#but similarly to ryu her recollection of events are jumbled (in part because of necessary canon divergence lol)

[deiscension]

﹄ ◇ ; @aaternum left the prayer:

“   Well, what do you feel?   ” Curious eyes follow her apparition, knuckles pressed into her own hips as she leans forward. Making company with the dead was hardly the way she imagined spending her nights, but it was as fascinating as it was eerie. And she’s still searching for the words to describe the chance encounter. Uncanny? Surreal? To be determined, she decides minutely. Hand outstretched, digits flexed and palm presented before her phantasmal friend, a smile tugs at her lips. “   Touch? Emotions? I really wanna know.  ” There’s a thoughtful beat, “   Oh jeez, is that rude? I hope that’s not rude!   ” (from Ryu's fantasy verse! <;3)

       ⌜◈⌟    ▌ ── "𝐎𝐡, 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. I'm quite the exceptional ghost," she answers with a puffed out chest.

       𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐞. Proud as she might be of her ability to take on whatever pretty forms she pleases, by most undead standards she's still barely there at all. A novice exorcist could banish her without breaking a sweat. But she's no inconsequential apparition either. It had taken a great deal of time (How long has it been? Twenty years? Thirty? Three hundred?) and even greater deal of effort, but she had broken through the threshold separating her from the corporeal world. And so, the first half of her statement isn't a lie. Now she truly can feel most things. Sunlight filtering through treetops; the drumming of nighttime rains; the ebb and flow of spiritual energies both familiar and unfamiliar to her; the wards carried by travelers who know better than to stop and talk with individuals draped in robes of bygone times.

     𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐲. "Asking a young lady about the affairs of her heart is utterly shameless, you know!" The crystalline laughter that follows erases all pretense that she might actually believe the other held any prying intentions. If anything, she seems delighted by it. She mirrors her company's mannerisms, waves of hair cascading over slightly hunched shoulders as her own hand raises. Warm fingertips press against those not quite there; flesh into phantasm, paths converging in a windswept forest--

       --𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, the undertow tangling in hair and baring her neck to lifeless hands. but she's not there, and she's not here either. she's inside a mirror trying to comprehend what lies beyond it, because this isn't hers--

      𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩 that spirals away into the nothingness where lungs used to be. Her head hurts. It's not supposed to do that when she's... dead. 

       𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬, 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬. Opens again. The urge to take this stranger's hand and run washes over her with the same ferocity as those black tides once had. Instead, she blurts, "Are you lost?"