[attr="class","leaguecardslip"]

[attr="class","leaguecardslip"]

[attr="class","leaguecardslip"]

[attr="class","leaguecardsliptext1"]Name:

[attr="class","leaguecardsliptext2"]Pronouns:

[attr="class","leaguecardsliptext3"]Speciality:

[attr="class","leaguecarddbig"]


[break]
There is a desk perfectly placed in an office sitting in a city that is no home on the shores of a region that is, in many ways, falling apart at the seams.
[break][break]
Small somethings are scattered across its surface, little plants that are gifts kept in perfect shape as a formality. Small knickknacks and decorations that move on whims that no one seems quite sure of the cause for. They shift as often as the wind shifts sand across the shore. Dainty fingers flutter across the smooth surface of the workplace with a familiarity that can only come from too many nights spent upon it.
[break][break]
Horrors drift across the screen, float up from the papers that shuffle across the desk and beyond the clacking of keys. Mingling in between these damning notions is the sickening sweetness of a lullaby as old as time. Older perhaps, if one is to believe the stories of where it came from, should they know them.
[break][break]
Fernando Silph's assistant works through the night, violet eyes and ebony hair settling on shoulders filled with a steady calmness. Silence settles on her in the dark as if nothing in the world could bother her.
[break][break]

[break]
There is a storm in the air, vibrating on the wind, carrying the smell of rain with it as it passes through the night. A familiar thing to many, a favorite of her own. It is here in the dark of a stormy night that one can say the Nightingale feels most at home. Her heels click against the rooftop as she treads towards her mark. It is a simple task, almost unworthy of her but they ask it and she answers nonetheless.
[break][break]
She wonders still, as she makes her way down the old fire escape with a purpose, her prey soon realizing he's being hunted by something that should most certainly alarm him. Is this worth it? Will it give her what she seeks?
[break][break]
It is hard to say as the shadows reach from beneath her, as if they are of her, seeking out the man across the ground with a single terrifying goal. Ghostly fingers curl around his ankles, chill him to the bone, pulling him from upright to flat against the concrete of the city.
[break][break]
The nightingale says nothing as the ghost at her heels cackles behind her, the pokemon toys as much as she. They will not let him go until they are done with him.
[break][break]
If there is a scream she does not hear it through the falling rain, eyes already turned towards the sky.
[break][break]

[break]
In all of Lilycove, no place carries the same view this place does. A small little outcrop that can only be reached if you know the right cavern on the beach to tread through to find it. Wide open, it faces the ocean and the moon above.
[break][break]
She does not pray like she should, forgoing all the things she is meant to do and meant to be in the name of seeking something else entirely within her faith. Whatever it may bring her it may come regardless of what she does to summon it, her fate was chosen as soon as she was born. Denial is not an option, so what does it matter if she follows the rules or not?
[break][break]
Her back is already against the cold ground, watching the star sea awaken in the night. Watching as his world lights up for her as it always does. Waiting to see what it might say, what the constellations might tell her before the night is over.
[break][break]
There is silence everywhere but her mind, sprawling thoughts guiding her through the decimation of a world, the destruction of beings that belong nowhere near them, beyond the mortal world they know, much like her, seeing a dream within a dream and seeking the waking truth that lies somewhere in the spaces in between.
[break][break]
Silence is broken by old words, spoken by her more times than she cares to know. Spoken by the one that came before her, before them, before any of them existed upon this place. Words older than time, words as old as their god.
[break][break]
It is the crashing of the waves that sets her free, it is the call of the stars that guides her home.



[break]
She stares at the caramels on the counter. Amelia insists on putting them there because she knows that they are her favorites. And she knows that the dark haired woman she is employed by wouldn't dare touch them anyway.
[break][break]
Fingernails tap the counter top, the tenseness in her shoulders reads agitation. As though it annoys her that they are there but anyone that knows her well (and none but Amelia and her brothers do) knows that's not why.
[break][break]
The candy makes her happy, it is one of her favorite things. It speaks of a broken childhood. It speaks of a self she is not supposed to be. It speaks of small happy things that she is not allowed to have.
[break][break]
Tonight she reaches for the candy anyway. Tonight she thinks of all her favorite things as the candy touches her tongue. She thinks about the sound of piano keys and clashing metal, the song of battle and the lullabies that flit from her lips when no one is there to hear them. She thinks of the stars above and the way rain feels against her skin when she watches the clouds pass by. She thinks of the scent of the ocean breeze.
[break][break]
And then she smiles, because lastly she thinks of something entirely her's. It could not possibly belong to anyone else. Not the assistant that sits at a desk all night, not the nightingale who has passed all the tests and claimed the ultimate prize. Not the priestess who has sworn away her blade in the name of something else, no, this belongs to her.
[break][break]
She smiles because she thinks, that handsome face, those grey blue eyes, that name on the tip of her tongue-[break]

[attr="class","leaguecardibig"]