It arrives from the long shadows of the night, porcelain mask bobbing and rags like wings and other celestial assortments. Anju’s smile - so rare to be seen as more than a twitch of the corners - rises in abject adoration, crinkling mahogany eyes. Ludo is swift to pluck the edge corners, and Anju eagerly snags a similarly colored piece with deft fingers, moving gracefully around Ludo’s rags to try and match them together. Though she’d painted the pieces herself, they are plentiful enough to still provide a challenge when it comes to matching them.
Riya, as loyal and loving as her soul-sister to their chosen patron, preens like a fat cat under the loving pat and trills a hissing tune of pleasure. “Half the fun is the guessing is it not? My lips are sealed,” Anju smiles, not wanting to ruin the game by revealing the painting she’d made, and aware of the implications that dwell beyond the surface. After a few pieces are placed, the turmoil beneath her happy gaze finally breaks through.
“I met a peculiar woman named Mildew in the swamp. We talked of Mort, and of ghosts who linger here, and it has remained in my mind. Things are changing Ludo, the Ascended grow ever stronger in rank if nothing else. Stealing and tainting and twisting more and more souls, never to know Mort’s love.” Emotion wells in her that would otherwise be deemed uncharacteristic, but Anju’s devotion to Mort - to the cycle of life and death, the veil of the beyond which has never scared her - is not uncharacteristic at all. Anju is normally to apathetic for things like hatred, but she despises The Voice for this betrayal with a magnitude that shakes her very core. She doesn’t care if the Ascended believe they make their own choice free of persuasion and bias, the perversion of their once-beautiful souls is a wound that aches as if it is her own.
Her sword-calloused hand clenches around a puzzle piece, trying to reign it in enough to speak. Forcing herself to find and place it, taking the time that requires to compose her thoughts. “The Order’s ways are above me. I believe they have plans to try and stop them. But I am...troubled. I feel as if I need to do more than spend my days training. I do not know if their souls are worth saving, if they even can be. But I cannot bear to see it continue.” A precipice that has driven her exactly here.
It all spills out, and for a moment she ducks her head, ashamed at her own selfishness. “I’m sorry, Ludo. I cherish any time you give me, all your games. I don’t mean to make this about me.” More words than she has spoken at once in months, but here is the only place she ever feels safe and confident enough to do so. It is her sanctuary, just as the Celestine is for the various creatures of Caido.
Riya, as loyal and loving as her soul-sister to their chosen patron, preens like a fat cat under the loving pat and trills a hissing tune of pleasure. “Half the fun is the guessing is it not? My lips are sealed,” Anju smiles, not wanting to ruin the game by revealing the painting she’d made, and aware of the implications that dwell beyond the surface. After a few pieces are placed, the turmoil beneath her happy gaze finally breaks through.
“I met a peculiar woman named Mildew in the swamp. We talked of Mort, and of ghosts who linger here, and it has remained in my mind. Things are changing Ludo, the Ascended grow ever stronger in rank if nothing else. Stealing and tainting and twisting more and more souls, never to know Mort’s love.” Emotion wells in her that would otherwise be deemed uncharacteristic, but Anju’s devotion to Mort - to the cycle of life and death, the veil of the beyond which has never scared her - is not uncharacteristic at all. Anju is normally to apathetic for things like hatred, but she despises The Voice for this betrayal with a magnitude that shakes her very core. She doesn’t care if the Ascended believe they make their own choice free of persuasion and bias, the perversion of their once-beautiful souls is a wound that aches as if it is her own.
Her sword-calloused hand clenches around a puzzle piece, trying to reign it in enough to speak. Forcing herself to find and place it, taking the time that requires to compose her thoughts. “The Order’s ways are above me. I believe they have plans to try and stop them. But I am...troubled. I feel as if I need to do more than spend my days training. I do not know if their souls are worth saving, if they even can be. But I cannot bear to see it continue.” A precipice that has driven her exactly here.
It all spills out, and for a moment she ducks her head, ashamed at her own selfishness. “I’m sorry, Ludo. I cherish any time you give me, all your games. I don’t mean to make this about me.” More words than she has spoken at once in months, but here is the only place she ever feels safe and confident enough to do so. It is her sanctuary, just as the Celestine is for the various creatures of Caido.
Anju
