PHANTASM SERIES BOOK 1 --- Tacenda; pl (plural only): Things that are not to be spoken about or made public. Things that are best left unsaid. --- He was unlike anyone else you had seen before. There was a certain confidence about him that drew everyone's eye. His hair was tied back into a messy plait, but it was the color that was the most striking, a bright pink that contrasted the dark red and black of his robes. His face was mostly obscured by the mask of his people, but you could just make out the shape of his jaw and a flash of sharp teeth when he smiled. He was dangerous - but he was magnetic.

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.

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 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?"

"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.

The song ended as you merged onto the highway and another familiar song started up - not by Myra but by an adjacent band to the Myracle Makers that you also liked - the Dream Team. You had found out about them through Myra's music (Spotify thought that they went together well) and you had fallen in love with a couple of their songs, and then a couple more, until you were in their top .5% of listeners. They were one of your favorite bands, and their song Florida Smile was a song for the soul. You smiled to yourself, turning up the radio. The familiar beat of the drums pumped through the speakers of your car and you began to sing along as the lead singer - he went by Dream as a stage name (like Dream's Team... haha) - began to sing. You knew all the words by heart. And you've got a Florida smile... sends my heart racing to the mark at the mile...

sᴏᴘʜɪᴀ ғɪɴᴄʜ, ᴛʜᴇ ғɪғᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜɴɢᴇsᴛ ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ ɪɴ ᴅᴇsᴏʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴇᴀsᴛᴇʀɴ ᴇᴜʀᴏᴘᴇ. ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜᴇʀ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴀɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴀs ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴍɪʀᴀɴᴅᴀs ᴍᴀɴʏ "ғᴀɪʟᴇᴅ" ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴍᴇɴᴛs, sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴀs ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ʜᴇʀ "ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ". ɴᴀᴍᴇᴅ ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʟʏᴄᴀɴs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜғᴜʟ ᴇʏᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ʜᴇʀ ᴊᴏʙ ɪs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍɪʀᴀɴᴅᴀ's ᴇʏᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴀʀs ᴡʜᴇɴ sʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ. sʜᴇ sᴘᴇɴᴅs ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ʜᴇʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ ɪsᴏʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʟᴏʀᴅs. ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ sʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʀᴇsᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ...ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴏɴᴇ. ᴋᴀʀʟ ʜᴇɪꜱᴇɴʙᴇʀɢ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴀ ʟɪᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ. ʜᴇʀ sᴛʀɪᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴜᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴅ ᴇʏᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʜᴀɪʀ. ʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ ᴀɴᴅ sʜᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴍᴀᴅ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴs ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴇᴛʜᴀɴ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀs, ᴀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ʜɪs ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ɪᴍᴘᴏsᴇs ᴏɴ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍɪʀᴀɴᴅᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀɴs? I DO NOT OWN RESIDENT EVIL OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS! ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO CAPCOM! I OWN MY OC SOPHIA