stella dawes

41. UNHOLY SAINT.

[stella-dawes]

minilocke‌:

Mini still wasn’t sure what to think of what was happening there, but, she accepted the words, trying not to think too much of it, even though her mind swirled with unanswered questions. The brunette had to admit, those were not things she tended to fancy, because she had always loved to know things. She needed to know things. Whenever she didn’t, well, she felt a bit useless.

Running a hand through raven colored hair, Mini brushed a few stray tendrils away from turquoise eyes before she turned her face to the other woman. Locke’s and Keyes’ rarely ever appeared in the same sentence together. On a first glance, those two families had nothing in common aside from belonging to the same coven. The proximity between the duo seemed to defy all that was logical.

Mini cleared her throat and patted the woman’s hand on her arm. “Maddox and I have known each other for a lifetime,” without ever really knowing one another until recently, the sentence unfolded inside her head. He intrigued her more than anyone else had ever been capable. “And, as of lately, I suppose I can say there are things he’s been aiding me with,” the witch’s words were careful as if not to convey what truly went inside her mind at that moment.

“He’s one curious man,” she admitted.

“Hm.” Stella preened, all amusement and a wide smile. There was something more beneath it, she thought. Happiness? That first flush of infatuation? It was refreshing in the face of all else. The haunted faces that walked the streets, shopped the shops, congregated anywhere there was warmth and a bit of good whiskey. The valley needed life again.

“I think it’s nice.” She pronounced with a decisive nod as the two turned the corner, her pace slowing to a mosey. And she did; as somewhat of an onlooker to the valley, Stella liked when the stories ended well. “Good for you.”

Maddox was a good spirit, underneath his thorn-like exterior. A rose, if roses could come in black.

“And what’s he so curious about?”

[stella-dawes]

darkxkeyes‌:

A familiar voice gently admonishing Maddox echoed from a point on a timeline long ago pushing into the present. The same correcting tone marking a correction from the past, when at that time she stood beside his desk and underscored exactly where he’d gone wrong in a lesson. 

The stern expression softened. Miss O’Connor, his professor, who then became Mrs. Dawes. But with the same charm as delicate yet sensible as a lace doily. It’s only little old me.

He stood from the top of the stairs and drew the edges of an unbuttoned coat close together. “I’d rather stab an eye out than make a snow angel. Not a slight to the lovely person inviting me. Just not into snow angels in general.” 

He took a few steps down on the stairs and held out a hand. “Care to come up? Suppose tonight admittance to the funhouse is free. For a former instructor.” 

“You’re a chatterbox tonight,” Stella mused, though she didn’t make an effort to climb up. Something about the way the wind was howling made the ground floor seem that much safer, even if the funhouse was built of thin sheeting and a tin roof.

Folding her arms, she dragged the tip of her boot through the dust on the floor. He wasn’t trying to be mysterious, she didn’t think. Wasn’t going for clever or coy. If anything, Maddox was sulking.

The wind kicked against the side of the building, some of the mirrors rattling a couple rooms behind. Stella tensed, the line between her shoulders growing taut. Her eyes narrowed.

“Gonna tell me what’s got you so sour?”

[stella-dawes]

banavett‌:

Okay, so, Ban was given the perfect excuse for why he was in the butcher shop. Shopping for a solstice meal. That seemed reasonable. Mama would have liked that he did that, she always loved a meal on a special occasion. It shouldn’t have mattered if he made something just for himself or if he invited others to join.

The thing was, Ban only went in the butcher shop because he saw Stella. Ban blinked, bemused, and nodded. “Yeah, I’m getting a brisket.” Sure, why not?

A look of consternation from words he couldn’t find wrinkled his brow and he stared at the woman for a beat. “I really need to talk to you, actually.”

Yes, you do.

The voices again. Ban figured out two things: the sound was distinctly feminine and echoed. It was multiple voices, not just one. And Ban couldn’t fool himself into thinking he knew who it was, but he had a hunch. He just needed to find out for sure and Stella was the only one that could help. “Now’s a bad time, though, maybe I could swing by later. It’s just, uhm, urgent.” Ban didn’t dare bring it up here at the butcher counter. “Did you need help carrying all of this?” he asked hastily, motioning toward the pile of meat she’d ordered.

The butcher’s shop was busy, and Stella petite, but a well-aimed elbow at a pesky woman trying to encroach on her gave her just the space she needed to pick up her paper bag. She promptly handed it to Ban, tilting her head up at him curiously. He looked like he’d eaten a particularly angry cat.

“Well all right.” 

Prim, she turned and angled her way back out the store, with only a light -- “put it on my tab, Josiah!” -- as the bell chimed overhead. The street was noticeably airier, and without the telltale iron scent of fresh blood. Stella began to walk, adjusting her handbag. 

There was a park up ahead, one of the older ones, where the willow trees still clustered and shaded some of the gravestones. A pond rested on the north end, a few late-season ducks making their home under some of the fallen bramble and branches. She led the way through the wrought-iron gates and paused, nodding to the empty space. “You could talk to me now, if you like.”

[stella-dawes]

wildmansoul‌:

He stepped inside the classroom with a small bow of his head. Surrounded by decor chosen with a sophisticated eye, flicker of green from the plants and the fresh aroma of lemon. It was a cozy space, airy and open. Eli especially liked her rug, and not just because his feet were cold.

He handed her the plans. It was readable, mostly, he had put in some effort to slow down where his writing usually struggled to keep up with a fast mind. There was the occasional scribble in the margins in his native tongue, also a doodle or two, dinosaurs.

“Of course,” that’s the first thing he had done, “And I assume it will give them back once it’s done with them,” the void was easily amused, also easily bored, “I just don’t know when or where that’s going to be,” they could potentially be spat into existence anywhere at any time. He gave a resigned sigh, gaze lost in the distance, or the leg of her table more so. Despite all the mean things he had thought about them, he had really liked those shoes.

Then he straightened a bit, lip pulling into a lopsided smile, “Well at least I can use myself as an example of what happens when you lose concentration while teleporting,” it had been a long time since he had last lost things that way and of course it could have been something far more important than the shoes, he should count himself lucky.

She pretended to consider the notes, cocking her head a little, pursing her lips a bit. Mostly she scanned for mistakes, cutthroat and competitive behind her peach blossom complexion. It irked her, when they were well-considered. Fine, then.

Eli seemed so comfortable with not being perfectly buttoned up, she studied him with a less-than-casual interest. Explained why he was so attuned to Psychic, she supposed. They were always a bit looser than the rest. 

He smiled. She smiled in return, all bright blue eyes and a thumbprint mouth, as innocent as anyone could be -- except that she spoke with the dead. And they’d tiffed often enough in the staff room for Eli to know better.

“These look nice.” She handed back the lesson plans with a light tap on them, as though she was blessing them with four fingers. Stella nodded, straightening her shoulders primly. They really did; well-considered once the margins were edited out, thorough while still leaving room for exploration. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, beckoned for him to sit.

“Want some tea?”

Sweet.

[stella-dawes]

darkxkeyes‌:

Location: The Keyes Carnival

A circle in a square had been blown apart and Maddox found himself in a familiar location: the entrance of the carnival funhouse. In the shrill undertone of howling wind he thought the coyote call of his familiar could be heard. Maddox answered. I’m at the carnival. Stay home.

If anyone else turned up after a spell which revolted against the town– fuck ‘em. They were on their own. 

It was difficult to pry the door open with a few feet of snow already settled against the bottom. Once inside he produced a small orb of floating fire. More for heat than light. He knew the insides of the funhouse the way he knew every line etched on the palm of his hand. 

The long tunnel no longer spinning. Without the feet of visitors stepping on them the shifting staircase was also still and frozen. Maddox sat down at the top of them. It wasn’t long before he heard the creak of the door again, the sharp wail of weather growing louder before being muted again. “Go find another spot to wait out the storm. This one is taken.” 

@stella-dawes

She knew the carnival well, the funhouse better. There was something exhilarating about the room of mirrors, being able to see everyone and everything from every angle. Stella liked to know things. She reveled in details, like the tapping of fingertips in a one-two-one-two-two rhythm, or the way someone parted their hair. She was fascinated by minutiae, and often the world moved too fast for her to really indulge in it.

Sometimes she moved too fast, herself.

The door wasn’t heavy, but the snow was damp and thick, and she pulled it aside with some effort. People were still milling around, debating if they wanted to attempt the trek back to town. Another few had holed up inside the concessions house, finding refuge in the smell of stale popcorn amongst the barn rafters. But Stella--

“Oh, stop,” she chided, shutting the door firmly behind her. “It’s only little old me.” She didn’t use an orb to light her path, instead seeming to radiate light from all around her. An aura, golden and amplified. Enough to see her footsteps and the next step she needed to take, but not much else. That didn’t matter. She didn’t need sight to know that voice.

Stella cleared her throat, twitching a little. Her pert nose was red from the cold as she looked up the shaft of the staircase. Only vaguely could she make out a tuft of dark hair. She grinned up at him.

“Wanna make a snow angel?”

[stella-dawes]

ambrosia-atwood‌:

the keyes carnival. open!

Ambrosia coughed. “No,” she groaned to herself. “No.” A handkerchief was retrieved from her coat pocket. The involuntary coughing fit continued as much as she tried to stifle it. In her periphery she knew there was at least one other presence, and she would have preferred to be alone… wherever the hell she was.

Oh. Ambrosia coughed two more times and crumpled the handkerchief in her hand, staring up at a carousel shrouded in shadow and sensing the faint smell of pop corn that could have been fresh from hours ago or years ago. The carnival. Of all places.

Each breath came slow with a high pitched wheeze, the cold air only exaggerating the pain in her chest. Blinking a few times to focus her vision, Ambrosia took an unsteady step toward the carousel and then crumpled against the wooden frame. “I’m fine,” she insisted when she heard footsteps. She wanted to get up but half sitting on the ground seemed preferred for the moment. “What the hell happened?”

Stella had landed, rather unceremoniously, on a giraffe.

She stared at it for a moment, its painted nose sticking out from under her red skirt, her legs askew on either side of it. The ground was close, close enough for her legs to hit it, and she slid off the offending creature and stared. One of those children’s toys, she thought. An animal built on a spring. The giraffe jittered, almost in response.

“Huh.”

Wind whipped against her pert nose, red hair collecting over her shoulder, and she very nearly ran over the older woman when she squawked. 

“Ambrosia Atwood!”

A reprimand as she bent to offer her hand.

“Get off this ground right now.”

[stella-dawes]

minilocke‌:

Mini heard her name being called in a tone that often implied the interlocutor wanted something out of her. She didn’t have time to turn around and face the woman who was coming to join her and soon found herself walking arm in arm with Stella Dawes.

To her, this felt like an unusual occurrence. Most people would prefer to keep their distance from her, save for rare exceptions. “Stella,” she greeted, bowing her head in acknowledgment. The other woman’s excitement was nearly tangible, and, Mini could feel herself picking it up and tuning some of it in for herself. Stella and her outgoing personality could have that effect on the brunette, and she found herself offering her a smile in return.

The question, however, took Mini off guard and she nearly tripped on her own shoes. Maddox and her. What were they? Truthfully, not even Mini possessed the answer to such question, so, instead of dwelling on those thoughts, on the possibilities, she merely shrugged her shoulders.

“Maddox and I have known one another ever since the academy,” a smile, perhaps a little brighter than a simple polite smile would have been, graced her features, her cheeks gaining a slightly flustered tint. “We’re a part of the same coven,” she added, her mind coming up with random factoids she could factor in to explain why they might have been hanging. “Why? Have you heard anything?” She questioned, unable to stop her curiosity from flaring.

Stella liked people. Most of them, anyway. There were a few of the Circle that seemed too cerebral for her own uses, and she didn’t like most children, squeaky as they were. But Mini smelled like gardenias, and she didn’t flinch as Stella took her arm. Good enough for her.

“Oh nothing, nothing.” A flash of white teeth and bright blue eyes as they strolled down the sidewalk. It wasn’t much of a secret that Stella was fond of the quiet, odd man in the Church of Dark, and had been for years. But her wedding ring glittered, a cluster of sapphires, on her finger, and anything between Maddox and she had long-since past.

This was pure nosiness, and she wasn’t ashamed of that.

“Just saw you two together, the other night.” Through a window, maybe, but who was to say? There were loads of windows all over the valley, some more private than others. Maybe she’d been there. Maybe someone had told her. Maybe she’d been projecting, and nosying about.

“Seemed a little cozy.”

[stella-dawes]

banavett‌:

new low. @stella-dawes

Ban pushed open the door to the butcher shop and paused when he saw red hair at the checkout counter. Ban paused with the door held open. He hadn’t been looking for the witch in particular, but in that moment he realized he needed to speak with her.

“Professor?” Ah, shit. She wasn’t–not anymore. That was years ago. Ban was in his thirties now, there no need to call Stella Dawes professor. “Stella, uh–hey.” He wanted to say something about chicken thighs or pork tenderloin since they were at the butcher, but neither of those things had anything to do with why he started talking to her. “How… are you?” So far, so good. Great conversation.

“Yes, and the lamb.” Stella waited, a smile plastered on her face as the butcher looked from her to the line rapidly forming behind her -- and sighed. A man was trying to squeeze in, encroaching on her personal space. She squared her shoulders and shook her head a bit, so her hair thwapped him in the face. “Oh!” Stella turned, red locks thwapping again. “So sorry about that.” She flashed a smile.

He, annoyed, took a step back.

“Thank you.” She praised the butcher, watching eagerly as he weighed and wrapped it in brown paper. “Do you have any--”

Professor?

Stella turned, curiously, spotting a head of dusty blonde hair. “Ah, Ban.” She took the lamb, and then took another --- long --- moment to survey her other options. “Oh, just throw in a couple of those sausages, too, won’t you?”

She turned, beckoning him through the crowd.

“Good, good.” Blue eyes curious as they looked over him, thoroughly disregarding the line and the pile of cut-and-weighed meats accumulating on the counter before her. “Are you getting something for the solstice?”

[stella-dawes]

gossip hour. → @minilocke

“Minerva Locke.”

A small hand reached toward the woman’s elbow, slipping her arm against hers. Stella sidled up to her right side and gave a smile and a pat to Mini’s forearm. Her skirts were green, that day, emerald and deep, and her blue eyes glittered with excitement as she began to walk with the woman down Peach Street.

The day was cold, but Stella was bright, a basket on her other arm filled with shopping. She loved seeing the town come back to life, familiar faces filtering back. So many more were missing. She didn’t like to think about that too much.

Instead, she nodded, tilting her chin a little at the woman. “Rumor has it, you’ve been hanging around Maddox Keyes.”

Stella was, at her heart, a gossip. She smiled.

“What’s that about?”

[stella-dawes]

the academy. → @regan-oconnor

“They’ll all come bumbling in here, you know, confused as bats at sunrise--” Stella never stopped talking. It was often something that people were warned about before meeting her, and she’d really had a penchant for chatter since her childhood. This day was no different, her silk skirts swishing as she walked down the long hallway leading to the front hall of the Academy. “And all ages, too! Can you believe that? It’s going to be awfully strange to have twenty-somethings in with the little ones.” She exclaimed, only nodding back to her companion for a moment. In her hand, she carried a stack of parchment syllabi, names of her upcoming students written in perfect script.

There was a long table at the front of the hallway, lit by three-tier candelabras every few paces. Someone had gotten there first -- probably Samuel, that overachiever -- and laid out his syllabi. Stella clicked her tongue, dismayed. Alphabetical. That wouldn’t do. 

“What was he thinking?” She asked Regan, shaking her head. “Alphabetically ordering these poor things? No no.” Her hands fanned out, collecting the sheafs of parchment together, neatly collecting them in her palms. “Everyone knows the O’Connors come before the Avetts, and all hell if we face the Rathmores against the MacLains.” Bright blue eyes gave the blonde a knowing look as she passed the parchments to her. “Here, you fix it.”

[stella-dawes]

wildmansoul‌:

It was still dark outside, the academy quiet save for the gentle slap of his feet echoing in the hallway. He shivered slightly as he rounded the corner towards the necromancy quarter.

He leaned on the frame of the open door of his colleague’s classroom, “Morning, Stella,” he smiled. It was his first day as the Master of Psychic, he was excited, ecstatic in fact, but also terrified, “If you have a minute, could you see if my lesson plan makes any sense,” he lifted the stack of papers on his hand, then brought it to the side of his face and whispered with a slight grimace, “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He didn’t feel qualified for the job, he didn’t quite feel qualified for anything in the valley, capable yes, but not qualified.

“And, uh,” he shifted slightly, “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare shoes laying around? Or socks at least?” he cast his eyes down to his bare feet, “I think I lost mine to the void.”

@stella-dawes

Her classroom looked strangely like a living room with two long, gray velvet settees in the center. They faced each other, enough space between them for legs to face but not touch, a long, blush-and-aubergine Persian rug beneath them. Wide windows opened to the forest on the western side of the Academy, the sky only just beginning to change from gray to pink.

Stella looked up and smiled, ever polite. “Why hi, Eli.” 

Lemon steamed in a mug of hot water on her desk and her skirts swished as she rose, ushering him into the room. She paid no mind to the bare feet across her wax-polished wood floors, inviting him to take a seat, save for a flicker of her brow and an odd air of amusement. One of the ficus plants seemed to rustle.

Two small hands reached out, demanding the lesson plans as she resumed her seat. “Have you asked the void to give them back?”

[stella-dawes]

fivepointshq‌:

NOTICE FROM THE ALLIED WATCHMEN OF FIVE POINTS At approximately 2:45am, a humming sound vibrates through the valley. It catches on glass, on windows and trinkets, and mostly finds its home in hollow items, like jars. The humming intensifies until it becomes a ringing, rattling the gilded chandelier in the Post Office, clattering against the back counter of the Porter Café. It isn’t an attack, though. It’s a signal.

A fine, booming voice reaches out.

“By ordered of the Allied Watchmen of Five Points–” 

Captain Hatfield Hayes had one of those basso profundo voices that really etched in your bones.

“The spirit has been identified.”

They’d caught him flitting around several areas, the sensors the watchmen had put up earlier in the day catching light. First at the Bakehouse, again – he seemed to like his former haunts. And then the Academy. Greengardens. The post office. He rattled around the town like it was his personal playground, and they let him, watching, learning.

Arlo.

A lieutenant of Balthazar, adept in misery and war. They caught his reflection in the window of Dawes Draperies, the gray-green skin and jet-black hair mirroring his description in Captain Hayes’ grimoire. He was sly, clever. And they’d brought him here themselves.

Captain Hayes sighed, the sound reaching the valley like a soft rain.

“All are instructed to leave their posts and meet in the village square.”

The square wasn’t actually a square, but a meeting of three roads and five corners. A pentagram was laid in slate amidst the cobblestone. 

“Join hands and form a circle. Elders from each coven will lead us in incantation.”

It was necessary for all three. Unity.

“Don’t delay.”

NEXT UP AT FIVE POINTS  The poltergeist has been identified as Arlo, a minor demon. He prides himself on causing chaos and misery in the wake of war. Your characters may be feeling particularly agitated or emotionally low as a result of his presence. Take comfort in the presence of your neighbors, and join hands.

This will be a brief thread, and we only require one post from each player – your character arriving to the circle, joining hands, and waiting for the ritual to begin. As you step up, take the hand of the person who’s posted before you, and tag someone to join in next. You have 24 hours to join in, or the main will reply and tag someone else in your place. Please be prompt!

“Oh, hurry up.”

Imogen had surprisingly short legs for how well she carried herself, and Stella couldn’t be bothered to wait for the surly widow. She strode along the main street, cobblestones cold beneath her little heels, and arrived at the town square with an abrupt halt.

The square was empty, save for the good Captain Hayes standing in the center along with a few cloaked figures. Stella looked around, noting faces appearing from alleys and streets, buildings and the nearby storefronts. She took a step back, and then another, until her feet were planted squarely on the inlaid band of slate forming the outer circle of the pentagram.  Facing the square -- and the elders -- she impatiently reached for the person next to her.

“Quickly now,” she chided. “Give me your hand.”

@minilocke

[stella-dawes]

imogenhayes‌:

Her lips pursed, annoyance flashed through her. Imogen didn’t like being wrong. She exhaled through her nose, her eyes closing briefly as she ran through tactical plans in her mind. “We keep it here.” Obviously. “Trap it in–” her eyes opened, flickering around the room for anything that could be used to contain a poltergeist. “–something. One of the metal drawers perhaps. Of course it will be easier if any of these are laced with iron.”

Then she paused. Stella had locked up the building anyway. With them in it. Hardly ideal but still. A toss of her hair and she pushed away from the wall, striding towards the vault. “Lets just open this and be done with it. All I’m asking for is one day without things breaking around me.” Imogen grumbled.

Well, they tried. For nearly three hours, Stella canvassed the halls and vaults of the Post Office, learning more about her neighbors than she’d ever wanted to. Her feet hurt. Her hands were dirty. There was dust in her skirts and her hair, and she rounded the corner and gave a small shriek--

“Oh, it’s only you.”

She couldn’t even be bothered to mask the relief she felt. Patting Imogen on the shoulder -- she looked in as nearly as fit of a state as Stella -- she proceeded back into the foyer. At least there were windows, there. They could see the outside.

Cicero leapt on the tall, crescent countertop, his black paws trotting across the marble. Stella looked at him and raised a brow. And then a flask, hidden in her leather traveling case.

“Time for a drink, you think?”

[stella-dawes]

witchxwendy‌:

“Thanks, Aunt Stella..” She swung the car door open and clambered out. “I’ll look around when I get home, see if I can nab any books from them, too.”

The green stairs that led up to the door of the bookstore were the closest thing Wendy knew to heaven. When she had been very little, no more than four or five, her mother had taken her up those stairs and through the door for the first time. She had stared at beautifully bound and weathered pages, and something in her heart just soared. As she had gotten older, she had sat on the floor of the store every once in a while, reading whatever she could whilst her mother looked around, every so often poking her head around the corner of a shelf to check on the girl with one of those big, warm smiles.

Even though her mother was gone, and she knew full well she would not see one of those smiles coming around the corner of the shelves inside, something in Wendy’s heart felt as if she might. Trance-like, she hopped up the stairs, barely containing the smile on her face. 

The chime gave off a bit of dust as they entered, but Stella was -- well, surprised -- to see the store well-stocked and reasonably full of people. She nodded politely to Clara O’Connor, her mother’s sister’s uncle’s daughter... or something, and promised a chat over tea later.

A turn led her nearly nose-to-nose with Tommy Dawes, her husband’s mama’s cousin on his pap’s side, and he shook her hand vigorously for nearly ten seconds before Stella managed to pull away. But only physically, of course, for then he delved into a grand retelling of all the ailments of Serendipity Dawes, one of the grand matrons of the family -- and a bit of an old bat, Stella thought uncharitably. Still, she kept a smile plastered on her lips and nodded at a reasonable interval.

She managed to break away from him some twenty minutes later, and finally took more than seven steps into the store. She had to browse nearly to the back to find the redhead she was looking for. Stella paused outside a half-circle of books enshrouding her niece.

“Find anything interesting?”

[stella-dawes]

pickthelocke‌:

Grisha snorted a hot breath of air at Stella, whickering after he’d eaten the last french fry in apology, since she hadn’t seemed to want them. He nudged the plate back across the table and eyed the BLT she clearly wasn’t interested in hopefully, wiggling his ears at her in encouragement to push it closer. He even extended his head a little farther in in case she hadn’t gotten the hint. 

She didn’t seem to want the pouch and Declan sighed. His attempts to be helpful and friendly with the townsfolk continued to have mixed results at best. He wasn’t really sure how to go about it anymore. Half the time he thought he might have it down, and then he did something wrong and it went poorly. Still, keep trying, he supposed. 

“You have? Why?” No one ever came looking for him, he couldn’t imagine why they’d want to. He leaned forward though, eager but still hesitant. “Yeah, I … I’m hoping I’m allowed back in? Even after five years? Or do I have to start over from the beginning?” Having to do it all over again would be … stressful. He might as well just stay on the farm for that. Pushing her hot water and honey with lemon over, he tried to act nonchalant about the whole thing, but he was most definitely chalant. “What’s the plan? I’ve been uh … studying. As much as possible.”

A donkey’s exhale smelled about as terrible as his teeth looked. Stella grimaced, fine lines over pink-porcelain skin. What an awful choice for a familiar. But that was why sixteen year olds really weren’t able to make life-changing choices, in her opinion. They wound up with tattoos and piercings on their soft bits and donkeys -- “yes, I know you can hear me.” Stella snapped -- for familiars.

“No,” she smiled at Declan, a little gently. He was loud, and a little arrogant, and mostly just boyish from head to toe. But they all had the same look on their face when they asked about the Academy. “You’ll pick up where you left off.” A pause. She tilted her head. “More or less.”

There had been some talk of a remedial semester, to score everyone and correct bad habits learned on the battlefield.

“We’ll pick up again after the start of the year. A few tests, just to see how you’re doing. Make sure you’re up for returning --” she stopped short from what she was about to say. She’d heard what happened to his farm. Even benefitted from it a bit. Stella cleared her throat, delicately opening the little pouch. “My niece is returning, too. Do you know her? Wendy?”

[stella-dawes]

🎉

Leaving Ban on the porch, she wandered around the wide veranda, enjoying the scent of spruce and moss as it drifted over the flat plains. As she rounded the front of the house, light spilled out from the other buildings across the street. She could hear music, faintly, from the Porter Café at the end of the block.

Stella turned and smiled at the younger boy. Her glass was dangerously empty, but her eyes were bright. He seemed lost. Maybe they all were.

The advent of a new year was difficult, especially then. It had been a better year than the one immediately before it --- and worse, in several dozen ways. Stella stepped closer. “Hey, Cypris.”

There were rumors about him, of course. There were rumors about all of them. Hers held some truth, though not the sort that bothered her. She did speak with the dead. They spoke back to her.

Her arm extended, lace-covered sleeve drawing him in for a light hug. He smelled like woodsmoke and amber. Her perfume was rose. 

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Stella pulled away and nodded.

“Happy New Year to you.”

[stella-dawes]

💭 : write a headcanon about our muses

Stella has adored Wendy since the day she was born, and imagines that if she’d had a daughter, she would be like Wendy. When she learned her sister was pregnant, Stella made the baby blanket that hung on the edge of Wendy’s crib as a child.