#thelightofcreation

His gaze flickers away, uncomfortably. 

“It may not mean much, but if we are to cross each other’s paths while investigating separately, I will not raise my hand against you- so long as you do not do so to any of those who came into the mirror with us.”

He lifts his gaze to meet hers, expression serene, “I understand that you are somewhat on edge due to some of my... allies," The word is said hesitantly, as if he does not truly believe it's assignment, "So as I am no student, I don’t mind if you do not return the favor.”

“It’s only fair, as my, ah, former companion did the same to you.”

Pretty Face is the next to give her a visit once discussion has concluded. Although he too wears the color that Sonya has been explicitly cautious about, she refuses to avert her gaze from the man of interest. To hopefully get a better grasp of the guy beyond the “pretty” part.

Sonya’s stare is unwavering, even in the faint moments where he cannot seem to muster the courage to keep eyes interlocked. It’s a curious sight to retain for so long. He approached her. So why does he struggle to speak?

It becomes faintly more and more clear as he further discloses his purpose. Sonya begins to smirk in amusement. He talks of her concern of those he seems associated with, to the point of…wanting no mercy should they cross swords? Does the man find himself to be some sort of martyr?

It’s enough to make a grown woman laugh. But laugh she does not. The mage feels the power behind his words. They are sincere.

“...Sephiran, isss it not?” Sonya repeats in spouting rhetorical questions before continuing. “It’s nice to hear immediate unwillingness from another to hold back in this world. In private, no less. What’s your game?”

At first, it appears as if Sonya does not care for the response, slightly beginning to turn her back on Sephiran in an attempt to leave. But she only starts turning partially, keeping one eye tracked on the man despite the covering of purple hair.

“I could care less of your position as a student in the monastery, let alone position in that place at all. And you misunderstand. I do not intend to fully play into whatever role this mirror has reflected unto me. You have my restrain, for the kids and you both. On one condition.”

With a turn in the opposite direction, the Abyssian reveals her right hand out toward the stranger.

okay. so with red flags what basically happens is he-

Inside, a small wooden bird, carved carefully in the shape of a mutual friend. Perhaps to be used as a paperweight, or for its chiseled beak to lift forever towards the sky as decoration.

When she opens her door next it is not Pelleas she finds but a mysterious gift. The box is white and unaddressed but she picks it up gently, in any case, lifting the lid. She is met with two darling black beads for eyes and she almost expects the imitation of her friend to chirp. There is no doubt in her mind now that this was indeed meant for her and putting the box back down she lifts the wooden bird out of its wrapping and fits it in her hand.

A wave of nostalgia hits her at the feel. He truly has made it perfect despite that Yune not being his own. Ever-changing, mischievous, with a thousand faces but a single smile that was the goddess they both knew and loved.

It was easier to accept that now, after seeing this; after having been given this gift. She wonders... when his birthday if, and if returning the gesture would only hurt. Still, she sings -

“You are…” Ah, he never caught a name. “Hermia, no? It’s good to see you again.”

His approach is slow, but not careful enough to catch the hanging mistletoe. “Have you been well?”

'tis the season | accepting!

"Hmm? Oh, hey!" That was...she didn't know his name. Ah, shoot. She'd missed it in the chaos of the show and the rush to get out of there. He played Daire, right? There was no way that was actually his name.

"Yunaka, actually. It would've been kinda scary to end up in that play, playing someone with the same name as me, I think."

His approach is slow, and that gives her enough time to notice just what he's walking towards. Yunaka's eyes widen and she quickly throws her hands out to stop him. "Wait! Wait, wait, wait, don't move!"

“[And who’s fault is that?]” Sephiran doesn’t want to respond. He wants to ignore the white dragon. There was a lot of vitriol trapped in this closet- if he still had any trace of his heritage left, he likely would have fainted by now, from the hostility in such close proximity. And the best way, his thankfully still working mind provided, was to ignore all of this. It was difficult, with how the white dragon liked to talk. He snaps back, slightly irritated, “The feeling is mutual. Now, shall we find a way out, or simply exchange insults until someone opens the door?”

"How would it ever be my fault? You're the one who did this to yourself," Nasir hisses out, the words starting to come easier to their tongue. If the Goddess' light no longer shone down on Sephiran, then it would be his own fault, certainly not theirs.

They shake their head. It's futile to argue about faith with Sephiran of all people. They need to focus on getting out of here before they kill him in a blind rage, focus on getting away from him.

With many of your allies injured in the last mission, the infirmary is completely full. Those who managed to escape without much injury, or those who remained at the monastery this past month can try to alleviate some of the nurses’ work by tending to their friends and loved ones. Or maybe, when no one is watching, you take your chance to rub salt in an old enemy’s wounds.

Was it luck or fate that she’d arrived at this academy at such a turbulent time? An entire cohort of students, professors and knights, returning after a year away. In a flash, the infirmary was packed, and in need of volunteers. Yune could never avoid chaos. 

Her work mostly consisted of running errands, collecting supplies when they were needed. The nurses always thanked her for doing such a good job. Even if they were only doing it out of belief she was merely a child, praise was… nice. 

Today she was helping those with less severe injuries. Though in this case, ‘less severe’ only meant those that hadn’t reported their own deaths (this was a strange place).

Was it luck or fate that she’d arrived at the infirmary the same time he had? She hadn’t seen him since her other half’s defeat. But he had fought on her side, as he had done all those years ago… and she hadn’t had the chance to thank him. 

“I’m glad to see you again.” She spoke softly. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but now was not the time. Not with so many people present. “You returned from the mission in one piece, I see.” Her (their) blessing had protected him in the Tower of Guidance, but she did not know if the weapons of this world were capable of killing him. She hoped she would never find out. 

“I hope you have not suffered too much.” She continued. “I have only heard whispers of what you went through, I will do what I can to ease your pains.” 

maria's very first crush was marth! though she moved on from her puppy crush on him largely before ever coming to garreg mach, hahaha

since she was imprisoned in castle deil at a very young age, and when she was even younger than that her whole world revolved around her brother and sister, i don't think she ever had a crush before she was freed! but after that? a brave and charming prince and his army show up one day to free the princess from the tower? it sounds like something straight out of a fairytale!

he's the first new important figure in her life in a long time, but he's also easy to get along with and very clearly a kind person -- plus he's cute! maria in game makes mention of thinking he's dashing and wanting to see him again. he's the one who saved her and he's someone that her sister trusted to do so -- he's such an overwhelmingly shiny existence to a girl with stars in her eyes, and that part at least never really ends; it just changes

falesia: the disquieting awareness that someone's importance to you and your importance to them may not necessarily match ╱ also sent by @twistedisciple & @resalire

Nel's smile. Nel's laugh.

Nel said—

Nel did—

Nel. Nel. Nel.

He tired of that name, the sound of it, the frequency of it, the immense power it wielded over Nil and ergo Rafal. Today's Nel could not be that different from yesterday's Nel, he snapped at him, do you always have to speak of your sister? But the truth was that no topic he offered in her place could have replaced the immaterial spark she inspired, that thread of animation which connected eyes to lips to heart and brimmed in his brother as life.

"I'm sorry, Rafal. Did I anger you? I'll stop if you tell me." Nil's attention landed upon him with helpful innocence, eager to remedy the issue, but unknowing of the solution, the crux, the problem itself - when he were not speaking of his talented twin already he appeared dimmer. He could not help that. And Rafal could not abate his foreboding.

More aching than jealousy was apology, the other's inability to laugh and look and speak of him in just the same way. It hadn't been 'sorry' that he wanted, it had been equivalence, it had been reassurance; in contests of choice, you would be the one I choose, but Nil would not ever, and he felt this void keenly. Push further and perhaps he would see a ripple in the fabric of their bond. Nil would spook at this strange brother's possessive desire. At worst Rafal would not be able to keep him.

"It's nothing," he amended. "I haven't been sleeping well as of late, is all."

What excuses Nil accepted Rafal did too. He acknowledged the scraps of his allowance. The unfortunate fortune he was given, the emptied honeycomb and dormant wax where another creature had reached first. And it was futile, he knew. He could not compete with a stronger child of Sombron, stronger not merely for her strength but also for her invisibility. Because whatever this undying notion was, the one known as Nel could be named the source; the love in Nil's voice for a name and a face out of sight but never out of mind.

Someone else resided where he wished to be, possessed all that he wished to have, and he arranged himself where sparsity remained. For Nil was his whole.