#* pls don't be fooled by how well spoken he is he's like 3 steps from being downright mad SKJFFNDS

[phantasmaw]

♢*   —     @madamhatter​​​​ ​ /  𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

❛  what do you think ?  ❜ / visal! 

   〈 ♕ *〉 ┊   “I’m afraid at this point I would rather not think at all,” he replies in a light chuckle, though the growing shadows beneath golden eyes betray his weariness. 

   Hours have passed since he first began perusing the guild’s library, with the sun having long since set and giving way to gentle rain pattering against the windowpane. Tomes and scrolls alike have passed through his hands, pages and passages studied with utmost care as shadows had stretched along the walls. An abundance of new knowledge on spells and charms and hexes now rests snugly beside his previous expertise on the subjects. Yet he still hasn’t found what he seeks. And with the oil burning low and words now bleeding together on the page, he has to admit to himself he’s not likely to find it here.

    With a tired sigh, Visal closes the heavy cover of the grimoire splayed out on the table with a quiet thud. His fingers steeple in front of pursed lips, and for a moment he allows his eyes to close. He wouldn’t like to think that he has wasted his time here. Awareness of this particular area’s magic and alchemical practices will likely serve him well in the coming weeks, and he’s grateful for that. If there’s anything more dangerous than being a stranger in a foreign land, it’s being an ignorant stranger in a foreign land, or so he’s found. While the people he’s mingled with here have proven to be far from outwardly conniving or ill-willed, he’s not foolish enough to trick himself into thinking it will stay that way. He barely knows anything about this land: its history, its customs, its socio-political status…. Anything that might give him a better grasp on his current dilemma. Simply asking would be an easy fix. He knows that. And he’s rather tempted to right now. His companion hardly seems the type to mock him for his lack of knowledge, nor does he think she would find it too suspicious, either. His tattered traveler’s coat, empty pockets, and unplaceable accent must make it obvious enough that he’s not from here. Even so, she had been kind enough to allow his request to look through the guild’s collection for any records of a spell he urgently needs. He truly has no reason to distrust her.

    Still, he refuses. There are prying eyes and listening ears everywhere– he’s learned that the hard way. Moreover, his eyelids have started to droop and his feeble body aches all over. It won’t be long before the glamor obscuring multiple horns, a tail, and cat-like paws where feet should be begins to waver. Using up what’s left of his energy just for a chat would leave him both unable to conceal himself properly and unable to keep his wits entirely about him. So he pushes his chair back and stands with all the grace of a drowsy cat. 

    “I must thank you again for the hospitality you’ve shown this wayward stranger,” he says with a bow of the head, “You and your guild’s generosity won’t go unappreciated or unpaid.” That’s where he should leave it: concise words of gratitude and proper tidying up after himself, perhaps even a little murmured spell for good fortune as an immediate deposit for his promise of recompense. But as he readies to dowse the lamp, he hesitates. The warmth in her rich brown irises peels back a little more of the layered caution swaddling the prince’s sensibilities. 

    “...Truth be told, I might need to consult a seasoned mage to find the answer I’m looking for.” The words tumble like free-flowing water from his lips before he even realizes he’s speaking again. He does nothing to staunch them, even as his own stomach flips with how much of his own secrets he’s willingly spilling– even if she has no idea that they are secrets at all. “I’ve already asked you more than enough, but– you haven’t happened to hear of any spells that could call down a star, have you?”