funded pharmaceutical companies and accepted by the masses as the greater indicator of morality and virtue, slaughtered in favor of android gods and their iron prophetess who gutted churches to erect stations of thought police for civilians to fashion their own guillotines with careless confessions ( Don't you know? Rumination blackens. Thought corrupts. Deeper explorations of the psyche and examination of one's values to better ennoble the individual with the exercise of his autonomy and cultivated awareness after strife and debate in the name of self-pursuit is ill-advised. Please take your suppressants as prescribed and monitor any fluctuations in your state-assigned hues. And remember, don't ask questions. Don't think, not of yourself or your overlords: the new gods, carved in steel, powered by motor and oil. In the future, only Sibyl is allowed to think. Only the system is allowed to judge. Please exist in accordance to its regulations, or be eliminated. THE SYSTEM HOLDS JUSTICE AT GUNPOINT. TRIGGER IS ALWAYS RELEASED. ), there were those amongst the lingering faithful who were well-practiced in its ruthless mechanisms.

Did they not, too, await the moment the knife pierces through flesh and the flesh itself yields in the name of consecration and once-precious vulnerability? The altars, whose silence once meant reverence and now only translates to haunted, constructed in the name of the dead gods recall the rituals of blood — just as the most peaceful nation in the world knows war and speaks its language better than its neighbors whom it sought to conquer and reeducate with collars and chains woven by false enlightenment. To stifle as it did its people, rebellions sabotaged and extinguished before they begin. When people were stripped of the tools of cognition, they are better likened to sheep who inanely bleat in accordance to the beeps of their embraced monitoring devices, and were perhaps made better by the knife. That way is more interesting.

Makishima need not offer elaborations to his holy interlocutor, sparing him from his articulated curiosity he entertains with morbid devotion akin to the faithful: What shall become of the shepherd who sprouts teeth before his unknowing flock, who were ushered into confessional booths and an endless myriad of boxes? Categorization is dull, so he suspends his judgement, and allows his smile to blossom like a dauntless lily from the quagmire that torments and taunts the abyss below. “I am nothing,” he begins, with the lilt of one awakened from a forgotten dream of the butterfly's fleeting reality, more skeptic than penitent, as his hue reflects his virtue ( or, rather, his ennui — a divergence of perception, devoid of meaning without spectator. The dream ends not when man or butterfly awakens from oblivion, but when this courts apathy rather than curiosity; thought dedicated to his existence, as delicate as the wings of a butterfly ), “if not sincere.”

Shall you suspect me, as you would your neighbors with their strange guilelessness? As you would your desires, dashed in favor of principles lauded as higher and practice of conceptualized benevolence? What becomes of the saint whose nature twists, as if flayed by serrated knife and skinned alive to be made beautiful, better aligned toward cruelty? It is in his best interest that Sunday sharpens infectiously.

LEAP:  The  sender  takes  a  bold  step  off  the  edge  of  a  cliff,  only  to  be  caught  by  the  receiver  in  a  moment  of  pure  trust.

GRAB:  The  sender  rescues  the  receiver  from  incoming  danger. 

DRAWN:  The  sender  draws  their  sword  on  a  mysterious  receiver. 

START:  A  sunrise  on  the  horizon  as  the  sender  embarks  on  an  unknown  journey  with  the  receiver.

BEGINNING:  The  sender  and  receiver  stand  at  the  entrance  of  an  ancient  forest.

WANDER:  On  a  quiet  road  at  dusk,  the  sender  and  receiver  discuss  the  past  that  haunts  them.

INNOCENCE:  The  sender  laughs  under  a  moonlit  sky.

FREEDOM:  A  moment  where  the  sender  see's  the  receiver  for  who  they  truly  are  (positively). 

AWAKENING:  The  sender  wakes  up  unaware  of  where  they  are  only  for  the  receiver  to  explain  to  them  what  brought  them  there. 

BOUNDLESS:  The  sender  and  receiver  stand  together  on  a  mountaintop.

TURMOIL:  A  dimly  lit  pub  at  night  where  the  sender,  full  of  brave  recklessness,  gets  caught  up  in  a  brawl,  and  the  receiver  steps  in  to  protect  them.