#𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓 — marmar

[nagavoice]

starshine spectre

phantasmagoria starter for @arcstral !

          LIFE WAS TO BE UNKIND TO HER.

         Ban-Ban had taught her this long ago; manaketes were cursed with the charge of isolation. She could play with humans as she wished, even befriend them if she so wanted, but there was no stopping the inevitable end of their decades-long life. Loss would follow her like a shadow, and she would simply have to bear the pain.

        She knows of this, and yet she here she is: seated beneath the shadows of a witch’s booth, whose claims to speak to the dead had tempted her. The table is tucked behind the monastery alleyways as a babe would find itself tucked in a cot, obscured from the rest of the festivities. She would normally find herself avoiding such dodgy spots like this— she’s faced enough trickery and exploitation to last many lifetimes, thank you very much— but she isn’t powered by logic nor rationality today. No, today she thinks using her heart rather her head.

        Her head may have had the sense to stop her, but her heart? Her heart is a desperate little creature, squeezed by loss and burdened by tragedy; foolishly, it knows nothing of restraint.

        The witch recognizes as much; in fact, Tiki thinks her woes tickle the sorceress something delightful. Her voice is airy as she speaks, and when she rests her chin on interlocked fingers, she tilts her head, as though regarding some cute little puppy and not a grieving adult.

        “The grief in your eyes festers like an open wound, but I assure you that my services—” the word is spoken with a curl dancing across her lip, as though it were some secret to be kept between them “—can help mend the injury. Now tell me; who is it that you wish to speak to?”

        Tiki breathes deeply, her fingernails digging deep into her thigh. She knows better than to put faith in charlatanism as blatant as the one being offered to her, but she knows, too, of the pain that has haunted her these past few centuries. Even if this whole thing were some charade, doesn’t she deserve a bit of closure?

        “...Mar-Mar.” she speaks, almost weeps the name with all the agony of the passing millennia, “Please, let me speak to my Mar-Mar again.”

        The witch’s mouth twists into a knowing smirk, as though ravishing in the dragonkin’s delicate, quivering state. 

        “Close your eyes, dear. Start reflecting on what you wish to say while I try and establish a link.” she purrs.

        Tiki does as she’s told, eyelids fusing tightly together, and in the darkness of it all she finds herself feeling... small. As though she had suddenly regressed into that young girl from so long ago, cold and lonely, waiting for warmth to pass her by.

                                                    mar-mar... this time, i’ll be sure to thank you properly...