[𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙨: INCOMPLETE. ongoing, slow updates + being focused on !]
𝐓𝐏𝐊 ━━ "RAINING GHOSTS WILL SOON BE CAMELOT'S CLIMATE AS THE WAR RAGES ON..."
IN WHICH ... two apprentices from polarizing sides find solace with one another as conflict sta...
✧ — 11/20/22; happy birthday to both ghostieurbeexx && me!! thank you all so much for your support of this book && its rewrite over the years. your views are already a gift ♡
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𝗳𝗹𝗮𝘄𝘀, 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗮 𝗅𝗂𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖾.
ॱ० ❛♛ ॱॱ ✦ॱ ॰ॱ ໌ ॑ ०ॱ໋ ✸ ✦࡞ ॱ❜ ✶०ॱ ✩♚໋ॱ
FOR ONCE, Tristabelle acknowledged the spirits and shadows she could see, watching them glissade over the walls like waves of water and bloom into all sorts of shadowy shapes behind noblemen's backs. It had been another month or two since meeting Douxie and Natrix, and the poppet learned that making friends was similar to connecting with the shadows.
They were foreign things, both strangers and shadows, and it takes time to understand their capabilities and pursuits. Over time, Tristabelle learned so much more about her new friends just as she discovered what shadows and specters could really do.
For instance, Natrix grew up in the East, and their parents worked with exorcisms and thaumaturgy. Douxie grew up in villages outside Camelot, his mother being a nomad and taking care of him before her passing.
And for ghosts, they all had many origins. Some died, some were born in the metaphysical realm, some were just enigmatic entities that merely existed in a perpetual state of ghastliness. The shadows had their own lives, too, as creatures of the night, flourishing in the light of the moon. Some were friends, some were foes, and only few could become friends with the dead.
Tristabelle made it her goal to study them and specialize in using their powers. After all, she was a medium all her life even if she didn't do much with her skill at first. The dead were already courteous to her as of late, and she supposed that the mystery tied to them would be an educational pursuit that would do wonders in her studies.
Over the months, Cherith had become a close friend of the poppet's. Through this, they then discovered how Cherith could see ghosts. The answer was this: Cherith witnessed death at immense measures.
She had watched sick soldiers never wake from slumber at physician beds. She was told stories of battle and bloodshed as a child of Arthur Pendragon. She kissed her mother goodnight and slept through her death, torn apart by monsters in the forest at the stroke of midnight. She said her dreams were of flying, falling above lands of snow upon sands.
( Blood upon snowfall — but of course! Why wouldn't it be an answer? A stained childhood, stained in blood and hidden truth, under the façade of winter streams along the village path. )
