when he arrived nobody really knew what to do with him. he appeared in a quiet residential area on the outskirts of town wearing a t-shirt and khaki pants.
Mykhos aevan leri
We are gods of old games, with old names and old faces. We are gods of old blood, old loves and old places. We are the gods who dwell in the soil, who have watched you come and watched you go. We have soaked in your wars and your peace and all the malice and…
“what is your name?” he asked, patient and unscathing. “my own is Ronin” she flittered in the wind, neither here nor there, her eyes washed clean of colour. but she remembered this one… “you are-” she began, then fell silent as the memory slipped beyond her careless grasp.
perhaps, when all is said and done, you will still call us monsters. perhaps not. but seeing that i am the final calamity, how shall you survive long enough to condemn me?
Shey peered mistrustfully around the room. A single stool sat in the middle, and the entire room was an indistinct colour which may have been white. No windows, one door. she was to stay here until Faegun, the First Spirit, revealed to her – and to all those waiting outside – the colour of her soul.
The wind rushes about her, swirling in smoky patterns of dark blues and dull greys. She stares into it, comforted by the familiarity. Beyond this, everything is darkness.