sticks and bones. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sticksandbonesmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sticksandbones2026-05-01 12:05 pm
sticksandbonesmods) wrote in sticksandbones2026-05-01 12:05 pm
Please use the following form for investigations:
Character(s):
Location:
Action: What are they looking for? What are they doing?
Character(s):
Location:
Action: What are they looking for? What are they doing?
Edited 2026-05-01 16:37 (UTC)
For the magical handcuffs, there’s a space limit of six feet, but is there a corporeal feel to the psychic “chain” connecting the two bracelets, or is it just entirely intangible? I ask because if it’s the former, I know of at least one duo that’s going to use the chain to strangle a minotaur
To quote Amity: It only becomes tangible if they keep trying to separate, AND they said you have to link them the thread lol
Character(s): Pavlova Cookie
Location: Probably in the cookie house, avoiding the rain
Action: Its time for monthly vision!
Location: Probably in the cookie house, avoiding the rain
Action: Its time for monthly vision!
This is my first time experiencing a memshare as a baby Dreamwidther, so I was wondering about the interactivity within the memory? Will the person in question be able to interact with any part of the memory, or will it be strictly observation? Or is that something you're able to outline freely when you're writing out a toplevel?
Pavlova Cookie // Cookie Run Kingdom // Current Player + Muse
lovelyredthread
2026-05-01 07:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Without End ♡1》 cw emotional manipulation, abuse, general disturbing themes
[ The memory seems to reach out to those who approach with the sweet scent of sugar and fruit, almost cloyingly so. Enticed further in, it’s… vibrant. The sun shines, warming the skin as they lay there, and a hand strokes through their hair. All is calm, birdsong and a woman’s humming filling the silence. Taking in the surroundings is hard, you’re so sleepy… but it’s easy to make out flowers and the babble of a juice stream somewhere nearby. The pale tones of sugar statues peek through the greens and pinks of the Garden. It’s beautiful, but something weighs heavily at the back of your mind. Something’s wrong. What is it? ]
Isn’t it lovely here, Pavlova Cookie? Now no one will know pain or fear again. They’ll be safe here. You’ll help me, won’t you?
[ She doesn’t wait for an answer, or perhaps acceptance was implied. ]
You’re such a good boy.
[ The humming and petting continue, view restricted to where Pavlova lay with his head in his mother’s lap. Between blinks the surroundings change. A cookie distressed as their limbs harden, contorting into a sugar statue. The garden animals hunting each other, countless jars filled with jam, sleeping cookies preserved inside, the slow descent into madness of some of their guests. The sweet scent seems fit to suffocate as it goes on. ]
It’s so sad, isn’t it? I wonder why they would want to leave. They’ll be back, don’t you worry.
[ The sound of scissors snipping slowly begins near their ears, soft feather tips falling past their face. ]
It’s for your safety, just hold still darling. Besides, you don’t need to fly in the garden.
You’d never leave me, right, Pavlova Cookie?
[ And then the view changes, looking up. The woman is angelic at first, kind eyes, a gentle smile, pink swirls of hair that frame her face… But it melts away and suddenly the warmth is gone, eyes sharp and looking for any hint of dissent. The smile remains, but it no longer reads as love, but as a promise. Perhaps not intentional, but a threat all the same. It’s still her, but changed. His head tucks, eyes averting. ]
… Of course, Eternal Sugar Cookie. Who would ever… want to leave the Garden?
Into the Unknown ♡2》
[ Having had a vision last month relating to his mother, he’s not surprised that he’s found himself in some kind of distressing situation. It was only a matter of time, especially with those creepy lights having lingered around the town for as long as they did. Even so, complete, all consuming darkness is even more terrifying than he could have assumed. It takes him a moment to find the bracelet and put it on just by virtue of assuming he’s gone blind somehow.
The rush of feelings that aren’t his have his hackles raising at once. Sure he might be naturally in tune with such things, but it was never this acute. ]
– What’s going on?
[ Realistically, he doesn’t expect anyone to know, but sue him for feeling threatened by this. ]
Wildcard ♡3》
[ If you’re after a different memory or something more low key we can tackle it here! He does have some less intense memories running around as well. Just poke me on plotting post or in discord if you want something nicer. ]
[ The memory seems to reach out to those who approach with the sweet scent of sugar and fruit, almost cloyingly so. Enticed further in, it’s… vibrant. The sun shines, warming the skin as they lay there, and a hand strokes through their hair. All is calm, birdsong and a woman’s humming filling the silence. Taking in the surroundings is hard, you’re so sleepy… but it’s easy to make out flowers and the babble of a juice stream somewhere nearby. The pale tones of sugar statues peek through the greens and pinks of the Garden. It’s beautiful, but something weighs heavily at the back of your mind. Something’s wrong. What is it? ]
Isn’t it lovely here, Pavlova Cookie? Now no one will know pain or fear again. They’ll be safe here. You’ll help me, won’t you?
[ She doesn’t wait for an answer, or perhaps acceptance was implied. ]
You’re such a good boy.
[ The humming and petting continue, view restricted to where Pavlova lay with his head in his mother’s lap. Between blinks the surroundings change. A cookie distressed as their limbs harden, contorting into a sugar statue. The garden animals hunting each other, countless jars filled with jam, sleeping cookies preserved inside, the slow descent into madness of some of their guests. The sweet scent seems fit to suffocate as it goes on. ]
It’s so sad, isn’t it? I wonder why they would want to leave. They’ll be back, don’t you worry.
[ The sound of scissors snipping slowly begins near their ears, soft feather tips falling past their face. ]
It’s for your safety, just hold still darling. Besides, you don’t need to fly in the garden.
You’d never leave me, right, Pavlova Cookie?
[ And then the view changes, looking up. The woman is angelic at first, kind eyes, a gentle smile, pink swirls of hair that frame her face… But it melts away and suddenly the warmth is gone, eyes sharp and looking for any hint of dissent. The smile remains, but it no longer reads as love, but as a promise. Perhaps not intentional, but a threat all the same. It’s still her, but changed. His head tucks, eyes averting. ]
… Of course, Eternal Sugar Cookie. Who would ever… want to leave the Garden?
Into the Unknown ♡2》
[ Having had a vision last month relating to his mother, he’s not surprised that he’s found himself in some kind of distressing situation. It was only a matter of time, especially with those creepy lights having lingered around the town for as long as they did. Even so, complete, all consuming darkness is even more terrifying than he could have assumed. It takes him a moment to find the bracelet and put it on just by virtue of assuming he’s gone blind somehow.
The rush of feelings that aren’t his have his hackles raising at once. Sure he might be naturally in tune with such things, but it was never this acute. ]
– What’s going on?
[ Realistically, he doesn’t expect anyone to know, but sue him for feeling threatened by this. ]
Wildcard ♡3》
[ If you’re after a different memory or something more low key we can tackle it here! He does have some less intense memories running around as well. Just poke me on plotting post or in discord if you want something nicer. ]
It's usually observing, though the prompt may specify if it's as an outsider or from a first person perspective! If a memshsare event includes interacting with the memories, we will specify!
Castorice | Honkai: Star Rail | Current Player, New Character
deathgripped
2026-05-01 08:20 pm (UTC)(link)
i. From Childhood’s Hour I have Not Been — Wake Up
[Castorice, by some chance, is not facing anyone directly when she arrives. This is not a good thing.
Her body is positioned facing away, hands gripping her scythe as she wields it in a vicious uppercut. Beneath the sharp edge of the blade, reality itself seems to tear apart, and for a split second, violet eyes can be seen beyond the rift she starts to open.
Luckily, she seems to realize the shift. She turns abruptly, and whatever spell she had been wielding, whatever reality bending magic was at work, seems to dissipate, albeit with a slightly alarmed chuff.
Immediately, the tone shifts. The scythe disappears in a wash of purple, petal-like particles. Her hands fold in front of her, and she gives a gentle bow.]
My apologies. I do not know what came over me, or - [Her eyes dart around, finally taking in her surroundings.] … Where I happen to be, actually.
ii. My Sorrow—I Could Not Awaken — A Lantern Hanging in the Tree
[Stumbling into Castorice’s lantern means finding yourself in one of two memories.
In the first, a graveyard — filled with headstones as far as the eye can see — sits beneath a dreary sky of clouds that threaten rain. The cloaked Castorice stands before a withered and elderly woman. The latter takes the former’s hand into hers, almost immediately sparking a reaction upon her skin. Bit by bit, she seems to erode away, all while Castorice watches in horror, silent tears turning to outright sobs as she kneels down and embraces the woman. Tender though the touch is, it only exacerbates the process.
In a matter of seconds, Castorice is the only one who remains.
The second, though filled with flowers within an old amphitheatre, is no less morose than the first. Castorice stands before a man — perhaps familiar, perhaps not. Again and again they clash, forms twisting and transforming. The memory seems to overlap with itself, twisting around its own vision. It is hard to keep track of how many times it happens, or how many memories exist within the memory.
Do you help? Or do you watch the horror play out? Perhaps there is no right answer.]
iii. From the Lightning in the Sky — Somber Rainy Mornings
[Unnerving though her arrival might have been, Castorice tries to make the best of it. As the beautiful bird flies overhead, Castorice quickly pulls her teleslate out. She snaps as many pictures as she can, beautiful bursting things rife with color. Aurora isn’t the only victim, though. Those that find themselves doused by the beautiful rains will have the colorful case turned upon them. So many pictures of so many people — all things she simply must make up for.
If any attention flits to her, she offers a sheepish little smile.]
It is such a beautiful sight. I don’t think I could bare not remembering it. But if you wish for me to delete the photo itself, I can.
iv. When the Rest of Heaven was Blue — Wildcard
[Wildcard, you know what to do! DM me your ideas, or just hit me up with whatever.]
[Castorice, by some chance, is not facing anyone directly when she arrives. This is not a good thing.
Her body is positioned facing away, hands gripping her scythe as she wields it in a vicious uppercut. Beneath the sharp edge of the blade, reality itself seems to tear apart, and for a split second, violet eyes can be seen beyond the rift she starts to open.
Luckily, she seems to realize the shift. She turns abruptly, and whatever spell she had been wielding, whatever reality bending magic was at work, seems to dissipate, albeit with a slightly alarmed chuff.
Immediately, the tone shifts. The scythe disappears in a wash of purple, petal-like particles. Her hands fold in front of her, and she gives a gentle bow.]
My apologies. I do not know what came over me, or - [Her eyes dart around, finally taking in her surroundings.] … Where I happen to be, actually.
ii. My Sorrow—I Could Not Awaken — A Lantern Hanging in the Tree
[Stumbling into Castorice’s lantern means finding yourself in one of two memories.
In the first, a graveyard — filled with headstones as far as the eye can see — sits beneath a dreary sky of clouds that threaten rain. The cloaked Castorice stands before a withered and elderly woman. The latter takes the former’s hand into hers, almost immediately sparking a reaction upon her skin. Bit by bit, she seems to erode away, all while Castorice watches in horror, silent tears turning to outright sobs as she kneels down and embraces the woman. Tender though the touch is, it only exacerbates the process.
In a matter of seconds, Castorice is the only one who remains.
The second, though filled with flowers within an old amphitheatre, is no less morose than the first. Castorice stands before a man — perhaps familiar, perhaps not. Again and again they clash, forms twisting and transforming. The memory seems to overlap with itself, twisting around its own vision. It is hard to keep track of how many times it happens, or how many memories exist within the memory.
Do you help? Or do you watch the horror play out? Perhaps there is no right answer.]
iii. From the Lightning in the Sky — Somber Rainy Mornings
[Unnerving though her arrival might have been, Castorice tries to make the best of it. As the beautiful bird flies overhead, Castorice quickly pulls her teleslate out. She snaps as many pictures as she can, beautiful bursting things rife with color. Aurora isn’t the only victim, though. Those that find themselves doused by the beautiful rains will have the colorful case turned upon them. So many pictures of so many people — all things she simply must make up for.
If any attention flits to her, she offers a sheepish little smile.]
It is such a beautiful sight. I don’t think I could bare not remembering it. But if you wish for me to delete the photo itself, I can.
iv. When the Rest of Heaven was Blue — Wildcard
[Wildcard, you know what to do! DM me your ideas, or just hit me up with whatever.]
It's not a vision of dread this time! As the images drift into his mind, he'll see... candy? Is that watermelon carved like a jack-o-lantern? Everything seems light and fun, for the most part. What a relief!
[It's incredibly surreal to experience a vision like this. A strange memory, because it shows him two very conflicting feelings. Eternal Sugar Cookie is one of the Beasts, one of his colleagues, and someone he cares about intrinsically. While his motivations for a very long time are self serving in nature, he too, did many things for them as well. He freed them all from the tree, after all, not just himself. Earthbread was theirs, not just his. The Beasts were as close to family as he knew, in a misery loves company kind of way.]
[Of course he knew of her faults, her corruption, the way her virtue twisted itself, but then to see it be used on Pavlova in this way, after all this time, after he's been allowed the chance to actually be a father to him, it makes something sour churn in him. He isn't so sure he likes this thing where he has to experience empathy. It makes him uncertain and he hates that more than anything.]
[Once it's gone, he takes a deep breath, and looks to find Pavlova.]
Cherub?
[Of course he knew of her faults, her corruption, the way her virtue twisted itself, but then to see it be used on Pavlova in this way, after all this time, after he's been allowed the chance to actually be a father to him, it makes something sour churn in him. He isn't so sure he likes this thing where he has to experience empathy. It makes him uncertain and he hates that more than anything.]
[Once it's gone, he takes a deep breath, and looks to find Pavlova.]
Cherub?
[As a child of Remembrance, it's easy enough to see when you've found yourself within the depths of a memory — as the author who penned the pages of the epic that is Amphoreus, it's easier yet still to grasp the context of this one in particular.
She finds herself standing before the Castorice of memory, and her reaction is immediate, no hesitation in her actions despite what devastation the memory had shown. After all, she knew the truth of it all: after cycle upon cycle of her being Death's Maiden, there was nothing to fear in Castorice's touch any longer.
She reaches out and takes the demigod's hands in her own. A warm and loving touch, a gentle squeeze.
And then she blinks, the memory clearing from her vision like dust upon the wind. Yet here Castorice still stood in reality, with Cyrene suddenly grasping her hands, seemingly in a trance before the haze of memory left her gaze. There's a short pause before her surprise and mild confusion makes way for happiness, her expression softening with a gentle smile.]
Why, hello there, stranger. ♪
She finds herself standing before the Castorice of memory, and her reaction is immediate, no hesitation in her actions despite what devastation the memory had shown. After all, she knew the truth of it all: after cycle upon cycle of her being Death's Maiden, there was nothing to fear in Castorice's touch any longer.
She reaches out and takes the demigod's hands in her own. A warm and loving touch, a gentle squeeze.
And then she blinks, the memory clearing from her vision like dust upon the wind. Yet here Castorice still stood in reality, with Cyrene suddenly grasping her hands, seemingly in a trance before the haze of memory left her gaze. There's a short pause before her surprise and mild confusion makes way for happiness, her expression softening with a gentle smile.]
Why, hello there, stranger. ♪
[For as vivid as the memory had felt, it is wiped away so easily. In an instant, it smears like ink beneath a droplet of water, like journaled words washed away by tears. As she blinks the last vestiges away, the overwhelming presence of vivid pink and hope incarnate seems to wash over Castorice. The sensation is simultaneously both nostalgic and alien, something that should have been but never was.
A hand lifts, almost hesitantly carding away the residual tears. Part of her fears that the prismatic essence before her will be dispelled as well. But when she opens her eyes fully, she is relieved to find that the sensation is more brilliant than ever.
Despite all that she has already experienced in this world, the sight of Cyrene feels more impossible than anything. Immediately, her throat tightens, and the previous urge to wrap her arms around something returns in spades.]
How are you - [Something prickles at the back of her mind, a reminder that she had only just been caught in an illusion.] Is this real, Miss Cyrene?
A hand lifts, almost hesitantly carding away the residual tears. Part of her fears that the prismatic essence before her will be dispelled as well. But when she opens her eyes fully, she is relieved to find that the sensation is more brilliant than ever.
Despite all that she has already experienced in this world, the sight of Cyrene feels more impossible than anything. Immediately, her throat tightens, and the previous urge to wrap her arms around something returns in spades.]
How are you - [Something prickles at the back of her mind, a reminder that she had only just been caught in an illusion.] Is this real, Miss Cyrene?
iii (i need this interaction more than i need cohesion)
lilyberation
2026-05-02 01:39 am (UTC)(link)
( she has had... quite the month, it seems. and yet, the iridescent rain and the rainbows that follow are truly beautiful. the soothing weather is more than welcome, and the lily that's been returned to her hair seems to be thriving as she basks in her garden. its only when vernal beeps curiously that she opens her tired eyes and looks over to the girl. )
... No, I don't mind... but surely there are lovelier things to photograph. Unless you wanted Vernal...?
... No, I don't mind... but surely there are lovelier things to photograph. Unless you wanted Vernal...?
[It's been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week to be the Deliverer, to say the least.
Between the rising tensions between the Council of Elders and those committed to the Flame-Chase, and the dwindling number of allies left within the holy city of Okhema in the wake of his comrades devoting themselves to their respective roles, it was no wonder that Phainon had already found himself stretched the thinnest he could manage while still maintaining some manner of functionality. And that was before...
Well. Before he'd found himself thrust into the daunting role of leadership in the wake of yet another one of this journey's constant losses.
If he thought too hard on the events that led up to the attack on the very pillar of the sky themself, it was liable to crack his already precarious foundation of resolve. Details would need to be pushed aside until a later date, when the time to mourn properly arrived.
If it ever did. The Era Nova was a close, tangible thing now, after having vanquished the once many-eyed Aquila. Worldbearing was the only piece of that puzzle still missing, and yet, before he had been able to step forward to claim the Throne of Worlds for the sake of all those he cherished deep within his heart... He'd ended up here.
Wherever "here" was. He was still unsure of the specifics, only that this was a land entirely unfamiliar to the one of his birth. The feeling of such displacement was not entirely foreign to him, yet this was perhaps the strongest he'd ever felt it. Still, it would not do to sit idly by, passively accepting this new development without even a single attempt at proactivity. Which meant investigating!
...And, to be completely honest, the circumstances of him coming into contact with one of those floating motes of golden light contained a lot less fanfare than they probably should have. Simply put: he hadn't been paying attention, and had walked into it by accident.
What had followed was a flood of impossible memories, buried so deep within his body they felt stitched onto his very bones. The weight of Dawnmaker in his grip, the heft of familiar swings he was certain he'd never given, yet was watching them play out before his very eyes.
His eyes. Yet... Not.
Watching a murder — because what else could it have been called? — take place would have been one thing. Watching it from the eyes of one of his closest friends, seeing his own face behind the blade, and knowing he had been her killer?
Why can't he remember this?
He should be able to remember it.
There's static in his vision, a throbbing deep in his skull, and when he shakes his head to try and clear the fog of confusion, Phainon finds himself... Not where he had been when the ordeal had begun. Instead he is standing like a looming shade of ill-omen not far from Castorice herself, the murder weapon clutched tight in the sword-sure grip of a seasoned warrior.
Revulsion writhes deep in his gut, and Dawnmaker is dropped from his grasp as if it's some terrible, venomous beast poised to bite him next. It lands heavy, and he promptly doubles forward to put his hands on his knees and draw in a shuddering, wheezy inhale.]
Between the rising tensions between the Council of Elders and those committed to the Flame-Chase, and the dwindling number of allies left within the holy city of Okhema in the wake of his comrades devoting themselves to their respective roles, it was no wonder that Phainon had already found himself stretched the thinnest he could manage while still maintaining some manner of functionality. And that was before...
Well. Before he'd found himself thrust into the daunting role of leadership in the wake of yet another one of this journey's constant losses.
If he thought too hard on the events that led up to the attack on the very pillar of the sky themself, it was liable to crack his already precarious foundation of resolve. Details would need to be pushed aside until a later date, when the time to mourn properly arrived.
If it ever did. The Era Nova was a close, tangible thing now, after having vanquished the once many-eyed Aquila. Worldbearing was the only piece of that puzzle still missing, and yet, before he had been able to step forward to claim the Throne of Worlds for the sake of all those he cherished deep within his heart... He'd ended up here.
Wherever "here" was. He was still unsure of the specifics, only that this was a land entirely unfamiliar to the one of his birth. The feeling of such displacement was not entirely foreign to him, yet this was perhaps the strongest he'd ever felt it. Still, it would not do to sit idly by, passively accepting this new development without even a single attempt at proactivity. Which meant investigating!
...And, to be completely honest, the circumstances of him coming into contact with one of those floating motes of golden light contained a lot less fanfare than they probably should have. Simply put: he hadn't been paying attention, and had walked into it by accident.
What had followed was a flood of impossible memories, buried so deep within his body they felt stitched onto his very bones. The weight of Dawnmaker in his grip, the heft of familiar swings he was certain he'd never given, yet was watching them play out before his very eyes.
His eyes. Yet... Not.
Watching a murder — because what else could it have been called? — take place would have been one thing. Watching it from the eyes of one of his closest friends, seeing his own face behind the blade, and knowing he had been her killer?
Why can't he remember this?
He should be able to remember it.
There's static in his vision, a throbbing deep in his skull, and when he shakes his head to try and clear the fog of confusion, Phainon finds himself... Not where he had been when the ordeal had begun. Instead he is standing like a looming shade of ill-omen not far from Castorice herself, the murder weapon clutched tight in the sword-sure grip of a seasoned warrior.
Revulsion writhes deep in his gut, and Dawnmaker is dropped from his grasp as if it's some terrible, venomous beast poised to bite him next. It lands heavy, and he promptly doubles forward to put his hands on his knees and draw in a shuddering, wheezy inhale.]
[Contrary to Lily's own beliefs, Castorice finds her to be a picture. The flowers that bloom within her hair are beautiful, as is the way that she holds herself. Paired with the colors blooming around her, she seems akin to a beautiful spring day.]
N-no, not at all - ! [Her words are quick, if flustered.] Please, Miss. You are beautiful. A-and I need more pictures of people within my teleslate.
N-no, not at all - ! [Her words are quick, if flustered.] Please, Miss. You are beautiful. A-and I need more pictures of people within my teleslate.
[The inhale draws her attention, pulling her from the vestiges of her own terrifying memory. She whips around, fingers instinctively clenching as she prepares to wield her scythe. The motion stops just short as she spies the very same man who had just haunted her own mind.
This is different — she knows that much. At some point within the endless cycles, Khaslana had given way to Phainon of Aedes Elysiae once more. This is the man that had become her closest ally, her dearest friend. And while she cannot fathom what he both does and does not remember, she can at least hazard a guess that whatever he'd just witnessed, it was an unpleasant thing.
(If only she know just how terribly so.)]
Lord Phainon - [Her voice is almost as light as her steps as she crosses the distance between them. She does not think as she extends her hand, laying it upon his shoulder.] Please, you must breathe in... and then hold it. It will be alright.
[She could not even begin to fathom how her very touch might startle. In her mind, he already knows that the affliction of 33 million cycles has been dispelled. It does not once occur to her that this, alone, could be a threat.
How many people had she assured in a similar way before taking their lives, anyway?]
This is different — she knows that much. At some point within the endless cycles, Khaslana had given way to Phainon of Aedes Elysiae once more. This is the man that had become her closest ally, her dearest friend. And while she cannot fathom what he both does and does not remember, she can at least hazard a guess that whatever he'd just witnessed, it was an unpleasant thing.
(If only she know just how terribly so.)]
Lord Phainon - [Her voice is almost as light as her steps as she crosses the distance between them. She does not think as she extends her hand, laying it upon his shoulder.] Please, you must breathe in... and then hold it. It will be alright.
[She could not even begin to fathom how her very touch might startle. In her mind, he already knows that the affliction of 33 million cycles has been dispelled. It does not once occur to her that this, alone, could be a threat.
How many people had she assured in a similar way before taking their lives, anyway?]
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[ For Pavlova's part, he doesn't seem aware anything's amiss right away. Certainly not aware of what his father had just seen. He's at home, hiding from the bad weather and had just made up some tea. Witches know the other three in the house could use it these days. ]
Dad?
[ And maybe with context how tired he's seemed since remembering everything would make a little more sense. Anyone would be a little numb after watching all of that for as long as he did. ]
... Are you alright?
[ He looks more serious than usual... ]
[Cyrene hums in thought for a moment at the question she had been posed, taking back Castorice's hand in her own after she was done rubbing away the tears from her eyes. Despite their unusual circumstances and peculiar method of meeting, her countenance is light and welcoming, like the gentle moon beams of an evernight, and her gaze stays fixed on the woman in front of her all the while, regarding her fondly. How she wished those beautiful eyes never needed reason to cry again, Cyrene thinks to herself as she formulates her answer.]
Well, we were certainly just in a memory, that I can say for sure. As for the rest—
[She winks.]
I don't know! Exciting, isn't it? It's not every day we turn the page to an entirely new chapter of possibilities.
Well, we were certainly just in a memory, that I can say for sure. As for the rest—
[She winks.]
I don't know! Exciting, isn't it? It's not every day we turn the page to an entirely new chapter of possibilities.
[Lost in her own thoughts as she had been, Castorice had almost forgotten that her hand had not been in her own possession. By the time she had the chance to mourn the loss, Cyrene takes it back once more. A silent prayer is cast to Kephale on instinct alone, before remembering just how strange the whole thing has become.]
I - [What does she say? Words land upon her tongue and flit away once more, not unlike the butterflies that followed in her wake. Thankfully, a handful manage to stick before long.] It is. Exciting, I mean.
[A careful smile threads over her lips. She lays the opposite palm over the back of Cyrene's, sandwiching it between the other.]
... I was never able to thank you properly. For everything you gave us, I mean.
I - [What does she say? Words land upon her tongue and flit away once more, not unlike the butterflies that followed in her wake. Thankfully, a handful manage to stick before long.] It is. Exciting, I mean.
[A careful smile threads over her lips. She lays the opposite palm over the back of Cyrene's, sandwiching it between the other.]
... I was never able to thank you properly. For everything you gave us, I mean.
[It's her voice that serves as his warning, and as he tilts his head back just enough to peer through the flop of hair across his eyes, his gaze zeroes in on the steady approach of her hand.
Well... Honestly, given what he's just seen, that's probably a fair response.
The muscles of his shoulders tense and draw higher, but he sucks in a shaky breath as commanded all the same.
And then... He waits.
For the chill of an inevitable death to seep into his marrow, for the swaying of golden wheat to flash across his vision like an afterimage of his own existence. A gentle mercy at the hand of a dear friend.
It never comes.
The exhale is surprisingly even more ragged than the inhale had been, the view of her standing above blurring into hazy hues of purple before Phainon is able to remember how to blink. Twice more after the first. Then a third time, for good measure.
This might in fact be the most confusing moment of his life.]
Castorice, your...
Well... Honestly, given what he's just seen, that's probably a fair response.
The muscles of his shoulders tense and draw higher, but he sucks in a shaky breath as commanded all the same.
And then... He waits.
For the chill of an inevitable death to seep into his marrow, for the swaying of golden wheat to flash across his vision like an afterimage of his own existence. A gentle mercy at the hand of a dear friend.
It never comes.
The exhale is surprisingly even more ragged than the inhale had been, the view of her standing above blurring into hazy hues of purple before Phainon is able to remember how to blink. Twice more after the first. Then a third time, for good measure.
This might in fact be the most confusing moment of his life.]
Castorice, your...
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