Important Items (RP Comfort Meme)

the rooms on mephistopheles were tied to one's mental state, and sometimes changed upon a dime. hestia had taken faust's warning in stride at the time, figuring that she would be able to handle such changes. for the most part, it had been fairly easy to do so, even with the more disturbing sights she had seen so far.

of course, none of them were as close to her ( and thus easier to strike her ) as the nightmares she had thought she'd left behind in the backstreets. when she'd woken up from it, she had recognized the surroundings her room had turned into, and...hestia had stumbled out of her room and shut the door behind her.

( the sight was practically burned into her memory from that day. )

now that she's in meursault's room, though, she is able to relax a bit and gather herself. she focuses on his hand holding hers as he speaks, and that gentle squeeze...it makes it easier for her to take a breath and nod. being straight to the point would likely do much better not only tonight, but for the long run, and hestia knows that being stubborn wouldn't be conducive to getting her to rest.

"thanks...and sure, guess it can't hurt. i can guess why i'd had that nightmare, or at least why it keeps comin' back to bite me." she looks up at meursault as she continues. "it's...the night of my mom's death. always playin' out the same way. it's always really vivid, too, so it's like i'm back there all over again, just...helpless."

the closet her mother hid her in, the words her mother said to reassure her, the almost claustrophobic feeling of being trapped while being unable to do anything...hestia had always convinced herself that she'd accepted everything that had happened.

maybe tonight would be different?

"she gave up everything for me...even her life. i guess i'm still strugglin' to accept that i was important enough fer her to want to do that for me, y'know?"

The boy that the Knights had pulled from the ice was now tucked into a bed, the boy thankfully uninjured thanks to the exploration team's use of Kaeya's Cryo abilities. Even so, as the Acting Grand Master, Jean still held some concerns.

"Strange. Despite being encased in ice for who knows how long..." Jean placed a hand on the unconscious boy's forehead, frowning. "He still seems to be alive. Not only that, but barely even affected by the ice."

"Lumine did report that a Cryo Regisvine was able to keep boars alive for generations. I wouldn't be surprised about this cutie being kept alive in ice for that long." Lisa did cross her arms as she continued, though, her demeanor seeming to shift accordingly. "Even so, these clothes...they aren't even mentioned in any books I've read. They're far too dark to be clothes associated with Electro wielders..."

Jean nodded, before glancing over at Kaeya. "I'll see if I can find him anything more appropriate, but if you can keep an eye on him, Kaeya, you can at least get some answers from him when he wakes up."

"Which might be soon." Lisa turned to Jean and nodded. "I'll give another look in the library to see about this strange fashion. Surely there must be something there."

"I appreciate it, Lisa."

The first thing Coryn realized upon easing back into consciousness from sleep was that the blanket on him wasn't from his bed. The bed felt just as decent as his own bed, but the blankets were enough for him to shift around until he finally sat up.

"Ugh...did I drop my..." He paused, rubbing his eyes. Then rubbing his eyes again. A glance over at the side table allowed him to grab his glasses, putting them on and looking around. "...oh."

I'm not in Kansas anymore, apparently.

The church outside of town had been abandoned for many years now, but recently, you’d been hearing rumors —- rumors of a demon having taken shelter there, who protects children and women but slaughters those who intend to harm them. Those who took sanctuary swear that there would be blankets given as they were asleep, or hear a murmur in their ears, or see a shadow crawling across the rafters.

At first, you only took a mild curiosity to them. It was surely a rehearsed tale from their mothers, their grandmothers, old wives’ tales. It was a lesson in that the church would protect you if you cried out for sanctuary, surely.

Then your night came.

It started with a hearty night with friends. The male friend you knew had a crush on you, he was talkative, trying to touch your shoulder or your hand or your hair. Your female friends tried to protect you, but eventually, he and his male friends circled you like a vulture and his comrades, ready for the kill. When you did run, you felt the whiff of his fingers close to your hair, dangerously close, and you felt yourself panicking.

You could go home. Could you? No. He knew where you lived. He could easily corner you and take you by force. You would hate him more than you could ever know, and maybe he would hate himself —- or not, maybe he would be satisfied with your decisions, his actions, your inevitable pain.

Trying to find a destination would take too long, but your mind suddenly clicked. The church. The abandoned church. If he was stupid enough to follow you into the church, even if the demon didn’t exist, you could weave your way through the halls before losing him there.

And if the demon did exist?

Maybe it would understand.

You can almost feel your shoes unraveling from the wear and tear as you ran harder than you had ever done in your life. The men behind you were jeering as you rushed out of the town, the flat path of grass leading you directly to the church. All you could think of was to run, RUN, and declare sanctuary in a church with no preacher.

As you run across the threshold, a scream rips itself from your throat, the single word practically making it hoarse.

“SANCTUARY!”

Sample Writing

Sample Writing

Sample Writing