who we are and all that we're trying to be
Other presences wander within; and for half a beat he wondered if they’d ever be able to rekindle those days of ridiculous flour notions, or if those moments were gone, strangled, and suffocated by the way the world worked. They weren’t motions or insinuations for today anyway; lanterns more of a somber affair, the itch of sorrow curling its way through his shoulders, heaving a breath to abolish it from his core. His eyes slid over the others who occupied the bakery, an impish grin briefly unwinding, an arch of his brow following, at Weaver’s appearance and snagging of cookies (a brief narrowing of his eyes too, as if suddenly realizing he had competition for the sweets), a nod granted and given to her. “Weaver,” and no questions following, understanding why she’d be here. He also procured another cookie, just in case.
The other was unfamiliar, but on Amalia’s intonations, Seiji, the name sounded like something Kiada might have prospered or shared eons ago. A nod was given to the other man too, before presiding in his chosen sanction.
Perhaps he should choose to do it traditionally – with his created contortions bizarrely unwieldly. His hands reached for portions of wood, pondering the shape, the start to his father’s, remembering fire and swords, brimstone and embers, bombastic voraciousness, calls to war, manifesting, rooting the fortifications into a strong, stalwart formation.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
