[Complete]
Who: violetandvelvet, prophetabove
When: After this conversation. During night.
Where: Around Acairnia, during the night.
Rating: PG ♥
Summary: Prophet and Betsy get to know each other. Pasts are revealed, and reflected, and a secret is shared.
Foolish, perhaps. But there was a perfectly good reason to be out in this mist, walking by those bodies sprawled on the ground. The images of phantom people he would see, he would know. But being of the dark power himself he can clearly see a cheap trick for what it is. They may have reached inside of his mind and pulled from his memory a face that was meant to capture him, to distract him, to taunt and beckon him astray. However, it just wasn't quite that way. Prophet was a determined Fiend Lord, after all. He's not interested in phantom faces of his mother calling to him, or of armored souls he's sent to the afterlife by his own hands.
And even if they were real, Cyrus, Glenn, his mother-- he wouldn't care.
He's never cared. Not since that day. So his smug shield for the apparitions was intact and he glided past the changing molecules of air and chemicals of darkness. Without a second glance to what whimpered as he pushed by.
The small candle flames that guided him to Betsy's cabin stood still in the thin air around him. Their purple shimmer flickering against the disturbing breeze, but still they breathed with the purple light.
Betsy. He calls to her through that open door of mental communication.
When: After this conversation. During night.
Where: Around Acairnia, during the night.
Rating: PG ♥
Summary: Prophet and Betsy get to know each other. Pasts are revealed, and reflected, and a secret is shared.
Foolish, perhaps. But there was a perfectly good reason to be out in this mist, walking by those bodies sprawled on the ground. The images of phantom people he would see, he would know. But being of the dark power himself he can clearly see a cheap trick for what it is. They may have reached inside of his mind and pulled from his memory a face that was meant to capture him, to distract him, to taunt and beckon him astray. However, it just wasn't quite that way. Prophet was a determined Fiend Lord, after all. He's not interested in phantom faces of his mother calling to him, or of armored souls he's sent to the afterlife by his own hands.
And even if they were real, Cyrus, Glenn, his mother-- he wouldn't care.
He's never cared. Not since that day. So his smug shield for the apparitions was intact and he glided past the changing molecules of air and chemicals of darkness. Without a second glance to what whimpered as he pushed by.
The small candle flames that guided him to Betsy's cabin stood still in the thin air around him. Their purple shimmer flickering against the disturbing breeze, but still they breathed with the purple light.
Betsy. He calls to her through that open door of mental communication.