#rainingstorms1220

This morning, after eating his share and then some, Grim promptly wiped his mouth and proclaimed he’d be spending the day with Ace and Deuce in Heartsabyul. Bramble blinked, surprised.

“Did something happen? You three didn’t upset Housewarden Rosehearts, did you?” Her thin hands gripped the chipped teacup in her grasp as she cast a suspicious look Grim’s way. The little monster flattened his ears and stomped one of his hind paws (talons?).

“Nyah! Why do you always assume we got up to trouble?! I’ll have you know I’m a model student!”

“Says the creature who thought Boran was an insult on our chemistry test.”

“Ain’t may fault all these humans gotta give everything a stupid name.” Grim huffed, crossing his forepaws with a pout. Bramble bit the inside of her lip to avoid laughing at the cute little picture he had created. 

“Alright, alright…Give me a moment to finish my tea and-”

“Huh? No way! It’s supposed to be a boy’s day today! No hench-fairies allowed.” The monster’s forked tail thrashed as he all but bragged to Bramble that she wasn’t allowed to spend the day with all three of them. And, for a moment, her curved eyebrows pinched in hurt. Oh. It seemed the feeling of being unwanted had become unfamiliar to her in the four months since she arrived in Twisted Wonderland.

How overconfident of her.

“Of course…Still, would you like me to pack a snack for you?” Whatever pain Bramble’s expression conveyed smoothed over with a smile. Grim looked at her for a moment, torn. But, surprisingly, he refused and began rushing upstairs to gather his things.

Without him, Bramble cast her eyes low to gaze into her teacup. As if that little thing could help give voice to the complicated tangle of feelings that arose within her. Grim going off on his own was a good thing, after all. It meant he was beginning to trust others, depend on others besides her. He was making his way in the world, growing and getting stronger. As his friend, his caretaker shouldn’t that make her happy? Bramble traced the sharp edge of her teacup’s deepest chip with her thumb. 

When Grim came bounding down the stairs, his handmade messenger bag slung over his shoulders, she reiterated her offer of a snack, a piece of fruit at least, but Grim refused once more and scurried out the door on all fours. 

Leaving Bramble alone.

The silence sunk heavier and heavier with every passing minute. The half-fae quickly finished up her tea and proceeded to clean up their breakfast table. No leftovers today as well, huh? Bramble placed every dish in the sink before wiping down the table and stove, and by the time she set the chairs to right, the water from the sink had finally warmed up to the point where it wouldn’t hurt to wash up. 

As she scrubbed and lathered, rinsed and dried, Bramble found her gaze drifting out the window. Ramshackle was the black sheep of all Night Raven College’s dorms for many reasons. But chief among them was the simple fact that Ramshackle was the only dorm actually located on school grounds. So while Bramble was never far from the familial embrace of nature, she was, essentially, cut off from all her classmates. 

The rolling hills of Ramshackle curled before her. The grass was coming back, still a bit too gray, but certainly softer. There were still some dead trees that would have to be uprooted for compost and charcoal, but the berry bushes she had planted along their dorm’s pathway appeared to be growing well. Soon, they’d have a wealth of blackberries and raspberries to use or sell as they saw fit. Crowley had been dismissively doubtful about her ability to get anything to grow near their dilapidated dorm, and Bramble would take no small pleasure in showing him the literal fruits of her labor. 

“Ooo, did little Grimy already leave?” Putting away the last pot onto the dying rack, Bramble turned towards the ghostly voice behind her. Stanley, who was long and thin even as a specter, floated just beside the dining table like a trail of cigarette smoke. Bramble quickly dried her hands with a worn kitchen rag.

“Yes, you just missed him, I’m afraid.” She reported with a huff of laughter as the other ghostly inhabitants joined them. Clemont, who was as large and round as a soft cloud, and Darius, who was nearly as round as Clemont but noticeably shorter like the first puff of a chimney. 

When she and Grim had first arrived, the three of them had been quite mischievous. Hiding their books and quills, moving furniture here and there, freezing their pipes. But after Holloween and the lengths the living members of Ramshackle went to ensure all the ghosts of Night Raven College and then some enjoyed a spectral celebration of the ages, all the undead inhabitants of the school became noticeably more considerate. It seemed the fever that racked her body for a week after spending so much time in such a frigid, ghostly realm had impressed them to kindness.  

Now, Stanley, Darius, and Clemont readily acknowledged her as the first Housewarden of the Ramshackle Dorm after who knew how long. And though Bramble couldn’t get too close to them, lest she seriously harm herself with their undead frostiness, she made a point to always speak warmly towards them.

“Huh! Well, what’ll you do now that your baby bird’s flown the nest, Ms. Housewarden?” Clemont asked, fluttering around her at a safe distance. Bramble rolled her eyes. Grim had come a long way, sure, but he was far from flying out of her nest, thank you very much.  

“I suppose I’ll finish mending some clothes for spring-”

“Didn’t you finish doing that the other day?” Darius spoke up, floating on his back just above Stanley. Bramble furrowed her brows. Huh. She had finished that task, hadn’t she?

“Well, Ramshackle probably needs a good deep-clean while Grim’s out and about so-”

“Yup! You did that just this Thursday. I remember because you had us open up all the shutters so the chemical smell wouldn’t get too intense.” Stanley stated, curling behind her as Bramble slowly made her way back to the dining table. The clothes were already taken care of, the cleaning already done, so…

“Oh! I should start embroidering some new handkerchiefs for Sam to-” 

“But I thought he told you to hold off for a while to drive up demand?” Bramble all but collapsed into the dining chair Darius drew out for her. 

A puppet with her strings cut.

So there really wasn’t anything that needed her attention…Nothing that needed doing or tending to. Even her homework had been completed two days in advance. In other words, Bramble was free. Free to do what she pleased. She blinked, at a complete and utter loss for what to do. The Ramshackle ghosts glanced at one another, noticing the vines sprouting from behind their Housewarden’s newly pointed ears changing into existential ivy. 

“U-Um, maybe you can take the day off? Read a book? Take a walk? You know…have some, uh, Me Time?” Stanley offered, eyeing the wealth of ivy curling around the half-fae warily. 

All the campus ghosts knew they had to be cautious around the young woman. One brush of their smokey forms against her, and she was likely to freeze to death on mere contact. Over winter break, the Ramshackle ghosts, in particular, had been beside themselves at their own uselessness. They had seen her collapse into the snow that awful day and all but felt that girl’s heart stop. Had it not been for the actual wall fairies fending them off, the college ghosts probably would’ve made that situation even worse than it was. 

Thank goodness Grimmy and that Kingscholar boy found her.

“Yes…Yes, I suppose you all are right.” Bramble ran a worn hand down her face, the ivy growing from her vines beginning to shrivel as she steered her thoughts towards a more positive route. She flashed a thankful smile toward her ghostly companions before collecting herself and making her way upstairs.

The ghosts glanced at one another one last time. It was said that fairies were unable to tell a lie, so what of half-fae? If they asked Bramble outright, they each doubted they’d get a straight answer, much less a truthful one. Though…the three of them had lived and unlived long enough to know that if a woman wanted to keep something secret, it was nigh impossible to get the truth from her. 

Fairy or otherwise.

Upstairs, Bramble found herself once again at a loss for what to do with herself. She meandered her way to the bed and sat down, the creaky old thing practically screaming at the action. If she were to be completely honest, the young woman needed to be kept busy.

Busyness meant she had things to do, things to occupy her mind and memory. Busyness meant other people were always around her, soothing her soul with their own chaos. Busyness meant less time as a prisoner to her own thoughts and history. But now? 

Now they came barking at her door.

Bramble flexed her fingers, her work-worn joints clicking. Sharp. Right, her hands were sharp now. Not enough to cut gently. No, better to tear, she thought, to rend to pieces. Two feelings surged within her in a furious but slow-rising tide. On one hand, the pull of the forest tugged, as always, at her heart and soul. But whereas Bramble always made sure she had some other problem to solve and focus on, no avenue presented itself now. The forest and the wilderness within called for her sweetly, kindly. 

Here, it said, come here and be home. 

Here, no man will hurt you. No beast or monster would dare strike you. Come. Be with your wild family, be a spirit of spring. As your mother was, as you were meant to be. Come, Bramble, come. Discard your human skin, bare your flowers, conquer with your roots. It is your right, your freedom. No pain will exist for you here, the fairies who love and serve you will not allow it. It was a tempting offer, spoken with the soft croon of a parent to a child. 

The first time Bramble heard that call to the wild was the moment she awoke, underwater, and clawed her way up from mud and muck back into the sweet air of the Botanical Garden. It called to her. Begged her to deny humanity and become something other. Something beautiful and terrible and no longer subject to human suffering. At the time, Bramble had awoken too alone, disoriented, and in pain to make a choice as her body began pumping new, iron-free blood through her veins. She simply awoke wanting nothing and no one but her mother.

But her mother was dead.

And Bramble had to cling to humanity still. Not out of any loyalty to some vague shadow of a human father. No. The only reason she clung to humanity still was her little brother, back in her old world and human still. That poor child. It had been so painful for her to become…this. And should she be successful in bringing her brother to Twisted Wonderland, he’d have to go through the same agony. The thought pained her, as the thought of causing her brother harm always did. The second feeling that rose within her was different. Redder.

Rage.

Bramble sighed. She rose to her feet once more and began searching through her closet for something light to wear. Eventually, the half-fairy settled on a yellow dress she had stitched together for herself out of old clothes left behind him in Ramshackle’s attic. 

The fabric was sturdy even after all these years, and the holes were covered up easily enough by some carefully arranged embroidered cornflowers. She slipped the dress over her head. The garment hugged her from bust to waist quite snuggly but was loose as rouge wind from her waist down to her knees, where she had embroidered a lively meadow from which blue cornflowers sprouted. After a moment of deliberation, Bramble also donned a pair of handmade shorts underneath and let down her hair from that morning’s braid. From that point on, she went around the various closets and semi-decluttered Ramshackle rooms to find a wicker basket she’d seen a week prior.

With the basket in hand, Bramble slipped on her old, sturdy boots from another world and bid the ghosts of Ramshackle goodbye. She didn’t tell them when she’d be back, and they forgot to ask her. And on she walked, basket hung snuggly on the crook of her elbow.

Towards the forest.

Bramble breathed deeply, evenly. It was a beautiful afternoon with a full, glimmering sun shining above her and hardly a cloud in the sky. It was certainly warm, and the half-fae was glad for her light clothes.

The sun warmed her bronze skin, and the vines in her head, thorny little ocotillos now, stretched towards it eagerly. Bramble walked and walked until the manicured lawns of Night Raven College ended. At the edge of Sage Island’s northernmost wilderness, she stopped.

Gazing into the dark depths of the wilderness before her, she slipped off her boots and socks. She left them neatly next to each other at the forest’s edge with her socks tucked safely inside. Bramble then proceeded to walk into the heart of the forest before her with her feet bare. 

She walked and walked and walked. The small fairies of the forest began to flutter close to give her their greetings and well-wishes, but the half-fairy concentrated, instead, on a vision of quiet contemplation. So, as blood-red rowan berries with their caterpillar-like leaves began sprouting from her vines, they retreated away from her in sparkling notes of blue, green, and yellow-orange light. Few braver, stronger fae still called after her as Bramble walked, the pale bottoms of her feet never encountering thorn or pebble on her path.  

“Welcome back! It's been so long, and we’ve missed you so much!”

“Are you here to stay? We’ll set up a meadow-nest for you to lay in tonight.”

“I’ll dissolve your trail for you, my Lady. Those mages will never find you, hehe!”

But Bramble neither acknowledged nor listened to those sweet, bell-like voices that spoke kindly after her in that diurnal fae language. She kept her head up and her eyes searching. How long had it been since she had walked into nature like this? Back in her old world, her old country, nature had been one of two safe havens for her. And while libraries were still a dear and honored place to her, the lush chaos of the natural world provided a beloved and unique sort of freedom all its own.

She had never been in the forests surrounding Royal Sword Academy, but she felt the difference still. The flora that grew close to that so-called hero’s school was almost bubbly with bright gentleness. The fairies that traveled from that end of Sage’s Island to her to greet her were, likewise, glittering and social. Promising boons and blessings for little to nothing in recompense. Whereas the plant-life near Night Raven College took on a more…fermented nature

The forests here were as abundant and just as strong, but in a different, darker way. An ancient wine in comparison to a bright, young cobonated pop. The natural energy here was selective and critical. The trees here were lush and strong but far from being foolishly obliging. Even the grass was not so easy stomped out and acquiescing. If you wanted something, you had to fight for it, look for it, and care for it sincerely. 

It was older in that way, it knew the perils of giving too much away much better than the younger, sweeter flora of the Royal Sword Academy. The fairies here were just as excited by her presence, the first Flower Fairy to step foot in Sage Island in over a millennia, and viewed her as kin just as sincerely, but they always responded with suspicion and aggression to the student mages. And were much stronger and fiercer for it.

For good reason, Bramble thought. 

Still, if she had to pick, the young woman would choose to wander, roam, and haunt the forests of Night Raven College over those of Royal Sword Academy. Instead of surrounding her with well-meaning attention and love, the flora and fairies here allowed her space. Space to wonder and walk barefoot with nothing but raven song as soundtrack to her thoughts. The dark comfort of the curling ferns and inebriating apples was that of a dark protector. Cruel enough to punish ignorant naivety accordingly, but kind enough to protect her when she called for sanctuary. 

By now, Bramble had arrived at a steady creek with cool, clear water flowing resolutely from west to east. Sparkling with diamond-like brilliance in the spotted, canopied light above her. It was deep enough to reach more than halfway up her knees, and the young woman took a moment to find a large river rock nearby to sit on and dangle her feet in the steady current. She sighed as the silken water flowed over her warm skin.

When she was younger, in both body and soul, she had often bathed and played in the rivers and streams in her old world. Back then, her life had been simple, her greatest worry was remembering to return back home in time to prepare dinner and finish her chores. Bramble’s rage roiled like a snarling thing below her skin as she recounted those days.

That man who insisted she call him ‘Uncle’ had taken her and her brother in, not out of the goodness of his heart but, rather, out of a need to appease his gentle wife who took a liking to them. A pair of dirty little urchins who, unknowingly, had arrived into a world not their own. And as Uncle gained wealth and prestige and as his wife sickened and died with Bramble being the only witness to her last moments, he began placing more and more hope and expectation unto her little brother. Uncle’s wife had only given him two daughters before dying, and he was in desperate need of a male heir to pass on his newfound legacy unto. 

From then on, whenever her brother was home from his various elite boarding schools, Uncle treated Bramble well. As if she was equal to his own blood-bound daughters, whom she would be allowed to refer to as ‘cousins’.  But when her little brother was away, learning and thriving in a way Bramble was both grateful and jealous of? She was a servant to her so-called Uncle and cousins. Responsible for the cooking, laundry, and maintenance of their ever-expanding, ever luxurious house. 

Still, her uncle did educate her enough to ensure she’d never embarrass his family in public. Manners, etiquette, and a housewifely education were drilled into Bramble from a young age so that whenever the situation arose to present her as a charity case daughter, she’d be able to hold her own. She needed to be presentable enough to uphold her Uncle’s reputation but shabby enough that she wouldn’t outshine his biological daughters. Both of whom were younger than she. Oh.

How she hated them.

Bramble flickered her gaze upward, searching. The trees surrounding the creek created a delicate lacework of sunlight around her, some young and some old. She gazed at each of them for a moment. When she found one to her liking, she took some yarn from her basket and tied a long and steady cord to the basket handle before raising her feet from the water. Making a point not to look at the hydrilla and hyacynths that had begun sprouting the moment her skin had made contact with the water. 

Careful not to slip, she made her way to her chosen tree. It was an old, steady, and many-branched ash tree that spread well over the river’s width. Bramble placed her basket down at the base of the tree and took hold of the other end of the string tied to it. With steady limbs and a lifetime of practice, she began climbing the large tree. Up and up, higher and higher. No splinters dared to pierce her, no branches chanced to snap against her. Bramble didn’t stop climbing until she was sure the branches above her couldn’t support her weight. High enough to hurt, she thought as she gazed at the grassy ground far below her.

Hmm.

Bramble allowed herself a moment longer to look, to gaze, to contemplate before using the string to pull her basket back up to her. Twisting the string this way and that to weave the parcel in between the strong limbs of the tree. Once the basket was back in her hands, Bramble shuffled a bit to get comfortable. Strands of her now alizarin hair rested atop the branches above her like ribbon wishes tied to a holy site, begging something divine for a better life. She stretched out her legs before her as her back rested against the main pillar of the great tree. As Bramble carefully crossed her bare ankles, she gazed at the soft skin where her mother’s payal usually rested. 

Ah.

She had begun leaving the memento at Ramshackle more and more often as of late. It hurt to look at, it hurt to hear its darling chimes, and it hurt to remember what it meant. Bramble had one, and her brother, an entire world away, had the other. When the siblings were together, the payals would chime together even clearer, sweeter than usual. But now? Now, it was a one-person song, a broken-winged melody that had no simple resolution. Bramble closed her eyes and breathed the clear, forest air. 

After a long, long moment of breathing and darkness, she opened her eyes and shifted through her basket to locate the novel she’d been reading. A collection of stories recovered from Twisted Wonderland’s era of Myth. A set of similar stories had existed in her old world, but unlike those, these were the many repeated, many translated record of actual, literal events. Bramble took a moment to locate her bookmark and begun reading once more.

…The God of Love, insulted, acted swiftly. He took two arrows from his quiver, each with a different use. One makes one burn hot with lust, the other makes another run cold with fear.  The arrow that brings love is gold, with a sharp, glittering head, while the arrow that rebukes love is blunt and has a lead-iron shaft. With this second arrow, the god hit the daughter of sea and earth, the Flower Fairy Daphne. And, as it was twined with iron, the lovely creature would not be able to pull it from her chest lest she rend her delicate limbs to ash.  With the first, he struck the Sun God down to the bones. He tumbled immediately in love with the wild nymph, but she was struck with the second arrow. Burned and cursed to run away from the very name of love, from the very touch of man and god alike. Flowering Daphne had delighted in the safety of her parental woods and wore only a cloak of leaves and blossoms in tribute to her ancestral Spring Sprite. Ribbons of vines and flowering stalks ran through her tousled hair, free and curled and fluttering with pollinators.  Many men have tried to court her, to tame her wildness, but she disliked all suitors and their marital cages. “Mother Sprite, hear me! Let me live as a lone woman, so that I may sing and dance in your tribute forevermore! I need not love nor children to love this life you’ve blessed me with.”  Nature, both Daphne’s mother and father, listened and allowed their beloved daughter to remain a maid. But when the Sun God is struck with cruel Love’s golden arrow, he spies a challenge in unmarried firm Daphne’s will. “Fairy of Flowers, my nymph love! Come close to me and be my wife. My flames will never hurt you, my kingdom shall be yours, and my godly body will bless godly heirs to your line.” Once struck, the Sun God spies on her, tracks her, and chases her, crying out his love, lust, and possession of her. As lion chases lamb, he hunted her. Hungry for all that a Flower Fairy can give.  She runs. A breath, a gasp, a scream away from him. When her limbs began buckling under his heat, his fire, weeping Daphne could bear it no more and cried out to her beloved Sprite. “Mother! Mother, save me!”  Parental Nature rises to their child’s aide as their Daughter Daphne steps between forest and river. Her soft, flowering limbs harden and take root in the safety of the Earth. Her outstretched, pleading hands lengthen and sharpen to branches high above her. At last, her beautiful face, bright with terror, dims with soft wooden peace. The Sun God wailed, his prize wrested from him.

Bramble slammed the book shut.

Her heart thumped and raced within her chest as if she’d been the one running for her life. Which she had done once. That last day in her old world, Bramble had run for her life just the same. It had been the dark of night, with not a sliver of moon or twinkle of star above her. The dogs were barking and she willed her fear-still body to run, run, run fast enough to finally escape that damned house. Uncle had a gun, his favorite, in his hands. How many time did he fire it, Bramble wondered. She’d been too scared to count.

Too desperate to even sob.

She didn’t stop running even as she climbed the fence of that hellish property. Even as her bag got caught on the spokes and damn near choked her, Bramble twisted and fought and ran. Ran until she arrived at the crossroads in front of the property gates. Then she stopped.

Froze.

Sleek and merciless, a bullet in of itself, was the carriage that came for her. With two huffing, pitch-black stallions charging at her at full speed and drawing what appeared to be a hearse behind them, Bramble stopped. The horses reared, hooves blunt and sharp and raised high above her. She snapped her eyes shut. Let this be the end, she thought, let it happen at the hand of beasts that do not know hate, rather than a man made of it. 

Then she woke up.

Bramble pressed her hands to her heart. It thumped just as quickly, just as frantically as it did back then. She breathed in and out, even though tears threatened to spill from her pale eyes. The vines behind her newly pointed ears burst with great, big panic-induced ferns. Curling and uncurling as her thoughts scrambled to and fro. Oh. Oh!

How her rage burned her.

More than fear, more than sorrow. She was beyond them, maybe even not human enough for them anymore. But rage? Rage, her new-blooded body welcomed. The ferns withered to plant ash, drying and flaking off over and over against until little else but dust remained. Only to be replaced by ruby colored, sickle-shaped thorns that dug into the ash tree behind her without mercy.

What had she and her brother done to deserve that man, that Uncle twisting their lives to his vainglorious will? What had she done to be left behind again and again? What great fear had their mother been subjected to that she had no other recourse but to send her young children to another world? That she’d leave the two of them behind to fend for themselves? What of that stupid fucking human father who left them defenseless in the first place? And just what had she done to deserve being sent here? Surrounded by men she didn’t know nor trust? In this nonsense world where dragons and fairies were real and she had never truly been human to begin with? It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t fair.

Do you want to leave it all behind, the forest asked in that soft, kind voice.

The hands she braced against her chest, against that new blooded heart, dragged up to her neck. Her own pulse jumped and skittered wildly, an animal struck on the road and frantic to get to the other side. No comfort to be found there either…Bramble forced breath into her furious, snarling lungs. Panting like a beast with blunt teeth. Sharp nails against soft skin. Uncle did always say that she had a very pretty neck…

And for a moment, all Bramble could think of was climbing down from this tree and wading through the river until she, too, turned from overwhelming flesh and blood to peaceful chlorophyll and bark. No one would find her this deep into the forest. No one could hurt her if she lost the ability to feel at all. No more pain. No more running. No more feral anger. She’d be free.

Free and flowering at last.

===

They checked Ramshackle. They searched its meager greenhouse. They scoured the Botanical Gardens. Nothing. No one. Grim grew frantic, and it didn’t take a genius to guess where the little monster’s mind had wandered.

Ace and Deuce glanced at each other. 

The pair of them weren’t the ones to find Bramble, frostbitten and still, in the snow over winter break. But Grim had. He found her there and tried to wake her up using every trick he knew. But she didn’t, wouldn’t wake up. The little monster had curled under her chin, pressed his warm ears to her frosty chest and heard nothing. Even less than nothing. The pure cruelty of the absence of a heartbeat he knew almost as well as his own. Grim probably would’ve kept trying to find that heartbeat had it not been for Housewarden Leona dragging him off her and carrying her to the infirmary.

Which was real rich of him, Ace thought. Even now! Him joining the three of them to look for her, even if he was a prince, just where did he get that level of audacity? Ace had to tell himself to keep it together. Because the thought of Leona? Caring about Bramble? Her feelings? Ha!

Hilarious.

So, of course, neither freshman fully trusted their upperclassman in consideration of recent events. How could they? Bramble had specifically asked to wait out winter break with him, in warm, sunny Sunset Savannah. And though Grim opted to fool around with Scarabia during that time, she’d been so excited to go. 

And, as Ace suspected, a little in love with the second prince.

In that warm place with the imperial guard of a literal prince, she should’ve been safe. So how the hell were either of them supposed to react when Sebek frantically called them via the first-year group chat, in the middle of winter, screaming that Bramble was ill beyond reason and that they needed to get back to Night Raven College as soon as possible? That she somehow found herself at the mercy of the dark, cold Diasomnia Dorm of all places? Then, when they finally made it back to campus, what greeted them was worse than anything their minds could come up with.

Bramble, lying still and cold, in the infirmary. Her hair now ashy gray, her skin almost Overblot-pale, and her hands turned black-veined and dark. With Grim, silent and trembling, in the far corner of the room in Leona’s arms. 

Vice Housewarden Vanrouge was also frantic and devastated in a way neither Ace nor Deuce were fully prepared to hear, much less see. Silver, alert and anxious, had moved back and forth between everyone, a cutting desperation in his eyes. While Sebek was noticeably quiet, watching his housewarden’s back in a desperate attempt not to look at the frostbitten woman before him. And Malleus…Even the memory of his face, of his flamethrower roars, made the pair of them shiver and sweat.

But now no one said anything. They just started moving. Granted, neither Ace nor Deuce liked the idea of following Leona’s orders. Orders that came from someone who kicked Bramble out into the cold. But Grim sounded far too desperate and far too pitiful to ignore. They hadn’t been able to be with him the last time, so they had to try now.

And so they walked.

And walked and walked and walked. Back to where Leona and Grim had found Bramble last. It was only when they, frustrated and sharp with fear, decided to venture into the woods behind campus that she appeared. Barefoot and streaked with river weeds and mud from the knees down. Vines twisting and curling in long, lush stalks of mandevilla. She smiled at the sight of all of them. As if they came to greet her.

Not catch her.

They asked where she went. Why didn’t she tell the Ramshackle ghosts. What had she been doing in the middle of such wilderness. And on and on. Bramble listened to every question, her thick eyelashes casting large, thoughtful shadows over her pale, gentle eyes. She dipped her head towards them in acknowledgement when they were done. Her eyes low and lashes trembling with emotion. 

“My apologies for all the trouble.”

---

much love and appreciation (as well as screaming awe) for Stormy for going above and beyond on this bramberry commission. they have such an eye for mood and detail that make me go back again and again to their work. truly do not do yourself a disservice and miss out on commissioning them for your blorbos - trust me you will not regret it!

if you'd like to commission Stormy as well, please take a look at their carrd and vgen

tagging - @souriru , @twstnettle , @puowei