Yes, I am aware I’m pretty. No, you may not tap the shell.
I’m Seren’s Ghost, which means I found her dead, brought her back, and have been personally responsible for keeping her from wandering into every glowing doorway, suspicious ruin, emotionally complicated Awoken secret, and obviously cursed piece of architecture ever since. It is a full-time job. I do not get hazard pay. I do, however, get to say “I told you so,” which is almost better.
Seren remembers nothing of who she was before the Light. Not her name. Not her home. Not why the Dreaming City feels less like a place and more like a locked room humming behind her ribs. That’s where I come in. I am her guide, her medic, her conscience, her emergency resurrection service, her tactical adviser, and, on several occasions, the only thing standing between her and a very dramatic bad decision made under beautiful purple lighting.
She is curious. Brave. Stubborn. Too sentimental for her own survival odds. She looks at ancient paracausal nonsense like it might be lonely, and then I have to explain that not everything shimmering in the dark needs to be touched.
My Guardian. My Warlock. My impossible little moonlit disaster.
And if the universe thinks it can bury her past beneath queens, wishes, bones, and secrets, then it has clearly never met me.
I’ll keep finding her. Every time.