Things were definitely getting strange, there was no mistaking that. Misidentifying scents. Stammering, -stammering-. Random attacks by Hallow's End decorations. Clearly someone had placed a curse on him, but who? Jaylith? He had distinctly heard her snicker at him earlier in the evening. The elven woman from his shop? But what sort of witch wore gold flowers in her hair?
Paramonos entered his room in a rush of silk robes and the dragging of stray Hallow's End paper skeletons. Must they hang these things everywhere? Slamming the door behind him, he immediately turned to rest his back against it. Maybe it was a sign. His past coming to haunt him. A reminder of his own mortality. He violently shook the thoughts right out of his head, loosenening the blindfold he wore, and yanking it down from his eyes.
This trip would have to take place sooner than expected, for sanity's sake. Grabbing his pack from the corner, he hurried over to his bedside desk and began frantically shoving the contents of it into the pack. Everything it could hold would come with him. Books. Letters. Dried herbs. Vials of murky liquids. His hand paused on a golden censer. Maybe he would... No, not tonight. It was far too exhausting, and he was exhausted enough already. He lingered his fingers over it a moment longer before placing it carefully into the pack.
He looked up to see what he had missed. A flower as bright as the sun. A golden lotus blossom; sitting in an old jar tucked between dusty tomes. He couldn't help but let a small smile touch the corners of lips. He would allow himself that much. His fingers reached out to touch one of the soft petals; then he lifted it from its make-shift vase and sat down upon the edge of his bed.
His smile grew as he blew out the candle on his desk and sunk back into the cushions of his bed. He had told her he drank it already and wondered if she had really believed that. Weren't they hallucinogenic? Mildly, at least. Who gives flowers as a gift? Flowers fade and wither away. Flowers die. Gifts should be something far more lasting.
He needn't drink it for the effects, merely holding it in his hands made his thoughts cloudy.
She wore them in her hair; he mused. She kept them in a vase; his smiled widened.
"Frivolous. Frivolous indeed," was all that left his lips as his eyes closed.
