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a  slow  day  weighs  down  the  shackles  of  boredom  around  red's  ankles,  an  inner  debate  chipping  away  at  their  sanity  with  every  passing  second:  should  she  stay  and  man  the  store  or  close  up  for  a  few  minutes  and  stretch  a  pair  of  legs  that  is  dying  to  walk  someplace  ━━ even  if  it's  just  a  few  blocks.  before  red  could  even  try  and  convince  herself  that  it's  not  that  bad,  the  jingle  of  keys  is  all  that  could  be  heard  echoing  within  the  walls  of  the  store.  and  then,  they  are  off  ━━  and  they  don't  even  know  where  to.  not  until  their  attention  falls  onto  the  sign  of  the  bookstore  and  red  thinks:  why  the  hell  not?

the  moment  rowena  walks  in,  she  takes  in  a  deep  breath  and  finds  a  sort  of  strange  comfort  in  the  scent  of  new  and  old  books.  a  moment  that  gets  cut  through  by  a  voice  calling  out.  amused,  red  nods  her  head  as  her  eyes  now  study  the  ground  more  carefully  than  ever  before  (  at  least  at  the  bookstore  ━━  red  is  not  renowned  for  their  careful  actions  ).  "i'll  be  the  most  careful,  don't  worry."  footsteps  near  the  source  of  the  voice,  hands  on  hips.  dark  grey  eyes  look  around  before  looking  at  belin  again.  "seems  like  you  got  a  lot  to  get  through.  you  anything  on  herbs?  i  want  to  know  what's  around  here  without  having  to  order  it  from  somewhere  else."

𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑠 : open to anyone . 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 : belin's bookstore, the rose & quill.

the  bookstore  smells  like  paper  and  pipe  tobacco,  the  latter  only  faintly  —  the  scent  lingering  in  the  spines  of  the  ancient  volumes  belin  works  to  restore.  outside,  fabletown  moves  like  a  body  in  mourning,  slow  and  careful  in  its  limbs,  as  though  too  loud  a  step  might  provoke  whatever  darkness  had  ascended  on  the  town  in  the  earlier  weeks.  belin  is  cataloguing  first  editions  next  to  a  candle,  although  the  power  works  just  fine.  it's  the  ambiance  she  prefers:  the  flickering  kind,  golden  and  secretive  and  casting  shadows  among  the  shelves. 

as  the  bell  above  the  door  sings  out,  her  hand  pauses  over  a  worn  anthology  —  fairy  tales,  naturally,  though  most  of  those  inscribed  in  the  tome  are  too  worn  or  foreign  to  be  marketable  anymore.  “be  mindful  where  you  step,”  her  voice  calls  out  softly,  her  attention  still  focused  on  the  manuscript  in  her  hands.  “i've  just  received  a  new  shipment  and  haven't  had  a  moment  to  unpack  them  yet.”  head  absentmindedly  nods  towards  the  packed  boxes  lingering  near  the  front  of  the  store,  cardboard  scuffed  and  stamped  with  the  sigil  of  the  local  courier.  she  tucks  a  lock  of  stray  hair  behind  her  ear  as  her  gaze  finally  rises,  sweeping  the  door  frame  with  a  patient  kind  of  weight.  her  blouse  is  unbuttoned  at  the  collar,  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  elbow;  she  does  not  mourn  in  black,  but  rather  muted  tones  of  bruised  violets  and  dried  wine.  “can  i  help  you  find  anything  ?” 

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the  familiarity  between  the  two  souls  that  make  up  the  very  essence  of  neverland  is  a  welcome  reprieve  for  faye  ━━  they  just  don't  quite  want  to  acknowledge  what  the  reprieve  is  from  and  how  quickly  she  had  abandoned  it  when  the  homelands  started  to  burn  down  (  she  is  selfish  and  looks  out  for  her  own  survival  but  at  least  she  can  admit  it.  and  that  accounts  for  something  ).  "just  because  i'm  dramatic  doesn't  mean  you  can't  be,  pete."  a  smirk  and  another  sip  of  her  lukewarm  beer.  their  eyes  remain  on  peter's,  just  to  prove  a  point.  "and  as  far  as  i'm  concerned,  you're  the  one  with  empty  hands.  even  if  mine  are  just  holding  lukewarm  beer."

and  then,  a  shrug  at  theirdismissal  of  knitting.  "too  bad.  you'd  have  two  handy  weapons  if  the  killer  comes  for  you  next."  a  mere  tease.  tink  would  burn  more  than  someone's  mailbox  if  something  happened  to  the  one  and  only  peter  pan.  that  is  her  peter  pan  ━━  if  someone  makes  him  bleed,  it's  her.

it's  impossible  not  to  notice  that  notebook  under  their  arm  and  how  his  threat  of  claiming  their  beer  opens  up  the  right  time  for  tink  to  mention  it.  and  when  their  two  fingers  meet  the  metal  of  the  can,  faye  puts  some  distance  between  peter  and  their  drink  (  not  of  choice,  but  of  opportunity  ).  "why  the  fuck  do  you  need  a  bus  pass?"  a  question  that  trumps  all  other  comments  at  that  moment.  "besides,  maybe  i'll  be  more  interested  in  that  notebook  of  yours  now  that  you've  told  me  the  contents  of  your  wallet."

amused  exhale  escapes  through  their  nostrils,  the  warm  murmur  an  invitation  to  mirror  peter's  own  actions.  and  that's  exactly  what  faye  does,  head  tilting  ever  so  slightly  as  well.  "i'll  say  i  missed  you  if  you  give  me  something  to  do  other  than...  how  is  it  you  said  it?  hold  court  on  the  sidewalk?"  her  own  words  a  murmur  and  a  challenge.

peter  huffs  something  between  a  scoff  and  a  laugh,  the  sound  catching  in  the  back  of  his  throat  like  it's  snagged  on  something  sharper  on  the  way  out.  “you’ve  got  some  nerve  calling  me  dramatic,”  he  replies,  fingers  dragging  along  the  shape  of  his  jaw.  “you’re  the  one  holding  court  with  a  lukewarm  beer.”  his  gaze  drifts  sideways,  scanning  the  street  like  he’s  expecting  the  curb  to  crack  open  and  swallow  him  from secondhand  embarrassment  —  or  maybe  just  to  avoid  looking  directly  at  her,  that  familiar  gleam  behind  her  eyes  already  pulling  too  much  out  of  him.  “and  no,  haven’t  tried  knitting.  not  big  on  hobbies  that  involve  stabbing  myself  repeatedly."  he  already  had  enough  blood  on  my  hands. 

there’s  a  beat,  followed  by  a  reluctant  shrug,  the  cigarette  behind  his  ear  shifting  as  he  tucks  his  notebook  tighter  under  his  arm. peter's  hand  reaches  out,  hovers  over  the  beer  like  he  might  take  the  offer,  but  instead,  they  flick  the  can  lightly  with  two  fingers.  not  enough  to  spill,  just  enough  to  annoy.  “you  want  my  wallet,  sweetheart,  you’ll  have  to  dig.  not  much  in  there  but  an  expired  id  and  an  old  bus  pass.”  his  brows  crinkle in amusement as he suddenly leans in closer, his voice just above a murmur. “but  if  you’re  that  desperate  for  something  to  do,  you  could  just  say  you  missed  me.”

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every  word  that  drops  from  between  lance's  lips  pulls  at  every  ounce  of  curiosity  that  flows  in  and  between  the  fibres  of  tink's  being  and,  without  anything  else  to  do,  the  faerie  gets  trapped  by  the  honeyed  promises  of  answers  ━━  faye  supposes  she's  lucky  she's  not  a  cat.  "you  think  that  was  good  cheer?  i  would  hate  to  see  what  you  think  is  a  good  day,  lance."  smirk  and  mirth  twirl  together  on  faye's  lips,  eyebrow  raising  as  their  eyes  meet  lance's  in  quiet  defiance  ━━  they  wonder  just  how  far  she  can  get  him  to  go  along  with  her.

faye  tilts  her  head,  eyes  narrowing  as  the  conversation  burrows  inside  of  her  mind,  further  and  further  down.  "and  is  there?  an  equilibrium  to  everything?  there  is  chaos,  after  all."  lips  press  together,  fake  deep  thought  acted  out  for  dramatic  purposes.  and  yet,  for  all  the  feigned  interaction,  faye  couldn't  help  but  let  blue  eyes  drill  through  lance's  skin  ━━  he  stands,  right  before  them,  calm  and  collected  (  like  the  hanging  moon,  watching  all  that  goes  on  in  the  dark  of  night  ).  "and  it  makes  life  oh  so  fun."  if  one  can  ignore  the  recent  death  and  how  it  is  the  pure  opposite  of  what  life  is;  either  way,  it's  not  faye's  life.

"so,  you'd  watch  the  show  and  leave  without  congratulating  the  artist  at  the  end?  i  never  would  have  thought  you  lacked  such  grace."  innocence  lacks  in  their  blue  eyes,  observing  their  company  like  a  feline  that  is  just  investigating  what  a  noise  might  be  (  and  perhaps  curiosity  does  kill  the  cat  ).

his  question  only  garners  a  small  shrug  out  of  faye's  shoulders,  lips  press  together  and  bound  down  in  nonchalance.  "and  what  if  there  are?  what  does  that  change  about  fabletown?  or  that  the  homelands  are  most  likely  just  dust  and  blood  now?  hell,  for  all  we  know,  that's  what's  going  to  happen  here  now.  ding  dong  and  all  that."

inexplicably,  a  feeling  of  deep  consolation  inundated  him.  faye’s  remarks  were  forthright,  brutishly  so,  and  verging  on  abrasive,  but  they  were  not  without  the  caveat  of  honesty—the  kind  that  assuaged  him  more  than  saccharine  reassurances  could.  he  squinted  at  her  in  the  lamp-dusk.  she  irradiated  a  magic  which  was  so  distinct  from  his  own,  that  set  itself  apart  from  the  town’s  veil  of  enchantment  and  the  witches’  spellwork.

“i  believe  there  is  an  equilibrium  to  everything,  and  my  pessimism  happens  to  complement  your  good  cheer  justly.”  he  had  found  her  perplexing,  once.  two  years  ago,  newly  exhumed  from  the  armour  in  which  he  had  been  coffined  and  wanting  for  avenues  to  apply  himself  to  the  mundane  world  as  he’d  been  instructed,  lancelot  had  prowled  the  mile  for  a  stitch  of  work—the  sort  he’d  manage  without  much  by  way  of  expertise.  he’d  made  an  effort  of  the  trip  trap  first,  and  faye’s  acquaintance  had  been  made  with  much  reluctance.

she  was  igneous  and  veined  with  lightning.  yet,  curiously,  he’d  always  equated  her  to  the  delicate  laughter  of  small  bells,  heard  inside  the  ears  in  fever.

“wouldn’t  that  be  a  sight?”  he  conceded  to  her  brazen  light,  her  intensity  of  manner  and  speech,  and  watched  as  it  competed  with  the  flaring  sunset.  “well,  once  i’d  watched  my  fill  of  you  brandishing  the  cutlery,  i’d  flee.  i’m  not  taking  a  stand  against  them  when  we’re  clearly  outnumbered.”

“don’t  you  wonder  at  all?  if  there  are  communes  like  ours  beyond  this  mundane  country?”

[einchants]

the  echoing  click  of  a  lock  at  work  signals  the  end  of  a  slow  day  and  red  could  not  be  more  repulsed  by  the  idea  of  being  sent  home  because  of  a  curfew  ━━  it  is  a  vain  attempt  at  trying  to  tie  down  a  wild  spirit,  one  that  only  wants  to  fly  through  the  leaves  of  a  forest  so  that  it  can  claim  all  for  itself.  it  is  not  surprising  that  red  does  not  plan  on  going  straight  home,  instead  desiring  for  a  bit  of  the  freedom  that  only  a  night  out  can  give  her:  empty  streets,  a  bit  of  a  breeze,  no  soul  in  sight  that  might  try  and  convince  red  to  rethink  her  nightly  choices.  this  is  what  red  liked  ━━  the  eerie  silence  of  a  town  that  feels  trapped  in  their  own  fear,  one  of  their  own  stripped  of  a  life  that  is  meant  to  be  longer  than  this.  it  is  poison  and  red  refuses  to  fall  victim  to  it.  and,  if  she  must  go,  then  she'll  go  wrapped  in  freedom.

rowena  is  so  wrapped  in  the  thoughts  coursing  through  her  mind  like  an  unchecked  river  (  one  they  just  let  flow  each  time  it  roars  inside  of  them  )  that  they  don't  even  realize  that  they'd  come  too  close  to  another  soul.  red  scoffs  at  the  accusation.  "i  wasn't  creepin',"  the  brunette  starts,  adjusting  the  bag  that  hangs  off  of  her  right  shoulder,  head  tilting  at  dorothy,  "you  wouldn't  see  me  if  i  was."  just  a  statement  of  fact.  "i  am  well  aware  of  the  curfew.  it  doesn't  mean  i'll  stick  to  it  though.  are  you  frightened?"  there  is  mirth  upon  red's  lips,  amused  at  such  a  reaction.  after  all,  they  were  merely  walking,  curfew  be  damned.

a  eyebrow  cocks  up,  another  scoff.  "are  you  the  curfew  enforcer  now?"

DOROTHY SAW THE WORLD IN FRACTALS , crafted of imagery based in her imagination as well as the semblance of reality the rest of the world seemed to claim . the impending summer wind was thick with condensation , a blooming fog awaiting a downpour to wash it away , and the evening breeze feathered across her cheeks as she stood on the side of the road with her palms gripping the handlebars of her baby blue bike . worn and aged tassels protruded from their grips , flittering strands of ribbon flicking against her wrists . dorothy was staring at something , beady eyes narrowed into thin , concentrated slits . something was across the road . something .

someone ??

her breaths quickened , sternum blooming with each shallow intake of air , jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ground together . the muscles beneath tawny skin twitched , not even a wisp of brown hair ( fallen free from a loose braided plait ) striking her eye enough to deter her leveled glare . a shadow shifted at her feet , however , managed to catch her attention . she looked around , desperate to find its owner ; " you shouldn't creep up on people like that !! " she reprimanded the unknown . her bike was drawn closer to her , grip turning knuckle white as she held on for dear life , straightening her spine and lifting her chin . " you'll frighten them . and there's a curfew , you know !! " her voice shook , looking around , and despite being aware of the rules herself , she didn't move . she spoke smaller then , with timid crack to her words ;

" you ought to get home . "

an 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 for 𝘋𝘖𝘙𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘠 𝘎𝘈𝘓𝘌 set just before curfew , a mile or so from pudding & pie . 0 / 5 replies !!

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faye  plays  with  the  straw  of  their  drink  and,  for  a  heartbeat,  their  attention  is  no  longer  on  the  conversation  at  hand.  their  mind  is  flying  elsewhere  ━━  not  back  to  neverland.  tink  couldn't  bare  the  thought  of  having  those  memories  plague  their  mind  for  no  other  reason  other  than  she's  no  longer  there.  homesickness  is  a  feeling  that  the  faerie  often  ignores,  lest  they  go  down  a  spiral  of  other  emotions  that  they  do  not  want  to  deal  with  (  not  even  if  she  had  a  gun  to  her  head  along  with  the  promise  of  an  end  to  her  long  life  ).  as  quick  as  it's  stolen,  faye's  attention  returns  to  the  conversation  at  hand.  the  faerie  tilts  their  head,  blue  eyes  glued  to  the  way  dorothy's  expression  contorts  ━━  and  all  faye  can  do  is  smirk.

parallel  to  how  dorothy  seems  unable  to  sit  still,  faye  now  focuses  on  the  drink  on  their  hand  (  one  they  do  not  intend  to  pay  for,  claiming  it  as  one  of  dorothy's  perks  ).  one  sip  of  their  drink.  another.  and  another.  it's  better  than  warm  beer,  that's  for  fucking  certain.  "yeah,  i  can  see  your  lack  of  sorrow."  and  faye  wonders  if  she  should  be  on  the  lookout  for  dear  dorothy  ━━  after  all,  it's  not  like  she's  not  a  magical  being  herself.  eyes  now  rest  on  dorothy  and  her  bare  back  before  blue  eyes  find  the  dancer's.  "not  suspicious  at  all,  by  the  way."  tink  could  guess  dorothy  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  but  it  doesn't  mean  they  won't  call  it  out  for  her  own  amusement.

dorothy's  question  steal's  faye's  attention  entirely,  especially  following  the  silence  that  settled  between  the  two  of  them.  tink  shrugs.  "it's  a  possibility,  i  guess.  a  fifty-fifty  chance,  at  most."  nonchalantly,  faye  plays  with  the  straw  of  her  drink.  "i'd  say  you're  safe  though.  if  i  was  the  murderer  i'd  keep  you  alive,  throw  people  off  my  scent  by  letting  you  do  all  the  work  yourself."

DOROTHY , LOST IN THE RECESSES OF HER MIND , ( which , since that fateful day she returned home , had been cloaked in shadow ) , barely caught the other fable's words . though she was staring directly at faye — brown eyes burning with temperamental fury — dorothy took a moment to register her response . a twitch of her eyelid at the mention of that familiar song , though it sounded more like a sacred hymn being stolen on the fae's tongue . that had been the very tune cried amongst the munchkins when dorothy's unexpected arrival had murdered the wicked witch of the east in cold blood . and there had been so much blood .

" yeah , " dorothy replied , words curt as her forked tongue pressed against the back of her clenched teeth , muting the hiss that wished to sound from tight pressed lips . then , with a huff , dorothy stretched her reach forward so fingers were grabbing the opposite side of the bar , manicured digits curling over the wood's lip so her torso was nearly flush to its surface . " i never said i cared about why she was murdered , only that i didn't find it something to be sorrowful over . " a sentiment she stood by , eyes rolling as she blew a rogue tress that had fallen in front of her face ; the rest of her hair , a frizzy raven cape , splaying across her bare back which was exposed by the low-cut dip in her costume that ended just above her tailbone .

a look was then cast over at the blonde , cheek coming to rest upon her stretched arms as she furrowed her brows . she sat in silence that seemed to pulse , only for a moment , before asking : " do you think there will be a ' next ' ?? "

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♡ JESSICA ALEXANDER via instagram ( jessalxander )

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Havana Rose Liu as Abby — Hal & Harper (2025)

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Havana Rose Liu in Somewhere (feat. Gus Dapperton) - Surf Mesa

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♡ jessica alexander via instagram ( jessalxander )

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♡ HAVANA ROSE LIU elle's hollywood rising

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♡ jessica alexander via instagram ( jessalxander )

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fabletown  is  a  small  pond  and  faye  thinks  herself  a  fish  too  big  for  it  ━━  so  it's  no  surprise  that  every  time  the  fibres  of  their  being  are  laced  with  a  kind  of  boredom  too  overwhelming  to  ignore,  people  around  feel  the  shock  wave  of  it  (  and  more  often  than  not,  the  aftermath  is  less  than  good  for  a  couple  of  unfortunate  souls  ━━  it's  a  wrong  place,  wrong  time  sort  of  situation  and  with  something  enticing  enough  for  faye  to  do  something  about  it  ).  peter,  even  with  all  the  history  that  they  share,  might  become  a  victim  just  like  anyone  else.  to  be  fair,  he  approaches  her.  "and  you  are  far  too  dramatic,  peverell."  a  name  foreign  on  her  tongue,  even  with  all  the  decades  of  use  ━━  he  is  peter  pan,  the  boy  who  refused  to  grow  up  and  she  his  trusted  companion.  that  is  how  the  story  goes,  isn't  it?  "please.  we  see  each  other  every  damn  day."  a  chuckle,  a  head  shake  and  a  sip  of  a  beer  that  warms  with  each  second.

every  word  exchanged  still  feels  heavier  than  it  used  to  be.  an  abandon  of  their  home  and  company  left  behind...  faye  knows  better  than  to  believe  all  is  well.  as  much  as  she  hates  it,  actions  have  consequences.  "i  have  my  hobbies  and  i  can  guarantee  none  of  them  will  ever  be  knitting.  have  you  tried  it?"  eyebrows  raise  and  mischief  paints  itself  on  faye's  lips  as  their  blue  eyes  meet  peter's.  then,  the  offer  of  a  sip  of  her  beer.  "genius  is  right."  a  jest,  even  if  there  is  no  lie  to  be  found.  "the  day  has  just  begun.  don't  cheer  just  yet,  peter.  i  might  just  take  your  wallet  next,  see  what  secrets  you've  been  keeping  from  me  and  the  magic  mirror."

peter  slows  when  he  sees  her,  doesn’t  stop  right  away  —  just  enough  for  his  stride  to  falter,  for  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  to  hush.  no  surprise  finding  her  like  this:  sun  going  down,  attitude  rising,  one  foot  on  the  edge  of  a  bad  idea  and  the  other  barely  planted  in  whatever  counted  as  rehabilitation.  he  squints  down  at  her,  cigarette  tucked  behind  his  ear,  a  notebook  wedged  under  one  arm.  the  picture  of  reluctant  responsibility.  “you  wound  me,  darlowe.”  he  drawls,  tone  dry  as  the  sidewalk  she’s  baking  on.  “not  even  a  hello  before  you  threaten  to  hoard  your  shitty  beer ?”  peter  crouches,  not  to  sit,  never  quite  that  relaxed,  but  enough  to  put  himself  just  in  her  line  of  sight,  forearms  balanced  on  his  knees,  mirrored  like  mockery.  his  eyes  skim  the  can  in  her  grip  before  they  flick  up  to  hers.

“you  know,”  he  says,  glancing  around  like  the  scenery  might  surprise  him, “most  people  at  least  pretend  to  find  hobbies  that  don't  involve  sitting  on  the  side  of  the  road.  you  ever  try  knitting ?”  followed  by  a  little  shrug,  not  judgmental,  just  peter:  half  amused,  half  weary,  all  blunt. “but  hey,  if  scowling  at  pavement’s  what’s  keeping  you  from  torching  another  mailbox  or  charming  a  guy  out  of  his  wallet,  who  am  i  to  stop  genius  at  work ?”

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♡ jessica alexander via instagram

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there  is  something  feral  going  through  rowena's  head  as  they're  being  questioned  about  a  death  that  her  claws  were  nowhere  near  ━━  and  she  finds  herself  thinking  that  perhaps  they  should  talk  to  the  huntsman  about  it,  his  hands  already  covered  in  dried  blood.  red  ribbon  holds  the  long  and  messy  braid  together,  hair  swinging  all  the  way  down  to  the  end  of  red's  back  as  she  walks.  eyebrows  furrowed,  part  of  the  little  red  thinks  they  somehow  messed  up  ━━  thinking  things  through  is  not  their  forte.  each  step  down  the  stairs  feels  like  the  walk  through  the  hall  of  a  prison  wing  and  rowena  doesn't  know  if  she's  walking  away  or  right  into  a  cell  of  someone  else's  making.

red  tilts  their  head,  both  arms  now  crossed  over  her  chest.  "and  what  makes  you  think  i  would  confess  anything  to  you?"  there  is  only  one  soul  that  she  might  bare  her  own  to  and  he's  unrecognizable  these  days.  "are  you  just  waiting  here  for  people  to  talk  to  you  about  what  they  told  the  magic  mirror?  boredom  really  does  take  a  toll  on  some  people."

open to. anyone — come one, come all ! setting & notes. remembrance day event part two, looming about around the main enclave. feel free to assume connections if not plotted yet, or this can be their first interaction if you'd like.

      a slimy thing, waffling about and bouncing from one corridor to another, eyes on the action as always. if there was one thing fionn couldn't miss, it was a show — comedies or tragedies, both equally as entertaining to a lone sprite, itching to get a firsthand view at the next sensation that sweeps their quaint little town. it's about time, he'd assert, after days of droning boredom, the cabin fever was bound to settle in eventually - fionn just didn't expect it to be so soon. " what a shame, " a tone decorated with dramatization, cutting through the undercurrent of empathy that was, albeit, genuine, but it was hard to tell with him.

      " now, what say you when the magic mirror reveals your deepest secret to the entire town, hm ? " he was merely playing, but surely this was neither the time nor place, with tensions inevitably rising and, eventually, anxieties too. " the time to confess your wrongdoings is nigh. i pinky promise i won't tell another soul, unlike that dreaded mirror. "

[einchants]

Havana Rose Liu via welovecoco on Instagram, 05/23/2023

[einchants]

⸻ king roberon cole welcomes rowena "red" woods to fabletown—or, as they were once known, little red riding hood from little red riding hood / grimm's tales. before the magic mirror, they come glamoured in the mirage of a lucky red ribbon tangled in her fingers, her eyes tracing the city skyline as she hums a quiet hum of something forgotten and lingering in the dark / a laughter that echoes like a warning ⸻ sweet, melodic, yet laced with something dangerous, sound that invites but doesn’t promise safety / cigarette burns down between fingers, smoke curling like a spell in the air. blue eyes stare at the world but the mind is somewhere else, lost in thoughts too heavy for daylight / hair is a storm, unruly and wild ⸻ waves of deep brown that tumble and twist as if they were spun from the earth itself and yet wraps around like an embrace. the tale from which they hail exalted their resilience and wit, but decried their stubborness and calousness in equal measure. no matter; this time, they shall write their own. in accordance with the fabletown compact, they are granted amnesty for any and all transgressions, even that which is little known: unbeknownst to red, her grandmother's warning to always wear red was a shield against a curse cast on her by a magical being in the forest. as long as she wears the red, her heart remains whole, and her soul anchored, and without it, she would slowly fade away.

DOSSIER & WANTED DYNAMICS

[einchants]

characters going “we were lovers once”: eh, it’s okay i guess. it’s nice enough

characters going “we were friends once”: absolutely devastating. one hit knockout i’m gone