@traumaticdiscord
Often, Jessamine finds herself wandering. She cannot cling to those she has known- she knows her very existence can bring them distress, and she can’t bear it, at times. She often finds herself in new places with barely an inkling of how she came to be there, instead, letting her feet take her where they will. Today, it is out into the forest of Tranquility, it seems, and for a time there is nothing but the sounds of the forest, and her own footfalls, soft but not nearly enough so to keep herself unnoticed by the residents of this place, various small animals falling silent as she passes, only to resume their chatter once she’s gone.
It’s quite empty of people, and she finds herself grateful. This place keeps its own secrets, she thinks. Her fingers are curled loose against her sides, shoulders relaxed. It lulls her into complacency, this place, makes her feel... makes her feel, without analyzing it.
Catches her offguard when she sees the edge of something hazy, bleeding into the form of a man-but-not-a-man, and the void begins to roar in her head, leaving her blank-eyed as she looks at him, an empty vessel. Her mind seeks, finds, is rebuffed violently, and her fingers move to press to her chest as if she were injured physically.
She recognizes the low moan of whalesong, or something equivalent to it, but this is not the Outsider, this is not the void of her entrapment. Still, she’s frozen, stock still.
Except, of course, her mouth, voice low and mournful and sibilant, barely loud enough to tease at the edge of the senses.
“What we wouldn’t give, and what we would- for a hand in ours, for a word, kind or cruel. The void is cold, but far worse than the cold of the body- the cold of the soul.”
