white magic | camren au

always be together (no way)

The following morning – or what she hopes is the morning, anyway; again, her sense of time is, well, different – Camila opens her eyes. Just because ghosts don't need to sleep doesn't mean she can't enjoy the silence by closing her eyes.

She obviously expects to be in the apartment she's come to know because– because that's where she's been every morning so far but– but–

"Where am I?" It comes out even quieter than she intended it to be. She thinks she's scared because, seriously, where is she?

There are white lights floating around her. No, actually, scratch that. They're blue. Or– or are they purple? God, she was bad enough at identifying colors when she was still alive–

Everything is white. Around her. The floor, the walls, the– are they even walls? Is there a floor? It all looks the same. There's no way of telling when one thing ends and the other begins. If there even is anything to end or begin.

Camila turns around. More white. Great. She looks up. Huh. Looks like– blue? The sky, maybe? Clouds?

Is she– okay, no, she cannot possibly be on a cloud, now, can she? That'd be a little– a little over the top, even for her standards. Too dramatic.

She has been walking around as a ghost lately, yes, but– but being stranded on a cloud? Really?

And then there– there are fountains all of a sudden. Old statues. And they're all– all golden. Camila closes her eyes. Surely she must have somehow fallen asleep and is having some kind of a really, really weird dream.

But then again– she knows that ghosts can't sleep, so that basically already rules the dream theory out. Still, what is she– what's she doing here? And where exactly is 'here'?

"Would someone–" Her voice cracks. So ghosts can be anxious. Good to know. "Would someone mind telling me what's going on?" There's an echo. Of course there is. "Where am I?" Seriously now, where the– heaven? hell?– is she? What did she do to get here? Why is she–

"I know you must have a lot of questions," a voice suddenly interrupts her thinking.

Camila puts her arms up in case she has to defend herself. She can't see anybody. She turns. Once. Twice. The deep voice is echoing in her– mind. Or whatever a ghost has. "Who are you? Where– where am I?"

The– the being lets out a laugh. "Forgive me, I forgot I was invisible for a second there."

Sure. Of course. That– that's something one just forgets all the time. Camila turns around just in time to see someone materialize. It's a man with relatively dark skin, dressed in a – what else would it be – white robe. It's long, and it has a few golden twirls on it. Camila looks up at him. He has white hair and a beard. It makes him look kind of old, she decides. (A lot old, she smirks to herself.)

"Of course you did," she chokes out in response to his words. She puts her hands down when she notices that he's probably not going to harm her. How could someone in a white robe harm anyone else? Yeah, no. "Again. Who are you? And what–"

"What are you doing here. Yes. Of course. Come," he gestures to a path in front of them (if one can even call it that; again, everything is white), "I'll show you around."

Showing her around mainly consists of the two of them walking for minutes, hours, days for all Camila can tell, until they meet one more– more being. It's a woman – she has lighter skin than the man – with short blond hair. She's wearing the same robe.