Open Starter - @darkskiesrpgstarters
Beckham stood at the edge of the broken fountain-turned-reflecting pool, the paper lantern warm between his hands. Its surface glowed faintly with witchlight, the ink already bleeding a little where he’d pressed the name too hard.
Camille O’Connell.
He’d thought about writing more. A message. A prayer. Something clever, something that would make her laugh. But in the end, her name was enough. The world already knew it — whispered in histories, in warnings, in half-remembered songs. All he wanted was to see it carried into the sky, untouchable.
He crouched and set the lantern into the water. It drifted toward the others, one small light among dozens, until it lifted free and began to rise. Beckham watched it go, jaw tight, shoulders squared like someone trying not to fold in on himself.
Only when he felt eyes on him did he speak, not looking away from the lantern’s slow ascent. “That was my mother’s name,” he said simply. No explanation, no preamble — just fact, offered into the night air.
Finally, he glanced sideways, a faint, wry twist of a smile ghosting across his face. “You write one too? Or are you just here to watch the rest of us spill our hearts on paper and call it catharsis?”
Kiera pulled her hood back, exposing her face to her brother. "Yeah. I know."
The festival felt...unwarranted? Unearned? To celebrate the world cracking in pieces didn't seem right, in any case. Being thrown across time, seeing things as they might have been, had been enough to deal with. Now all of the familiar comforts that came with that were wiped away and the home she knew and loved was fractured into pieces that didn't make sense to her. "No, I'm not writing one. I just...want to sit here and pretend that I'm back home with her. With our family."

















