Feyre struggled to comprehend why certain members of the Ascendants seemed to mourn over lives lost. Death was a relative force, would always be a relative force. It held no power over anyone, instead bestowing upon an individual the rare opportunity to begin anew, their physical form nothing more than a degradable reminder as their soul crossed over to her much beloved other side. Very few had the same relationship that she did with spirits and other ghostly entities, and she supposed that that simple fact, when it boiled down to it, was the reason why death seemingly stung so much. It was not easy losing something you could hold, but then again, it was almost selfish to cling to the idea that somebody should still be here. The other side was a remarkable place and one that she had the special gift of interacting with so often... did nobody else understand the wonders it extended to its inhabitants?

The parents who had adopted her, loved her, had left her too soon, and while their souls were nowhere to be found amidst the fallen, she had simply written off their disappearance as peace. Beings that had lived for as long as they had - a thousand years to be precise - were far too ancient and desired something more final. Something that would finally offer them the rest that they deserved. She missed them sometimes, but never begged for them back or even wished that they were still among the living. It wasn't her place, nor would it ever be. Besides, the witches had quickly become her new family, training her and raising her until they decided to finally release her into the world, that guiding spirit (at least she thought it was a spirit- Feyre admittedly didn't know what species the strange yet motherly voice in the back of her head was) bringing her here.

Josephine... Feyre... This place is known as the Ascendants. You will find your family here, your real family.

Her words rang in her head everyday.

She supposed that the entity hadn't been lying- within the walls of the Observatory, she had discovered a cousin by the name of Oni. He was hot-headed and entirely his own, a reminder of her mother, if she was being honest. He lived in the room that his own parents had left behind, a room that she had been to only once and vowed to return to further view the photographs of a time long ago. A time where her adopted family was very much alive and smiling with a woman that Oni had explained was his own mother. Feyre had asked that guiding voice about it, but earned not even the familiar warmth of her presence. It seemed that not even ghosts knew everything about those photographs... about her parents.

And so Feyre decided to take it upon herself to learn about them without the assistance of anyone, tying up her untamable curls and stashing them beneath the witch's hat she so proudly (and unironically) wore. Her outfit for the day was simple: a black tank top paired with a flowing flower-embroidered skirt. She forego shoes simply because she had no interest in venturing outside, not when there was so many things within one single room to look upon. She didn't expect anybody else to be in the room though, much less Hazel strumming away on a ukulele and singing a song that tugged at her heartstrings for a reason she failed to identity.

Part of her was struck with the sudden need to turn away, abandoning her grandeur ideas of exploring her parents' past to allow Hazel to continue with, well, whatever she was doing. But there was another part of her that was immediately entrapped by the sound of her voice and the haunting familiarity of a ukulele. If Hazel didn't want company, she could turn her away and Feyre would be alright with retiring to her room and adding more notes to her grimoire, but on the off chance that the other girl wanted company (and could provide her answers), she didn't want to lose what felt like her one opportunity.

[color=#205d7a]"Do you live in this room too?"

No greeting, just a simple inquiry as teetered in Margy and Suite's old room, a soft breath escaping her lips as she saw them. Her parents. She couldn't comprehend why the picture had been taken or when, but she'd recognized her mother's striking features as her father's refinement. [color=#205d7a]"Whoever used to live here was my.. uh... dad's niece? I think? Oni was explaining it to me," Feyre continued awkwardly, feeling the incessant need to fill up this space with sound. Hazel had done it once and now, stared at by blank stares of individuals now deceased, the smell of the shore and roses lacing the air, the little witch knew that she needed to keep that noise alive. To succumb to silence would be bad... she didn't know why, just that it would be.

[color=#205d7a]"Your voice is really pretty, by the way. Is that your ukulele? It's nice... I like it," She continued, pursing her lips. She was definitely infringing and, aware of that now, felt terrible. She should have come back another time because obviously Hazel was upset and obviously Feyre was going to do nothing to help that. Ugh... she was an idiot. And yet, she still sat down on the floor, crossing her legs as she absently traced figure eights into the wood. [color=#205d7a]"I'm sorry."

It was all she could say, feeling especially heavy now. She wanted that voice to return and assure her that everything was alright, but it was nowhere to be found. Strange.

So strange.

Something stirred within her, deep and melancholic and halfway successful in dampening her own violet eyes as she gazed at Hazel. The tears that slipped soundlessly down her cheeks were enough to shatter the little witch's heart in two, breath catching in her throat as she staggered forward, overwhelmed with the desire to alleviate her pain. She was much younger than the other girl and yet, found nothing but a considerable desire to protect her from harm like a mother might her child. The feelings were misplaced and unfamiliar, but she did nothing to shoo them away, instead considering the implications of her sadness.

This had to be about the death that had struck the Ascendants just hours before her tumultuous arrival. She had tried to understand their pain, but she hadn't known Margaery or Shay- they were faceless names whispered on the breeze to her - and thus, her efforts to sympathize with her new family always felt short. She knew that they were somehow related, the law that bound her to her mother and father doing the same to Margaery. Adoption was weird though, and Feyre didn't know if she had been released by that familial binding when her parents passed. The witches had never dared to talk about her status lest she be reclaimed by the foster home that she had been pulled out of and Feyre knew better to probe. Her situation had been nice enough and she had always been cared for, it made no sense to pull at things that would merely unravel her life.

She had halted just before Hazel, momentarily seized by her own bout of sadness as she reflected on her rather tattered family. Hazel could relate, she supposed- obviously she had been close to the recently deceased. [color=#ac5847]"Don't cry, aurea puella." The nickname rolled seamlessly off of her tongue, an innate reaction to the despair currently exhibited by Hazel. She hardly knew her and yet, Feyre felt as if they were close. Closer than words, actually. If only that damned voice would return and extend to her that signature brand of guidance that it had become renowned for- she could use a bit of motherly help right about now.

A strange force stopped her from reaching out and brushing away fresh tears, expression merely contorting as she pondered her inquiry. Young witch. Father's niece. The words were jumbling in her mind suddenly, eyes squeezing shut as she fought to banish the surge of memories, of finding her mother and father dead, of the witches taking her in with heads bowed and hands clasped together in silent prayer to deities long forgotten by everyone else. [color=#ac5847]"Uh, yeah. I mean, he adopted me but... We're still related. His name was Elijah." She stated that fact so casually amidst the growing chaos in her mind, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug as her eyes reclaimed that almost mischievous light. She needed to make Hazel feel better, and if that meant sacrificing her own feelings for a moment, then so be it. Besides, she always said that there was no need for her to mourn the dead, she couldn't start behaving like a hypocrite now.

[color=#ac5847]"Feyre. Josephine. Josie. The witches usually went with Josephine, but I don't really care what you call me. Any name is a good name," She continued easily, heaving a sigh of relief as a smile crept upon Hazel's features. The ukulele seemed like a cool instrument and there was no denying Hazel's talent- Fey still couldn't help but feel guilty for disturbing her though. She opened her mouth to comment only to step back, amazed, as Haze offered to help her with her hair. The witches had always instructed her to wear it in long braids that cascaded over her shoulders, little ringlets of gold woven in here and there to compliment her complexion. Since living here, she had taken the opportunity to let her hair loose without the witches' watchful gaze and stern order. They couldn't tell her what she could and couldn't do so long as she was here, and finally, finally, it could be free.

[color=#ac5847]"I'd like that..." Confessed Feyre, grinning widely now. Her troubles were almost completely forgotten, embers igniting and dancing brazenly in the air as Hazel released a stray curl from the confinements of her hat and bandana. [color=#ac5847]"Let's go! I'm excited!"

In the moments that they were left to simply stare at one another, Feyre felt a strange tug on the corners of her soul. It was as if fate itself was trying to tell her something, whispering words in a lost language that could only fall upon misunderstanding ears, growing more and more incessant until she wanted to just up and ask Hazel why she resonated so deeply within her. But she held her tongue, the embers that danced and crackled across her skin illuminating it gold in the flickering light of the nearby lamp as her frustration peaked and then all but dissipated. She was a witch- her hyperawareness to the natural world around her couldn't keep frightening her as it did. Whatever was happening, whatever misplaced and unfamiliar feeling she was detecting... it was just an extension of her undeveloped powers.

Feyre seemingly returned to reality upon hearing the compliment, cheeks burning red (though she couldn't help but agree). Her names had always been a subject of fascination to the witches. Feyre was one that held within it a great deal of power and, in a way, was a nod to her long forgotten and powerful aunt. They reserved that name for special events, calling her Josephine at all other times lest they disturb some ancient balance that she didn't quite see. Here, she just went by either- both rolled off of the tongue easy enough. [color=#ac5847]"Thanks!" The young teen finally managed, hands raising as she spoke to adjust her pointed hat, the blue bandanna underneath revealed for a brief second, [color=#ac5847]"I like your name a lot."

She would have elaborated, would have confirmed that it fit her too, had she not been distracted by the mention of Arion. [color=#ac5847]"You have a horse?" She inquired excitedly, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. She had only ever seen a horse but once, her father having lifted her upon it with concealed strength and holding the reins as he guided her down a path, singing some old Latin song to her. She wondered if Hazel would ever let her ride her horse- oh, she certainly  hoped so! It had been so long, too long!

But just as the horse had stolen her attention from Hazel's name, Hazel's room stole her attention away from Arion. She first found herself transfixed by the odd crack in the room, a centerpiece in Feyre's eyes though she doubted it was the other girl's intention. She resisted the urge to crouch down and trace it with an outstretched palm, instead fixating her gaze upon the bed that Hazel had just sat down on. "Make yourself at home,"- she planned to! It was so warm and clean here that Feyre couldn't help but feel immediately comforted, especially as she sat down in the open space on Hazel's bed, that grin not once wavering.

[color=#ac5847]"Alright, make my hair not a mess!" She giggled before carefully taking off her hat and unwrapping the bandanna, the poof of black curls springing to life.