#(i think!!!)

tiny siblings dancing in synchrony..

on Kosteletzkya virginica.

Ancestors — unbound by blood, but a sisterhood all the same— become a spiritual choir and help to bridge the gap between darkness and light. They flicker in and out of periphery and vanish before their smeared faces can be deciphered. So close, so far, and yet unifying despite the circumstances.

Do these hunters know what they're helping them accomplish? Would their ghosts keep singing if they understood why Rumi sought entry into the underworld?

As she wonders this, a soft, dark braid of hair floats in the corner of her vision.

She feels the faintest touch of fingers when they curl across her shoulders. A lovely lilac smell lingers under her nose, the sort of scent that feels nostalgic, though she can't quite place it. It floods her with warmth and security in ways the heart recalls when the mind can’t reach back far enough. Rumi can’t help but gawk at the sound of this crooning voice that drifts among the choir of hunters.

“Mom?”