My muse has amnesia after something happened to them (I decide what), and your muse has to explain their past to them. What would you say to them, whether you are telling the truth or lying?
[[btw, this is tree spirit!mimi]]
When Yuan was around at the World Tree, Mithos normally kept himself hidden and out of sight, wanting to maintain the illusion that he was missing. He laid back into the branch he was sitting on and listen to the trees. Their whispers were quiet, easy to tune out if he wanted to. Though rare it was, he heard them gossiping and it appeared to be about the guardian passing out or something other. There was only one person that came to mind and with a sense of urgency Mithos dropped down onto the ground below.
He eventually found Yuan sprawled out across the grass unconscious. Looking around, he saw nothing that would indicate what had transpired.
"Yunnie," Mithos knelt down beside him and called out his nameā¦well, the nickname he had selected for him. Tree spirit or not, some things never changed.
When the blue haired half elf finally woke up, confusion consumed his face and demanded to know who he was. Okay, he knew he had been gone for a while and avoiding contact with people but surely they knew each other well enough that he wouldnāt be forgotten? Or so, he hoped. Mithos knew he had no right to call himself a friend but did he really mean that little?
But something in gut told him that more was amiss than just that.
"Donāt you remember anything?" he asked but the look he got in return indicated that he didnāt at all. He let out a long sigh. How troublesome, how was he going to sum up their complicated history?
"Youāre a four thousand plus year old seraphim that had fought at my side to bring peace to Sylvarant and Tetheāalla. You traveled together with Martel, me, and Kratos. You were even engaged to my sister beforeā¦" Mithos trailed off, not wanting to bring up her death. Granted he had moved past wanting to bring her back but it didnāt mean that it still wasnāt a sour subject for him.
"Weāreā¦old friends, very good friends.." Even though they had come past their tattered friendship to tolerate the otherās presence, it was far from ideal.Was he really just going to outright lie to him? Not only fabricating the state of their relationship but also not mentioning a word about Cruxis or the things that had transpired from that. Mithos knew it wasnāt the truth.
But wasnāt that always what he did? Spew out lies and weave webs of deception rather than be true? He knew better by now that he should be disgusted with himself but the loneliness of being alone had caught up to him. Even if it was pretendā¦even if it was just for as long as he didnāt have his memoriesā¦he wanted to cling onto this moment of what could have been if he hadnāt walked down the path he had.
A faint voice called out, barely just reaching the darkness that coveted his conciseness pulling him to unrecognizable light. What knelt by his aching body was the face of a man he didnāt know. Confusion settled on his knitted brows, a frown forming on his face as he glanced around trying to understand the situation. His mouth opened to demand for who this man was, next to him calling him by a name he didnāt know. What he got was not something he expected. Familiarity. As the time passed, explanation came into play. Four thousand years of age and a Seraphim? He wasnāt sure what a Seraphim was, but he could figure that four thousand was a large number. He looked down at his hands, almost expecting aged skin but instead he was met with just a normal hand. Most of what Mithos had to say about his past mostly went over his head. He didn't really pay much mind to it. It didn't ring any bells to him or make much sense. Names thrown here and there. It all was odd, but then he said friend. Old friend. A clench appeared in his chest and burned in his throat. It was an odd feeling, and it didn't much make sense to him. This man knew him, so it must be true. Right? ā ...āFriends? ā He lightly questioned, the word feeling unfamiliar on his tongue and yet he reached out towards the man. A hand placing themselves' on the man's forearm, gripping lightly with a certain anticipation.Usual eyes so cold and guarded, open and awaiting for the man to tell him more. To tell him something that would actually make sense. Without realizing it, the blue haired man had thrusted all of his trust onto this man. This man who was one of his oldiest friends, a very good friend. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ā Who are you? ā
