the night we met ★ p, feyre

[Feyre]

☽  ☽  ☽

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.