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FYI she can control what she's trying to track btw, whether it be vibrations, adrenaline spikes etc :p edit: I'll specify what I mean by energy in the sheet tomorrow, but I mean biological markers like adrenaline, heartbeat, breathing patterns etc
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@Three Steps Far *insert that one Spongebob gif here*
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1 mo ago
idk man they're not really assuming anything? It's a personal status and not anything towards you. If it doesn't resonate with you, it's pretty easy to just scroll past it.
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In that kind of belting Celine Dion mood :)
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Good God it is pissing rain right now.
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Well yes more so yourself than anyone else lol. Can't really control circumstances outside yourself anyhow. Sometimes I just forget.
Bio
✦ ✦ ✦
writer · psychology/philosophy nerd
✦ ✦ ✦
Qia / Weasel
writer · psychology/philosophy nerd
✦ ✦ ✦
👋 Oh hi there <3
Welcome to my little corner of the guild! I go by Qia or Weasel. Either is equally valid. I've been roleplaying since my early college years, primarily across Tumblr (currently inactive) and right here. Storytelling is one of my favourite creative outlets, and I have a particular fondness for digging into the psychology behind every character I build which is also, admittedly, the most practical application of my degree to date. Whoops? ╮ (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) ╭
📖 The Writing Stuff
📌 A Few Important Notes
◈ I'm in my early 30s and strongly prefer that any writing partners be close to my age.
◈ As for 1x1 partners, I'm open to it, though I'm not actively searching. It really comes down to familiarity with you and your writing, and whether there's something that genuinely interests us both. If that sounds like it could be you, feel free to reach out!
◈ Curious about my writing style or the characters I play? Feel free to browse the roleplays listed in my signature.
Questions, comments, or just a hello? Don't be a stranger. My inbox is open but please don't be a freak, ok? No stupid or weird stuff.
ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
Most Recent Posts
@QiaProceeds to...
definitely Emilia's reaction
Hey she's here to do one thing and one thing only for me haha
Interactions: Elio @c3p-0h
Thalia elevated one eyebrow with a hint of incredulity, her hazel gaze sharpening as a smile danced upon her lips—one that bespoke both amusement and calculation. Rather than immediately grasping the bottle before her, she allowed the raucous fervour of the tavern to fill the quiet he had so carefully established. This tactic, aged and astute, was one she had internalized during her formative years; she recognized that silence could be more powerful than spoken words, allowing her to assess the man seated across from her with discerning scrutiny.
Her attention flitted to the bottle momentarily before returning to his countenance. As she tilted her head ever so slightly, her auburn locks shimmered under the light, resembling a cascade of molten copper. “How remarkably intriguing it is that this should supposedly help me, coming from an individual who appears to elevate self-interest to the status of a virtue.”
With a deepened curiosity woven into her demeanour, Thalia leaned in marginally, inviting a closer examination of his intentions. The distant laughter and raucous banter of the tavern patrons became a backdrop to their seemingly intimate exchange, emphasizing the bubble of focus they had created together. “It seems,” she continued, a playful glimmer in her eyes, “that your audacity knows no bounds. One might even wonder if this 'cure' is more of a mirage than a solution, crafted to ensnare the unsuspecting.” Her eyes narrowed before she added, “Such as myself.”
Thalia allowed the resonance of her words to hang in the air, her gaze steadfast as she reclined slightly, reclaiming her territory with an air of nonchalant defiance. Her fingers, delicately elongated yet marked by the toil of years, traced the circumference of her scarf languidly. This purposeful gesture served as a reminder—perhaps to herself, perhaps to him—of the multifaceted layers of her identity that extended far beyond surface appearances.
Her attention was once again captivated by the bottle positioned between them, its amber luminescence presenting a tempting diversion.
However, Thalia was not one to succumb to haste, particularly in the presence of someone who evidently thrived on inciting reactions. With a subtle flick of her gaze, she surveyed his hands, the ruggedness of his knuckles and the faint scars etched into his skin that revealed a life steeped in labour. The dissonance between his casual arrogance and the signs of genuine effort piqued her curiosity more than she dared to admit. The illusion of their cocoon of intimacy continued to hold strong for her, even as the occasional approach of the innkeeper or nearby patrons brushed against their little bubble.
The redhead fervently hoped that her tight-lipped demeanour towards these intrusions would not further blemish her reputation, though the very notion filled her with hesitation, as her thoughts lingered on pride as both a shield and a chain. Eventually, she succumbed to the allure of the moment, her fingers elegantly curling around the neck of the bottle, yet she refrained from lifting it just yet.
“You say that like it’s a flaw…” she replied instead, eyes honing in on him once more as if testing him. “But my pride has never kept me from taking what I want if it’s worth the reach.”
In one fluid motion, Thalia liberated the bottle from his grasp, her lips hovering over the opening before claiming it as her own. As the liquid courage cascaded into her mouth, its velvety richness enveloped her tongue, stirring sensations that mingled both anticipation and hesitation within her. Though the exquisite taste did not immediately fortify her resolve as she had ardently wished, the very act of indulgence was intensely captivating. She found herself revelling in it, a thrill coursing through her that was embraced rather than lamented.
Thalia placed the bottle onto the table, the resonant thunk serving as a final, emphatic exclamation to her argument. A sly smile unfurled across her lips, radiating a small measure of mirth.
“So, do you still believe pride is merely a fault?”
Her attention flitted to the bottle momentarily before returning to his countenance. As she tilted her head ever so slightly, her auburn locks shimmered under the light, resembling a cascade of molten copper. “How remarkably intriguing it is that this should supposedly help me, coming from an individual who appears to elevate self-interest to the status of a virtue.”
With a deepened curiosity woven into her demeanour, Thalia leaned in marginally, inviting a closer examination of his intentions. The distant laughter and raucous banter of the tavern patrons became a backdrop to their seemingly intimate exchange, emphasizing the bubble of focus they had created together. “It seems,” she continued, a playful glimmer in her eyes, “that your audacity knows no bounds. One might even wonder if this 'cure' is more of a mirage than a solution, crafted to ensnare the unsuspecting.” Her eyes narrowed before she added, “Such as myself.”
Thalia allowed the resonance of her words to hang in the air, her gaze steadfast as she reclined slightly, reclaiming her territory with an air of nonchalant defiance. Her fingers, delicately elongated yet marked by the toil of years, traced the circumference of her scarf languidly. This purposeful gesture served as a reminder—perhaps to herself, perhaps to him—of the multifaceted layers of her identity that extended far beyond surface appearances.
Her attention was once again captivated by the bottle positioned between them, its amber luminescence presenting a tempting diversion.
However, Thalia was not one to succumb to haste, particularly in the presence of someone who evidently thrived on inciting reactions. With a subtle flick of her gaze, she surveyed his hands, the ruggedness of his knuckles and the faint scars etched into his skin that revealed a life steeped in labour. The dissonance between his casual arrogance and the signs of genuine effort piqued her curiosity more than she dared to admit. The illusion of their cocoon of intimacy continued to hold strong for her, even as the occasional approach of the innkeeper or nearby patrons brushed against their little bubble.
The redhead fervently hoped that her tight-lipped demeanour towards these intrusions would not further blemish her reputation, though the very notion filled her with hesitation, as her thoughts lingered on pride as both a shield and a chain. Eventually, she succumbed to the allure of the moment, her fingers elegantly curling around the neck of the bottle, yet she refrained from lifting it just yet.
“You say that like it’s a flaw…” she replied instead, eyes honing in on him once more as if testing him. “But my pride has never kept me from taking what I want if it’s worth the reach.”
In one fluid motion, Thalia liberated the bottle from his grasp, her lips hovering over the opening before claiming it as her own. As the liquid courage cascaded into her mouth, its velvety richness enveloped her tongue, stirring sensations that mingled both anticipation and hesitation within her. Though the exquisite taste did not immediately fortify her resolve as she had ardently wished, the very act of indulgence was intensely captivating. She found herself revelling in it, a thrill coursing through her that was embraced rather than lamented.
Thalia placed the bottle onto the table, the resonant thunk serving as a final, emphatic exclamation to her argument. A sly smile unfurled across her lips, radiating a small measure of mirth.
“So, do you still believe pride is merely a fault?”
<Snipped quote by Qia>
Emily's doppelganger I see. *sip*
I'm not gonna lie...the amount of times I typed Emily instead of Emilia lmaoooo It's also cus I have an npc in another rp named Emily
ok little setup post up for the collab for next round. I mighttt end up working on a sheet for Emilia >_> originally was just a random name. We'll see.
Red Rose Lounge, Highfair
Mentions: Vincent (@Estylwen), Emily (@LanaStorm)
Interactions: Emilia (NPC)
Seated in her ornate high-backed chair, Isabella fixated on the glass of wine in her grasp, its contents swirling like shards of liquid rubies. Emilia, her steadfast lieutenant, lingered by the door's threshold, an air of trepidation radiating from her rigid posture. Clutching a sleek tablet in one hand, she kept her other hand clenched by her side, a clear indication that something was amiss. This disquiet could stem from her turbulent encounter with Vincent, but the cause remained shrouded in uncertainty until…
“Something... intriguing occurred today,” Emilia finally ventured. “Three Blue Bloods were sighted near Highfair Market.”
Isabella arched a finely manicured brow, setting her glass down with a delicate clink against the polished wood. “Blue Bloods?” she echoed, her tone smooth yet tinged with palpable disdain. “It seems Detective Newport has chosen to flaunt her audacity by sending her puppets into my domain.”
Standing poised and alert, Emilia pressed on, her commitment to the task evident as she stepped closer to the desk. “Their approach was anything but discreet, Bella. They attempted to masquerade as vendors—fresh faces offering inexpensive goods—but they were too clean to pass as genuine. They were snooping about, inquiring into our operations. One of our associates noticed and flagged them.”
“And what happened next?” Isabella inquired, her interest piqued.
“We confronted them,” Emilia replied succinctly. “Discreetly, of course, to avoid attracting unwarranted attention, especially with so many watchful eyes in the market lately. They had counterfeit documents and credentials, but one of them crumbled and confessed they were dispatched to... ‘observe.’” Her hand slid the tablet onto the desk, showcasing a dossier on the intruders.
“Observe,” Isabella echoed, her lips curling into a mirthless smirk. “How quaint. And what did they hope to learn?”
“They weren’t able to uncover anything of significance. Still…this was anything but random. Newport is systematically probing our defenses—testing where our vulnerabilities lie.”
Taking a measured breath, Isabella reclined thoughtfully in her chair, fingers steepling in contemplation. “She is angling for something, yet this—this is clumsy, would you not agree?”
A frown touched Emilia’s features. “Do you think she wants us to be aware of her intentions?”
“It’s possible,” Isabella contemplated. “Perhaps a decoy for some bigger agenda.”
Emilia pressed on, her curiosity piqued, “So what’s our counterstrategy?”
“First, make sure our people stay vigilant,” Isabella instructed. “Double the watch at the market and any key points near our operations. If she wants to provoke a response, let her see us tighten our grip. It’ll make her think she’s rattling us.”
Emilia acquiesced with a nod. “And the infiltrators?”
“Release them,” Isabella declared, a frigid smile gracing her lips. “Kindly instruct them to convey our… gratitude to their detective for the ‘visit,’ and inform her she is welcome to experience Highfair firsthand.” Then, rising from her chair, she moved toward the window and gazed out at the rain-soaked streets below.
“For the time being, we’ll willingly play in her game of chess. But let’s not forget Emilia—when you bait the queen, you risk losing the board.”
Emilia inclined her head in acknowledgment before departing, leaving Isabella in contemplative solitude. The faint sound of raindrops tapping against the glass became her sole companion as she strategized her next maneuver in the intricate dance of intrigue and power that had ensnared her since the birth of her name.
“Something... intriguing occurred today,” Emilia finally ventured. “Three Blue Bloods were sighted near Highfair Market.”
Isabella arched a finely manicured brow, setting her glass down with a delicate clink against the polished wood. “Blue Bloods?” she echoed, her tone smooth yet tinged with palpable disdain. “It seems Detective Newport has chosen to flaunt her audacity by sending her puppets into my domain.”
Standing poised and alert, Emilia pressed on, her commitment to the task evident as she stepped closer to the desk. “Their approach was anything but discreet, Bella. They attempted to masquerade as vendors—fresh faces offering inexpensive goods—but they were too clean to pass as genuine. They were snooping about, inquiring into our operations. One of our associates noticed and flagged them.”
“And what happened next?” Isabella inquired, her interest piqued.
“We confronted them,” Emilia replied succinctly. “Discreetly, of course, to avoid attracting unwarranted attention, especially with so many watchful eyes in the market lately. They had counterfeit documents and credentials, but one of them crumbled and confessed they were dispatched to... ‘observe.’” Her hand slid the tablet onto the desk, showcasing a dossier on the intruders.
“Observe,” Isabella echoed, her lips curling into a mirthless smirk. “How quaint. And what did they hope to learn?”
“They weren’t able to uncover anything of significance. Still…this was anything but random. Newport is systematically probing our defenses—testing where our vulnerabilities lie.”
Taking a measured breath, Isabella reclined thoughtfully in her chair, fingers steepling in contemplation. “She is angling for something, yet this—this is clumsy, would you not agree?”
A frown touched Emilia’s features. “Do you think she wants us to be aware of her intentions?”
“It’s possible,” Isabella contemplated. “Perhaps a decoy for some bigger agenda.”
Emilia pressed on, her curiosity piqued, “So what’s our counterstrategy?”
“First, make sure our people stay vigilant,” Isabella instructed. “Double the watch at the market and any key points near our operations. If she wants to provoke a response, let her see us tighten our grip. It’ll make her think she’s rattling us.”
Emilia acquiesced with a nod. “And the infiltrators?”
“Release them,” Isabella declared, a frigid smile gracing her lips. “Kindly instruct them to convey our… gratitude to their detective for the ‘visit,’ and inform her she is welcome to experience Highfair firsthand.” Then, rising from her chair, she moved toward the window and gazed out at the rain-soaked streets below.
“For the time being, we’ll willingly play in her game of chess. But let’s not forget Emilia—when you bait the queen, you risk losing the board.”
Emilia inclined her head in acknowledgment before departing, leaving Isabella in contemplative solitude. The faint sound of raindrops tapping against the glass became her sole companion as she strategized her next maneuver in the intricate dance of intrigue and power that had ensnared her since the birth of her name.
I have given you as much of an advantage as possible, Little Bird. You are welcome to sacrifice your Personnel and subvert the attack.
Speaking of which, @LanaStorm and @Qia can collab or do a little post-by-post back and forth regarding the spies now in Highfair. :>
And ERode and Little Bird can coordinate on how they want to handle the invasion into Merryland.
uhh *looks around awkwardly* just to keep you updated, I intend on starting this collab with Lana today :). Also for the sake of trying to keep Bella in this round of posts, I'll try to see who I need to immediately respond to/ if I can.
Elena halted abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest as the doppelganger materialized before her, effectively obstructing her retreat to the sanctuary of the circle. Its grotesque grin expanded unnaturally, revealing a row of razor-sharp teeth glimmering like tarnished daggers in the murky light. A swell of nausea twisted in her stomach upon sighting this, overwhelming her with a wave of dread as the reality of her vulnerability washed over her, leaving her feeling exposed and powerless in the face of this sinister apparition.
From the depths of the circle, Luciana's delicate sobs penetrated the oppressive atmosphere, serving as a fragile lifeline that beckoned Elena back from the abyss of her terror. She understood that she needed to escape, that every second counted. Yet, the monstrous figure loomed ominously in front of her, its claws catching the dim light as it raised them with malice, the seconds elongating into an agonizing eternity, suffocating her resolve.
“What a sweet gesture,” it jeered, its voice saturated with contempt and insincerity. The sound reverberated through her, sending a jolt of ice coursing down her spine, making reality feel like it was teetering on the edge of obliteration. In an instant, the creature had the power to extinguish her life, as well as Loni, and perhaps even little Luciana's, in a single, merciless strike.
Yet, in a shocking twist, the doppelganger hesitated.
Its clawed hand quavered suspended in the air, its unnatural eyes flickering with a flash of an unexpected emotion—anguish. Elena's astonished gaze darted to the creature's arm, where the gaping wound from Elijah’s spear appeared more pronounced. The monster's previous aggression faltered as its movements slowed, the strike directed at her becoming sluggish and painfully obvious in its intent.
In that pivotal moment, instinct surged forth, shattering the paralyzing grip of fear that had anchored her in place. With a swift, decisive motion, Elena ducked, the lethal swipe narrowly missing her and allowing her to scramble backward, her boots slipping on the sugar-dusted surface beneath her. The adrenaline coursed through her veins as she fought against the disorienting haze of panic, determined to reach safety more than ever before. Because she had a chance.
Just as Elena began to twist herself toward the sanctuary of the circle, a blur materialized in her peripheral vision. From nowhere, Elijah appeared, his spear driving forward with deadly precision, the tip aimed squarely at the creature’s grotesque form. The spear seemed to cut through the air itself, its momentum a razor-sharp promise of salvation. For a heartbeat, the world froze, her gaze locked on the gleaming weapon as if it carried the weight of all their hopes.
The doppelganger’s unnaturally oily black eyes flicked downward to track the spear’s trajectory. A guttural snarl tore from its throat, echoing through the bakery like the wail of a predator caught unawares.
All the while, Elena’s instincts screamed at her to move, but her body remained paralyzed by the visceral collision of events—Elijah's sudden appearance, the monstrous howl, and the impending clash that promised either victory or utter catastrophe.
Claws lashed out lethargically at Elijah, even as the spear plunged with brutal precision into the doppelganger’s abhorrent body. The impact was horrifyingly visceral and was followed by the creature’s guttural screech as the spear struck true. The doppelganger's repulsive form convulsed violently in response to the puncture, and for a fleeting moment, Elena feared it might somehow elude its grim destiny once more. However, as reality reclaimed its hold, the creature's body slumped to the ground, its sinister grin diminishing into a pallid, lifeless mask as it uttered its farewell: “This is just… the beginning…”
As the doppelganger collapsed, the suffocating atmosphere within the bakery seemed to lift, as if the encroaching darkness had inhaled its final, rattling breath. The creature’s disfigured features melted away into an otherworldly visage, rendering it unrecognizable and no longer bound by its perverse impersonation of humanity. Elena's chest heaved as she surveyed the lifeless entity, a tide of nausea crashing through her at the grotesque spectacle. Even in repose, the sight of the thing seemed to instill a deep unease within her.
Suddenly, Luciana’s heart-wrenching wails splintered the tenuous silence, and Elena whipped her gaze toward the little girl, her heart constricting at the sheer terror in Luciana’s cries. The cry yanked her from her stupor, urging her to take a cautious step back toward the protective circle as Loni, visibly worn and wounded, enveloped her daughter tightly in her embrace, murmuring soft reassurances that sought to soothe her. She made sure to grab the torn bag this time, taking careful steps toward the descending barrier to avoid spilling the rest of its contents.
Elena’s gaze was first drawn to Loni’s wan complexion as she got closer, the noticeable tremor in her hands, and the vivid red stain unfurling across her jumper. She knelt beside her, her heart filled with concern and determination.
“We’re safe, thanks to you,” Elena whispered gently, her words intended to soothe both mother and child in that moment of fear. Relying on instinct, she placed a calming hand on Loni’s uninjured arm, her own fingers quivering ever so slightly with apprehension. “But we should probably take care of that injury now,” she continued, gesturing towards the jagged claw marks marring Loni’s shoulder.
Before Loni could voice any objections, Quill materialized with a first aid kit in hand; her swift and assured movements helped to alleviate some of Elena’s residual anxiety. In a moment of clarity, Elena handed over the sugar just as she started applying first aid.
“Combine this with the salt and press it into the wound—it should help to stem the bleeding until better help shows up,” she said.
As the other woman finished with the first aid, Elena then did her best to answer her inquiry.
“I… don’t know everything,” she admitted, her tone cautious. “It showed up looking like someone else. Started messing with people’s heads—turned them into puppets, basically.” Her brow furrowed as she glanced toward the lifeless body on the floor, now reduced to something unrecognizable. “Whatever that thing was… it wasn’t human. But I guess you figured that out already.”
From the depths of the circle, Luciana's delicate sobs penetrated the oppressive atmosphere, serving as a fragile lifeline that beckoned Elena back from the abyss of her terror. She understood that she needed to escape, that every second counted. Yet, the monstrous figure loomed ominously in front of her, its claws catching the dim light as it raised them with malice, the seconds elongating into an agonizing eternity, suffocating her resolve.
“What a sweet gesture,” it jeered, its voice saturated with contempt and insincerity. The sound reverberated through her, sending a jolt of ice coursing down her spine, making reality feel like it was teetering on the edge of obliteration. In an instant, the creature had the power to extinguish her life, as well as Loni, and perhaps even little Luciana's, in a single, merciless strike.
Yet, in a shocking twist, the doppelganger hesitated.
Its clawed hand quavered suspended in the air, its unnatural eyes flickering with a flash of an unexpected emotion—anguish. Elena's astonished gaze darted to the creature's arm, where the gaping wound from Elijah’s spear appeared more pronounced. The monster's previous aggression faltered as its movements slowed, the strike directed at her becoming sluggish and painfully obvious in its intent.
In that pivotal moment, instinct surged forth, shattering the paralyzing grip of fear that had anchored her in place. With a swift, decisive motion, Elena ducked, the lethal swipe narrowly missing her and allowing her to scramble backward, her boots slipping on the sugar-dusted surface beneath her. The adrenaline coursed through her veins as she fought against the disorienting haze of panic, determined to reach safety more than ever before. Because she had a chance.
Just as Elena began to twist herself toward the sanctuary of the circle, a blur materialized in her peripheral vision. From nowhere, Elijah appeared, his spear driving forward with deadly precision, the tip aimed squarely at the creature’s grotesque form. The spear seemed to cut through the air itself, its momentum a razor-sharp promise of salvation. For a heartbeat, the world froze, her gaze locked on the gleaming weapon as if it carried the weight of all their hopes.
The doppelganger’s unnaturally oily black eyes flicked downward to track the spear’s trajectory. A guttural snarl tore from its throat, echoing through the bakery like the wail of a predator caught unawares.
All the while, Elena’s instincts screamed at her to move, but her body remained paralyzed by the visceral collision of events—Elijah's sudden appearance, the monstrous howl, and the impending clash that promised either victory or utter catastrophe.
Claws lashed out lethargically at Elijah, even as the spear plunged with brutal precision into the doppelganger’s abhorrent body. The impact was horrifyingly visceral and was followed by the creature’s guttural screech as the spear struck true. The doppelganger's repulsive form convulsed violently in response to the puncture, and for a fleeting moment, Elena feared it might somehow elude its grim destiny once more. However, as reality reclaimed its hold, the creature's body slumped to the ground, its sinister grin diminishing into a pallid, lifeless mask as it uttered its farewell: “This is just… the beginning…”
As the doppelganger collapsed, the suffocating atmosphere within the bakery seemed to lift, as if the encroaching darkness had inhaled its final, rattling breath. The creature’s disfigured features melted away into an otherworldly visage, rendering it unrecognizable and no longer bound by its perverse impersonation of humanity. Elena's chest heaved as she surveyed the lifeless entity, a tide of nausea crashing through her at the grotesque spectacle. Even in repose, the sight of the thing seemed to instill a deep unease within her.
Suddenly, Luciana’s heart-wrenching wails splintered the tenuous silence, and Elena whipped her gaze toward the little girl, her heart constricting at the sheer terror in Luciana’s cries. The cry yanked her from her stupor, urging her to take a cautious step back toward the protective circle as Loni, visibly worn and wounded, enveloped her daughter tightly in her embrace, murmuring soft reassurances that sought to soothe her. She made sure to grab the torn bag this time, taking careful steps toward the descending barrier to avoid spilling the rest of its contents.
Elena’s gaze was first drawn to Loni’s wan complexion as she got closer, the noticeable tremor in her hands, and the vivid red stain unfurling across her jumper. She knelt beside her, her heart filled with concern and determination.
“We’re safe, thanks to you,” Elena whispered gently, her words intended to soothe both mother and child in that moment of fear. Relying on instinct, she placed a calming hand on Loni’s uninjured arm, her own fingers quivering ever so slightly with apprehension. “But we should probably take care of that injury now,” she continued, gesturing towards the jagged claw marks marring Loni’s shoulder.
Before Loni could voice any objections, Quill materialized with a first aid kit in hand; her swift and assured movements helped to alleviate some of Elena’s residual anxiety. In a moment of clarity, Elena handed over the sugar just as she started applying first aid.
“Combine this with the salt and press it into the wound—it should help to stem the bleeding until better help shows up,” she said.
As the other woman finished with the first aid, Elena then did her best to answer her inquiry.
“I… don’t know everything,” she admitted, her tone cautious. “It showed up looking like someone else. Started messing with people’s heads—turned them into puppets, basically.” Her brow furrowed as she glanced toward the lifeless body on the floor, now reduced to something unrecognizable. “Whatever that thing was… it wasn’t human. But I guess you figured that out already.”
Interactions/Mentions: @c3p-0h Amaya, @The Muse Flynn
Elara lingered hesitantly by the door, her fingers delicately resting against the robust wooden frame as Kira's footsteps gradually receded into the encroaching darkness beyond. The redhead’s ominous warning echoed resoundingly within the confines of her mind, stirring a tumultuous knot of anxiety deep in her core. What precisely did Kira intend with her cryptic words? Was it simply a caution, or had she discerned something more urgent, something Elara had been blissfully oblivious to?
For a moment, curiosity ignited within her thoughts as she pondered who this woman truly was. That glimmer of familiarity, intensified by the fervent urgency in her tone and the poignant sorrow in her gaze, hinted that she was not merely a stranger moving through Elara's life. Elara bit down on her lip, lost in contemplation, yet she swiftly dismissed those musings. Amaya was still mending and the uncertainty regarding whether Kira would actually fulfill her request remained up in the air, after all.
Elara turned away from the door and slid the bolt into place with a deliberate click, her hands quivering with an amalgamation of emotions. “Secured,” she whispered gently to herself, her voice barely breaking the silence of the room; it felt as if she were trying to convince herself that this small act could guard them against any lurking dangers outside. Her gaze drifted toward the fireplace, where the flames frolicked, casting undulating shadows that danced across the walls. Before it, Amaya stirred minutely in her slumber, her features twitching as if she were ensnared in a vivid reverie. Elara hastily traversed the room, kneeling beside the Princess to wrap the blankets snugly around her delicate shoulders.
“You’re safe here,” she whispered, even as Kira’s ominous words gnawed at her conscience, planting seeds of doubt that resolutely refused to dissipate. Her gaze risked a glance at the window, where her pale blue eyes caught a fleeting manifestation of her reflection in the glass. Outside, the snow glistened enchantingly beneath the moon's gentle luminescence, appearing tranquil yet deceptively serene. Nonetheless, the disquieting sensation that someone—or something—was scrutinizing them remained, an unwelcome shadow that clung to her.
Suddenly, the serene atmosphere shattered as the unmistakable sound of frantic footsteps raced toward her abode, a relentless pounding resounding against the door. Elara gasped, her heart hammering wildly within her chest, as a surge of shock and fear coursed through her veins. However, her apprehensions were swiftly alleviated when she recognized Flynn’s unmistakable voice resonating from the other side of the door. A wave of relief washed over her like a comforting blanket, prompting her to cast a fleeting glance at Amaya, who remained entirely undisturbed in her peaceful slumber.
With newfound purpose, Elara hastened toward the door, shifting the bolt aside to create just enough space for the entrance to yield. There stood Flynn, his silhouette stark against the frosty night sky, looking breathless and slightly dishevelled, as though he had rushed to her side without a moment's respite. His cheeks flushed pink from the biting cold and the vigorous exertion of sprinting, while an intense urgency sparked in his eyes, mirroring the very feelings that had earlier gripped Elara in their icy clutches.
Elara carefully observed Flynn as, upon spotting his wife’s frame behind her, he passed her and entered the cottage, his very presence suffusing the cramped space with an effortless assurance that both soothed and disquieted her. He had perpetually exuded this aura of unspoken dominion, an implicit ability to captivate attention without any overt displays. Yet, as he advanced toward Amaya, his gaze entirely affixed on her, Elara felt that familiar, delicate ache blossom in her chest once more akin to the sensations she had grappled with previously.
As Flynn knelt beside Amaya, a gentleness emanated from him that should have provided solace. His fingers delicately brushed away an errant wisp of hair from the Princess’s brow, hovering momentarily before withdrawing, and his voice, now a tender murmur as he uttered her name, conveyed an intimate comprehension that Elara found impossible to overlook. The slight way in which Amaya stirred, almost as if instinctively gravitating toward him even in the depths of slumber, only intensified the growing knot of worry nestled within Elara’s abdomen.
Still positioned near the entrance, Elara kept her hands interlaced before her, a gesture of both restraint and observation. Gratitude washed over her—a profound acknowledgment that Flynn had arrived, that Kira had done as she’d asked. Yet beneath this gratitude lurked an unwelcome pang, a quiet realization that she remained at the periphery of a bond that felt deeply intimate and unarticulated between them—an acute sense of exclusion from a connection that flickered more brilliantly in their presence.
Almost like I do.
“She’s stable now,” Elara finally said. “I’ve done what I can, but she’ll need rest to fully recover.”
For a moment, curiosity ignited within her thoughts as she pondered who this woman truly was. That glimmer of familiarity, intensified by the fervent urgency in her tone and the poignant sorrow in her gaze, hinted that she was not merely a stranger moving through Elara's life. Elara bit down on her lip, lost in contemplation, yet she swiftly dismissed those musings. Amaya was still mending and the uncertainty regarding whether Kira would actually fulfill her request remained up in the air, after all.
Elara turned away from the door and slid the bolt into place with a deliberate click, her hands quivering with an amalgamation of emotions. “Secured,” she whispered gently to herself, her voice barely breaking the silence of the room; it felt as if she were trying to convince herself that this small act could guard them against any lurking dangers outside. Her gaze drifted toward the fireplace, where the flames frolicked, casting undulating shadows that danced across the walls. Before it, Amaya stirred minutely in her slumber, her features twitching as if she were ensnared in a vivid reverie. Elara hastily traversed the room, kneeling beside the Princess to wrap the blankets snugly around her delicate shoulders.
“You’re safe here,” she whispered, even as Kira’s ominous words gnawed at her conscience, planting seeds of doubt that resolutely refused to dissipate. Her gaze risked a glance at the window, where her pale blue eyes caught a fleeting manifestation of her reflection in the glass. Outside, the snow glistened enchantingly beneath the moon's gentle luminescence, appearing tranquil yet deceptively serene. Nonetheless, the disquieting sensation that someone—or something—was scrutinizing them remained, an unwelcome shadow that clung to her.
Suddenly, the serene atmosphere shattered as the unmistakable sound of frantic footsteps raced toward her abode, a relentless pounding resounding against the door. Elara gasped, her heart hammering wildly within her chest, as a surge of shock and fear coursed through her veins. However, her apprehensions were swiftly alleviated when she recognized Flynn’s unmistakable voice resonating from the other side of the door. A wave of relief washed over her like a comforting blanket, prompting her to cast a fleeting glance at Amaya, who remained entirely undisturbed in her peaceful slumber.
With newfound purpose, Elara hastened toward the door, shifting the bolt aside to create just enough space for the entrance to yield. There stood Flynn, his silhouette stark against the frosty night sky, looking breathless and slightly dishevelled, as though he had rushed to her side without a moment's respite. His cheeks flushed pink from the biting cold and the vigorous exertion of sprinting, while an intense urgency sparked in his eyes, mirroring the very feelings that had earlier gripped Elara in their icy clutches.
Elara carefully observed Flynn as, upon spotting his wife’s frame behind her, he passed her and entered the cottage, his very presence suffusing the cramped space with an effortless assurance that both soothed and disquieted her. He had perpetually exuded this aura of unspoken dominion, an implicit ability to captivate attention without any overt displays. Yet, as he advanced toward Amaya, his gaze entirely affixed on her, Elara felt that familiar, delicate ache blossom in her chest once more akin to the sensations she had grappled with previously.
As Flynn knelt beside Amaya, a gentleness emanated from him that should have provided solace. His fingers delicately brushed away an errant wisp of hair from the Princess’s brow, hovering momentarily before withdrawing, and his voice, now a tender murmur as he uttered her name, conveyed an intimate comprehension that Elara found impossible to overlook. The slight way in which Amaya stirred, almost as if instinctively gravitating toward him even in the depths of slumber, only intensified the growing knot of worry nestled within Elara’s abdomen.
Still positioned near the entrance, Elara kept her hands interlaced before her, a gesture of both restraint and observation. Gratitude washed over her—a profound acknowledgment that Flynn had arrived, that Kira had done as she’d asked. Yet beneath this gratitude lurked an unwelcome pang, a quiet realization that she remained at the periphery of a bond that felt deeply intimate and unarticulated between them—an acute sense of exclusion from a connection that flickered more brilliantly in their presence.
Almost like I do.
“She’s stable now,” Elara finally said. “I’ve done what I can, but she’ll need rest to fully recover.”
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