#esp with our hc about them knowing each other in childhood :3

[zorkaya-moved]

❛ make me indifferent, make me horrible. ❜ mya oak mya oak my- AJSHSHDHDG

@furiaei

Does the fire ever listens to anyone but its own rage?

Oak Casket finds herself wondering about that when the woman of rage and sun-like fire stepped onto her doorstep. Each step spoke of power, of determination, of endless potential to reach into the depths and drag out the skeletons of monsters. A morbid power, but a power nonetheless.

A fellow sinner and a fellow Syndicate-born, isn't she? A beautiful rendition of what power can be personified as. Mya had never showed an ounce of weakness, never showed anything but her true self: the vibrant, the living, the unforgiving. She was a part of the world of the living, something the silver haired undertaker had no interest in aside from witnessing the chaos (of her own creation) and watching countless deaths become salvations to those who suffered.

But Mya doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to seek salvation because her heart claws for vengeance, for revenge against the faux God of this world. The Mania runs deep, wrath taking shape in glorious red and deep voices (demands). Make me indifferent, make me horrible. Does she insinuate Oak Casket are all those things? How correct Mya would be in that assessment, watching the dual-colored gaze study her only for a moment.

It's a shame that the one who Mya comes to is not someone who would indulge such wishes, instead looking at her with an impassive glance before returning to her book. Dainty fingers clothed in dark fabric of her gloves turn the pages as she relaxes in her seat, not looking away from the words on the yellow-ish pages (they smell like old libraries, such long-forgotten buildings and such long-forgotten temples of knowledge).

"What you are asking asks for me to enter the world of the living, and it is not something I am interested in," Oak speaks calmly, her voice not shaking from the intimidation Mya could inspire within others. The fire must be feared, it hurts and burning will forever be the most painful way to go. However, Oak Casket is frigid. While Mya shines like fire, Oak Casket reflects the light akin to ice. "To become indifferent, you must abandon your revenge. To become horrible? Are we all not already? Only when you are dead will I know if you were truly horrible, only the end will tell me if you've reached the levels you wished for,"

The Listener sighs softly, putting her handmade bookmark between the old pages before closing it with a soft 'flop'. If her guest will not stop coming, then she must accept their company until Dudu comes over. Perhaps, the Phoenix will find the company of the fire personified rather fitting. They burn with life, but one is a fire of resurrection while the other is a fire of destruction.

"Indifference cannot go along with any emotion. You are not fit for indifference," Oak explains as she stands up from her chair, holding the book carefully in her hands. The poems written in this one are morbid and tragic, a longing for dead poets wished to embrace yet needed to live to share their words with the world. Does Mya want to share any words like those poets? What will be her confessions? Drenched in blood and coated in ashes, scorched beneath. "Now, is that what you truly wish for?"