#starters!

            ✩࿐࿔   ' How long will you lament over purchasing this book? Just do it already, I'm sure by the end of 'morrow it won't be here then you shall regret it, @eldinwind '

     𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏, 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒛𝒆. Momentarily, it sneaks in, the antiquated air, old, stifling, too cold even with the sun glimmering in the distance. The courtyard comes into view, but there are no children that rush about, happy sounds of gossip, an eerie quietness that is stifling. Even he appears temporary, hands nestled firmly into his lap, spine straightening while yielding no demeanor of friendliness; just ice. “No need to worry, the rest of my kin don't hold a desire to play with others like I do. They won’t intrude, for our sake, this conversation should be direct” why would they? Those without strength were lesser in their eyes, even their own were subjected to such scrutiny when the time came. Pale grey robes wrapped his skin, the bit of ink that could be seen was by accident, as the rest remained covered.

          “If you wished to find me, I can only assume it took time & dedication, now please - what is it you want? Don’t hold back on details, @viliria”   

       IT WAS DECEPTIVE, to play off the notion of being nothing more than a harmless kindergarten teacher. The thought alone could make his stomach ache from how much he wished to laugh, if only it was that simple. Sharing a personal space, it was intimate in a way that Satoru hadn’t been accustomed to in what felt like a lifetime, the scattered physics books && manga, the lull of the television softly speaking, tea - prepared with a hint of citrus to offset the bitter herbal taste. A hand reaches out that briefly feels like static or was it just a dream? Pale digits that move unceremoniously, stroking away a lock of hair.

The docks were unusually quiet today. Air rich with dampened wood and the sweet sound of minuscule wake's rolling through the water. Anya sat on the dock by her lonesome, a cigarette hanging between her fingers. The water lapped at abandoned vessels, creeping like quiet spirits forgotten. She wasn't sure why but she needed a moment. Perhaps the restlessness that always settled in when she had nothing to do. She took a drag of her smoke, it's tendrils curling from her lips. Sharp eyes danced across the waves. It always felt alive here, in ways it didn't in other parts of Arcadia. Watchful almost.

She glanced at a nearby boat. A small and weathered thing with peeling paint and a clever, well thought-out name. And for a moment she wondered what it would be like to drift off into the horizon. Would she end up somewhere new? Or would it just traipse her in circles until the docks eventually reappeared -- laughing at her futile attempts. Something she hadn't tried yet, not in all of her nine years here. Anya wasn't sure if she was bored enough yet to see how it turned out.

            ‘ IT’S MINE BY RIGHT ‘ weary, battered, tired from the heaviness within her bones she shows no hesitation unflinching as she is unyielding. Her small nose twitches, wrinkling as the pull of her scar enhances, the grasp upon the mantle refuses to relinquish. It’s weight should be enough to topple her, a corpse that was scattered, an effigy of a former deity now ravaged through the passage of time. Weaponry forged to pierce the highest summit && slay the Gods, she’s heard the story, thousands of times in hushed whispers && girlish laughs that proclaimed that was an old tale, no one believes in it any more.

              The fire dims, spewing the embers out && all that is left is the burnt carcass where the fragility of a perfect woman stood; she long died in that subway station. Enemy, advisory, friend, alliances, she did not care anymore as the annoying voice proclaimed; victor! 5 points to the Spider Queen. The lance smells like burnt sugar, lavender, sea salt upon the soft winds, she would not part with it, it was one of few possessions she would call her own. In an act of defiance, a cocky smirk, the stabbing methodical voice piercing deep in her coarse lilt as she taunts.