"I'll read it out for you." Anne said, handing the cigarette back to you. "Wanted; for breaking and entering and robbery. Unknown bandit seen leaping from a window of a bank in Kempton, may be walking with a limp from the fall. Suspected to be about 5'8" and stocky build. Should any leads arise please contact local authorities." --- You hadn't even seen him there, obscured in the darkness of night - and it was obvious that he hadn't been expecting anyone to come out back. He startled, stumbling away from where he had been leaning, and your heart leapt into your throat, surprised in the worst way possible. So surprised, that you threw the bag of vegetable scraps at him as a form of self defense. The bag bounced harmlessly against the man's chest and landed on the ground. Your eyes darted to it first, but then up to the man you had thrown it at - taking in his features from the light streaming out of the still-open door. He wasn't too tall, but he had the build of someone who had known a farm life before - broad shoulders and muscle made for work, not show. His clothes were practical, and he carried a pack strapped to his back. It was his face that was the most interesting though - he couldn't have been much older than you, and he looked kind, for lack of a better word. Open, almost.

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ'ꜱ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ. ❛𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘺- 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵, 𝘞𝘪𝘭?❜ ❛𝘏𝘮? 𝘖𝘩! 𝘏𝘪! 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺.❜ 𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐭: 𝐎𝐨𝐩𝟒𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐒𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. ... 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴀ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ɴᴇᴡ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ. Dream looked at the dead body, who soon faded away. He blinked, before sighing and going back to L'manberg. Not before grabbing her sword, and most of her belongings she's left behind though. Somewhere rather far away, laid an unconsciousness figure leaning on a tree. She possessed beautiful y/h/c y/h/l hair, which seemed to dance in the light breeze. She wore a clean gray sweatshirt with the initials W.D in bold white letters were in-scripted. The jeans she had on were slightly ripped, and she wore simple sneakers. Her skin was translucent, revealing the oak tree through her arms. She seemed perfectly at peace, and didn't seem to be injured much. There were a few minor scars on her legs that looked to be bleeding, but it wasn't trickling. It was practically frozen. A bit odd if you ask me. But judging by the looks of it, she seemed to be a 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 '𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸'. Cover art: @PenWingStar on Deviantart 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐒𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭.)

PHANTASM SERIES BOOK FIVE ---- Tryst (noun): a private romantic rendezvous between lovers, "a moonlight tryst". ---- Your eyes drifted upwards catching onto the glint of the sword that had saved you and following the curve of the blade upwards until you came to a knarled hand, with dirt under the fingernails. You followed the arm upwards until you reached his face - partly obscured underneath a green and white striped hat. You were able to catch onto blue eyes and the scruff of a beard underneath a mop of blonde hair though. What drew your attention most though, was the crow's wings behind him, flared out and glinting by the light of the sword. You hadn't even heard him swoop down for the approach. For someone who hadn't been seen in over a century, the Angel of Death looked young... too young. But then he was spinning away, wings flapping behind him so that he hovered over the ground as he sliced through anything that came too close for comfort. Even the skeletons a ways away weren't safe from his flames when their zombie counterparts came staggering too close. Soon enough, the dark forest was alight with burning undead creatures, providing a light source for you to stagger up to your feet as the Angel slid his sword back into it's scabbard. You weren't expecting him to round on you like he did, fire in his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?"

COUGH COUGH i have found a new love for mcyts- !!IF ANYONE MENTIONED IN ANY STORY SOMEHOW FINDS THIS AND IS UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE STORY, I WILL TAKE IT DOWN!!

PHANTASM SERIES BOOK 3 --- Hiraeth (Welsh pronunciation: [hɪraɨ̯θ, hiːrai̯θ]) is a Welsh word for longing or nostalgia, an earnest longing or desire, or a sense of regret. The feeling of longing for a home that no longer exists or never was. A deep and irrational bond felt with a time, era, place or person. --- You were close enough that you could see the crew scurrying about on deck now. They looked as ragged as the ship - no sense of unity about them other than that they were all standing on deck together, swords brandished as you approached. You scanned over them and felt suddenly grateful for your sailing uniform - some of those pirates didn't even have shoes. Simon strode the deck, scanning through the ranks for the captain of the Ghost. You had been given some indication as to what she looked like, but when she parted herself from the ranks of her crew, you weren't quite ready for what she actually looked like. They didn't do her justice on the wanted posters back home. She was short, but powerfully built. You could see ram horns sticking out from underneath her extravagant hat, and her coat was a bright blood red - the gold trim faded somewhat. You were most focused on her hair though - pure white and absolutely massive, it looked like a cloud around her head. Stern eyes finished the look, and you couldn't help but be a little bit entranced - this was the kind of person that people were scared to make eye contact with. Simon didn't seem all that frightened when he came to stand on the edge of your own deck, facing her over the narrow strip of sea that separated you - and you were grateful. If you were captain, you didn't know if you would be able to look her in the eye.

PHANTASM SERIES BOOK 4 --- Gladius, (noun): (in ancient Rome) a short sword. --- Eret perked up as soon as you and Simon walked into the room, a wide and welcoming smile coming onto his face. He was softer looking than his father had been, but you could still see some of the similar traits. He had a head of thick dark curls, and the same sharp jaw that his father had had. He wasn't as bulky though - he was tall and thin - and his face was a lot more open. What separated him most from his father's likeness though was the colorful cape, and the large mirrored glasses he wore - swirling with colors reflected from the room. He stood from his seat when Maven let the doors swing shut behind her, that wide smile still on his face. "You must be the embassy." "And you must be King Eret." You said, stooping into a bow. "Oh, there's no need for that." Eret said as you rose from your bow. He stepped down from the dias where his throne sat - colorful cape trailing behind him - and came to stand in front of you, taking your hand instead. "I'm not really one for formalities." He grinned, shaking your hand. His palm was warm against yours, and you could feel some slight callouses - most likely from practicing his sword work.

PHANTASM SERIES BOOK 2 --- Versailles (proper noun). The argument over the etymology of Versailles tends to privilege the Latin word 'versare', meaning "to keep turning, turn over and over", an expression used in medieval times for plowed lands, cleared lands (lands that had been repeatedly "turned over"). --- He wasn't like any endermen you had seen before - probably because he wasn't fully an enderman. He was tall like an enderman, but that was where the similarity ended. He was split down the middle - half of his skin the same inky black as the twins, the other half a radiant white. His eyes didn't match either - one blood red and the other emerald green. His hair fell in soft waves, almost obscuring his eyes at times, and he kept his head tilted down, his sharp jawline on display. He seemed timid, but that might have just been the situation - anyone behind bars would likely hang their head.

The door opened, and you were faced with a young man about your age. He filled the whole doorframe with his height, though he was kind of lanky looking. A few brown fluffy curls stuck out from underneath his beanie, and he wore glasses, looking down at you. "Oh, you are rather tall." You said, the words slipping out of you before you could stop yourself. You clamped your mouth shut before the rest of the thought could slip out as well - he was rather fit, too. He blinked quizzically. "Um, sorry?"

24 new emails looked back at you from the screen. You could feel the headache setting in, but you opened your email anyway, looking through the new messages. Two from your statistics professor, about a new assignment, another one from the RA in the dorm building, one from the admissions office, about your application to the study abroad program, one from your American history professor- Hold the phone. You rapidly clicked on the email from the admissions office, scanning through the paragraphs. Reviewing your application to the program... taking into account your grades and your major... looking at schools in the area... pleased to say we can accept you into the program. Accepted. Part of you had forgotten that you had applied in the first place; it had been months ago back at the end of last semester, and then you had gone home for the summer and put it behind you. But being back at school had brought it to the forefront of your mind again. This was great. You had needed some good news today. Turning up the music, you danced out of your desk chair and jumped around the room a little, excited. You were going to Mexico for a semester. You could already picture it now - warm weather, good food, and firsthand experience speaking Spanish for at least six months, maybe more. Not to mention all the adventures you could have in a foreign country. This would be something you would remember for years, and just thinking about it made your day better.