Encounterlogs
Ritsukas Odd Encounter Sr Illyana 250104
In a serene security room overlooking Forest View Drive, Ritsuka encounters a sudden and eerie transformation of the environment, hinting at supernatural involvement. The vibrant world outside the windows gradually morphs into a desolate winter landscape, marked by frost and a haunting chill. Ritsuka, sensing the presence of a yokai, decides to investigate further, despite the bone-chilling cold. Encouraged by her intuition that yokai affairs are at play, she ventures outside, leaving the warmth of the room behind. As she steps into the transformed surroundings, Ritsuka finds herself on a path that meanders through a snow-covered forest, which should have been a bustling street. The ghostly ambiance and a mysterious sobbing draw her deeper into the forest, prompting her to confront whatever spirit or entity is causing this supernatural phenomenon.
As Ritsuka approaches the source of the crying, she encounters a tragic spirit, a fae with no eyes and a body marred by gruesome wounds. The spirit's sorrowful sobs and desperate attempt to consume Ritsuka's warmth highlight her anguish. Ritsuka tries to offer comfort through the warmth of her heart fire but realizes the spirit's intent might be malevolent. Faced with no other choice, Ritsuka resorts to a ritual to banish the spirit, using her own blood to fuel a powerful magic that ultimately sends the fae into the storm's fury. As the ritual concludes, the storm abates, and Ritsuka finds herself back in the security building, the snow and cold a distant memory. The encounter serves as a grim reminder of the thin veil between the living and the supernatural, and Ritsuka's role in maintaining the balance between these worlds.
(Ritsuka's odd encounter(SRIllyana):SRIllyana)
[Fri Jan 3 2025]
In Tsubaki Security - View Drive Overlook
The room opens into a watchful space, its walls lined with wide, reinforced
windows that offer sweeping views of the bustling street around. The windows
are each framed with a different slice of Forest view drive, where nature
drifts lazily in the breeze. The light filters in softly, casting a warm
glow across the tatami mat flooring. Near the center of the room, a single
silk pillow rests on the floor, embroidered with a delicate camellia motif.
It is morning, about -17F(-27C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Ritsuka had just gone out to visit the security building - the singular building that could be considered finished, finished, well, besides for the fact that there is no stock yet. But the building itself is now staffed, and she stands in the room together with another woman in a kimono, whom overlooks and keeps an eye on traffic on forest view drive. Despite all still settling, security still seems to count for one of the more important bits still. There is quiet conversation, mostly on if there is anything else that is necessary or needed here.
As Ritsuka stands in the room, the air, heavy with anticipation, seems to hush around Ritsuka. The walls are lined with wide, reinforced windows, each framing a unique perspective of Forest View, where nature breathes and sways in a gentle, embrace-- The light filters through the glass, casting a glow that dances upon the tatami mat flooring, its soft texture inviting Ritsuka to pause and soak in the tranquility. But as Ritsuka lingers, a subtle transformation begins: The vibrant hues of january life outside gradually fade, yielding to the encroaching chill of elsewhere. The wilted greens of winter surrender to a stark, crystalline beauty, as frost begins to lace the edges of the windows, obscuring the lively scenes outside. The bustling street morphs into a hushed tableau, the sounds of life muffled as if the world has drawn a deep, silent breath. The warmth of the room seems to retreat;, and with it, the silk pillow at the center of the space takes on an ethereal quality. Its camellia motif- once vibrant and full of life, starts to appear ghostly, as if touched by the otherworldly hand of winter. The colors drain, leaving behind a muted palette that whispers of lost seasons, while the fabric shimmers faintly, echoing the haunting beauty of a forgotten garden-- Outside, the trees stand stripped of their leaves, their skeletal branches reaching toward the heavens like desperate, clawed hands. A light snow begins to fall, drifting softly as if the sky is shedding its tears. The flakes swirl and twirl, blurring the lines between earth and sky, and soon the view outside transforms into a dreamlike scene-- The bustling street is now a winding path through a spectral forest clearing. The asphalt fades beneath a thick blanket of untouched snow, and the buildings dissolve into the mist, their outlines softened and rendered indistinct. The world beyond the glass has become a winter wonderland, the air crisp and brimming with the scent of pine and frost. Shadows stretch long, draping the landscape in an otherworldly veil. As Ritsuka gazes through the windows, the forest seems to beckon, its allure both haunting and beguiling. The snow-covered ground glistens under the muted light, each flake a mirror reflecting the quiet magic of the moment. The trees-- now draped in white, stand sentinel, as if guarding the secrets of a world lost to time. The stillness envelops Ritsuka, the very essence of winter whispering tales of solitude and peace.
Ritsuka shivers indoors and she does let to sigh. She lays a tender hand onto the other woman that is with her and tells her "I think this is about to be Yokai related affairs, mind waiting with the others outside? She rubs over her face, and tugs her winter coat closer around herself. She really ought to have brought gloves, but it is far too late for that now, and so her hands, for the moment, disappear into the pockets of her coat. And then she gives to wait. Just wait, and see, for what is about to happen next."
In the heart of the forest clearing that should be Forest View Drive, and Zubaki Avenue, a narrow dirt path meanders through the landscape shrouded in an ethereal silence. The ground is blanketed in a thick layer of packed snow, its surface shimmering under the soft glow of the overcast sky as fresh flakes continue to drift down, swirling gently in the frigid, Haven air. The trees that encircle the clearing stand like skeletal observers, their leafless branches reaching out like gnarled fingers for Ritsuka, casting elongated shadows that dance eerily across the thick-packed snow. As the wind whispers through the quivering boughs, it carries with it a haunting sound; a gentle sobbing that seems to echo from the depths of the permafrost forest, weaving through the stillness and sending chills down Ritsuka's spine. The air is heavy with an haunting, timeless atmosphere- as if the very essence of sorrow has settled within this ghostly realm. Each of Ritsuka's foot steps along the path feels laden with an unshakeable sense of foreboding, drawing Ritsuka deeper into the haunting beauty of this wintery landscape, where the line between the living and the lost seems to blur, suggesting to Ritsuka that once more, Haven has played its sinister game: Another wild spirit is loose, untethered from a grave at the Arkwright cemetery, or having lost its way in the supernatural town's thick, magical mists. Yet... How strange, for Ritsuka was talking with her companion. She has no memory of walking-- Leaving. She was going to wait, wasn't she? So why is she walking. Ritsuka pauses, her foot fall, heavy though it is in winter wear, is leaving no tread behind her. Has she been here all along? The building Ritsuka was standing in has now vanished. Ritsuka is alone, and how odd... Zubaki Avenue should be stretching off to Ritsuka's left. Can it be then? Can it be that Ritsuka is standing in the same location, but a time long departed? The ice thickens, the snow continues to swirl and twirl around Ritsuka and it becomes obvious that this is supernatural in nature. It is indeed the yoki at play... The fae? A spirit? The spectre of a fae? And there is that sobbing- That sobbing that creeps insidiously into Ritsuka's mind: It's almost as though that crying is drawing Ritsuka towards it. Thankfully, Ritsuka's supernatural nature is fighting against the compulsion, for /something/ is taking place.
Considering all of this, Ritsuka does also realize that she could just shift and try to sprint away. Turn into her fox, into her other form, but wherever that would be, that would then lead to the kind of situation where she would need to remain shifted. Not so much out of want, but because otherwise, she will be naked. She has yet to unlock the secret to how to keep holding on to any clothing when she does shift, and it may still take many more months to do so. She makes to sigh, and then glances around. At the end of it, it would perhaps still be better to just go, to play into what seeks her attention than to walk away.
Maybe it even is that quickest way out of here.
And so, she treads forward, towards the crying. A hand does lay closer to the blade, be it to cast something, a ritual, or to defend herself quickly, and there is the flame of her heart, if she were to want for warmth or needed to burn a sinner into redemptive ashes.
The dirt path meanders through the forest, barely visible beneath the thick blanket of snow that has fallen relentlessly, muffling the world in a hushed silence. The air is crisp and sharp, each of Ritsuka's breaths a foggy plume that dissipates quickly into the chill-- The temperature is dropping, and Ritsuka cant help but to shiver. The skeletons of trees rise around the path, their bare branches clawing at the gray sky like gnarled fingers, reaching for something just out of reach-- Something that Ritsuka can feel more than see. The weight of the snow clings to their limbs, turning the forest into a haunting gallery of white and shadow. As Ritsuka steps forward, the crunch of snow beneath Ritsuka's boots breaks the stillness, a solitary sound in a world otherwise muted-- Each step draws Ritsuka deeper into the heart of the Haven forest where the light fades and the atmosphere thickens with an unsettling hypothermic energy. The snow continues to fall, delicate flakes swirling and dancing in the air, yet the beauty of the scene is overshadowed by that deep, sorrowful sobbing that echoes through the trees; a sound that seems to weave itself into the fabric of the winter stillness.Just at the edge of Ritsuka's vision, a slight figure emerges, half-hidden beneath the drooping branches. She sits upon a fallen log, her outline faint and shimmering like the last rays of twilight. The sobs grow louder as Ritsuka approaches, resonating with an bone-chilling anguish that tugs at Ritsuka's heart. It is a woman-- or rather, a spirit, clearly of the fae. Her translucent form glimmers with an ethereal light, but the beauty is marred by an unsettling truth: she has no eyes, just empty sockets that seem to drink in the darkness around her.
As Ritsuka draws nearer, the source of her sorrow becomes horrifyingly-- Disgustingly clear. Her body is ravaged-- torn and tattered as though she has been the victim of a wild beast. Jagged wounds mar her delicate figure, and the sight is enough to freeze the blood in Ritsuka's veins. The contrast between her spiritual glow and the gruesome state of her being is jarring: A cruel reminder of the fragility of life, even in a world of monsters. The spectre's sobs are heart-wrenching, each one a lament for a life that has been cruelly snatched away. The trees around Ritsuka seem to lean in closer, as if the forest itself is listening to her cries, mourning alongside her. The chilling wind whispers through the branches, carrying the weight of her sorrow, as the snow continues to fall, cleansing the earth but leaving this spirit trapped in her grief.
Ritsuka huffs in a little bit of a sigh. Someday she will possess the ability to speak easily with ghosts, more than just witness. On the other hand, this is this ghost's realm, far as she can see, far as she is knowing. But why make it more difficult, she could try and speak anyway, if alone because it is the ghost's realm, so the rules may as well just be entirely different from what she knows, what she is accustomed to. But there can yet be a gentler approach, and into the palm of her hand, she draws one of the flames of her heart, lets it float and glide along closer to the ghostly form, lets it linger there, where no hand would accidentally touch and afford the ghost at least a little bit of warmth in this endlessly cold winterscape. The Japanese, for herself, then only watches, observes and sees how the ghosts responds to it.
In the heart of the snow-covered Haven forest, where the air is thick with winters chill, the fae spirit glides over the log on which she sits; She turns her eyeless gaze toward Ritsuka, a haunting presence clad in spectral frost. Her essence shimmers like starlight caught in a web of ice, and as she leans in to that heart fire's warmth, the air crackles with an unspoken tension. The spirit, drawn to the heat of life, extends her wispy tendrils toward Ritsuka, seeking to consume the heart fire that burns within her. The fae's tears, crystalline and glimmering, fall like shards of glass to the snow below, each drop a fragment of her sorrow transformed into incandescent violence. They sizzle upon contact, releasing a soft hiss as the warmth of life meets the cold despair of the spirit's existence. She yearns to devour the heat that radiates from Ritsuka, to extinguish that vibrant glow and fill her own void with the warmth she has long been denied. The air thickens with her desperation, creating a tension that feels like a thunderclap waiting to erupt. Ritsuka becomes both observer and participant, her heart alight with a quiet hope that perhaps, in this cold expanse, they can find a way to coexist, if only for a fleeting instant. As the snowflakes danced around her, the fae spirit's face was a portrait of sorrow, her ethereal features glistening like ice. Each flake that fell feeling like a reminder of lost warmth, a weight on her heart-- But with the winter storm brewing-- Sudden as it is, her expression twists into anguish, eyeless sockets wide, shimmering with despair, reflecting the tempest of her emotions. The once gentle snowfall transforms into a blizzard, swirling violently around her, mirroring the turmoil within. In that chaotic moment, her gaze sharpens, morphing into a desperate need. She reaches out, fingers elongated and trembling, drawn to Ritsuka, her hunger palpable. In the storm's fury, she longs to consume Ritsuka's life, to fill the void left by her own, as the winds howls in a haunting symphony of longing. Still, Ritsuka cant make a closer contact, the ghost's attack proving the intention here, and that Ritsuka will have no other choice but to calm or extinguish the geist.
Well, the truth of the matter here is, Ritsuka really cannot afford to allow the ghost to feed upon her life. She, more than anyone else, knows just how difficult the balance upon which she treads has become, and it certainly is not for the absence of trying, but plain, not having had the fortune of finding a suitable candidate. Fortunately, not all that taps and costs at her life, is something that will throw her off into becoming sick, no, only being fed on does. It is then that she reaches around, and draws the little blade from its concealed sheath - draws it over the palm of a hand, allows those precious drops of her virgin blood... to become more of her golden fire, as she starts her ritual to banish the ghost. Sometimes, just sometimes, cruelty is simply the greatest mercy one can have upon oneself, and compassion can sometimes only ever be afforded from a position of having, and she has not.
The air, thick with swirling snow, each flake a tiny shard of ice that danced in the howling winds of the snowstorm around Ritsuka and the fae spirit. Ritsuka stands at the precipice of the blizzard, her heart pounding in sync with the relentless gusts that whip around her, tossing her hair and sending her coat to billow. In Ritsuka's palm, a deep crimson flows, pooling from the wound where the dagger had sliced through Ritsuka's flesh. The vibrant red, stark against the pale white of the snow, droplets splattering like tiny rubies on the frozen canvas beneath Ritsuka's feet-- As the blood drips, it seems to shimmer in the dim, frost-coated, forest light, each drop a beacon amidst the chaos. The cold stings Ritsuka's fingers, but the pain from the cut is a distant whisper compared to the urgency of the ritual. It is already healing, supernatural regeneration proving itself as the pinicle ability for blood letting. Ritsuka raises her palm, the warmth of life force mingling with the biting chill, and feels the pull- a connection to the fae spirit that hovers just beyond the veil of reality, tears falling like insidious malice onto the snow like enraged, hauntedly sorrowful shards of glass. The spirit-- ethereal and luminous, reaches for Ritsuka, its form flickering like the light of a distant star; The very echo of loss and winter's monsterous cold, where the wounds she had taken were cause of death. Wisps of misty tendrils extend towards Ritsuka, yearning for the warmth of her essence. It is a creature of beauty and power, its voice an echo in the gusts that surrounds them, finally material enough to call Ritsuka's name-- But how does this creature know Ritsuka's name? -- It begins the weaving promises of forgotten wonders and ancient secrets. But the winds howl louder under Ritsuka's ritual, drowning out the spectre's plea, pulling the spirit away from her grasp-- Ritsuka's heart aches as she feels the bond between herself and the ghost stretch thin-- the ritual Ritsuka had begun drawing to a close.
The air crackles with energy, the final incantation hanging on Ritsuka's lips, but the storm is unforgiving. The fae geist shimmers, twisting in the howling winds, and Ritsuka can see the longing in its eyes-- an expression of shared destiny caught in the throes of fate. A thing torn apart by the blood magic and the removal of life from its vacinity. As the last threads of the ritual unravels, Ritsuka feels herself being tugged away-- her surroundings blurring into a whirl of white and darkness. The spirit is lost to the storm, its form dissolving into the tempest, a final wisp of magic carried off by the icy breath of the night-- The snow swallowing Ritsuka's blood, the evidence of Ritsuka's sacrifice disappearing beneath the relentless flurry. Then, Ritsuka blinks, and all is at it was, and Ritsuka stands in the building back on Zubaki Avenue.
The end
As Ritsuka approaches the source of the crying, she encounters a tragic spirit, a fae with no eyes and a body marred by gruesome wounds. The spirit's sorrowful sobs and desperate attempt to consume Ritsuka's warmth highlight her anguish. Ritsuka tries to offer comfort through the warmth of her heart fire but realizes the spirit's intent might be malevolent. Faced with no other choice, Ritsuka resorts to a ritual to banish the spirit, using her own blood to fuel a powerful magic that ultimately sends the fae into the storm's fury. As the ritual concludes, the storm abates, and Ritsuka finds herself back in the security building, the snow and cold a distant memory. The encounter serves as a grim reminder of the thin veil between the living and the supernatural, and Ritsuka's role in maintaining the balance between these worlds.
(Ritsuka's odd encounter(SRIllyana):SRIllyana)
[Fri Jan 3 2025]
In Tsubaki Security - View Drive Overlook
The room opens into a watchful space, its walls lined with wide, reinforced
windows that offer sweeping views of the bustling street around. The windows
are each framed with a different slice of Forest view drive, where nature
drifts lazily in the breeze. The light filters in softly, casting a warm
glow across the tatami mat flooring. Near the center of the room, a single
silk pillow rests on the floor, embroidered with a delicate camellia motif.
It is morning, about -17F(-27C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Ritsuka had just gone out to visit the security building - the singular building that could be considered finished, finished, well, besides for the fact that there is no stock yet. But the building itself is now staffed, and she stands in the room together with another woman in a kimono, whom overlooks and keeps an eye on traffic on forest view drive. Despite all still settling, security still seems to count for one of the more important bits still. There is quiet conversation, mostly on if there is anything else that is necessary or needed here.
As Ritsuka stands in the room, the air, heavy with anticipation, seems to hush around Ritsuka. The walls are lined with wide, reinforced windows, each framing a unique perspective of Forest View, where nature breathes and sways in a gentle, embrace-- The light filters through the glass, casting a glow that dances upon the tatami mat flooring, its soft texture inviting Ritsuka to pause and soak in the tranquility. But as Ritsuka lingers, a subtle transformation begins: The vibrant hues of january life outside gradually fade, yielding to the encroaching chill of elsewhere. The wilted greens of winter surrender to a stark, crystalline beauty, as frost begins to lace the edges of the windows, obscuring the lively scenes outside. The bustling street morphs into a hushed tableau, the sounds of life muffled as if the world has drawn a deep, silent breath. The warmth of the room seems to retreat;, and with it, the silk pillow at the center of the space takes on an ethereal quality. Its camellia motif- once vibrant and full of life, starts to appear ghostly, as if touched by the otherworldly hand of winter. The colors drain, leaving behind a muted palette that whispers of lost seasons, while the fabric shimmers faintly, echoing the haunting beauty of a forgotten garden-- Outside, the trees stand stripped of their leaves, their skeletal branches reaching toward the heavens like desperate, clawed hands. A light snow begins to fall, drifting softly as if the sky is shedding its tears. The flakes swirl and twirl, blurring the lines between earth and sky, and soon the view outside transforms into a dreamlike scene-- The bustling street is now a winding path through a spectral forest clearing. The asphalt fades beneath a thick blanket of untouched snow, and the buildings dissolve into the mist, their outlines softened and rendered indistinct. The world beyond the glass has become a winter wonderland, the air crisp and brimming with the scent of pine and frost. Shadows stretch long, draping the landscape in an otherworldly veil. As Ritsuka gazes through the windows, the forest seems to beckon, its allure both haunting and beguiling. The snow-covered ground glistens under the muted light, each flake a mirror reflecting the quiet magic of the moment. The trees-- now draped in white, stand sentinel, as if guarding the secrets of a world lost to time. The stillness envelops Ritsuka, the very essence of winter whispering tales of solitude and peace.
Ritsuka shivers indoors and she does let to sigh. She lays a tender hand onto the other woman that is with her and tells her "I think this is about to be Yokai related affairs, mind waiting with the others outside? She rubs over her face, and tugs her winter coat closer around herself. She really ought to have brought gloves, but it is far too late for that now, and so her hands, for the moment, disappear into the pockets of her coat. And then she gives to wait. Just wait, and see, for what is about to happen next."
In the heart of the forest clearing that should be Forest View Drive, and Zubaki Avenue, a narrow dirt path meanders through the landscape shrouded in an ethereal silence. The ground is blanketed in a thick layer of packed snow, its surface shimmering under the soft glow of the overcast sky as fresh flakes continue to drift down, swirling gently in the frigid, Haven air. The trees that encircle the clearing stand like skeletal observers, their leafless branches reaching out like gnarled fingers for Ritsuka, casting elongated shadows that dance eerily across the thick-packed snow. As the wind whispers through the quivering boughs, it carries with it a haunting sound; a gentle sobbing that seems to echo from the depths of the permafrost forest, weaving through the stillness and sending chills down Ritsuka's spine. The air is heavy with an haunting, timeless atmosphere- as if the very essence of sorrow has settled within this ghostly realm. Each of Ritsuka's foot steps along the path feels laden with an unshakeable sense of foreboding, drawing Ritsuka deeper into the haunting beauty of this wintery landscape, where the line between the living and the lost seems to blur, suggesting to Ritsuka that once more, Haven has played its sinister game: Another wild spirit is loose, untethered from a grave at the Arkwright cemetery, or having lost its way in the supernatural town's thick, magical mists. Yet... How strange, for Ritsuka was talking with her companion. She has no memory of walking-- Leaving. She was going to wait, wasn't she? So why is she walking. Ritsuka pauses, her foot fall, heavy though it is in winter wear, is leaving no tread behind her. Has she been here all along? The building Ritsuka was standing in has now vanished. Ritsuka is alone, and how odd... Zubaki Avenue should be stretching off to Ritsuka's left. Can it be then? Can it be that Ritsuka is standing in the same location, but a time long departed? The ice thickens, the snow continues to swirl and twirl around Ritsuka and it becomes obvious that this is supernatural in nature. It is indeed the yoki at play... The fae? A spirit? The spectre of a fae? And there is that sobbing- That sobbing that creeps insidiously into Ritsuka's mind: It's almost as though that crying is drawing Ritsuka towards it. Thankfully, Ritsuka's supernatural nature is fighting against the compulsion, for /something/ is taking place.
Considering all of this, Ritsuka does also realize that she could just shift and try to sprint away. Turn into her fox, into her other form, but wherever that would be, that would then lead to the kind of situation where she would need to remain shifted. Not so much out of want, but because otherwise, she will be naked. She has yet to unlock the secret to how to keep holding on to any clothing when she does shift, and it may still take many more months to do so. She makes to sigh, and then glances around. At the end of it, it would perhaps still be better to just go, to play into what seeks her attention than to walk away.
Maybe it even is that quickest way out of here.
And so, she treads forward, towards the crying. A hand does lay closer to the blade, be it to cast something, a ritual, or to defend herself quickly, and there is the flame of her heart, if she were to want for warmth or needed to burn a sinner into redemptive ashes.
The dirt path meanders through the forest, barely visible beneath the thick blanket of snow that has fallen relentlessly, muffling the world in a hushed silence. The air is crisp and sharp, each of Ritsuka's breaths a foggy plume that dissipates quickly into the chill-- The temperature is dropping, and Ritsuka cant help but to shiver. The skeletons of trees rise around the path, their bare branches clawing at the gray sky like gnarled fingers, reaching for something just out of reach-- Something that Ritsuka can feel more than see. The weight of the snow clings to their limbs, turning the forest into a haunting gallery of white and shadow. As Ritsuka steps forward, the crunch of snow beneath Ritsuka's boots breaks the stillness, a solitary sound in a world otherwise muted-- Each step draws Ritsuka deeper into the heart of the Haven forest where the light fades and the atmosphere thickens with an unsettling hypothermic energy. The snow continues to fall, delicate flakes swirling and dancing in the air, yet the beauty of the scene is overshadowed by that deep, sorrowful sobbing that echoes through the trees; a sound that seems to weave itself into the fabric of the winter stillness.Just at the edge of Ritsuka's vision, a slight figure emerges, half-hidden beneath the drooping branches. She sits upon a fallen log, her outline faint and shimmering like the last rays of twilight. The sobs grow louder as Ritsuka approaches, resonating with an bone-chilling anguish that tugs at Ritsuka's heart. It is a woman-- or rather, a spirit, clearly of the fae. Her translucent form glimmers with an ethereal light, but the beauty is marred by an unsettling truth: she has no eyes, just empty sockets that seem to drink in the darkness around her.
As Ritsuka draws nearer, the source of her sorrow becomes horrifyingly-- Disgustingly clear. Her body is ravaged-- torn and tattered as though she has been the victim of a wild beast. Jagged wounds mar her delicate figure, and the sight is enough to freeze the blood in Ritsuka's veins. The contrast between her spiritual glow and the gruesome state of her being is jarring: A cruel reminder of the fragility of life, even in a world of monsters. The spectre's sobs are heart-wrenching, each one a lament for a life that has been cruelly snatched away. The trees around Ritsuka seem to lean in closer, as if the forest itself is listening to her cries, mourning alongside her. The chilling wind whispers through the branches, carrying the weight of her sorrow, as the snow continues to fall, cleansing the earth but leaving this spirit trapped in her grief.
Ritsuka huffs in a little bit of a sigh. Someday she will possess the ability to speak easily with ghosts, more than just witness. On the other hand, this is this ghost's realm, far as she can see, far as she is knowing. But why make it more difficult, she could try and speak anyway, if alone because it is the ghost's realm, so the rules may as well just be entirely different from what she knows, what she is accustomed to. But there can yet be a gentler approach, and into the palm of her hand, she draws one of the flames of her heart, lets it float and glide along closer to the ghostly form, lets it linger there, where no hand would accidentally touch and afford the ghost at least a little bit of warmth in this endlessly cold winterscape. The Japanese, for herself, then only watches, observes and sees how the ghosts responds to it.
In the heart of the snow-covered Haven forest, where the air is thick with winters chill, the fae spirit glides over the log on which she sits; She turns her eyeless gaze toward Ritsuka, a haunting presence clad in spectral frost. Her essence shimmers like starlight caught in a web of ice, and as she leans in to that heart fire's warmth, the air crackles with an unspoken tension. The spirit, drawn to the heat of life, extends her wispy tendrils toward Ritsuka, seeking to consume the heart fire that burns within her. The fae's tears, crystalline and glimmering, fall like shards of glass to the snow below, each drop a fragment of her sorrow transformed into incandescent violence. They sizzle upon contact, releasing a soft hiss as the warmth of life meets the cold despair of the spirit's existence. She yearns to devour the heat that radiates from Ritsuka, to extinguish that vibrant glow and fill her own void with the warmth she has long been denied. The air thickens with her desperation, creating a tension that feels like a thunderclap waiting to erupt. Ritsuka becomes both observer and participant, her heart alight with a quiet hope that perhaps, in this cold expanse, they can find a way to coexist, if only for a fleeting instant. As the snowflakes danced around her, the fae spirit's face was a portrait of sorrow, her ethereal features glistening like ice. Each flake that fell feeling like a reminder of lost warmth, a weight on her heart-- But with the winter storm brewing-- Sudden as it is, her expression twists into anguish, eyeless sockets wide, shimmering with despair, reflecting the tempest of her emotions. The once gentle snowfall transforms into a blizzard, swirling violently around her, mirroring the turmoil within. In that chaotic moment, her gaze sharpens, morphing into a desperate need. She reaches out, fingers elongated and trembling, drawn to Ritsuka, her hunger palpable. In the storm's fury, she longs to consume Ritsuka's life, to fill the void left by her own, as the winds howls in a haunting symphony of longing. Still, Ritsuka cant make a closer contact, the ghost's attack proving the intention here, and that Ritsuka will have no other choice but to calm or extinguish the geist.
Well, the truth of the matter here is, Ritsuka really cannot afford to allow the ghost to feed upon her life. She, more than anyone else, knows just how difficult the balance upon which she treads has become, and it certainly is not for the absence of trying, but plain, not having had the fortune of finding a suitable candidate. Fortunately, not all that taps and costs at her life, is something that will throw her off into becoming sick, no, only being fed on does. It is then that she reaches around, and draws the little blade from its concealed sheath - draws it over the palm of a hand, allows those precious drops of her virgin blood... to become more of her golden fire, as she starts her ritual to banish the ghost. Sometimes, just sometimes, cruelty is simply the greatest mercy one can have upon oneself, and compassion can sometimes only ever be afforded from a position of having, and she has not.
The air, thick with swirling snow, each flake a tiny shard of ice that danced in the howling winds of the snowstorm around Ritsuka and the fae spirit. Ritsuka stands at the precipice of the blizzard, her heart pounding in sync with the relentless gusts that whip around her, tossing her hair and sending her coat to billow. In Ritsuka's palm, a deep crimson flows, pooling from the wound where the dagger had sliced through Ritsuka's flesh. The vibrant red, stark against the pale white of the snow, droplets splattering like tiny rubies on the frozen canvas beneath Ritsuka's feet-- As the blood drips, it seems to shimmer in the dim, frost-coated, forest light, each drop a beacon amidst the chaos. The cold stings Ritsuka's fingers, but the pain from the cut is a distant whisper compared to the urgency of the ritual. It is already healing, supernatural regeneration proving itself as the pinicle ability for blood letting. Ritsuka raises her palm, the warmth of life force mingling with the biting chill, and feels the pull- a connection to the fae spirit that hovers just beyond the veil of reality, tears falling like insidious malice onto the snow like enraged, hauntedly sorrowful shards of glass. The spirit-- ethereal and luminous, reaches for Ritsuka, its form flickering like the light of a distant star; The very echo of loss and winter's monsterous cold, where the wounds she had taken were cause of death. Wisps of misty tendrils extend towards Ritsuka, yearning for the warmth of her essence. It is a creature of beauty and power, its voice an echo in the gusts that surrounds them, finally material enough to call Ritsuka's name-- But how does this creature know Ritsuka's name? -- It begins the weaving promises of forgotten wonders and ancient secrets. But the winds howl louder under Ritsuka's ritual, drowning out the spectre's plea, pulling the spirit away from her grasp-- Ritsuka's heart aches as she feels the bond between herself and the ghost stretch thin-- the ritual Ritsuka had begun drawing to a close.
The air crackles with energy, the final incantation hanging on Ritsuka's lips, but the storm is unforgiving. The fae geist shimmers, twisting in the howling winds, and Ritsuka can see the longing in its eyes-- an expression of shared destiny caught in the throes of fate. A thing torn apart by the blood magic and the removal of life from its vacinity. As the last threads of the ritual unravels, Ritsuka feels herself being tugged away-- her surroundings blurring into a whirl of white and darkness. The spirit is lost to the storm, its form dissolving into the tempest, a final wisp of magic carried off by the icy breath of the night-- The snow swallowing Ritsuka's blood, the evidence of Ritsuka's sacrifice disappearing beneath the relentless flurry. Then, Ritsuka blinks, and all is at it was, and Ritsuka stands in the building back on Zubaki Avenue.
The end