11-01-2020, 05:51 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-01-2020, 06:00 PM by Evenstar.
Edit Reason: trying to get rid of the giant space in her post but clearly its never going away
)
It is not often that she gives in to all the strange pulls of this land. It tugs its strings and whispers its songs, but Evenstar largely ignores it all. Her mind is haunted enough with its own ghosts that she does not feel compelled to seek out the ghosts of others, but tonight is different. There is something else that hums on the breeze, the breeze that tugs and pulls at the white locks of her mane and seems to crook a shadowed finger as it beckons her from the secluded part of the forest she has sheltered herself in.
She follows it, moonlight falling silver and glowing along the jade-green of her skin, caressing the unsightly scars that decorate her sides from the alien's claws. The breeze leads her to the gates of the afterlife, and she feels her pulse quicken. Is her father here? She has not seen him in years; a fact that she always – sometimes subconsciously, sometimes in a way that is more tangible – blames on her mother. But she dashes her own hope as quickly as she had conjured it, knowing that with the gates open if Skellig had died, he would have returned. Evenstar refuses to think that her father would willingly leave her abandoned in this world unless he had no choice.
Her dark eyes focus now on the figure that looms in the doorway, blinking away her confusion at its rather sudden question. She is silent as she mulls it over, and she does nothing to veil the suspicion in her eyes since she finds it unlikely a gatekeeper of the afterlife would be handing out anything that could be considered a treat. “Trick,” she says carefully, already wondering if she would regret this.
She follows it, moonlight falling silver and glowing along the jade-green of her skin, caressing the unsightly scars that decorate her sides from the alien's claws. The breeze leads her to the gates of the afterlife, and she feels her pulse quicken. Is her father here? She has not seen him in years; a fact that she always – sometimes subconsciously, sometimes in a way that is more tangible – blames on her mother. But she dashes her own hope as quickly as she had conjured it, knowing that with the gates open if Skellig had died, he would have returned. Evenstar refuses to think that her father would willingly leave her abandoned in this world unless he had no choice.
Her dark eyes focus now on the figure that looms in the doorway, blinking away her confusion at its rather sudden question. She is silent as she mulls it over, and she does nothing to veil the suspicion in her eyes since she finds it unlikely a gatekeeper of the afterlife would be handing out anything that could be considered a treat. “Trick,” she says carefully, already wondering if she would regret this.