NIKI
"The one who used to run the Greatwood, yes? They called him... the Lullaby? I think it is something different now." Stories of the demigods have flooded the woods thick and fast since the void had been banished, but Niki isn't as up to date on the latest monikers for the gods' chosen as he might be. "Three times a year is quite the boon. And I imagine he brought you back because he is your daughter and he loves you, but the visitation limits might also cause a problem."
Already turning towards the long corridor and the other part of the house, Niki glances over his shoulder and offers Flora a quiet, wry smile. "Something like that, yes," he says. "I like to understand how things work, and to improve them if I can." He taps his leg brace gently with the end of his cane as if to demonstrate. "My interests can wander. And thank you - the ghosts keep it clean."
With that very dry joke left standing between them, Niki gets on his way, leaving Flora to the comfortable couch, the fireplace still dancing with a dying flame, the bookshelves and the small dining table. Cool light from the snowbanks outside filters in through the window, illuminating a long, teal feather propped in a tall vase on the table.
The necromancer isn't gone for long, though when he returns he has shrugged out of his coat, scarf and gloves, left in a dark green sweater that seems to hang from his gaunt frame, a carry case in his free hand. "Would you like me to build the fire any higher?" he asks, heading straight for the table.
Already turning towards the long corridor and the other part of the house, Niki glances over his shoulder and offers Flora a quiet, wry smile. "Something like that, yes," he says. "I like to understand how things work, and to improve them if I can." He taps his leg brace gently with the end of his cane as if to demonstrate. "My interests can wander. And thank you - the ghosts keep it clean."
With that very dry joke left standing between them, Niki gets on his way, leaving Flora to the comfortable couch, the fireplace still dancing with a dying flame, the bookshelves and the small dining table. Cool light from the snowbanks outside filters in through the window, illuminating a long, teal feather propped in a tall vase on the table.
The necromancer isn't gone for long, though when he returns he has shrugged out of his coat, scarf and gloves, left in a dark green sweater that seems to hang from his gaunt frame, a carry case in his free hand. "Would you like me to build the fire any higher?" he asks, heading straight for the table.
stay your pretty eyes on course
keep the memories of who i was before
keep the memories of who i was before
