The sound of soft high pitched cooing was quite the contrast for the otherwise dark and murky surroundings of Perditi Cemetery. While the celebration of the two deities’ child was going on, Dorian was instead knelt down in the soft dirt at one of the inner rings of the graveyard. The lapin had long since passed through here, but in its wake it had left lingerings of its magick.

Colorful flowers bloomed proudly amongst the usual earthy drabness of the cemetery, and around them was a glow of power. He plucked another bunch of them and moved them into the satchel hanging at his hip. It was already half full of other such things he’d found, and he was eager to get home as soon as possible to preserve them, or maybe press them into oils.

The possibilities were endless, but unfortunately the supply itself was finite. So time was precious. And it wasn’t any easier considering there was a small flock of white and blue spectral seahorses fluttering around him. He quickly, but not harshly, batted towards them to get them away from his face. Some were busy trying to nuzzle their small muzzles against his cheeks, while others had locks of his hair twisted around their tails or nipped in their mouths: lifting up his hair and swaying it around playfully, while unintentionally making it appear as if he were underwater. It was fitting, even if it was incidental.

His shoulders drooped and his head hung back in irritation. It was all he could do not to have an outburst, he’d already had a few, and they still flocked around him. As much as he couldn’t stand people, it wasn’t in him to hurt an animal unless there was a real purpose for it: they could sense that. They were, after all, drawn to him and not the other way around. What made the spectral familiars choose their person was still unknown to him though.

As if sensing his disgruntlement, which they probably actually were, one of them nuzzled up and curled into the crook of his neck. He sighed and gently patted it, feeling a quicker sense of ease than he would have expected. Oddly enough for how long he’d been practicing, he’d never had a familiar…It was comforting, even if he’d only ever admit that to one person.

“If you really want to keep me from getting pissed, go pick some of the sprouted flowers,” he said, nodding his head towards another outcropping. A few of the seahorses perked up and quickly flitted over, picking up flowers one by one with such care you’d think this was their main purpose. Despite himself, he smiled, and for once didn’t try to taint it into a smirk.

The cemetery was not a place that she particularly wanted to be; what with the constant feeling of darkness and all the dead bodies that just decide to get up and do stuff of their own accord. But something in her told her there was something or someone important waiting for her here, and at this point in her travels she had learned to not ignore her instincts. For a moment she let herself think back on the journey thus far; the people she had met, the hundred different kinds of terrain that she had seen, and the fragmented memories that had slowly sprinkled back to the corridors of her mind.

Despite her best efforts, the truth of her past still eluded her. For all she knew, she could be walking between the graves of people who shared her blood. Who she used to know. Though it was doubtful that anyone with a smile like the one in her memories would fall to death without everyone knowing about it.

She shook out her hair against the memories in attempts to refocus herself. The last place to let oneself drift off in thought would be this cemetery infested with the undead; even for one trained in holy magick like herself.

All at once her ears were filled with the sounds of crystalline wings. She had woken them up. She turned her head with a faint smile as the spectral butterflies moved from her hood and began fluttering around her face and shoulders. They had come to her about the time that magick had gone awry; a symptom of the Goddess Angela’s newest child, she had learned. She had welcomed them as companions in her recent journeys, and had been welcomed in return; so much so that they had recently began doing actions in her name.

”Come along everyone,” she said to her swarm before stepping deeper into the cemetery.

Had it not been for the soft gleam from her companions, and the shimmers pouring through the highlights of her hair, she would not have been able to see clearly without magickal assistance. But as it stood now, her own glow flickered against the dully etched names of entities long since dead. She could not help but to wonder about them. Did they live lives full of journeying and happiness? Or did they bear a life of suffering? If so, would they then suffer in death too? Or would they simply not remember anything? Like her.

A chill ran up her spine at the thought. Being equated to a dead thing was generally not a warm and fuzzy scenario. She pulled her cloak tighter around her arms ready to move to the next ring of graves, but quickly found herself distracted by a soft cooing from behind one of the many monuments in this place.

”Hello?” she inquired gently; dipping into the potential damsel role all too well. ”If anyone is there, please announce yourself, as I do not wish to hurt you,” she continued as her fingers moved to the hilt of her sword. The strong independent woman vibe was new, but she was pretty sure she liked it.

She stepped around the headstone with a flourish of her sword only to find a small spectral seahorse pulling up a very peculiar flower. How curious? And, as some might say, cute?

”Hi there,” she said, squatting down to get a closer look at the creature. It was certainly akin to her own Kaleidoscope, but tied closely to the sea; as one would imagine would be the case with a creature born of the ocean. ”Who do you belong to little one?”

As he continued on with his gathering -taking another sprig of some new flower here, a few caps of mushrooms there- something familiar wafted through the air. It was so pure amidst the dank and death of the cemetery that anyone magickally inclined would be able to notice it. What kept his attention though, instead of leading into annoyance at the possibility of having a passing interaction with someone, was the strength of just how familiar it was. He knew it, knew them, whoever they were.

And then there was the accompanying voice, a short ways from where he was, but easy to pick out in what most would consider the uncomfortable silence of a graveyard. How long had it been? Now his curiosity was piqued, and he put the last of a grove of flowers into his satchel as he stood up from his kneel.

He did this just in time for one of his seahorses to flutter back to him, offering a delicate snowbell which he took and moved into his bag with everything else. It stayed hovering in front of him expectantly and he sighed, eyes halving as he gently ran his finger along it’s small head and down its spine. It cooed happily and then tucked itself into his hair near the nape of his neck.

His eyes followed the shimmering trail it had left on its way back to him, though that trail was now fading. At the end of it was a young girl, a girl he remembered well, a girl whose power he still felt running through his veins despite the time that had passed between them.

“Well, hello there,” he said, his eyes already hungry for the power that still radiated off of her. Unfortunately it was tainted with even more holiness than it had had before. His nose wrinkled, and some of his appetite was lost. Still, he walked towards her with slow measured steps, taking note of the butterflies that surrounded her. So, she’d grown enough with her own abilities to garner herself a set of familiars as well. It’d be commendable if she hadn’t been so deeply ruined.

“Are you still called Lucielle? Or has that changed too?” he asked without bothering to hide the lace of disgust in his voice. Despite that, he smirked as he stopped short of her. Her power had grown, and it was tinged in celestial energy: the obvious fingerprints of whomever she’d been spending so much time with. A deity most likely, but he didn’t bother to try and figure out which one. Yet.

The sudden sounding of a voice in the middle of a cemetery was enough to startle anyone, but the familiar voice patterns of the witch that she had met upon her first introduction to the realm shook her to the core. How many months had Lord Naota worked to remove the dark smear that had been left on her light after their encounter in the ocean? How many times had she recounted the traumatic events with this man; forcing her emotions–even before she knew that they were- to subside? How many times had she imagined what it would be like to meet up with him again and leave her own mark along the lines on his skin?

Her thoughts raced as she slowly rose from her kneel to a full stand; her hand gripping tighter at the hilt of her sword. He looked the same to her, for the most part. His hair seemed to move a little differently, but his school of seahorses were probably to blame for that difference. How did creatures so cute end up with and entity so…. not cute?

”That is my name, yes.” Her voice was not shaky. A fact that surprised her more than Dorian’s sudden appearance in her path. She was not afraid of him necessarily, she knew that she had been trained well and assured, more than once, that she had the power to –at the very least- get away from him. But there was something so sinister about his presence, but also something startlingly nostalgic. Almost comforting –in the most sickening way.

The sounds of crystalline wings flooded her ears as the kaleidoscope of butterflies moved around her in a formation that could only be described as defensive. Then all at once, they all began to glow brightly. She felt an all too familiar warmth on her skin and a sudden feeling of calm. Had they casted protection on her? They could do that?

Had it still not felt like nailing a piece of cheese to a tree, she would have smiled at the gesture. Instead, she found her eyes narrowing at the witch in determination.

”You are right, however, to believe that I have changed. I am not the girl that you met before, so please keep your distance,” she said in her most convincing tough voice.

Something in her hated having to be so closed off in the presence of another. But the other part of her remembered what it was like when her power had been pulled from her without permission. How vulnerable it had left her. How much self-doubt she had, and still does, struggle with. And worst, for a heart as kind as Lucielle’s, the anger that was left on her shoulders. She could not –would not- forgive him. At least not if he was the same man that she had met before.

”Is it wishful thinking to hope that you may have changed as well?” she asked, trying her best to keep her eyes on him.