[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...
✧ — IT'S BEEN SO LONG, I'M SO SORRY. HAVE 6K WORDS AS A TREAT.
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𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁
ॱ० ❛♛ ॱॱ ✦ॱ ॰ॱ ໌ ॑ ०ॱ໋ ✸ ✦࡞ ॱ❜ ✶०ॱ ✩♚໋ॱ
MADAME MORGANA had been acting strangely ever since Tristabelle discussed freeing the dead. It had been a week or two since then. Lessons had slowed, giving Tristabelle more time to think and to study the dead lingering in the castle (as well as do her work. She owed her given time, after all). The more the poppet asked, the more bothered Morgana became. That indicated that it was most likely time to stop. Tristabelle looked for resources elsewhere.
All the while, though, Morgana still acted strangely. She buried herself in her own resources rather than doing work at her leisure. She was busy with... something. It could have been anything. In her fashion, the soulscent, curious Tristabelle was forever curious and suddenly stubborn.
She had been quieter than usual when spending time with Cherith in the courtyards. They had been spending most of their leisure time with one another whenever they could as of late. Tristabelle felt more comfortable in her presence over time, considering this strange princess to be a friend.
"What's on your mind?" Cherith ended up asking rather than moping over how Tristabelle missed training today. The knights were equipped with new weapons this morning — Tristabelle missing that out of all days was simply unfortunate. "You've been staring at that one page for ages."
"It's nothing important," was all Tristabelle replied with. Her hands were glued to a spellbook on her lap, eyes wandering the words on the pages. She and the princess were sitting down on a bench facing a peculiar row of small statues. They were small busts of previous kings and queens which were supported on fairly tall beams of rock.
Cherith moved closer, ever so innocently. "You know you can tell me." Wrapping an arm around the poppet's shoulders, she took a closer look at the book pages. There were sketches of feathers, scribbled musings, and heavy notes about death even Tristabelle was confused by. Death was an esoteric study.
"It's nothing." Tristabelle's eyes remained on the pages, deadpanned. She was on a section about magical birds, and her eyes were on a paragraph about Simurgh.
"You're still discouraged by the castle ghost? Isn't he a castle ghost for a reason?" The princess wondered out loud. She had been the one to tell Tristabelle about Ruslan's existence. Apparently, he and the princess had been good friends for quite some time. "He taught me as a child sometimes. Father was surprised to learn that I was able to outdo the other knights."
After a beat, the poppet gave in. "He has been dead for too long." She frowned, leaning into Cherith's touch. "You know what is ironic? The Simurgh is representative of a trapped soul. According to psalms my mother recalled, death sets the caged bird of a soul free. Yet, he is dead, and he is trapped within your father's walls."
