Man plans and god laughs

Takes place in summer 1235, past midnight...

Vilas

A night had fallen upon Namarast all too soon, once more. There was no escaping the summer's warmth even after sunset, not after these humid days, but it was the silence Vilas found the most difficult to make peace with. There was a time in the past when he had cherished the stillness of his quarters - even when he had grown bored of it, there'd always been someone to pester. Somewhere, somehow, the tower far, far too big to feel lonely in, or so he had thought at the time.

Now witchfinders and mages alike seemed to make for ill company, the nightcaps and debates alike woefully unfulfilling for the certain kind of sullenness the rigid rules and the Order's current atmosphere inspired in its residents. Least of all it was nothing worth reporting to his Handler about. The life for mages had become rather predictable within the ancient tree's hollowed out walls, any new research purely utilitarian and so painfully plain as not to attract unwanted scrutiny from those most loyal to the Archon.

Of course there was the part of him who would rather jump into the Mirror Bay's gleaming waters than ever return to his homeland, having rendered his work at becoming a better mage rather pointless, whatever that had ever meant in his case. He kept up the appearances, adhering to his old routines and habits, but that was all.

Anything beyond the Order or the Faces wasn't worth thinking about if he wished to sleep at all tonight, Mordreaux's silence as much a relief as it was painful after their cursed meeting in Faline.

With a silent sigh the mage took off his outerwear and threw it onto the chair sitting before his opened writing desk, picking up one of the books then he'd snuck off from the library earlier today, all four neatly piled on his desk. They were strange books, sure, but nothing that shocking that'd warrant hiding and he wasn't exactly awaiting anyone to join him. Plopping down onto his bed and opening the first page brought one person to Vilas' mind though, if she could be called such.

It was almost too bad that the little ghost wouldn't have her opinion to give on this one, rare yet predictable as her appearances had become. For better or worse, this one would be his alone to pour over.

(396)

Ilmora

Namarast had become so boring lately. People hid, jumped at shadows, dug themselves into the library stacks for days and hardly ever came out, reading nothing but dry treatises on corruption and monsters and on and on and on. Where were the investigations into the stranger facets of magic! The bubbling potions in personal laboratories, the wild experiments protected by rune-warded walls! All of the good things must be hidden too well for her to peek in these days. Ugh.

From her vantage point floating among the rafters, they'd become nothing but a set of mice scurrying to their little safety nests, barring a few bold exceptions. Hawks and rats among the mice.

How was she to haunt a nest of mice without them shrieking and running off? Ilmora floated through the walls, desperate for a hint of entertainment. It was too late to bother those who were sleeping, but maybe she'd find those burning the midnight candle who were up to something interesting.

She had nothing better to do, really.

So she wandered and twisted like unseen smoke through the cracks in the walls. She needed something to distract from the longing Meister Tempest had damned her with all those long, dreary months ago. And if she had any better options, she'd leave private offices and quarters alone, but really, it was Namarast's fault for being so dreadfully boring as of late.

It was only the fifteenth door that she found someone worth troubling. She hadn't even known Vilas had come back to the Tower, so surprised was she to see him burning the midnight oil with a good book. That was practically an invitation in her book, and she answered with more than a little eagerness in her tone when she settled behind his eyes and spoke in his skull.

Well well well, look what the cat dragged in, Ilmora grinned voicelessly. Was he a cat in her metaphor of mice and men? Or something else? You didn't even say hello when you came back this time. I am bereft.

(342)

Vilas

He sucked in a breath at the sound of that familiar but wholly unexpected voice. He managed to resist the impulse to look over his shoulder as a shiver ran up his spine, knowing he'd find no one there, but just barely. His first response was a wordless hum, his shoulders relaxing and gaze lingering over the third page of the book that had been propped against a pillow; an essay on the inadequately tested societal benefits of necromancy, or something of that sort.

The initial surprise at Ilmora's presence was softened by a returned snark, directed at her brash invasion of privacy, "Oh, pardon me. To think I made a lady float all the way here, uninvited." Vilas idly flipped two pages back, showing her the table of contents without prompting. Despite the pointed words, her visit was a welcome surprise and he made that much apparent with the gesture.

"To be fair, I hardly had the time to linger today. Were the... what, four, five days that dull here for you?" Too, he wanted to add, but the task to accompany a mage and a witchfinder to one of the hamlets east of Namarast had been something of a break for him. Not from her, or even the gloomy atmosphere, but it surely had felt better to fall into the bed dead tired each night, too weary to worry about anything, such as the medical wing, and how he was due a visit to another.

Total numbness was a luxury of sorts that seemed to escape his grasp here these days, no matter what he tried.

Vilas continued half-jokingly, curious to hear what compelled this rather bold visit of hers as he settled (although privacy undoubtedly became a sort of meaningless concept as a specter), "Could it be that you missed me?"

(304)

Ilmora

Of course I did! she wailed petulantly in his head. With all this talk of monsters and whatnot, who else would I pester without making someone die of fright? I've need of company, not a ghost hunt or a corpse scared to death, thank you. 

And toss that book away, it's frightfully dull and I've read it already, she said, settling comfortably. The author fails to come to any sort of conclusion, too afraid of angering their local necromancer they've made their studies upon. I can't imagine why. 

Now, up up up up! If you fall asleep on me while I'm in a mood, I can't promise I'll be a pleasant guest, uninvited or not!  She tugged at his strings, not enough to move him to do as she wanted, no, she didn't have the permission for that, but to urge him to move and entertain her. She had an itch to do something, one she couldn't scratch. Not without someone to do it for her, at any road.

(169)

Vilas

He chucked the book aside with a faint huff at its supposedly wasted premise, but there was no real disappointment to be found in his voice, busy as he was sitting up to halt Ilmora's urging and get a word in.

"Calm down, I wasn't planning to doze off for a good while yet," He murmured to the quiet of the room, catching his reflection in the tall mirror that resided on the opposite side of his rather plainly decorated room, staring back at himself as he sat there. As they sat there. He was never quite sure where to look at or how to act with Ilmora tagging along as this... passenger, guess he could refer to her as such.

She was far too noisy and enthusiastic to call it something as sinister as haunting or possession, despite the initial unease at being accompanied by someone who might've never been fully human in the first place.

As he mulled it over, he pried with a half-hearted grin, "Now what did you want me up for? Do enlighten me, miss."

(180)

Ilmora

Her tone grew warmer as he did things for her sake. Listening to her, looking in the mirror to talk to her, even the gesture with the book were all considerate of her, and it made her puff up with enthusiasm. Here was how she should always be treated, as she deserved! I want to go on a nightly venture! She demanded. Not to the library; somewhere exciting, somewhere... forbidden.

Her voice took on a mischievous grin to its tone. Yes - an adventure by candlelight, with naught but a ghost at your side, to serve as eyes to see around corners! No one shall see us, and we shall be as invisible as the wind. And by the end of the night, you shall graciously thank me for having saved you from that dreadful book. She chuckled in anticipatory delight. I accept, of course. Preemptively. As you do.

(148)

Vilas

Vilas blinked, stifling the following chortle behind his teeth. "Well, can't say I expected that, but if it'll make up for the mind-numbing idleness of the past few days, sure," He smiled a little then, stretching his shoulders as he rose from the mattress' edge with a faint creak, heading for the chair and that bundle of clothes sitting atop it. After fishing out a light vest and slipping it on to feel just that much more decent while wandering the hallways at night, he hummed, "Being seen won't be an issue, though, but why, thank you."

His gaze landed on the flickering chamberstick. Vilas wasn't quite sure what someone, who according to her own word was able to float around as she pleased, would even consider forbidden, but wasn't the thrill of any fun the risk of it coming to an abrupt end? Suppose that applied to ghosts too.

He didn't pick up the light just yet, moving to pull on his shoes instead, their soles made of soft-leather. "... Then again, I don't know how me vanishing into thin air might affect you tagging along, so let's maybe not try that. Your warnings will do, though I wonder..." He paused to hum thoughtfully, but also to consider their options, "What would fit the bill, hm? The secretive archives? The dim laboratories? The common rooms with their beer stains and forgotten papers?" And finally, with a cheeky grin, "The moonlit gardens could do, but they might give a bit of a different idea of forbidden."

To him, none posed any real danger. Little in Namarast did, despite the iron fist the Archon ruled with, but knowing the tower like tha back of his hand was to be expected after wasting away for years here.

(294)

Ilmora

Hmm... She idly watched him put exploring clothes on, as he should, considering the options. She'd been over every inch of the library, spying over the shoulders of those who unlocked the secret stacks. She'd been over the common rooms and the gardens and places people congregated, soaking in their secrets with no one to tell them  to.

Well, that wasn't true. She had gotten into the habit of saving the juicier ones for when Vilas visited. He appreciated it more than others might've, she thought, always getting a thoughtful gleam in his eye as he tucked it away. The trade of it felt like she was setting down strings to tie him down with, tensely hoping there'd be some debt owed from it, making it harder for him to dismiss her like all others had.  

But that wasn't important now. You mentioned that you can vanish before, but you haven't shown me before, She grinned. That, let's do that! And let's try...up, let's go up first! Rise through the ceiling like two proper spectres, haha!

(177)

Vilas

"Not going to happen," Vilas cut in plainly, picking up the chamberlight with the key to his room resting safely in his vest's pocket. A force of habit; even if walking through walls was an option for him - possibly something to indulge in despite the hollow feeling it left him with - he preferred the ordinary at the end of the day. "I'm afraid the laws of this realm still affect me, whether I sense them or not."

He gave a brief look over his room, committing to memory what little details he could. Where he had left the books, was the bed cover crumpled or not - so on and so forth. "So no flying, sorry. Fall I can though, but prefer not to," He continued to explain in a low voice, "It's a bit jarring, like the need to breathe without lungs, hm."

His hand rested on the lock of his door. With an exhale, he pressed the door open as they quietly slipped into the hall, closing it behind them as he whispered with a hint of teasing, "I'll show the trick to you when we're safe."

(188)

Ilmora

The ghost's enthusiasm recoiled as soon as he said 'no', her forward presence withdrawing in his mind like a hand slapped away from a treat. She didn't respond through the rest of his preparations to leave, nor his explanations behind his refusal, her presence feeling heavy and sullen.

In fact, once he exited his room and closed the door behind him, it was hard to know if she was there at all, until Vilas continued down the hall and she whispered in his ear, Nightguard, before the lantern's light ever had a chance to hit Vilas' heels behind him.

And oohh how that one word was packed with all the sullenness of the denied, petulant and truly bereft. It lifted somewhat as Vilas skillfully hid from the nightguard, but only from deep silence into the feeling of pouting lips and crossed arms in his head.

(145)

Vilas

The sulking didn't deter him much, playing into her proposed scheme even in silence, protecting that candlelight with his fingers as they silently descended a set of stairs here, an empty lecture room there. As they walked onwards, he murmured under his breath, "Come now. I didn't take you for such an experienced rule breaker after your little spiel," He paused, hearing faint footsteps echo in the distance, "It's a little thrilling, no?"

Vilas fell silent again in turn, the fun of sneaking around at night not completely lost on him either. When it came to this place though, he couldn't remember when he'd last done so. For who, he needn't guess.

Maybe it was those stirring memories that led them to the fish pond, only having the vaguest of sense where to go as they navigated in the near silence, interrupted only by Ilmora's warnings and an occasional exclamation. A courtyard of sorts, the opening to the sky above almost fully covered by leaves this time of the year. The great tree of Namarast was a strange place, the openings to its hollow trunk appearing always at the most unexpected places. The courtyard seemed abandoned, the floorboards of the hallway giving away to grass and moss that grew around the artificial pool, glowing faintly in the moonlight.

"It- it used to be this one mage's hobby project, kind of. Wanted to bring the sky a little bit closer or something like that with the reflection and everything," He managed to utter, having found himself stunned by the sight that had changed little over the years. Well, apart from the overgrown branches filtering most of the pale light. "Can't remember their name, though."

Not that it had mattered back then either, the place feeling only meaningful for the company he had kept.

(302)

Ilmora

Mm. was all his ghostly guest uttered to his explanation. She did look around at his prompting, seeing hints of fireflies across the pond. It didn't feel like this piece of earth was suspended hundreds of feet above the ground, embraced in the thick extensions of a massive tree. It just felt like someone's forgotten garden, with reeds overshadowing the dark water, unable to capture the hanging moon above like its creator wanted it to.

She wondered if that nameless creator had become heartsick with longing. They went as far as to create a little patch of earth in the sky, but the impossible had still been out of their reach. Had they vanished by throwing themselves into the bottom of their pond? Morbid curiosity drew Ilmora out into the open air and under the water, each as easy to travel through as the other.

It was dark down there, murky, with other things swimming alongside her that she paid little attention to. Algae, mud and swaying reeds obscured the bottom, but she didn't linger long until she shot back up and into Vilas' head.

There's something down there! She exclaimed, filled with the need to see it dragged up from the depths. A locked chest, filled with some treasure - go fetch it! 

Then she dimmed, remembering that earlier rejection and its sting. ...if you like.

(226)

Vilas

Vilas jumped a little at the sudden urgency in her voice, Ilmora's words fully sinking in only when the ghost had already fallen back to her silence.

A chest? He gave a quiet look at the way they had come from, but as nothing caught his attention after a moment of dead silence, he turned to face the pond again, approaching it.  A coin or two at the bottom of it he would've understood, but who would've hidden a chest here? Even back then, not many had come to this place; for the longest time he'd been certain that none did, aside from Flavia. He swallowed tensely without noticing, setting the chamberstick down on flat ground as he knelt over the pond's edge, eyeing its dark surface. It wasn't that deep from what he recalled, but he doubted he could get away with only wet sleeves.

"Gods if this is your way of getting back to me for something..." He muttered in a hushed tone, his heart beating faster than it should've. Who would've left a chest here? He didn't bother to roll up his pant cuffs, stepping into the cool water with a stifled gasp, the water easily reaching up to his waist. A tad deeper than he remembered, perfectly cool and lush to house living creatures other than him.

It could've been a jest on Ilmora's part, but Vilas took another step all the same, letting go of a nearby reed as he said, "H-alright, I think I'll need you to guide me to it."

(257)

Ilmora

Wh- you insult me! To what end would I play such a trick? For disappointment and wet shoes? I would be doing this myself if I could.

There was so much she'd do if she didn't have to ask just to interact with the world. She risked fright if she asked a reader in the library to turn the page a little faster; risked worse if she made too many demands to one person and they got tired of her. Everyone else took adventures like this for granted, without stopping to admire the cold sensation of water on their skin or the difference between shifting mud or grass under their feet.

She'd felt that once. And she damned the person who made her know what she was missing.

She told him when the pond made a sharp decline and where he'd have to dive under the water to reach the chest, because of course it was in the deepest part of the pond where the reeds were thickest - where else would it have kept hidden all this time?  

So she watched him accept her directions, take a deep breath, let it out, take it in again to fill his lungs, (Oh, do get on with it, she said impatiently by just watching him breathe) before he dived beneath the dark water. She couldn't feel the heavy murk or the muffling pressure against his ears, and her words rang just ass clearly in his head as they did above-ground.

There it is, She murmured once it's mud-covered wood came into view. It was roughly the width of one's forearm with two bands arching over the top.  It's - chained to something? A weight, I think.

(283)

Vilas

In those dark depths, the light was too faint for him to see by, the silt rising from the bottom making the water murkier the longer they fiddled with the chest. He grabbed the chain tied around it, tugged at it a few times, pulling the lead weight melded at the other end of it free with the third one. Small enough to fit on his palm, he gathered it together with the box both on his arms and headed back up, breaking the surface with a splash and a gasp for air.

They made their way back to the pond's artificial shore, resembling more of a pool's edge. "Got the whole thing," Vilas panted, Ilmora's earlier grumblings forgotten by the time he sat down on the moss and looked at what they had exactly dragged up from the mud. "At least I hope so."

Water dripped from his clothes onto the chest as he looked at the chain more closely, managing to slide it off after a moment, free to inspect the treasure box in turn. It was locked, and all too fine looking to have been left behind for good on purpose, nearly every inch of it covered in delicate engravings. Siregalese craftsmanship, if he had to guess - that in and of itself enough to make his throat feel just a little bit tighter. Yet, it was the name carved at the bottom of the box that made him grow still, solidifying that sense of dread.

"Ah-"

"Hah, why would she have left this here? She-" He managed to say through his audible confusion, the conflicted emotions quick to grow and come alive. He had not been prepared to face them. Not now, not like this. "She never said anything about this."

(294)

Ilmora

She? She who? Ilmora pried, her frustration quickly rising when Vilas struggled to put his own thoughts together, let alone answer her. She spied the name he'd seen on the bottom of the box and asked, Who is this 'Flavia'? Is she the mage who made this place? The one Ilmora had fancifully imagined at the bottom of the lake? ...No, wait...isn't that the name of the sleeping mage? The one you...keep visiting. 

Her tone quieted towards the end, and she floated outside of him to see his expression in the low light. He rarely looked like this, so full of tension and regret. Outside of his head, he wouldn't hear her mutter, Oh, Vilas, in sympathy.

(119)

Vilas

"It is," He bit out, gripping the box harder for a few long seconds to stop the trembling of his fingers. He had shed enough tears for her, the grief swelling in his chest as pointless as it was unwelcome at this point. Whatever Flavia had seen fit to hide here in the past didn't matter. She would never retrieve it now - likely didn't even remember having hid anything in the first place.

"We used to meet here sometimes. Probably thought she'd come back for this later."

But what was in the box? It didn't feel waterlogged, or heavy in any other way. Was it empty? His gaze fell on the miniature chest's lock, or rather, where he had expected to find one. Instead there was a mechanism of sorts, a tightly-fitted hook that could be pulled back. One would expect a hidden treasure to be better protected, and he voiced his thoughts on the strangeness of the fact in an almost clinical manner. Had it been left there for some purpose? To be fetched together, or-

The lid popped open unceremoniously, the inside of the box completely dry. Vilas wasn't sure what he had hoped for - a letter, maybe - but what glinted at the bottom of the box was instead a pair of earrings. "Oh," He exhaled, the initial tension soon making way for a choked chuckle, cut off by him huffing: "I've no idea what she planned these for. I've never seen them."

And now he would never know.

(251)

Ilmora

That's....that's it? Ilmora said to herself, staring at the earrings now resting in Vilas' soaked palm. All this fuss to hide one pair of earrings? 

They had a certain charm to them, that she could admit. They were handmade beaten copper shapes with small ruby chips inlaid into their center, and would surely look flattering against a warm complexion. But it was the actual shape of them that caught her attention - they were beaten disks with a shape cut out of them, almost like a latchkey.

She settled back into Vilas' mind to say distantly, It's a set of keys. To open what, I wouldn't know. She paused, staring with a rare seriousness to her, distant with her own memories. Try....shaking the chest, see if anything shifts around. My sisters liked to hide things, and my father always obliged them with false bottoms to all of their drawers. It was a small delight for them, a terror for my mother when her treasures went missing. 

She didn't say that her sisters liked to hide things from her. Things she wanted, things she admired. They liked denying her things and refusing to tell her where'd they gone, knowing she'd never be able to fetch them herself.

What kind of person was she? Flavia, I mean, She asked, impatient from the secrecy of it all.

(225)

Vilas

"Clever," Vilas said as he shook the empty box, "The type to never idle for long," Tracing his fingertips over its engraved surface next, searching for something that'd give away under his touch, before finally sighing and placing the box down on his lap, "And stubborn as all hell."

Whatever the earrings had been paired with, wasn't this box, the sting of fresh disappointment felt intimately deep within his heart, plenty scarred. "Nothing here," He sighed in shared frustration as he placed one of the earrings back into the box while idly inspecting the other. Were it not for the candle still burning nearby, or Ilmora's whispers, he would've been hard-pressed to recall why he'd returned to this wretched place.

"She... was this kid from the north, ditched here for a reason or another. She had her own share of secrets - just things one oughta not to talk about," He continued, shrugging. "And so we didn't. Figured it was for the better, have a little bit of distance between us." And oh, how they had failed at that although the secrets never went away, his own impossible to share, knowing more of his ilk hid under the same roof. "There was plenty of shit to manage without one of us turning into a bleeding heart on top of everything else, when the point was to forget all of it, though you wouldn't have known from looking at us."

The usual smile returned to his lips, or tried to. It was a snarl, if anything at all. "We fought over the stupidest shit, but guess that's what you get from keeping secrets. So much for that level-headedness," The mage shook his head a little, before remembering Ilmora's presence and the weirdness of such a gesture from her ghostly point of view. There was a heavy pause, and then, "It's kind of a pity you two couldn't meet. When she was herself, I mean."

(322)

Ilmora

Ilmora took all that in as she stared at the chest, at their dead end to this ill-begotten adventure. It felt bitter, and moreover, It sounds lonely. 

She knew what it felt like, to have an impossible wall in the way of what you truly want. It created despair just by being there, silent and stalwart, and to know that Vilas' wall was something inadvertently crafted by his and Flavia's hands made it worse to hear, somehow. She could imagine them putting the bricks there, one by one, with mournful hands.

Could I... She hesitated, unsure if the night was right for such a question, with the heaviness in the air. ...I mean, she's been asleep for so long, hasn't she? ...So have I, in a way. I don't know if there could be any similarities, but maybe -?

She was avoiding the question, feeling like she would be asking too much. But something in her wanted to chase this thread of Flavia's unspoken mystery, and she could tell herself that there was no true harm in asking.

...Could I meet her?

(181)

Vilas

"...." Vilas paused, dumbfounded by the timid question. He wasn't the only one holding tension within, Ilmora's hesitation speaking for itself. "Sure," he found himself exhaling as he placed the earrings back inside the box, gently dropping the lead weight back into the pond before gathering himself. "Sure," He repeated more confidently, although his voice remained quiet, picking up the candle next. The flame sizzled a little as a stray water droplet touched it.

"I should warn you though that it's... Likely not of magical nature. Her condition," Vilas murmured, mulling over her words. "The hunt did a number on her on the inside."

The medical wing wasn't something one just waltzed into at night, but closed doors and locks had never exactly kept him out. A magical wall would've been a different story, but such wasn't considered necessary for what was maybe both the most tranquil and grievous place in whole Namarast.

"... How about that magic? Do you wish to try it?" He said to the empty air, blowing out the candle while waiting for Ilmora's response. She'd need to stick along tight, but... Perhaps it'd be alright. At worst she'd feel no different, too intangible to tag along in the first place. At best, maybe she'd get something out of it and help distract him from this sorry hell of finding some secret keepsake of Flavia.

After a beat, the ghost answered softly. Yes please. The unspoken hopefulness was apparent, despite the warning. The thought of possibly waking Flavia up didn't cross his mind as he and Ilmora disappeared into the thin air together, this time without his usual warnings of 'hold your breath'.

Thankfully the medical ward was nearby enough for just two glimpses into his own quiet world with its blurry edges and living colors, releasing his breath in a slow exhale once deeming the ward safe, the healer responsible for the night shift soundly sleeping on the other side of the door that separated the main room from this little wing meant for more permanent patients.

(340)

Ilmora

Ilmora hadn't exactly been taken along for the ride by Vilas' magic as much as she'd been enveloped in it. She moved herself, seeing the world become a kaleidoscope of colors only within the framework of his spell, like his was a rip current through the world while the rest of the waters were still and calm. She traveled alongside it, seeing sensation turned into visible markers. People asleep in their beds unraveled in colors and lines behind walls, and she saw their hearts slowly beat if she paused long enough, and if she felt delight slowly burn away the bitterness of the night.

When the world snapped back to normalcy, Ilmora laughed in Vilas' ear. You framed that like a it was a bad thing - do you always get to see the world differently than all the rest? She hummed pleasantly as Vilas approached the bed he was looking for. No wonder you weren't frightened of me. 

Vilas hadn't mentioned that the woman in question, Flavia, was very pretty. Ilmora didn't see the signs of atrophy, far too used to seeing it in her own sleeping body to care, but she did see the golden lustre to her hair that caught in the candlelight, the beauty mark near the corner of her mouth, and a physique that spoke of years of training. So much of her was softened in an exhausted way in sleep, lacking that stubborn spark Vilas had described.

This wasn't the person who'd gone to such length to hide a set of keys where no one but a ghost could find it. This was an empty shell.

But maybe there'd be something to find if she went looking for it. Certainly nothing of tonight had gone as planned - what was the harm? She asked Vilas for his permission, seeing as his slumbering companion couldn't give it, and once granted, she floated from one body to another.

To Vilas, all was quiet.

Then - it was subtle - there was nothing more than a twitch of Flavia's fingers.

A shuddering. A deep breath in.

And then Flavia opened her eyes. Slowly, blearily at first. Her lips moved as she tried to form words, but nothing came from her long-parched mouth.

(371)

Vilas

Vilas held his breath, waiting to see what would happen - if anything could happen. They had tried everything to stir her from her neverending numbness, to bring back a spark of any kind to her amber eyes after it was decreed they should at least attempt to keep rehabilitating her. Any mage who put their life on the line for the good of the realm deserved at least that much.

Yet, even then, Flavia had spent most of her time in a state of suspended animation, her body withering slowly yet kept alive by magic when no amount of care, food, or other remedies seemed to be enough to undo the trauma the explosion of magic had left her with.

"Lia?" Vilas asked, setting the closed treasure box aside as he sat down on the bed, leaning closer, seeing something in her eyes. He hadn't thought he held this much hope still, the raspy 'no' floating up from her lips feeling no different from a gutpunch. He remembered to stay quiet at least, straightening his back as he sighed, giving Ilmora room to try and sit up.

(187)

Ilmora

There was truly nothing behind Flavia's eyes. It was hard to describe the utter lack of something when she had no sensory feedback to describe it, but as much as she'd seen the hair on the back of people's necks rise whenever she was near, or when others just seemed to know she was there in their heads without her saying a word, she knew when there was a lack of that description-defying sensation. In the way that an empty house would never feel like a home, Flavia was long gone.

What surprised her beyond that was that she was allowed to move Flavia's limbs at all. She was never able to do more than lock someone's limbs without explicit permission to move them about, but the only kind she'd gotten was from Vilas. Was that because he was the nearest thing to it, with Flavia gone?

She tried to speak again and failed at it long enough that a cup of water was poured and pressed into her hands. Puppetting Flavia's limbs was harder than she remembered, like a doll's joints that had rusted over, and she would've dropped the cup over herself had Vilas not caught it and helped her drink from it.

In little bits and pieces, she told Vilas of her conclusions, of how her permissions worked. Never could she fully intrude beyond being heard, and this could only mean there was nothing left of her.

There was a long silence between them, before Ilmora remembered when her mother had stood over her body's glass topped coffin near the end, telling stories and crying as if they'd never see each other again. Ilmora hadn't understood it at the time, how final it'd sounded, how much it'd sounded like the end, but her mother had never visited her again after that. Didn't have the strength to.

So Ilmora offered, "Do you....want to say goodbye?"

(318)

Vilas

He shook his head. It took another sigh before he could bring himself to actually answer, still speaking in that same, quiet tone, "I've said mine already."

Was her situation truly that hopeless? He took the glass from Flavia's hands and reached over her, placing it on the wooden windowsill, letting Ilmora's words sink in. His response suddenly felt anything but true, his eyes downcast when he murmured with a strained note, "They never made any of this easier though. So much for the greatness of magic, when all it takes is one mistake and suddenly nobody knows what to do."

One damn awful mistake, but the details of her accident didn't matter anymore. They were pointless, just like the earrings resting in the box were. Vilas' gaze returned to what he could only assume to be Ilmora looking back at him, alone.  

Was this a terrible thing for him to permit even if it'd been in the hopes of soothing him aiding Flavia? He couldn't say, managing only a half-whispered sorry as he carefully pulled Ilmora into a hug.

(180)

Ilmora

She'd expected anything else besides a hug. The stiffness of Flavia's limbs communicated that easily enough, held in awkward limbo as Ilmora sat there, unsure of what to do.

When was the last time she'd been hugged? Her, not the body she was inhabiting. Doubt crept in that this wasn't about Ilmora at all, not on the heels of him saying goodbye. But she could pretend, couldn't she? She could be greedy, just this once, as long as the moment was under nebulous, unspoken terms.

Slowly, she pulled the strings of Flavia's limbs to melt and hug him back, placing Flavia's cheek against Vilas' shoulder. She made Flavia's lungs exhale in a sigh, made her eyes close, imagining what the warmth of it might feel like. Even if this hug wasn't for her, his words felt like they were. One mistake, one curse, was all it'd taken, and no amount of Order mages, soothsayers, or charlatans eager for her family's last coin could solve what barred Ilmora from her own body. Hope became a poison when the realization arrived that there was nothing to be done. This was it; a hellish half-existence as the rest of the world got up and moved on.

She knew she was getting too comfortable after a while, too needy. Ilmora exited Flavia's head before the moment could be ruined like it had with Meister Tempest, and Flavia went completely limp in Vilas' arms, like a doll with her strings cut.

Let's go, She said softly in Vilas' ear. I'm all adventured-out.

(257)

Vilas

Vilas exhaled in surprise, tightening his hold on Flavia as he carefully laid her back down onto the bed, her eyes closed as if she'd been asleep all along. Maybe she had, blissfully unaware of the world and herself both, the latter reduced to nothing more than the body that Vilas now gently tucked into the bed before picking up the box.

This was not the kind of life she would've wanted, he knew that all too well, but with any other option feeling nothing short of cruel, her unawareness could be thought of as twisted kind of mercy one way or the other, Ilmora's words having confirmed what many had suspected for a long time already. It was a bitter thing to accept, the heaviness of it quick to cling to his words when he whispered, just loud enough for Ilmora to hear, "Just hold on tight, then."

They left the room, navigating the hallways as two non-beings until there was no one to see or hear Vilas reappear. The rest of the trip back to his room was spent as one body, corporeal and hurting in an unseen way. The feeling of Flavia's arms around his shoulders lingered, but the embrace had been so cold, her gestures fully unfamiliar. Even so, there'd been some comfort to be found in Ilmora's actions, and as they finally reached the safety of his darkened room, he broke the silence.

"How... how do you feel?" Vilas asked, tilting his head towards his shoulder.

(251)

Ilmora

To that question, Ilmora gave a tired little laugh. Sad, she said at first. Frustrated. Weary. This was the kind of adventure even I can't wax poetic about, and you've heard my stories before.

But I also feel...a sort of comfort? She swirled around restlessly in his head, trying to pinpoint the emotion. If you had been anyone else, you would have run by now, or shouted, or cast me out. But you didn't, and I...I don't know why.

But most of all, above all those other emotions, she felt horribly tempted. What would Vilas do if he was stuck in that breathless whirlwind of color, unable to touch the world? Would he be as kind as he was now? Or would he be like her, seeing an empty vessel that would allow him to interact with the world, and dream of having it for himself?

The Vilas who listened to her now would never do that. Would condemn her for it, she knew that. But he wasn't driven to desperation, now was he?

Her emotions became muddled after that, filling with an old, familiar envy, and she murmured thickly, If you meant 'how do I feel physically', the answer is nothing at all. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Not the embrace, not the tiredness of Flavia's limbs, not the warmth she craved. ...I can show you what it feels like, if you wish. You showed me your magic, it's only fair I return the favor. 

That envy was always a sharp, destructive thing, filled with a desire to make others understand just how empty it was to be her, even if it cost her his rare sympathy.

It only works with your permission, she whispered, her words stretched taut with tension. You can take it back any time you please.

(301)

Vilas

He quirked a brow at no one as he moved away from the door, faintly aware of the way his clothes clung to his skin with every little movement, damp still from the dip into the pond. The box was set aside, and with that his full attention returned to Ilmora and her offer. Vilas couldn't deny his curiosity, not after having seen the extent her possessions could go beyond just being a voice in his head.

Was it painful to be controlled by her? Distressing, just like the time Mordreaux had frozen him in place, unable to escape or protest? Or was it comforting to give into something so wholly while enjoying the ride from the backseat?

Most importantly, was it truly based on permission, or had he just done irrevocably wrong by Flavia?

His lips pursed together briefly. "Go ahead", he said with a nod, "I'd hardly know how to explain mine so if it's easier to just..." Gods, was it alright, really? Nevermind wise, dealing with unfamiliar magic like while merely hoping, trusting that everything will end well? Likely not, but he was willing if Ilmora was, the permission granted with a chuckle and sighed words, "Ah fuck it, enough whimpering for one night. I'm ready when you are."

(212)

Ilmora

The threshold to Vilas' strings was opened with that given permission, allowing her to fully trespass and take control. Still in that tense hushed tone, she stepped fully inside and said, I'd call you a fool if I wasn't grateful for it. 

Once she crossed that threshold, she essentially pushed Vilas out of his own head. His attachment to his body was cut, and he was nothing more than his consciousness, watching his body move like a play performing on a stage. This wasn't his body anymore - it was hers.

And the first thing she did with his strings under her bidding was move across the room, searching through piles of clothes for something. A thick traveling cloak was set on the bed, a fresh tunic was thrown along with it, but all else was thrown in haphazard heaps on the floor.

Vilas got to hear himself sigh out loud, detached from the sensation of his own ears. "Towel, towel, towel...." Ilmora muttered with his voice, stepping from his  bedroom to his small lavatory, where she found one hanging fairly quickly.

And what did she do with his body other than sit back down on the edge of the bed, kick off his shoes she'd bid him to get wet on her account, and wipe his face and hair down dry? It was in a patient way that she peeled his wet vest and tunic off next, unattached beyond spying a scar on his forearm with some curiosity.

All she did was wordlessly take care of him, with his fair eyelashes hooded in her own contemplation.

"So?" She asked with his voice as she toweled his throat and upper chest. "Frightened yet?"

(282)

Vilas

Frightened? He had been at first, maybe, the sense of alarm having been quick to rise amidst his floating thoughts when she'd started looking for something. It had prompted a horrible thought, the grave paranoia that she might be looking for a knife to threaten his life with for some reason, any reason.

But Ilmora had not, in fact, the wave of fear having waned as fast as it had risen. I don't know, Vilas murmured back, honest in his confusion as he watched her hold the towel on his lap.

His.

He didn't feel like himself - he didn't feel much like anything at all, but it was not fully unpleasant, watching himself being looked after like this. To have all control taken away and with that, any responsibility towards himself or everyone else. He simply was, as much unaffected by the cold as he was by the tension wrapped around his chest. It was tiring, to find no reprieve from living itself even if oblivion wasn't appealing either.

It wasn't painful to not exist for a moment. Not as something perceivable, anyway, safe from feeling any harm, but he couldn't stay like this. The responsibilities he had been burdened with demanded otherwise, and unlike him, they wouldn't so easily disappear.

He decided to go along with it for now, just a while longer.

It's strange, Vilas spoke to her again, a little more vibrantly this time although the confused note persisted. Whispering into my own ear like this is strange, indeed. There was a wordless hum, followed by a question in turn, Do you find it pleasant? Scared to be cast aside suddenly? Even if the lack of sensations persisted for Ilmora, he supposed being able to move was an improvement of some kind.

(295)

Ilmora

"It's not a matter of pleasantness or fright," She murmured, sitting upright in a small stretch to reach his abdomen and sides with the small towel. "I have no right to exist, and any stolen moment in someone else's body is a moment I get to exist. It's only a matter of time before that runs out." She sighed again, staring blankly at the opposite wall. "Sleep, for example, doesn't work. The body can't rest when the mind in control doesn't submit to it, and two active, needless minds make that impossible. I have to leave and ask to be let back in again."

She looked down again, rolling up his pants to wipe off his shins and pruning feet, admiring the faint gold sheen to his leg hair in the candlelight. "You can leave too, if you want," She smirked darkly to herself. "Fly. You're untethered because of me, until you want your body back."

(156)

Vilas

Hmm. He hummed to her ear. Or rather the inside of it as he considered the answer he'd been given. I once rode a dragon, you know. Vilas grinned languidly. Exciting for sure, but I think I prefer having my two feet on the ground. Feet he needn't concern himself with right now, just like the rest of his tired body. Seeing Flavia always left him with a certain kind of hollowness and this time had been no different.

If anything, tonight had been difficult in two opposing ways. It'd been a comfort to have tried something new; it'd been harrowing to see it change nothing. Not for Flavia, at least.

You said you couldn't feel her there, inside her head. Would it be different in... a body like that? Sleeping, existing.

(132)

Ilmora

"You rode a -?!" She burst out, far too loud for a place with sleeping fellows on the opposite side of the walls, and she hushed herself out of habit. "So you know what flight feels like, and you still don't want it? Suit yourself. I didn't think you'd do it regardless." Not in the least because it'd be abandoning his body to the whims of a ghost. He wasn't that trusting.

"And no, it'd be no different. I control it all until my permission is revoked, and you're nothing but a voice in my head until that point. In her body, it'd be as if I had the house all to myself once you hand me the keys."

She leaned back and stared at the ceiling now, dry foot propped on his knee. "That's the most final thing to say she's not there. You let me in, not her. My magic decided that you were the closest thing next to her own decision. So if you wanted me gone from her, it's your power to revoke, if that means anything to you."

(182)

Vilas

Is that so. Vilas murmured more to himself than to her, the sound of it just a soft brush amidst Ilmora's own thoughts. He had come to accept that Flavia wouldn't likely walk on her own again, despite there being nothing inherently wrong with her legs. To reconcile with the fact she'd never talk to him on her own again, was much harder.

It should've hurt to mull over these thoughts, but the sensation of unchanging, floaty existence remained the same still.

I wonder how she'd feel about that. He sighed, heavily. Or anything. It's pointless to wonder, I know, but I can't stop thinking about it still - whether or not she's happy. There was a pause, something akin to gritted teeth. What a damn joke it is to avoid death, only to be left lifeless. She may be gone but she's still someone. Or could be. Perhaps not. I'm not sure, I'm... I'm tired.

His faint laugh melted into another murmur as he veered away from the questions neither he or Ilmora could ever truly know the answers to, If you had... the keys, so to speak, to anyone, what would you use them for? This? Pestering people at the library?

(202)

Ilmora

Ilmora listened patiently, letting his body lean back until she fell flat on the bed, his earrings jingling very slightly. "What even is death?" She returned to his first set of questions. "Is it when you stop being attached to a body? Do you and I die by proxy of our magic every time we use it? Or is death when your consciousness - what you are right now - is gone?" She raised a hand up and splayed his fingers up against the ceiling. "What is life if we can't interact with it? Are we both dead right now?"

She let that hand fall slack against the bed. "This is all I thought about as a child. I had nothing else to do."

"And if I had the keys to the world..." She laughed darkly. "I'd be selfish. I'd torment the family that left me, the family that stole my first friend from me, and the people who might have the answers to my affliction." She sneered with a sudden savageness. "I'd kick them out of their own bodies and deny them back until they told me how to feel anything. Then, I'd just...float to the prettiest places and inhabit whoever I wanted. See coasts with sparkling blue waters. Castles with loads of servants to follow my beck and call. And I'd just enjoy it until the next experience called." She closed Vilas' eyes, denying him the ability to see at all. "I'd live as much as I could, until I went to wake myself up. My true body is buried somewhere in a glass coffin, perfectly preserved. Asleep and denied me since birth."

"....But enough about me. If you're tired, I should let you sleep. You've given me enough."

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Vilas

Ah. So his ghost wasn't without her own darkness after all. The cold bitterness in her voice was a familiar beast to him, born from the ceaseless ache for something stolen freedom had left him with. Learning that she had a body she could not return to certainly wasn't the same as his predicament as the army's tool, but he could empathize with those dark desires all the same.

Whether or not they were truly alive without control over their lives, he couldn't say, but Ilmora was here with him. That he knew with certainty, and it was enough for now.

He reached for those strings of his fingers, grasping them lightly. Sleep comes to me poorly, I'm afraid. It was a moment of shared control, fingers touching, curling around nothing as he slowly closed his fist before letting go again. Would you stay? A moment, an hour, the whole night - I'll take what I can get.

(157)

Ilmora

That sensation of his will over the strings in her control might've been the closest thing Ilmora had to being touched. It was a slow, patient thing, oddly intimate. His hand over hers, when their hands were more of an idea than anything physical.

She clung to that in her own way by turning his body onto his side and pulling that fist close to his beating heart. "If you want me, I will," She murmured, the waver in those words betraying emotion she couldn't dismiss or smooth away. "I'll be here."

He really was a fool to let her in like this. To trust her not only with his own body, but that of someone he clearly cared about. Didn't he see she was a demon, like everyone else said she was? He'd surely come to despise her the longer she lingered and showed her darker side.

But just like that hug from earlier, she allowed herself to cling to this too. To delude herself into thinking she was wanted. She prompted him to take back control of his body, feeling the strings snap back to their original owner, leaving her to float, unattached in his head, just as before. She only left long enough to give him privacy to completely change his damp clothes and tuck himself into bed before she settled in the corners of his mind, curled up like a cat against his walls.

And there she stayed for the rest of the night, as the candles were blown out, as his breathing steadied and slowed down, as his muscles relaxed one by one. She was alone and not alone then, kept in the dark with nothing but her thoughts, unable to leave. But he was there, and he wanted her to be there, and she cradled that with an aching desperation, curled up on it and afraid to let it go.

She stayed as long as morning light started to hit his eyelids and he started to stir. She took her leave before he was fully awake, like a lingering, doubtful dream. Far be it from her to overstay her welcome of someone she decided to trust in return.

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