Orb: 13th of Rebirth's Decline

[brosif]

Ghosts cling to the entryway and nothing ever remains unmarked. Unmade or undone, bone pressing on flesh. Fresh blueberries in autumn, with two moons hanging overhead in the afternoon sun. The scent of it stained her gums.

[Sif’s face is not in view. She speaks quietly, her words not intended for consumption. Her necklace has been tossed to the ground, and the only thing visible is her boots. They are caked in mud and underbrush. Her feet move about restlessly, motions as random and disconnected as her speech.]

We ever attempt substitution, until the original is opaque. Wax paper in a thunderstorm, dried out the next morning.

[ooc: Sif has Snow's visions! If you want her to read your character, give some details here.]

Comments

[brosif]

Perhaps I am.

[halfwitch]

You didn't act like you were before.

[brosif]

We are none of us as we were before.

[halfwitch]

[Long stare]

What?

[brosif]

Or we are ever unchanged. A continuation. Morning and evening hold the same space on a calendar, we chart them as a unit.

[A man who is kind in the morning and evil in the evening still answers to his given name. She thinks it over, legs stretching out.]

[halfwitch]

You are definitely losing it. You haven't been drinking, have you?

[brosif]

[A sharp laugh.]

Is that an offer?

[halfwitch]

I'm eleven. I've not got any of the crap!