Time had passed between Iona J. Oakes, her golem, and the Aubert brothers, from visits to her beloved Midnight Grind and then to Paris, one of the few back and forths the witch made consistently to her own surprise. She's aware of her tendency to get attached and affectionate towards anyone who she became friends with, but something else had flourished, more than she had anticipated. There were so many things that mattered to her, but she had found that someone whose hand she wanted to grab, to run away with, and to show all manners of wonders and awe they had yet to explore together.
Her mettle and resolve had been put to the test; agonizing questions and logical fallacies that she had to face head-on if she were to pursue this path. Obstacles of the physical, mental, and emotional kind had strained Iona's heart and had made her wonder if she could truly change anything for the better. The scars of a bloodline were not meant to be healed by others, a dirty business that could only bring more heartache. But still, she endured wanting to prove that there was meaning in everything they had gone through, that there was another path in an entirely different direction; not only for her own sake, but for...
βββ
Iona sits on a rooftop of the apartment building she had been staying in every time she and Oren visited the Aubert brothers. The smell of ash had lessened over the week, but from her height, she can still see some smoke in the far-off distance of some ruined buildings. The witch nurses a large mug of chamomile tea in her lap, letting out a heavy sigh, bringing the mug to her lips.]
Turf wars and magic do not mix.
[It's a long story.
Oren, for the first time in a long while, returned to her grandmother's side to be repaired after the extent of damage that had been done in the resulting aftermath of their involvement in the city and its longstanding feuds. She was alone. It was an odd feeling, knowing she would not see him for a week and a strange sense of unease with the freedom of having to look after herself. In a way, Iona continued to be in the process of recovering from what seemed like a world crashing down on her to somehow making out of it okay. She didn't lose anyone this time. She was alive.
And she knew who was important to her.
The Parisian sky transitions from a peachy-orange sunset to a darkened blue sky, with just a hint of starlight, managing to peek through the smoke and clouds of that day. Iona sits and waits. She waits and hopes.]
... Oh, who am I kidding?
[She pulls up her legs and wraps her arms around them, burying her face in her knees.]
Even after all of this, he'll probably laugh at me.
[The witch really hopes that nothing else crashes down around her if she's going to go through with her delivery. ]
π£πΊππ πππ, π¨ ππππ πΌπππΏπΎππ
Time had passed between Iona J. Oakes, her golem, and the Aubert brothers, from visits to her beloved Midnight Grind and then to Paris, one of the few back and forths the witch made consistently to her own surprise. She's aware of her tendency to get attached and affectionate towards anyone who she became friends with, but something else had flourished, more than she had anticipated. There were so many things that mattered to her, but she had found that someone whose hand she wanted to grab, to run away with, and to show all manners of wonders and awe they had yet to explore together.
Her mettle and resolve had been put to the test; agonizing questions and logical fallacies that she had to face head-on if she were to pursue this path. Obstacles of the physical, mental, and emotional kind had strained Iona's heart and had made her wonder if she could truly change anything for the better. The scars of a bloodline were not meant to be healed by others, a dirty business that could only bring more heartache. But still, she endured wanting to prove that there was meaning in everything they had gone through, that there was another path in an entirely different direction; not only for her own sake, but for...
Iona sits on a rooftop of the apartment building she had been staying in every time she and Oren visited the Aubert brothers. The smell of ash had lessened over the week, but from her height, she can still see some smoke in the far-off distance of some ruined buildings. The witch nurses a large mug of chamomile tea in her lap, letting out a heavy sigh, bringing the mug to her lips.]
Turf wars and magic do not mix.
[It's a long story.
Oren, for the first time in a long while, returned to her grandmother's side to be repaired after the extent of damage that had been done in the resulting aftermath of their involvement in the city and its longstanding feuds. She was alone. It was an odd feeling, knowing she would not see him for a week and a strange sense of unease with the freedom of having to look after herself. In a way, Iona continued to be in the process of recovering from what seemed like a world crashing down on her to somehow making out of it okay. She didn't lose anyone this time. She was alive.
And she knew who was important to her.
The Parisian sky transitions from a peachy-orange sunset to a darkened blue sky, with just a hint of starlight, managing to peek through the smoke and clouds of that day. Iona sits and waits. She waits and hopes.]
... Oh, who am I kidding?
[She pulls up her legs and wraps her arms around them, burying her face in her knees.]
Even after all of this, he'll probably laugh at me.
[The witch really hopes that nothing else crashes down around her if she's going to go through with her delivery. ]