In the beginning...

A lone figure wandered down the road, clad in dark coat he pulled tightly around himself to keep out the chill. It seemed as though he could have easily faded into the gloom like it was nothing, had his blank white eyes not faintly glowed; an ominous sight indeed. On closer inspection, multiple scars could be seen on his pallid, expressionless face. One large one across his left eye that was partially hidden by his oddly green and blue hair, and two over the left side of his mouth. A collar was worn around his neck, darker than that of the coat he wore—the only hints of what it hid being the tips of what seemed to be more scars in a ring around his neck.

 

He noticed the woman by the side of the road and slowed his pace as he neared, until he had completely stopped; looking down at her with a single brow raised. A quick glance around gave him no information on where she may have come from. The woods nearby, perhaps? Or just along the road as he himself had come?

 

A moment later he finally spoke. “Are you in need of help?” he asked in a dull tone that he couldn't usually help, adjusting the bag he wore over his shoulder. He couldn't just move on without making sure she was alright—especially since, when he'd gotten close enough to make sure he hadn't been seeing things, he realised that she was not unlike him. In fact, he would wager she was of the same afflicted type as he. Another Cursed One.

 

Idly, he wondered in which ways had they been affected differently, if he was right? He was quite sure that he was though; he wasn't aware of any other affinities that could possibly give one blue skin, after all. Did she have her memories? Could she perceive the spirit world? In his travels he'd met another who completely remembered who they had been, and that was almost unbelievable to him. He could not, even when he desperately wanted to.

 

The blue skinned woman nearly jumped out of her skin when the man appeared. He didn't exactly look the most friendly either. The scars on the mans face were off putting enough, but he looked like her... dead. 
"Well... to be honest, sir. I'm in need of help to find a place to stay. It's quite cold out and I no longer have a home. I went through the woods to find this road. I wasn't expecting a traveller to come down so soon." She stood and pushed her hair back out of her face and ajusted a rose on her skirt. "My name is Zinnia. You'll have to forgive me, I don't have a last name as far as I know." 
She held out a blue hand, expecting the man to shake it. "And you are?" 

Zinnia looked at the male, taking in his appearance. He looked like he had traveled far, for a long time. She couldn't help her bluntness, she needed to know. "Are you dead? Or... Undead I suppose?" Her magenta eyes were dull as there was little life in them. She smiled slightly, she really was trying to be friendly, but she was scared and alone.

He seemed to have surprised the woman. The Cursed One felt a bit bad about that, it had not been his intention, obviously. He listened as she spoke, watching her carefully; which unfortunately tended to give the unintentional side effect of unnerving whoever he was speaking with.

 

When she offered her hand to shake, he seemed almost...confused, for a moment. He was so used to others not even bothering with the polite gesture. He recovered from the confusion quickly though, taking her hand and shaking it. His grip was firm, yet still gentle somehow. Careful. “A pleasure to meet you then, Zinnia. A nice name.” he said, then gave a slight hum. “Unfortunately I can't give you mine. At the moment, it's lost to me. So, it seems, you're doing better than I in that regard.” a slight pause then as he glanced down the way he had been heading, considering something silently to himself briefly before he looked back. “You can call me whatever you'd like though, to make it easier.” He'd been temporarily given many names, he was quite used to it.

 

Did she not know what he was, even in such close proximity? Did she not know what she herself was—or at least, what he assumed she was. “I...did die, yes. I remember it, which is a surprise.” he began slowly, turning over words in his head as he contemplated on the rest of his reply. “Then I came back, obviously, as a Cursed One. Are you not aware of this? I had come to assume you were as well, unless you just are not aware of what you are?” another pause as he realised the dull, blunt tone he had spoken that with, “My apologies if that came off as impolite, or something similar, that was not my intention. Tone can be...difficult for me, at times.” he explained simply, trying now to be mindful of how he spoke. “But as I said, I am a Cursed One. There seems to be a rather large debate on our states, from what I've gathered. Some say we are alive, some say dead, some say neither or both at once. Not that it matters much, we're here, are we not? We're existing.”

 

The Cursed One stopped himself before he continued on too much. “You said you need somewhere to stay? There should be an inn up ahead somewhere. If you'd like, we could make our way there together and I can pay for your stay. I have enough coin.” That was, of course, if they didn't get turned away due to their afflictions. He was sure he'd have enough even if they raised the price for them. That was a common thing he'd dealt with many times on his travels.

 

Zinnia's eyes widened slightly. "You don't even remember your name... you poor guy... I at least remembered that." She frowned. "I'm not sure what kind of name I'd give you... what about... Crocus. You're pale coloring reminds me of the snow flowers." She smiled softly. 

She figited with a lock of her dark purple hair. A cursed one? What exactly was that? Zinnia thought silently to herself. "I wasn't aware of this... Its not rude. I was quite blunt myself. When I woke a magician was standing by me, they told me they had brought me back and I was to serve them. But I had too much free will... and I read some books... including their journal." She grimaced before putting a more friendly face on. "I have no coins... so I would appreciate the help... I could travel with you and try to help you learn about your origins... I feel like we should stick together. Your tone or lack of it makes me wonder if we are not welcomed by... the... uh... living?" 

She laughed slightly at herself. Her arms crossed over her chest. She could tell the air was cool but her skin never felt warm. If someone touched her, they'd complain she felt like ice. She had grown used to the feeling, though it didn't make her long for the warmth of a fire any less. It was her instinct, just like breathing. "Exactly... what are Cursed ones?" She continued to figit and twirl the lock of hair around her fingers, seeming to get them tangled between her fingers. It was  nervous habit, she had a hard time breaking since she had been "revived".

“I remember nothing about myself or my former life beyond my death. That's the only memory I have left.” He responded, folding his arms across his chest as well. He was used to the empty feeling the lack of memories left him with. “That name is fine. Anything works to serve the purpose, in the end. I've even gone by “Leaves” before. That was interesting, to say the least. He gave a little chuckle, perhaps one of the only noticeable hints that he was amused by what he'd said.

 

“I didn't find you too blunt, as you were genuinely curious about something important to who you are, but I may also just be used to it at this point. Very well. I would appreciate the help, and it wouldn't hurt to travel with one not unlike myself.” he commented with a bow of his head. “We are not exactly very common, after all.” he mused, wondering what kind of luck they must have had to just run into each other in such a casual manner. “Ah, well, there are a lot of the unafflicted—that's what most refer to themselves as, and we are the afflicted—who dislike us. The reason why I assume would vary. Because we're different, because they were taught to, or perhaps because they had a bad run-in with other afflicted. Ah, speaking of, are you aware there are different kind of afflicted? Unfortunately, we, the Cursed Ones, tend to be the most distrusted. Not counting the Crimson Wraiths, but they're...honestly, they likely should not be counted as an afflicted. But I digress; basically a lot of the unafflicted don't trust us, you're correct in that. There's exemptions to the rule of course, there always is. Though my lack of tone is mostly due to my affliction, actually. At least, I assume. Perhaps I've always found it hard to express myself, but I get the feeling that's not the case.”

 

The Cursed One pulled his coat closer around himself. Unlike the woman, he did feel warmth—but he lost it very quickly. It was very difficult to keep warm, for that reason. “We should likely start walking so we don't stand out here all night. I'll explain as we go.” he said, motioning toward the way toward their destination before beginning to walk, pausing a moment to make sure she'd follow. “Well, to start off- like I said, we're Afflicted. Most afflictions are caused by anomalies, which in turn most believe to be caused by the land's unstable magic. Cursed Ones are those who's perished, and obviously come back. The manner of death doesn't seem to matter. It can be violent, due to an illness, an accident. I believe the only way one would have no chance of coming back would be from old age. There's been none recorded of the kind that I've heard of, at least.” he explained, keeping a steady casual pace as he walked. “No one knows the reasoning of why we come back. Some like to say the Life Mother, the Goddess of Life, has turned her back on us. Others say The Pale Queen—the Goddess of Death, doesn't want us. Of course, some just blame the magic. No one knows for sure.” he gave a little hum. “As for how it affects us...well, that differs. It can affect physical appearance—I assume your skin is an example of that, and my eyes. It could be true for my hair as well, but I'm not sure. Some can perceive the spirit realm, some have visions, some may even gain magical abilities, assumed to be mostly based on their death. Some may lose...bits of themselves, I suppose. Unable to feel temperature, pain, or emotions, for example—whether only partially or completely. A lot of us lose our memories of our former lives, at least partially. I met someone who hadn't lost any of her memories, though, so it's possible for that not to happen at all. On the flip side, I'm sure someone else could have completely lost everything.”

 

She had begun to walk when the male had. She listened closely. "I suppose I don't recall any magic ablities due to my being tricked into believing that I was just a simple undead...." What this man, this "Crocus" had said, was confusing and worrisome. What kind of troubles would lie ahead of them. She sighed softly. As she walked, her hair swayed in the breeze. If there was a way to discover more bout herself, she'd do so in any way she must. 

"Maybe I was too pretty for the goddesses tastes, so I was sent back to be plagued by the most idiotic magician they could muster on top of my affliction." She laughed, it was meant to be a joke, she hoped he'd realize that. "Honestly... I'm scared. I haven't been on my own since I woke up after my death... Add that people will be cruel, when life had been cruel enough..." She wrapped her arms tightly against her body, almost as if she was holding herself together. "It's just... worrisome." 

She found this man strange, but he didn't seem cruel or unkind. He just seemed lost. Lost in his own mind, in his own world where he's trying to find where he belongs. Perhaps she was wrong though. He looked so different than her, he nearly looked normal if it wasn't for his eye color. But even that could be passed off as a possible birth defect, like blindness. She was so... different. For a short moment, she stopped breathing. She didn't notice until she tried to speak and nothing came out. Taking a deep breathe she spoke again. 

"So... Mr. Crocus... What do you remember? Only your death? You're lucky.... I can't remember that too well... I barely remember things like... I know how to dance... but that's simply because I began to dance one day and found out I could. I wish I could say I remembered how I died... Least that would give me a lead to where I came from." She frowned. "You look like your tale might be interesting... but heart breaking."

“I found mine out accidentally.” 'Crocus' explained, blank glowing eyes glancing over at his new companion before turning back to the road. “Abilities, that is. I don't suppose I have to say that I don't know if I had them prior or not. Either way, it was a surprise to me.”

 

A little chuckle left the man at the joke. He made no further comment though until she spoke up again, voicing her worries. He gave a hum, “I understand. I felt the same way when I awoke from my death. I must have had others in life around me, but I woke up alone and dazed in a pool of my own blood. I learned quickly how others treated Cursed Ones. It all just seemed like some cruel joke, but I knew it wasn't. However...” he trailed off, looking back at her once again. “You're not alone. We're travelling together, and if you would prefer it, I see no reason to say no if you'd like to continue to do so in the morning. There's safety in numbers, after all.” That, and the fact he was happy that he was in the company of someone like himself. Even if it were only to be temporary, it was a nice change of pace.

 

He was lost in his thoughts for a moment, considering a great many things. Sights he'd seen, people he'd met, going over any hints or clues he'd learned in regards to his “quest” so to speak. In the end, there was nothing that he had found yet which he needed. He had not even found the meaning of the runes around his neck, yet.

 

Zinnia speaking up again quickly brought the fellow Cursed One from his thoughts. “Hm? What do I remember? Ah. Yes, only my death. Parts of it. Nothing about myself at all. Not any details, not even of any possible family or friends.” for a moment he seemed as though he was contemplating something before continuing on. “I know I...was murdered. In some woods. I don't recall why I was there, but I feel as though it was important. Perhaps I was...looking for something. What I found though, was obviously not it. I faintly remember wandering around with a lantern. It was dark. I had...raised the lantern, and seen a mark on a tree. A mark of the Wyld Hunt; recent. Meaning there were Wyld Ones about. Anyway, they found me. I had tried to run; had nearly gotten away a couple times. I guess I knew those woods then, I get the faint feeling of that, but...they're fast, and I had fallen and twisted my ankle. That's when they caught me.” He was quiet as he remembered his death once again. “I was mauled by one in their beast form. I distinctly remember the intense silver blue-flecked eyes, boring into me. Obviously there was no hope of escape at that point, I knew I had met my end. But there was....something else, I remember there was something else, but I can't remember what.” he shook his head with a sigh, his hand raising to press gently against the collar around his neck. “I was still alive when they began to carve into me. I assume I died part way through that, because that's what I remember last. The pain of that, the horror of it all. And then nothing. Well, not completely true, I suppose, because then...I woke up.”

 

He looked over at the woman and dropped his hand back down to his side, attempting a little smile, though sad as it was. “All in all, I don't know how lucky it makes me, to be able to remember that, but nothing else. Now you basically know most of what I know of myself.” he tilted his head then, as a thought came to him. “Do you know what, or who, the Wyld Ones are, even? You've likely heard of them if you do not remember from your life or had not been told, everyone basically knows of them and fears them to some degree. Twisted, gangly afflicted with dark magic, and ravens. They can turn into raven beasts. Steal away young children to turn them Wyld as well. I assume that means they cannot reproduce due to their affliction.”

 

The man turned his gaze forward once again, finally seeing the silhouette of the inn on the side of the road in the far distance. He was quite glad he had good vision still, despite it all.

 

The woman blinked for a moment. There was so much she didn't know, her best bet was to stick with this man like glue. "At least you know how you died." She laughed. "All I remember is the sensation of loosing my breathe. Nothing else." She figited with a flower as they walked, finally letting go of her hair. She stood just below the male's height, her eye level met his nose about. She looked over at him, her magenta eyes tracing over every scar she could see. He had been through quite the ordeal, however she couldn't exactly feel bad for him. They were both in the same boat. 

"Thanks for telling me~ It gives me an idea of who I'm traveling with." She tried to put her anxieties to the side and smiled widely, then bounded forward with a few skips. "So, Mr. 'Crocus', you'll have to teach me things I don't understand. I suppose you can call me sheltered as I really don't know much about our kind or wyld ones... or really our world." 
Zinnia's hair flowed over her shoulders, tangling lightly in the wires of her skirt. She closed her eyes for a moment before bounding a little farther, in a almost childish manner. "I think it would be good for us to stick together, til we get sick of one another I suppose~" 

She spun around on her heel to face the town. There was a dark shape in the distance, that must be the inn, she thought. What awaited them there? Would they be chased out? She shook her head and twisted back around to look at her companion. She almost wished he could show a little more enthusiasm, but she was glad she got a chuckle out of him earlier. "You know..." She put a hand to her chin. "Crocus really does suit you. A winter flower... a beautiful rarity in a field of the frozen cold. Though I suppose you're a little damaged, the ice seems to have frozen you a bit. But the name still fits in my mind." Her mouth lifted in a soft smiled. She wasn't sure how this would end, but for now she had to believe that this man would treat her kindly. 

“A fair point.” The Cursed One agreed, placing his hands into the pockets of his long coat to attempt to warm them up. He gave a little hum of acknowledgement when she said what she had remembered. He mulled that over in his head. Had she suffocated, then? Drowned, maybe. They would likely find out at some point—or so he hoped. He also wanted to find the answers to his own death and life, so why wouldn't she as well? “Would you want to find out what happened to you?” he asked, the same blank unreadable expression back on his face since the smile had left it.

 

“It seems I will. It likely would not be good to have you knowing nothing, after all. It's a dangerous world we live in.” he commented, watching the woman bounding around. He still kept a steady pace, every once in a while glancing over at the woods. They were safe on the road, of course. “There's iron.” he said after a moment, “Lining the roads, I mean. Enchanted with wards to keep Wyld Ones and other dangers away. It would help keep us safe, as well, but there's nothing wrong with sticking together, it would do no harm.”

 

He went back to watching her as she twirled around. Well, there was little room for doubt in what she'd mentioned earlier, about dancing. That much was for sure—she was quite graceful in her movements, fluid. The man raised an eyebrow at the comments about the chosen name for him. “I suppose one could say that.” he murmured, specifically about the 'damaged' bit. “Though I can't say I see how a beautiful rarity of a winter flower is very fitting for me.” he mused, “But if you feel it fits, then I have no qualms. As I said, anything will work well enough for what it's for. Though...” he gave a thoughtful hum, “I do have to wonder what my name really is. One day, perhaps, I'll find out. Even if not, there's something interesting in hearing what people decide to call me.”

 

It wouldn't be all too long before the doors to the inn were reached, he was pretty sure. He just hoped that the owners wouldn't turn them away, or otherwise treat them badly. If that were the case; they'd just have to set up camp somewhere nearby.

 

"I would like to know what happened to me one day. I suppose it really shouldn't matter too much since it's the past. If I had a family I'd probably scare the living daylight out of them." The woman laughed, it was a soft and gentle sound. She stopped in her tracks when 'Crocus' mentioned the iron. "Oh. So iron is dangerous to them? I wonder what this skirt of mine is made of... it's some sort of metal. That man made me wear it, it's kind of cute though~" 

She started to walk again once the man had reached her. She looked ahead, wondering what reaction awaited them. Were people really so cruel to people like them? She figited with her hair again. They were getting closer to the inn. 

"I suppose it would be interesting to see what one would name you if it was their choice. Zinnia may not be my real name, I'm not sure. The magician said it was, I had no reason to doubt them til recently." Her expression was relaxed as she spoke. "You're a rare kind of person, and you are a pretty fellow." She winked before giggling at herself. 

They reached the inn and she stopped. What came next, she wasn't sure. She looked at her companion, worried. The anxiety of not knowing what would happen next was starting to really eat at her. This whole journey was bound to be full of these moments. She grabbed the door handle and opened it, gesturing for Crocus to go forward. She felt if she went in, they would defintiely turn them away. Her blue skin was unusual and would give her away. What if she smelt like death? Or if there were animals who wanted to rip into her flesh because of the smell? She began to figit with her hair more, it tangled into her fingers. The long soft strands knotting up and becoming a mess. 

“I think it would likely still be good to find out. Past or not, it could give you some sense of....closure, perhaps?” He looked over at her, his face unreadable. “Scare them? I highly doubt that, unless they are just weak of heart. Confuse and concern at first, perhaps, but wouldn't you want to see family you believe has passed on? Even if they may look a bit different. At the very least...once more, to say goodbye, if that chance had not been given.” a shrug was given, “That may not be the case, of course, but I imagine it's what I would like if it happened to me. I guess I should say, if I had not been the one to die. Well, if I even had family.”

 

'Crocus' made a little noise as he thought. “Not quite dangerous to them on its own. It's a hardy material, enchanting wise, and once enchanted it will be so for a very long time. That way, once they line the paths they won't have to change it often. You mostly find it among main paths or paths through forests known to be where Wyld Ones lurk. I assume this means there's been Wyld One sightings around here at some point.” He glanced over at her, looking down at the skirt when it was mentioned. “I can't say that I know. I suppose I wasn't a blacksmith in life—my former life.” he'd fixed what he said quickly, as he didn't like the suggestion that this was no longer a life. As far as he cared, he was alive again. He was likely farther from death than some other Cursed Ones, to be fair. He wondered if it was due to what the Wyld Ones had been attempting to do...whatever it may have been. A ritual or spell of some sort, obviously. One didn't usually carve runes into something else for no reason. Not that any of it made him any less of a Cursed One; most people made sure he knew that.

 

“It is, yes. Gives a bit of insight on how people perceive you, as well. Or...how they don't.” he mused, then raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing to her other comment. She would likely change her mind, he thought, if she could see all the scars covering his body- and the runes.

 

The Cursed One watched as Zinnia opened the door, gesturing him inside. It wasn't difficult to see how anxious she felt, so he briefly placed a hand on her shoulder as he passed by her into the inn, his form of a comforting action; showing she wasn't alone. A quick glance around the place made it quite clear it was nothing out of the ordinary. Tavern like front room, tables scattered around with various patrons seated at them. Some standing around chatting, most of them with ale in their hands. He went toward the counter, ignoring the feeling of being watched; many of the unafflicted—which was most of those in there, if not nearly all—turned to look at him as he passed by. He heeded them no mind.

 

Luck seemed to be on their side, the exchange went well. He was given two rooms; obviously one for him and one for his companion and paid for both. Now they just had to wait until morning—and of course, sleep when they got tired enough.

 

He walked back over to Zinnia. “Through that door over there. Hallway leads to some stairs, third one on the left is yours for the night.” he said, speaking over the noise in the room, nodding toward the door he'd mentioned. “Already paid for, like I promised. Do you still need to eat or drink? Some do, some don't. I do, just not as much as an unafflicted might. Same with sleeping, really.” He could easily go without sleep a lot longer than most others, but after a while he'd still need to. “If you do I can give you some coins t—“

 

“What was that, hey? Speak up! You flowery little fuck.” a voice from nearby caught the Cursed One's attention and he looked over, a frown apparent on his face.

“...hold that thought, Zinnia.” he said, trying to keep the obvious displeased tone from his voice. Not even a few tables over sat what he assumed was...someone who was Wandertouched, but it was a bit hard to tell as they were hiding themself from view. He could plainly see the roses on their body, however, and the pale colouring that came along with that specific affliction.

The Cursed One strode over, eyes narrowing at the unafflicted man whose suddenly raised voice had caught his attention.

As he neared, he heard the quiet reply of “Please leave me alone, I—I don't want trouble...” in fact it was so quiet, he almost wasn't sure if that's what they had said—or even if they had spoken at all.

“....Can I help you?” he growled, reaching out a gloved hand to grab the man's shoulder—not enough to hurt, just to get his attention, to turn it away from the cowering Wandertouched sitting there alone.

“Wot? Who the fuck're you? Ah god you're one of them dead ones, ain'tcha? Yeah, I can tell, ye look dead! The hell, you afflicted bastards just crawlin out o' the woodwork now??”

“Yes very perceptive of you, I'm amazed, truly, by your ability to tell what I am.” the Cursed One responded sarcastically, deadpan expression focused on the man. “Is there a problem here?”

“Yeah of course there is! Or can you not fuckin' see?” The man gestured wildly at the Wandertouched who had not even looked up yet.

“...I can see someone sitting there, yes. Let me ask again, is there a problem?”

“Ugh of course all you bastards are like this. You don't belong here! Neither does that bastard! Walked in here and what do I see? A bloody afflicted just hanging out like he owns the place! You lot are freaks! No one wants you around, don't you get it?”

'Crocus' raised an eyebrow, glancing again at the Wandertouched—man, apparently? It was hard to tell since he was curled up, in a way. Impressive really, how he managed that on the chair. It was really difficult to imagine the frightened stranger acting like he 'owned the place' as the other man was claiming. He looked back again and spoke calmly, “...Right. So what you're saying is; he was here before you, and just because of what he happens to be, you decided that you don't want him around and to harass him because he's different and makes you uncomfortable?”

“Yes! Wait...no?? I—“ the man trailed off, his face turning red, “How dare you—“

“How dare I, what? Speak the truth of the matter?”

The man made a sort of growl noise, and then turned on his heels, apparently no longer enjoying himself now that someone was fighting back. “You bloody Cursed bastard, you shouldn't have come back—you don't belong in this world. You'll learn.” he hissed, storming off.

 

Finally, the Wandertouched man looked up, a worried and sad expression on his face. “He—he's gone?” he asked in a whisper, “Thank you, I—“ and then froze, looking at the man who had defended him. His pink and gold eyes widened.

“Yes, he's gone. Hopefully won't come back to bother you again...are you alright?” Crocus had turned back to the Wandertouched man, though hadn't expected the shocked look on the other's face.

“Y—Yes I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry- uhm, who...are you? I, uhm, that...I really appreciate you helping me.”

“It's not a problem. Apparently I'm going by Crocus at the moment, decided by my...friend, over there.” he glanced back over at Zinnia.

“Cro—? Like, the flower? Wait, do you not—er...uhm...okay. A pleasure meeting you...Crocus. I'm, uhm, Émile.” It was obvious enough the unafflicted man had left him quite nervous, scared. He was alone; he usually didn't have anyone else to defend him.

 

The Cursed Man half hoped that Zinnia hadn't paid attention, yet at the same time he hoped she had. That was how they were treated, though not always so easy to get the other to back down. They were often times clever with it, or outnumbered them. They were lucky this time.

 

Zinnia froze for a moment after the man had shouted. She frowned, sadness lingered in her eyes as she walked towards the flower covered man. "People are that cruel?" She let go of her hair and reached out to the flower man. "You poor thing... I'm only now learning about these kinds of things... what exactly are you?" 

The womans magenta eyes took in the mans appearance. It wasn't something she had ever seen before, least not that she could remember. He was coated in roses with pale hair. "Does that hurt?" She pointed to the roses, nearly touching one but making sure she didn't. She then realized she was being a little rude. "Ah... Sorry... I'm Zinnia. It's a pleasure to meet you." She hadn't heard the mans name but it was still nice to meet him. 

She looked at Crocus. "Should we house him in our rooms for protection? He can stay with me. I wouldn't mind. Since you're paying it's only fair you get a room to yourself." She looked back at the wandertouched being. "I'm pretty harmless, and I'd love to learn more about you." She smiled softly, trying to be kind. She clasped her hands infront of her tightly. It was a startling thing to realize that you weren't wanted. You're a freak of nature, she thought to herself, you'll get used to it. She felt a sting in her eyes as the tiniest of tears fell. This was too much. There was too much for her to take in, she had never felt hated since she awoke. She was just as obviously different as the rose coved male, she'd have to learn to live with it. 

"Ah. Sorry." She wiped the tear away before smiling again. "Come, we should head to our rooms. We can talk there where there is less... judgement." she muttered under her breathe. She could feel the eyes boring into her, if she could get warm, she was sure that she'd be red like those pretty women in the story books. It was uncomfotable and embarrassing to be so watched. 

Émile glanced up as the woman came forward, and he tried his best to offer a polite smile in greeting. “They...they can be, yes. Not all of them, though. It's...nothing new to me.” The young rose-covered man rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, me? I'm...I'm uhm, Wandertouched.” he reached up, gently grabbing hold of one of the long lop-like rabbit ears he had. “We all have different animal traits and flowers.” he said, then once again let said ear fall.

 

“The roses? No, not that I've ever noticed at least. I uhm...have to cut them off, sometimes. To keep them from getting in the way. It's only uncomfortable at worst. Oh, uhm! There's, uhm, really no need to apologize.” he seemed slightly flustered when she had said sorry, fidgeting with his ear again, which was a habit he had gained when nervous. “Émile, my name is uhm...Émile Norwood. Same to you, Zinnia.” he seemed relieved now to be in the company of those he was fairly sure wouldn't yell at him. But...that man, the Cursed One who had spoken up in his defense—he couldn't shake the feeling. When he'd seen him, he could have...sworn he was looking at his brother. But, of course, that was impossible.

Wasn't it?

 

'Crocus' glanced over at Zinnia when he was spoken to. “Sure, that seems like a good idea to me. I wouldn't want someone else to come by and do the exact same thing.” he paused, a slight frown on his face. “Not everyone is like that. Some don't care. Others are even positive toward us. Different has always been feared, and from that stems hatred. Even if others may think that we don't belong here, we do. We exist, after all. We have reason to be.” he said in a lower tone, folding his arms across his chest.

 

Émile nodded. “I...wouldn't mind it, but I really...well, don't want to be a bother. Honestly, you've uhm, done a lot for me already and I really appreciate it. Thank you.” he said, though looking over at Zinnia he then felt bad, and bit his lip. “Uhm...oh, a-alright...I suppose you wouldn't have offered if you hadn't wanted to.” She had said she had wanted to learn of him, after all. He stood up, glancing around. He always felt like he stood out like a sore thumb. Of course, being as pale as he was and covered in flowers; it was a likely thing. “So uhm...to...your room then, I guess?”

He moved a bit away from his chair so he could push it in and then straightened up, standing next to the other afflicted man. They were exactly the same height; and surprisingly similar in other ways, as well.

 

Zinnia watched the two men as they spoke. A look of confusion crossed her face for a short moment before she smiled and held out a hand. "Come on~" 
The two standing together were kinda creepily similar. Their face shape was similar, their hair and their height. They could be... oh what was the word. Twins. That's right twins. The two could be tw... Wait, she thought, what if they were... She pushed the thought away.

"I rather like flowers, by the way. If you ever what your roses to have a good use if you have to cut them. I wear them at all times for comfort." She sniggers slightly. "It's why Mister Crocus is called Crocus and not some other normal name. My adoration of flowers I mean." She figited with a flower with her hand that wasn't extended to Emile. She watched him as he stood. He seemed just as uncomfortable as she did, they both stood out quite a bit. She smiled sadly.

"You and I are bound to attract the most attention aren't we?" She looked at her arm and the blue skin that adorned it. "That's okay though. We can learn to be stronger, if not... it seems like Crocus does a great job at scaring people away." She laughs softly, gently grabbing ahold of Emile's arm since he didn't seem to be taking it. "We'll talk more once we're more safe." 

The woman gently tugged on Emile's arm to get him to follow. His skin was soft and warm under her cool touch, it was a pleasant sensation for her, though she expected the man to pull his arm away from the icy hand that held it. 

Émile quickly moved to follow Zinnia, silent as he glanced over the crowd of people. He didn't like being stared at, but he'd grown used to it...to some degree. To at least have come to expect it. It still made him nervous, though. His multicoloured eyes moved to look back at the afflicted woman and gave a little nod. “Oh, uhm...I'll keep that in mind. I do often have to cut them, they—they grow quickly.” he said, though a bit quieter than he'd meant.

 

Crocus raised an eyebrow at Zinnia. He'd seen that confused look, but wasn't sure why she had suddenly been confused. He glanced over at the Wandertouched man, and gave a little hum. It was a bit odd, he almost seemed familiar. Perhaps he'd seen him in passing before, on his travels.

 

“Well, I do...uhm...stand out like a sore thumb, I suppose. Pale and uhm, covered in flowers. The...the ears don't help, do they?” Em mumbled, poking at one of his flowers, and then suddenly realised that she'd probably meant for him to take her arm as she took hold of his and his face flushed of embarrassment. How he had not realised that earlier, he wasn't too sure; as it seemed very obvious in hindsight. The icy touch sent quite the shiver down his spine and he probably couldn't hide the startled expression that passed over his face. She was...surprisingly cold. He didn't pull away, though, as he felt he'd already been far too rude by failing to realise social cues. “H-He really does, d-doesn't he?” the Wandertouched man stammered, and then nodded.

 

He followed behind obediently as Zinnia led them away, glancing back over his shoulder to see if the other Cursed One was following behind. Which he was, apparently in no great rush as he shoved his hands into the pockets on his coat again, glancing to the side as he walked. Émile looked forward again, making sure he didn't trip. That would be unfortunate, and he'd probably pull the woman down with him.

 

The Cursed One gave a little hum, making sure to follow along. His room was right next to theirs, after all. It would be interesting to hear the story of the Wandertouched man—Émile.