have you seen my son -- ghost

[MARIANNA]

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FIRE CHILD

SOMALI

SHORT BIO

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Maria really didn’t care for ghosts; corporeal or not. Ghosts represented something that walked the line of death and life - something that couldn’t quite pick one or the other, couldn’t quite stay one way or another. She was all for breaking the rules, was all for pushing things that deserved it (and god, what had been pushed more than the line between life and death?), and even agreed to the concept of walking said line, but... there was something about it that had goosebumps rippling under her fur. Maybe it was the reputation of ghosts and undead things that preceded them, or maybe it was just her horrible judge of character, but they were still unsettling.

She’d already run into one the other day: another lion, pelt and mane wisps of fog with eyes like the pitch of night. There was a beauty to them, Maria would admit; like stars pulled from the sky and mist plucked from the horizon of dawn, they were just spirits. And if she could concentrate on that, then ghosts were alright.

The problem was, Maria couldn’t concentrate on anything for shit.

So when she nearly walked through a floating piece of vapor with bright eyes, the girl shrieked, bodily scrambling backwards as a shower of sparks erupted from her paws. “God, what the heck -” The Somali cried, heart slamming against her chest. “What, is this place haunted?” She whined. “Who are you?”

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