What is a ghost?
Home.
Somehow, Longnight made it so. The old house looks down on Seiji with comforting familiarity. Sunlight glances off the front windows like a smile, strained but genuine. If the door whines a little as it opens, if some cold has seeped in through the silent walls, no matter. All are ills easily remedied. Only one concern dimmed Seiji’s spirits as he made the walk back from the Rathskeller, and that quiets somewhat as he steps inside.
Kiada is back. He breathes a sigh of relief as he spies the fire burning, inhales the rough scent of woodsmoke. Though she appears almost as desolate as she was the night she returned to the Rathskeller, she is at least alive. A silent figure propped against the hearth, eyes downcast and far away. Something terrible has happened.
Seiji understands tragedy in an abstract way. He does not think he has ever lost anything truly dear to him. Not except for his home, which exists only in fragmented memory. He can’t relate. He can, however, heat some water. Can throw a small handful of dried herbs into each of two mugs. The tea he has only a little of, brought back with him from the Rathskeller, but Seiji is happy to share it. When it’s ready, he moves to join Kiada by the hearth. He sets her mug within reach, but does not expect her to take it from him. She seems far too distraught.
Truly, Seiji cannot be sure of where to begin. He offers his presence, and extends a tentative hand for the baby luxere to sniff, should it wish. It seems to be a part of their household now, however strange. “What is his name?” Seiji murmurs. He can’t be sure he expects a response.
Somehow, Longnight made it so. The old house looks down on Seiji with comforting familiarity. Sunlight glances off the front windows like a smile, strained but genuine. If the door whines a little as it opens, if some cold has seeped in through the silent walls, no matter. All are ills easily remedied. Only one concern dimmed Seiji’s spirits as he made the walk back from the Rathskeller, and that quiets somewhat as he steps inside.
Kiada is back. He breathes a sigh of relief as he spies the fire burning, inhales the rough scent of woodsmoke. Though she appears almost as desolate as she was the night she returned to the Rathskeller, she is at least alive. A silent figure propped against the hearth, eyes downcast and far away. Something terrible has happened.
Seiji understands tragedy in an abstract way. He does not think he has ever lost anything truly dear to him. Not except for his home, which exists only in fragmented memory. He can’t relate. He can, however, heat some water. Can throw a small handful of dried herbs into each of two mugs. The tea he has only a little of, brought back with him from the Rathskeller, but Seiji is happy to share it. When it’s ready, he moves to join Kiada by the hearth. He sets her mug within reach, but does not expect her to take it from him. She seems far too distraught.
Truly, Seiji cannot be sure of where to begin. He offers his presence, and extends a tentative hand for the baby luxere to sniff, should it wish. It seems to be a part of their household now, however strange. “What is his name?” Seiji murmurs. He can’t be sure he expects a response.
Something dead that seems to be alive.
Something dead that doesn't know it's dead.
