Ghosts

Galilei

Part 1: Certain people that haunt you.

I got to talking with @Aramaeus properly for like the second time, but what a time it was. The moment when an ambitious young Morsel that warrants watching becomes someone she can relate to and reach out willingly, for her. It was a fine time to explore how Gali has grown from her earlier days, and the story not quite present in the previous log with @Tetchta. Lost a line from myself lower down while copypasting, but likely the replacement isn't too jarring.

Aramaeus:

He is a wise Idreth of Human heritage and is as a creature sculpted from an artist's ideal of elegant, cold perfection. With flesh as smooth and flawless as polished white marble, the broad shoulders and narrow waist form a frame for a lean, graceful musculature that emphasises the balance of power and speed. The thick, lustrous locks of alabaster hair are so meticulously styled as to appear spun from purest snowfine, swept back from the brow, save for an artful array of tresses that arch down on the right. The features that make up the chill, remote visage are almost delicate in nature, though they retain a masculine air overall. The cheekbones are high and fine, complemented by an elegant jawline and a straight, modestly proportioned nose. The eyes are perhaps the most striking feature of this being, providing the sole source of colour in the unrelenting monochromatic palette. Like shattered mirrors set upon pools of lustrous black, the polished chrome is splintered, fractured apart by the ebon that is riven throughout - which makes the brilliantly saturated slivers of fluorescent colour all the more prominent. A dazzling riot of hues form a fragmented kaleidoscope of lambent energies, scintillating in every imaginable colour, limning the fractured silver discs in sporadic, lucent levin. The throat and hands are coated in glossy scales of varying thickness, the peculiar scutes formed from a slowly flowing liquid of utter black which occasionally drifts into the air in languid, atramentous splashes of night. Eldritch violet light surrounds him - a blessing of chaos and dreaming.
He is wearing:
a lightning-patterned obsidian ring, worn on a finger
formally-styled, functional black boots, worn on the feet
a pair of midnight black trousers, worn on the legs
a long-sleeved, high-collared black shirt, covering the torso

Galilei:

She is an athletic Idreth vampire of Tsol'aa heritage whose alabaster skin is clear enough to seem almost translucent. Coolly elegant facial features are complemented by a pear-shaped, leanly muscled physique befitting her status - the Consanguine's six-foot-tall frame is held with a proud bearing that is only reinforced by the arch in her thin brows. Her deep-set, long-lashed eyes are darker than smoky topaz; her voice is low and velvety, and always seems to brush against the ivory fangs peeking from beneath a plush lip. Her wavy black hair is cropped short, highlighting the graceful shape of her skull and neck and showcasing her pretty, pointed ears. The dusky violet shimmering across her locks strikes a contrast against the rosiness of her auricles, a hallmark of the warm and living blood that all her kind still possess. Long, jagged stalks of crimson crystal sprout from her shoulder blades in an approximation of skeletal wings - thorns and strange shards of the same material take the place of pinions, making no sound even when they clink together. Earth and stone
cling to her form under the blessing of the Earthen Lord.
She is wearing:
a sedate black dress with hematite clasps, contrasting with porcelain skin
a delicate gold winding key pendant, gleaming against her dress
a twining wedding band of tanzanite and watersteel, snugly embracing her left ring finger
a pair of shadowcrystal drop earrings, a shade lighter than her eyes
a pair of draconic, armoured boots, poleyns agleam
a silk shawl heavily embroidered with blooms, colour unfurling around her

(Tells): Aramaeus's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "I have not seen you in recent times, Galilei. Has the land been denied the pleasure of your presence due to work, perhaps?"

You have emoted: Once more, an incline of her head. "Blessed be the artists, be they of Corruption or another's," Galilei says.

Aramaeus disengages a hand to lift it in a casual wave, offering Azarae a cordial smile. "Do take care."

(Tells): On tendrils of air, you let your velvety voice reach Aramaeus's mind: "You would have seen me, a few weeks past. I regret you did not, in truth."

With that said, one of Azarae's tentacles slithers up and waves farewell, acting as a faux arm and hand before parting. "Blessed be Mother." She replies before looking over her should as she begins to saunter off. "And you as well."

The air seems to smell more fresh and light filters into the area as Azarae escapes to the west.

Aramaeus watches Azarae leave with a neutral expression, the pleasant demeanour melting away as easily as frost before a winter sun. Turning his attention to you, he cants his head in evident interest, a single, snow brow arching. "Oh? Why is that?"

You have emoted: In answer, Galilei draws out a blood red ceremonial sash. Its scarlet strikes a bloody contrast against the black of her dress. "The Shadowborn Fete saw a ritual. One that may well be repeated should enough Kin and Morsel desire."

Aramaeus's attention shifts to study the sash, the deep red mirrored in the occasional glimmer of fragmented colour within his eyes. "Ah. I am displeased to have missed it, then." The curved talons of his right hand ripple in a short wave, tapping upon the scales of his left. "You think that likely? Few Kin or Morsel wake of late, that I have seen."

Azarae's voice resonates across the land, "Blessed be Corruption and all those whom reach for Her."

You have emoted: "Then it falls to those who wake, and wait, to offer and to ask." Galilei's left hand reaches to cradle the other end of the sash, a twining wedding band of tanzanite and watersteel twilit stones offering a mellow contrast to the silk. "Of course, my hired musicians have dispersed, and rituals evolve."

The weight of Aramaeus's regard flows from the sash to the band that adorns your finger, which he studies with some interest. It holds his gaze as he remarks, "I am ever driven to experience more of Her, no matter what form it takes. I would be most eager to witness a ritual, altered though it may be." Dipping his head towards the ring, he inquires, pleasantly polite, "You are wed?"

You have emoted: The same hand gently folds a blood red ceremonial sash over her right forearm, then goes to rest upon the backdrop of red. "I am," Galilei answers, and while her voice may not hold the flutter of young love, there is a touch of gentleness that her first remarks to Aramaeus today could not hold. "Ardent of Spinesreach is my mate."

"Ardent," Aramaeus says, rolling the word about as if tasting it, eyes thinning minutely in thought. After a moment, a faint "Mm." precedes an easy lift of a shoulder, and he offers you a slight smile. "I am not familiar, I admit, though no doubt they are most fortunate to have won your affections." Turning his hand over, he unfurls ebon claws, gesturing to you lightly. "You have been married long?"

You have emoted: Galilei's dark gaze falls upon her ring as well, pondering not quite so long enough for Aramaeus to wonder. "We lived as man and wife a few years before our union was recorded. Two years I have worn a wedding ring." Pensive, but still gentle. She allows a little pause, a chance for him to ask more should he wish before the inevitable question of his marital status may approach.

Aramaeus's attention remains on the innocent band for a long moment, a subtle stirring of some subdued emotion casting shadows across the fine alabaster of his features. For once, it seems, he forgets to smile, mouth set in a neglected line, his shattered kaleidoscope eyes dim. "You seem...Happy," he observes, the last word rife with a complex texture of interwoven subtext.

You have emoted: "I'd be happier with him awake," Galilei says. The confession is offered without overwrought emotion, a simple statement of someone who has turned the same thought in her mind time and again until it would have hardened enough to offer to another's ears.

A crease forms on Aramaeus's brow as this statement elicits a frown, his gaze finally lifting from the ring to regard you directly, head tilting. "Does he sleep often?"

You have emoted: "He has slept for at least thirty weeks, or so a concerned friend tells me." Galilei's lips curve upwards. "How often he will slip back into it, when he returns, who can say? How often *I* will sleep in the coming years, and decades, who can say."

You say, "Rare are the moments when one can give one's all to another, good Conjurer. All that remains is a promise, and the will to keep it."

The monochromatic figure watches you quietly for a time before responding, his eyes shifting over your face, as if searching for something. When Aramaeus does speak, it is with a surprising degree of gentle compassion, the rich, smooth tones of his voice soft. "That seems a lonely fate. How do you not lose hope?"

You have emoted: Aramaeus's youth is still plain in Galilei's eyes, in his skin, even in the assured way he carries himself. Paying no mind to the travelers moving to and fro, the woman directs gentle words for Aramaeus' ears alone. "By being tempered." The dawn is still far off, but the Consanguine's dark eyes flicker with a gentle, burnt-amber glow. "By living with pain outside of your control day by day until you learn, for your own sake, to find meaning outside what companions may give to you. I love my husband, and at the end of the day, I always will. But there is more to living than companionship, than shackling yourself to the name of mate."

You say, "Once I was not free. Now, I am a step further away from the sort of mental shackles that may well destroy a love in bloom - though, one part of me will hurt, and dwell in a wish I held since childhood."

Your words evokes a silence that enshrouds Aramaeus like a tangible thing, weighty with unexpressed emotion, the furrow in his pale brows deepening. His gaze slides from you, pulled down to one side as if subject to the grasp of gravity, the corners of his mouth likewise turning down in displeasure. "It seems an ill fate, to love one that is beyond your reach." Glossy ebon talons furl and unfurl in a slow, steady rhythm that Aramaeus seems unaware of, the fingers of his left hand encircled tightly about the wrist of his right. "Would you not prefer to have not fallen prey to love at all? Or to love another, so that you might feel the warmth, rather than the cold of love's absence?"

The deepening night stands strong against the coming day as the moon traces its path across the sky.

You have emoted: "Sometimes I may consider it." Galilei stands, back to that moon. The brightest thing about her save for what the moonlight lines is still her deep, flickering, warm eyes. She speaks to herself just as much as she speaks to Aramaeus, you can tell. "I know who I am, Aramaeus. I could never truly wish that I'd be free from love's blemishes, in whatever shape. But I have also gone through enough to know that there is still value in faith. In stepping back, and tending to what you can control and grow. There are many choices before me, and I have chosen to keep true to mine." While the white-haired Idreth's hand grapples with its twin's wrist, watersteel silently encases Galilei's finger - still and stolid, never to crumble. "One thing all creatures in this life can trust is that change will come. But change does not necessarily mean upheaval. The frame may remain, while its contents mature."

The youth listens, despite the evident agitations of his inner self, the condensed night that seeps from his form twitching and crackling with silent tension. As pale as the moon's light, yet coated in armour blacker as the void that yawns above, Aramaeus seems a picture of duality, two disparate halves that do not blend, yet still form a whole. "A frame is a less vulnerable thing, when empty." The words are distracted, much as the man himself. "You deem it truly a worthy risk, to spin a tapestry of precious things, when doing so invites callous fate to rend it asunder?"

With nary a whisper nor a sigh, rosy-fingered dawn creeps into the land, stealing the soul of the night.
It is now dawn on Falsday, the 1st of Lanosian, year 492 of the Midnight Age.

You have emoted: "The world, and fate, they are both too grand a presence to toy with a humble woman." Galilei may smile, not her usual half-smile but a full one, but you can hear the acceptance deep down of an unknown she has no say over. "Fate or no, world or no, in the end... we all do what we are pulled to do, I feel. You," her words gently point to Aramaeus, "have once told me you are well-versed in politics. You would then be familiar with the plans required, the calculated risks and the element of change. Even your plans and your machinations, they are made within your mind, and thus your mark is left in your actions for fate to claim as its own doing." She shakes her head, wavy locks swaying. "Fate, to me, is only good for soothing a disturbed mind. We cannot know it. We cannot know if it even exists. So we take it, and put it to use as best we can."

You say, "By justifying, by setting it as a foe to defy, anything to give us the strength we need to soldier on. Fate or no - we do what we do, and act as we choose to believe."

Breath plumes in a white mist, the manifestation of the weary sigh lent a draconic aspect, given the source - though lacking the ferocity to grant it a true echo. Aramaeus Unshackles his wrist, lifting his freed hand to run sharp fingers through his hair, the gesture absent, the gleaming ebon cutting stark lines through the rolling tresses of purest white. "In truth, I do not believe in fate. It seems the construct built to hang blame upon, to take choice and consequence from the hands of the weak." Lowering his hand, he offers you a strained smile, the gesture holding none of its usual, easy charm. "I do apologise, Galilei. You surely have more worthwhile matters to take up your time, than to listen to the maudlin words of a lovelorn fool." A wry twist tweaks at his mouth, his voice gaining a dry note, as he suggests, "Staring at drying paint, perhaps."

You have emoted: "You are mistaken," the woman evenly notes. "I see no fool before me. And I do believe," Galilei continues, her own mouth smiling something crooked. "Many words have been spoken of me but very few of you."

Huffing out an amused breath, the faint sound tinged with bitterness, Aramaeus offers you a small shrug. "You have no idea how many would be green with envy over such a claim. I talk overmuch, typically." Smooth scales of atramentous substance, neither truly liquid nor solid, glides over skin as white as snow, as Aramaeus runs his hand down over his face. "You are a surprisingly kind and gentle woman, Galilei."

You have emoted: "Sometime I may pose you queries as you have posed one to me." Even as Galilei engages you with her interest, she does not insist with words or tone. "The tendency you spoke of can be indulged, perhaps somewhere less open to eavesdroppers, but at your leisure... an extension of the kindness and gentleness you have claimed was so surprising on my person." The glow of her eyes flicker warmly as their corners crinkle.

The fractured rainbow of constellations that make up Aramaeus's gaze remains on you for a time, wary calculation gradually giving way to something more complex - less cold, but more jagged, messy. An abortive attempt at a mirthful smile serves only to twitch his mouth in a brief lurch that is swiftly abandoned, the skin about his eyes tightening for but a breath. He nods, then, a slow, gradual motion, the bending of a steel pillar before some great weight. "I would...Like that, I think. I am pleased to provide you with company at any time, regardless of such a generous offer." A shoulder lifts in a jerky shrug, his gaze direct as he says, simply, honestly, "I like you."

You have emoted: Galilei is not in the habit of offering casual touches. That much Aramaeus could have guessed. Stowing away the band of silk on her arm, drapes her shawl around herself and steps closer to Aramaeus, falling in line. "I am honoured," she says softly, and while her eyes and mouth still smile at Aramaeus, there is no jesting in either. Faint changes in her eyes suggest she has pieced together words and aborted looks, but the matter is never acknowledged in that gentleness. "Will you lead us where you feel safe at, to speak awhile before I must sleep?"

Aramaeus makes no attempt to bridge the physical gap that spans the distance between them, instead encouraging the closeness with a small, genuine smile, and a general easing of tension in the sharply defined musculature of his form. "Such a place, I fear, does not truly exist - but the closest I have is the room I rent, if you are comfortable accompanying me there."

You have emoted: "I am," Galilei answers easily. "I wonder what your room will make of this new visitor. We go, then?"

...

A cozy, single-person dorm room.
Simple, but cozy, this room is more than large enough to accommodate one occupant easily. Dark wooden paneling covers the lower half of the walls, the upper half left bare with the exception of a few wall-mounted sconces for greater freedom in decoration. The dorm room has been furnished with a few essentials: a large bed rests against the middle of one wall wall, a nightstand set on one side and a set of drawers on the other meant for storing clothes and other belongings. On the wall opposite the bed rests a simple desk and chair, an oil lamp sitting atop the desk to provide light should the room sconces not be adequate enough. A single, curtained window offers a view of the Spirean landscape outside. A black couch with steel-blue accents stands against the western wall. A bed of animal furs has been piled here. A black-painted lattice shelf is here, a choker of black velvet and gleaming jet and a ferocious steel-blue dragon doll atop it. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A large desk of dark, polished mahogany is here, a comfortable chair of plush onyx velvet has been placed at it. A large mahogony bookshelf has been placed here against the centerern wall. A long, plush obsidian couch is positioned here. There are 2 red oak chests with esoteric markings here.
You see a single exit leading west.
Aramaeus closes the door to the west.

Aramaeus steps within, holding the door open so that you may precede him. Once within, he gestures to the room at large, and invites, "Please, make yourself comfortable. My room is your room, as long as you wish it."

You have emoted: "A fine host." Galilei lopes farther into the room, dark eyes taking in the surroundings. Her eyebrows rise almost reflexively at the proudly-positioned choker on the shelf as she goes to claim a seat upon the couch. "My. I spy a most convenient opener to the conversation I was thinking to have."

Aramaeus's gaze follows yours, his expression souring somewhat as his attention alights upon the innocuous band of velvet. "Ah," is the sole response, a single syllable so loaded with carefully constrained feeling as to fairly groan under the weight. Removing his long coat, Aramaeus folds it fastidiously, placing it upon the bed before taking a seat upon the couch, opposite you. His posture is relaxed, in a loose-boned, negligent fashion, though the riotous chaos of his eyes remains fixed upon you unwaveringly, intent.

You have emoted: Carefully, draws out a demure ribbon choker of dark silk from her pack. Deep burgundy, long enough to trail to her lower back, and kissed by a single fallen star at its very end. "My own I crafted, to remind myself love is a willing shackle. A reminder of agency even as you place a bit of your heart in another's hands, hoping it would take root in their own." Galilei's fingers curl tenderly around its length. "What of you, Aramaeus?" Her voice is as quiet in the dawn as it has been in the night. "Have you found happiness?"

The length of silk that you holds within the gentle prison of you fingers captures Aramaeus's attention as completely as a snare, the shards of colour glimmering with greater intensity as he stares at the inoffensive item. It seems to take a great effort for him to tear his gaze away from it, rising from a great depth to breach the black surface of his thoughts, before he makes a half hearted attempt at a smile. "That is a beautiful piece, Galilei. Your husband is a most fortunate man, and he has my sincerest envy." Attention flickering to the much simpler choker that rests upon the shelf opposite him, Aramaeus' response is slow, extracted with some difficulty. "I...Do not know. Yes, I think - but it is a happiness with caveats. A fruit filled with broken glass, and an uninvited guest."

You have emoted: Galilei offers no urgings of freedom nor outright, unquestioned sympathy. "You paint a picture as dangerous as it is luscious, Aramaeus," she says. "Glass - how one word transforms, even paints what could may well be as warm as apricots or deep red like cherries feel pale and icy."

Aramaeus's response is soft, in the manner that fingers might gently curl about a throat in a tender grip. "You render an accurate depiction, Galilei." He lifts a hand, absently curling the wickedly gleaming talons inwards, studying the lustrous play of light upon the glossy surface. "Would you share your love with another?"

You have emoted: "No." While Galilei's voice is far from cold, there is still a firmness there tethered to something that dwells deeper down. "Some are not made for that life, I have learned."

Aramaeus's eyes thin at the response, the formerly loose fold of claws drawing into a tight fist of scales, a fortress of clenched, atramentous shields from which nothing escapes. "I am inclined to agree," he murmurs, something deadly lurking in the dark, cold voice. "Yet I must, or that which I love will be denied to me."

You have emoted: "Are you?" Galilei's dark eyes are as mirrors, and her question is earnest, if sombre - looking to know Aramaeus now that she has spoken of her own heart.

The shattered chrome that floats upon the black pools of Aramaeus's eyes are mirrors in truth, a fractured array of your reflections dwelling within his regard as he watches you. "I believe so. I am a selfish, selfish creature, at my very core," he admits, though without so much as a tinge of shame colouring his words. "I would have that which I desire entirely to myself, if I could - but if I cannot have it at all without sharing, well..." Broad shoulders rise and fall in a liquid motion, the subtle sheen of light playing across the fine black fabric of his shirt. "Even a dragon can learn to share its hoard, if the alternative is nothing at all."

You have emoted: "You have made your choice," Galilei notes softly. Silvery word, 'choice.' Gleaming argent like shackles, yet what can one truly do? "The red-haired wayfarer who moved so swiftly upon ice, mm? Is she the hoard of which you speak?"

Aramaeus's laugh is low and soft, bitter as soured wine. "Choice? I had as much choice as a bird that unwittingly flew into a cage." Leaning back into the soft embrace of the plus cushioning, a twisted effort at a smile accompanies, "So obvious, is it?" A shrug, a negligent effort at indifference. "Yes, Irys is my gaoler and hoard both." A flicker of something dark, a cloud passing across the pale moon, as his attention flits to the choker, and away again, as if burned. "Shared by the vampire that was present."

You have emoted: "Whose token you now own in so visible a place." Galilei regards Aramaeus as she leans back in her seat, one white hand raised and clawtips resting lightly against her cheek. "I wonder if your dragon has found its match, Aramaeus."

Rising smoothly, Aramaeus makes his way unhurriedly to the shelf, where he picks the choker up in a most delicate grip between to arcing talons. Examining it for a time, a complex array of emotions shift beneath the surface of his features, a subdued procession of sentiment that leaves in its wake little but weariness. Returning to his seat, he rubs at the soft, yielding velvet in an absent manner, and explains, "This was a gift - an offering, and admittedly a veiled insult, to the vampire." Another shrug, accompanied this time by a smile that is a touch chagrined. "I have been...Trying. To bridge the divide, so that matters are less tense, for Irys' sake." A frown furrows his brow, marring the smooth expanse as a crack riven through marble. "She wore it for our rendezvous." His voice grows distant, eyes unfocusing as his mind turns back, seeing something other than the room in which he sits. "She was beautiful, really - I do not know why that surprised me. But she is, apparently, as mercurial as molten venom, and it took something of an abrupt turn for the worst."

You have emoted: "I can see the thing is still intact," Galilei notes.

Aramaeus snorts with black humour, turning the band slowly around in his fingers. "By some miracle. She took offense to my declaration - though I think she misinterpreted the intent wildly, and let wrath take precedence over clarity. She left in a rage, and sent this to me, before evidently working herself into such a frenzy that she returned and slew me, right after Irys kissed me." Here, the first flickers of genuine anger reveal themselves, drifting up from some unfathomable depth. "Irys did not seem to mind."

You have emoted: "One expectation a sharer may perhaps need to fold away?" Galilei suggests, calmly. This is no surface, flyaway nonchalance, you can tell as much from the level of focus directed Aramaeus' way, nearly crackling when one can perceive its intensity. "The stone that hits two birds may find sport - where a bird does not ache in sport, and the stone may not see it that way."

"I hardly know what to expect, in truth." Aramaeus replies softly. "I was not made aware that Irys' affections already had a claimant, 'til they introduced themselves abruptly." Slowly, with the inexorable nature of a black ocean wearing away solid stone, Aramaeus' talons curl about the choker, which folds beneath the pressure like a dark rose, blooming in reverse. "I could suffer it, I think, but the inequality, the sense of being in the dark, waiting patiently for scraps while another feasts in the next room - it rankles." Glancing up at you once more, he offers a faintly apologetic smile. "You see? Foolish."

You have emoted: Galilei's lower lip trembles, not quite a result of the tightness entering her jaw. "I am sorry." The words come on a faint rasp, and it is not pity but pain you hear.

The emotion in your words strikes Aramaeus like a blow, who flinches, a mass of emotion roiling across his sculpted features in the brief instant before he turns his head away, so that only his profile is in view. It takes a moment for him to speak, and when he does, there is a thickness to his voice that is almost fit to strangle. "As am I."

You have emoted: The rustle of weight lifting off upholstery brings Galilei's shadow directly before Aramaeus. She does not bid him look at her, but she offers a low, "May I?" The question is accompanied by her pale, slender hand, which hovers a length away from his shoulder.

Your approach winds the subtle tension in Aramaeus's form higher, the muscles in his neck and shoulder tautening by degrees - though he makes no move to repel you. Instead, a hand clad in lustrous black lifts to press against the underside of yours, the contact as light as a winter breeze. The curved hooks of the obsidian talons arc over the edge of your palm, the points applying the faintest perceptible pressure in an unspoken invitation as he gestures to the empty spot beside him with his free hand.

You have emoted: An offer of comfort redirected but perhaps not rejected, Galilei returns to her seat. The Idreth's hand departs like cloud shifting from the moon, leaving Aramaeus with a touch warmer than expected of most Consanguine. It is there that the venturing hand finds its mark, laying a gentle weight upon his shoulder.

(Tells): On tendrils of air, you let your velvety voice reach Aramaeus's mind: "Only you can know your situation - but I believe I can find something similar in my own past, Aramaeus." Gentle clouds of blue drift around her mind, revealing themselves to you. "Know that in heartache you are not alone."

The pale hand rests upon the dark fabric of Aramaeus's shirt, shifting upon the waves of muscles tensed and forcibly loosened, as a ghostly ship upon a fathomless sea. He does not turn to face you, though the painful curve of his mouth is just visible. His own hand lifts, settling by your own, close as the reflection of the moon upon a black lake - as near as touching as is possible, but so very separate.

(Tells): Aramaeus's psychic whisper trails through your mind, "Would that we could ease such an ache with commiseration alone - but companionship and a kind heart goes a long way, it seems." Soft, genuine tendrils of gratitude, interwoven with gleaming lines of cautious affection brush as lightly across the mental contact as mist. "Thank you, Galilei."

You have emoted: Galilei, whatever she may be, is still a being closer than the stars. "Thank you for letting me help, Parvha." An endearment in the tongue of her heritage? A name whose bearer remains only as some mark left on Galilei's life? She does not explain the slip of names, dark eyes taking in the youth beside her. One gentle squeeze, and then she is gone - dissipating in a shower of bloody mist, an odd ray of sunlight here and now gone.

Galilei

Part 2: Actual ghosts. Or at least talking about them.

More of a follow-up/foreshadowing to the previous.

You knock on the door to the east.

You hear the door to the east being unlocked.
The door to the east is opened from the other side.
Aramaeus arrives from the east.
Aramaeus closes the door to the east.
Aramaeus locks the east door.

You have emoted: Galilei starts a little, the saucer of an Archivist's porcelain tea cup rattling in her hands as the door is opened.

Aramaeus opens the door and steps through, blinking in surprise when he sees you. A small, genuine smile curves his lips, and he offers a courteous half-bow. "Galilei." He cocks his head, noting the rattling. "Are you well?"

You have emoted: Galilei holds out an Archivist's porcelain tea cup, returning the smile as she, too, dips her head in greeting to Aramaeus. "Well and hoping to see you so. Perhaps with an offering to aid, there."

Aramaeus accepts the proffered cup with a gracious dip of his head, settling the fine procelain within the black-scaled palm of his hand. "Much appreciated, Galilei. Are you stopping, or merely passing by with kind gifts?"

You have emoted: "I've some time today." Galilei looks at Aramaeus as Galilei would look at him, not as a robed Kin would a Morsel or a soldier would a civilian.

"Excellent." Aramaeus declares, opening the door behind him and allowing you to step through first, before following.

Aramaeus gestures to either couch with a vague, circular motion of the cup, before taking a seat himself. "As before, my lair is your lair. Be at ease."

You have emoted: Galilei gathers a silk shawl heavily embroidered with blooms about herself as she steps in. She follows suit, settling upon a black couch with steel-blue accents as a heron would a treetop. "You've still made a home of this place, Aramaeus. Sometime I really ought to invite you to Bloodloch to see my suite."

Aramaeus's gaze flits about the room, the corner of his mouth turning down slightly as he lifts a single shoulder in an apathetic shrug. "A home? Not quite. An outpost, with some comforts. A home I design would be far grander than this humble abode." The lips twist upwards, a glint of pleasure in his eyes as he regards you. "I would enjoy that a great deal. Do you spend much time there?"

You have emoted: "It has been quite a while," Galilei says, voice growing softer for a moment as she muses. "Goodness, but it has been there for me to house moments, sweet and sharp both. Nowadays my haven I have come to seek out more often." It is here that she turns her dark eyes back onto Aramaeus. "Something you would also shape in time."

Aramaeus utters a soft sound of contemplation, studying the cup in his hands with mild interest as he swirls it about in lazy circles. "That is the peculiar thing about homes - they tend to absorb the lingering notes of the people and events that have dwelled within." Lifting his chaotic, wildly colourful gaze to you, he offers a warm smile. "It is my hope that this place will remember you - and my future home will have the honour of your presence, as well. As for havens, yes, well." A soft, rueful exhalation, and he settles back into the couch, relaxing visibly. "I have been slacking, admittedly. What is yours like?"

You have emoted: Galilei's smile widens, as though she had been waiting for Aramaeus to ask. "I can give you a small tour of the Twilit City, if you would wish to visit."

A hint of white is teased through Aramaeus's lips as his smile broadens, nodding with some enthusiasm. "I would be delighted, if you would not mind."

You have emoted: Galilei does not move from where she sits, but merely beckons to Aramaeus. "We shall be there in a moment."

You turn your mind to the entryway of your haven, and further in to the Twilit City. Its pull is a penetrating vibration, fragmenting your senses and expanding your mind. Another moment passes, and you have already left the shell that now tethers you to reality.
Aramaeus follows you to the ether.

On a sunburst platform.
High above a sea of feathery clouds, a circular platform of rainbow quartz hangs; at the centre, a sunburst carving eternally dominates, perhaps to give an origin to the never-burning daylight that shines here without a source. Though already ringed by markings of major constellations, countless shadows from a spiraling canopy of crystalline spheres also traverse the carving's surface to reflect the sun's journey. Those delicate shells hang like morning dew from their twisting quartz rod, the height of which would be overshadowed by the balancing act of structures further into the mindscape - but only if one would turn their gaze to look upon those. Northward, boundless skies await the eye, changing as the world outside and the mind within are wont to change. South across a bridge of crystal, a phantom, looming city beckons beneath its twilit glow. Faint, honey-gold light twinkles here and there to soften the mass of thought and memory, a gentle reminder that this is home. Thick, leaf-shaped shelves have been arranged into an ethereal bookshelf. A small sign indicates that LIBRARY CATALOG will list the materials in this library.
You see a single exit leading south.

You have emoted: Galilei opens her eyes slowly, languidly, a small smile even now blooming on her lips. The skies before you are vast, and so is the shadowy outlines of the city that lie far off to the south. "Welcome to my mind."

Aramaeus revolves slowly in place, a look of deep and genuine appreciation suffusing his fine features as he drinks in the vista that stretches before them. In a hushed voice, layered with pleasure, he murmurs, "It is beautiful-, Galilei. I am awed, and deeply honoured that you permit me here." He turns from savouring the surroundings, to favour you with a brilliant smile. "Thank you."

You have emoted: Galilei is freer in her mind. Though the Consanguine does not break into a run across the bridge or sweep him up into a spin, the smile she wears is broad, almost close to a laugh. "Come further south. Darker there, but not always."

Your own unbounding of spirit stirs Aramaeus to similar freedom of expression, though tempered by decorum and respect. "It is good to see you so happy. Please, do lead on - I am most curious to see more." A black hand turns, rotating at the wrist to gesture you forward.

You have emoted: And off they go across Galilei's bridge, which is sturdy beneath lightened feet despite its delicacy.

Into glowing shadows.
Fresh off the ethereal bridge, dusky cobblestone forms a winding street around the entry point of the Twilit City. It is a sprawling and towering thing, buildings upon buildings spiralling endlessly up from beneath the clouds, each island spiral connected to the other by way of bridges that are a darker copy of the opalescent path behind. A grand, arched portico at least two stories tall rises before a set of double doors, guarded by globular lanterns that hang upon slender, twisted, barely-visible metal rods. The lights are scattered around the islands like oversized will-o'-wisps, their glow warm and strong to dispel the ever-present shadows and allow the place's natural colour to reign.
You see exits leading north and in.

You have emoted: Though darkness looms, Galilei does not pause in her movements. One white hand reaches to rest along the great door's surface, and without it truly opening the two are elsewhere.

Vestibule of faded mirrors.
The doors from before open onto a wide hall of checkered marble flooring, high ceilings, and pillars; the air is clear and even sweet-smelling when sentiment is not colouring it, yet what light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling, velvet-swathed windows shimmer with dust-like motes - the vast vestibule carrying traces of sepia in feeling if not in actual colour. Straight ahead and nestled in between a sprawling, twin spiral staircase, a tiered marble fountain keeps deceptively delicate vigil. To either side of the doors, mirrors shaped like the very windows they reflect form a silent and uniform line, hazy silhouettes whispering in and out of existence on each argent surface. From time to time you do catch your own self looking back. An indigo starstone shimmers quietly from the lip of the fountain.
You see exits leading south and out.

Aramaeus's curiosity is evident in the manner with which his head turns and pivots at every new aspect that presents itself, a faint, pleased cast to his features as he takes in the surroundings. "You have a marvelous sense of the aesthetic, Galilei. It is breathtaking."

You have emoted: As though left without a room to dwell in, you can spy curious things of cloth here and there; a pointed scrap of ears, carefully tailored shirts. Galilei herself has not noticed them, the sepia of the vestibule already offering its quiet welcome for Aramaeus and her. "Thank you, Aramaeus. In truth, there was little I consciously shaped. The dormant part of my mind seems to do the shaping, whenever I discover a new room."

"Truly? I suppose that does make a great deal of sense. I imagine mine might be the same, were I to pay it any mind." Aramaeus replies easily. Errant tresses of silken white hair drift across his brow as he cants his head curiously as the cloth items, a snowy brow lifting as he studies the closest one. "Do you craft things with these materials?"

You have emoted: And now Galilei's expression shifts as though some spell had settled on her. "I didn't - " The woman's bootfalls are quiet upon the checkered floor, seemingly endless as it stretches from one side to the other. "I didn't place it - " One little cloth doll sits upon the left staircase, another sits one step above it. " - them... here."Despite this, her tone is far from alarmed; her words come on a soft exhale, wonder and nostalgia mixing there. The one on the lower step holds a miniature a golden sun pinwheel in his hand, while the other one holds a miniature of an iridescent star pinwheel. Button eyes - the first set a bluish grey and the other greyish green; hair made from braided yarn, the first doll as towheaded while the other's is as dark as Galilei's own hair.

The benign manner in which Aramaeus regards you does not fade, so much as take as a shadow slides beneath it as he studies you, eyes calculating. The majority of his attention remains upon you, though he flicks speculative looks towards the dolls. "Is all well, Galilei?"

You have emoted: "Yes." The undertones warming her voice had been present before; now it is only more pronounced. "Aramaeus, it seems I was a little late on the uptake. My mind already knows who you resemble." Galilei is cautious, and so she takes a moment to consider this. "Who he might have become." But which 'he,' among the two dolls? Carefully, as though picking up a true infant, holds up the blond doll with his sunny pinwheel. "A representation of Mayar, my longest-surviving younger brother." She repeats the motion with the dark-haired one. "Mattias, the firstborn. Older than I by five years, and died before I could truly know him." Her dark eyes rove about, seeking the owners of a name - or names? - not yet spoken.

The shattered constellation of Aramaeus's eyes thin at a glacial pace, drifting from you, to the blond doll, then to the darker haired one, and back to you. When he speaks, it is with a disarmingly casual manner, stepping over to stand within a respectful distance of you. Making no move towards the dolls, he asks, all polite interest, "Who is it that I resemble, to you, Galilei?"

You have emoted: "Mayar is like the autumn sun." Is, not was. "A boy like a rock to lean on. I remember Mattias is like a bee going to flowers, when it comes to sharing his smiles." Galilei herself chuckles softly. "No - I remember." Both dolls rest back upon their steps, sightless button eyes peering curiously up at Galilei and her visitor. "Parvha." The name is tender on Galilei's lips. "Teron. Twins who were taken, again, before I could know them. Before I could even see them walk..." The Idreth's darkened eyes now turn to him. Combs over the tousled side of his hair, takes in the elusive shades of his eyes. "They had my mother's eyes. My eyes, before I became me. My mother's hair, and thus mine."

Aramaeus's apparent ease persists throughout, his posture that of relaxed confidence - though the manner in which he watches you sharpens as you speaks, the skin about his eyes tightening. When he speaks, his voice is soft, gentle as a cool shadow beneath an oppressive sun. "You have lost much, Galilei. For that, I am sorry." He holds your gaze without wavering, a tinge of sorrow bleeding into his alabaster features. "Parvha. You called me as such, earlier. Is that who I remind you of?"

You have emoted: Galilei dips her head. "Much about my twins I'll never know, Aramaeus. But when I sat with you, and listened to your pain, when I spoke to you of my pain and watched you listen - it seems those moments were enough to make me care, or wish to care as much as I had for the brothers I had hoped I could watch grow up." Her smile is no longer beatific as it had been, outside, and you can almost see the mortal sister - the mortal mother she would have been, without the fangs and the glowing amber of her eyes that mark her as something other. "Parvha and Teron may not have grown to be like you. You and I may well have wildly diverging insides to be thought of as siblings. But all that's yet unwritten. What I do know is that I am glad to have been of help, and that the friendship we are cultivating have so far made me glad."

Aramaeus's reaction is a long time in coming, standing as he is, simply watching, listening with an air of absolute attentiveness. The smooth expanse of his brow is marred somewhat by a faint drawing down, shadow deepening as honest concern flickers in the depths of his fractured eyes. He speaks slowly, picking his words with care, voice still pitched gentle and low. "I will not pretend to understand your pain, in truth, Galilei." A brief tightening of the mouth, lips pressing into a thin, white line. "Family is a complex matter for me - or was, at least. However." Here, a glimmer of a smile, a small curving of the lips that carries warmth, affection in his honest regard. "I would be most happy to help ease the ache in your heart. I cannot fill the hole their absence has left in you, but perhaps I can soothe it, in whatever manner you wish me to."

You have emoted: "You needn't go great lengths to do so." Solidarity brings something more out of the Pontifex, for mirth wells within those dark eyes and spills, a little, to her mouth. "It's a little difficult to imagine me coddling you as I might my twins' souls." Galilei does not sound as though she is joking when she mentions souls, however. "As it is difficult for me to see a *child* of my own. No - I think the right name for you in my mind, Aramaeus, would still be friend. To occasionally meet, share drinks, and talk. You may well become as Parvha and Teron are to me in time; you may well be visited by them, should they be curious enough to come and watch their sister as Mattias and Mayar do. And I will be content."

The corner of Aramaeus's mouth twitches up in a brief display of humour, his tone dry as he remarks, "Yes, I think I am rather a touch too large for such a thing." The nascent curl blossoms into a full smile, a simple, appealing thing of uncomplicated warmth. "I should be full glad to meet them, of course. As I will be a friend to you. My hearth is your hearth, and my home, your home. Should you require anything of me other than simple socialising, I will be glad to oblige."

You have emoted: When Aramaeus accepts the matter of her ghostly siblings as naturally as he would a living relative, Galilei's smile widens, warm and glad. "Though my time of rest is here - of course I will escort you back outside the mindscape - it has been a great pleasure, showing you around. Someday I do hope to see what you make of your own haven." The look in her eyes is earnest when she speaks next. "There is always something to look forward to."

Aramaeus inclines his head in acknowledgement, returning your smile with ease. "You will be one of precious few that I will permit within, fear not." Spreading his black-clad hand wide, he gestures for you to precede him, offering a gallant little bow as he does so. "The pleasure is mine, and a privilege it has been. Do not let me keep you from your rest. Please, do lead on."

You have emoted: "As both have been mine to be host to you this day." Formality blended just right with easy, gentle cheer. With one last look at the two dolls, Galilei leads Aramaeus back outside, out of the shadows and back into open air.