#birthedbyshadows

SHE CAN’T HELP chuckling just a bit at the remark. Certainly it was an uncommon way to greet someone, but Yuna had never been skilled at holding her emotions in check. Though she couldn’t put her finger on it, she had the most unusual feeling like he really needed a friendly face.

Even if she was a friendly stranger.

—- @birthedbyshadows / send  ‘ i need you. ’ for my muse’s reaction / accepting

There’s a halt in his breath–rather, surprise, luckily. As much as Ovan’s consistent with how often he logs into [The World], how much Jay had taken up tagging along with him ( as per essentially living here, anyway ), he still had his tendencies of being awful in terms of verbal commitment. But, there’s Jay, practically latched onto him in that innocent, mellow excitement of his–joyful when people he liked were around.

Kite laughed as Jay got to work; he had hoped the other boy wouldn't be put off by the chill, but his excited reaction quickly put that worry to rest. Kite was more than happy to follow suit, packing together a smaller snowball to make the snowchild's body. 

"Honestly, I've been so busy at school and with...this situation...that I haven't been able to play in the snow yet this year; by the time I've been able to go out, it's melted almost every time." he laughed, though his eyes held a melancholic twinge. "Besides, I'm trying to help the one person I know in the real world who'd want to play with me. So I might as well enjoy it here with other people I know will have fun, you know?" he said, patting the lump of snow to a more stable bottom. 

What’s this..? He could see a person but couldn’t smell them.... no matter how much he sniffed the blond fellow just seemed to lack the regular scent of a human. Maybe... maybe this person wasn’t human...?

@birthedbyshadows

“Sure is, pal!” Naoya grins at the apparition, seemingly unfazed.

Hungry... he’d been so hungry and the next thing he knew he was hovering over a half eaten carcass, much to his dismay....

He didn’t want to hurt an innocent. He hated it. It made him sick. But sometimes there was no choice. Instincts took control and now this person’s life had ended.

                TONIGHT IS THE BIG NIGHT. Years of hard work have culminated into this moment and the pressure is on. If she fails here, she can kiss any hope of a career with her art goodbye, and there’s no telling what path her parents would choose for her then. She can’t afford to make a single mistake.

                   The walls around her will be plastered in monochrome images - paintings and drawings from her own hand, her signature inscribed in the corners. Standing there in the back room of the exhibit hall, Namine is struck again by the near futility of all this. Most people who were artists in this world only became so after they found their soulmate. After all, how could you create true art if everything was black and white to you? How could you hope to bring the vibrant spirit of life to canvas or paper, when you could not even see it for yourself?

                   But they must have seen something in her, to give her this opportunity. She must have done something right, figured out some kind of secret, to have made it this far. And she would not waste it. She would show everyone that she deserved this spot, and had a reason to be proud of her work.

                     Her pep talk is interrupted by one of the event staff, peeking their head through the door to let her know they’ll be announcing her entrance in a few moments. A wavering smile manages its way onto her face despite her nerves and after a deep breath she nods in ascent that yes, she is ready. The door closes again, and she can just make out the words “our featured artist for the evening, Miss Namine-” and then she’s stepping into the brightly lit rooms, heart in her throat.

                       It’s a long night of repeatedly explaining her identity and her inspirations, of smiling wanly as people shower her with praise or critique in equal measure. She loses count of how many half-drunk champagne glasses she leaves on the trays of passing caterers, forgets all the names of critics and dealers she should be remembering. And just as everything is beginning to make her head spin, it’s over. People begin to trickle out, and Namine takes the chance to escape to the end of the winding path through the hall. 

                       Soon everyone will be gone, and she can go home and sleep away her social anxiety. God, she’s so exhausted. But just as she goes to sit for a moment and give her heel-pained feet a break, she hears footsteps. Was someone still here?