#wiltedmuses

@rhythmicroses.

IMPRISONED BY FATE  —  so seemed to be the sentiment what all in Wonderland were destined to kneel beneath the shackles of.  Perhaps none quite so literally as others, but the weight of his own curse weighs heavy on his heart as he watches his home die under the bloodied claws of a demonic tyrant. The concept of confiding his troubles in others is not something he was unfamiliar with, but those he trusted were long gone from the kingdom that now acted as his prison. His king is on the run and the rabbit that they all had followed at one point or another had chased off to rewrite fate in its entirety. Were he more blatant about his sentimentality, he’d have laughed at the thought. As such, he simply smiled, a bit too sad for his tastes.

“There’s no crueler fate than one that makes you fear it cannot be changed.”  It is a difficult subject, isn’t it? To believe that fate can change but to live forced to endure it. Were his curse anything else, he believes he would be able to break it through sheer force alone. But it isn’t. And he cannot.  “I am sure you are strong enough to break free, if you truly want to. There is no fate in this world that can be a prison forever. Destiny can always be changed.”  Even his own, though he knew not how. They are not him, however, and for that fact alone he has far more faith in them than himself.  “Do you wish to hear my troubles? Is that a command to tell you?”

RE  :  & UNPROMPTED.

FLOWERS  ,  REAL AND BLOOMING AND UNTAINTED  by the Queen’s rot now spreading throughout the veins of Wonderland. It has been long since he has seen flowers that are not wilted, if only due to how rarely he leaves the confines of his destitute shadows. A sad reality for a world once vibrant and full of life, but a reality none-the-less. He knows of only one who would leave such a gift for him when the cultists who curse his name are otherwise shackled elsewhere. He holds them out from himself, as if part of him thinks he may cause the flora to wilt. That is not the case. He will find a place to put them, for as long as they may yet live. Alice is a brave soul, or at least a dull minded one.

“  ...  hm.”

Perhaps rarer than finding a spot of sanity itself in this realm, he hums, his voice deep and hoarse as he regards the note written for him. There are precious few in this world who would invite the Jabberwocky into their space. Even less who would do so full well knowing his every intent to kill them when the time comes. And yet.

He should not be so simple to lure with the promise of pages filled with ink. One would think him the Dormouse, how he follows the trail of written pages. The fact remains he would have sought Alice out regardless. It is not difficult for him, not when the Rabbit isn’t hovering around. Having a carrot dangled in front of his face is a shot to his pride, mayhaps, but one he would welcome regardless. He prefers the company of novels. He sighs, slow and steady, but steels himself regardless. So be it. From the mists of nothing, his wings stretch out behind him as he dissipates into the shadows. The time for sacrifice is not yet come. For the time being, he would humor the man. What harm could it really do.

@wiltedmuses​ said:  A red-haired girl suddenly dragged herself out of the cold waters, coughing up a mixture of water and blood, the same crimson which stained the front of her shirt. She couldn't breathe because she was coughing so much, and the poor thing was getting blood everywhere. ( chise for hx owo )

  He  Xuan  looked  with  mild  disinterest  at  the  soul  that  crawled  out  onto  the  shore.  She  looked  like  a  fish  with  damaged  gills  ,  suffocating  on  a  mix  of  water  and  air  in  the  element  that  was  supposed  to  offer  her  refuge.  He  Xuan  might  not  be  outright  as  malicious  as  some  ghosts  who  would  simply  eat  her  up  here  and  now  ,  but  he  was  not  kind  either.

It was another quiet night in Mondstadt for Sucrose, walking the evening streets with a will and a way. With the cover of the night, it'd be all that much easier to locate the telltale glow of dandelions hidden in the Windrise grasses, just waiting to be collected and preserved.

Perhaps a little infamously known for their habit of fixation, it was all the more unusual when the researcher pulled up short of the city's side exit, ears attuned suddenly to the distant sound of crowding up at the cathedral. Hesitating, they peered back through the gateway they'd been intending to cross through, already picking out a promising blue light emanating from the distant shore of the encompassing lake. It'd be foolish to abandon a goal before it even began. However...

Their feet took them to the cathedral before they could think thrice, telling themself it'd just be another few minutes before they conquered all the dandelions in Teyvat. After all, you don't hear twilight gatherings very often.

The source of all the bustle outside the church made things all the more interesting. It was none other than everyone's beloved idol, Barbara, finishing up a spontaneous performance for the assembled civilians. Personally, Sucrose had never really been one for the music scene, preferring the quiet of a good book to the stereos of a stage. They'd never really taken an interest in the local talent as a result, and wasn't particularly compelled to make an effort to understand. Seeing the end of the show didn't necessarily change that opinion, either.

The coming frosts had put a lot of work on Sucrose's table. Although the lab specimens themselves were perfectly sheltered from the cold, the researcher's experimental garden had no such privilege. Most times of the year, the easy breezes of Mondstadt offered no threat to the flowers Sucrose would cultivate for later research. But even in the city of freedom, nothing is eternal...

That's what they told themself as they sighed over another wilted sweet flower, prodding the the head of the bloom dejectedly as they carried it in a temporary pot across Mondstadt. It was only a matter of time before their melancholy mood intervened with their usually attentive focus-

"Oh!"

Oh so inconsequential. The only thing the lower moon lived for. To cast the joys of despair in the name of his god..

That wavering melody that spills so weightily from every word the other utters makes him want to chuckle aloud. This world’s cruelty was truly so beautiful and unyielding.

So wrapped up within their own odd little plays of ‘happiness,’ plays of ‘despair’. Masks of faux courage and forgiveness sewn so deeply within frail skin. And yet blissfully ignorant of those hideous cracks lingering just beneath.

Unaware of just how very easily one could shatter a person’s heart, their pride. Everything they held most precious and dear, clutching closely within this tiny cage of a world.

Honied purrs filling that deathly hush once more. Every murmur escaping akin to heady drops of sweet venom..

Porcelain fangs peeking behind a tilted smile…

Garry’s can feel his breath catch in his throat as he just about manages to stammer out the name.

It can’t be. There’s no way. Yet the girl standing before Garry is... undeniably, Mary - the living paining who’d tried to kill him and Ib two years before. The one he’d killed himself. In the real world!!

Garry suddenly feels an overwhelming nausea flood through him, as his palms begin to sweat, and he’s overwhelmed by fear. It’s a fear so raw that he wants to run away, to do anything he can to escape it, yet he can’t seem to move - rooted to the spot as he stares at this little girl who’s been the source of his nightmares for so long.

He’d always feared that it wasn’t over. That the gallery still had some kind of grip on him, even after he’d escaped with Ib. But he’d told himself over and over that that was his paranoia talking... and yet...!

“How... how are you here!?”