Angelica

[marikandaperc 1818]

 

Spoiler

narrative post . my discord is gone . contact on forum dms if u rly need me . didnt want 2 leave without a schizopost for my dear seer .

IT SONG

 

 

ENGLISH SONG

 

 

A mender of fait sat before a scroll, feather & ink at hand. She scribbled and jotted, writing reports on evil creatures and the ilk. As of recent, the wolf yokai had been in her mind, but something troubled her. When she had visited the doctor, he sighed and clasped his book open. "There is nothing we can do, madame. Your disease is at the soul; its rotten and decayed. No cure at all, madame, no." yet she paid it no mind. Although she knew at her heart something stirred, there was no intention of giving up. For what is a woman who surrenders, if not another foolish victim?

The thought of soul & necrosis had taken up her mind, and on the scroll there were incoherent strings of thoughts. She read it ofter after snapping out of the thoughts, and wrote a huge questionmark over the whole page. "I must find and protect peace." she had told herself then, clasping the scroll close. "I must triumph over these demons that stir within my most pure soul! I shan't let it be damage, no no!" the levyling had now stopd, and paced up and down the room that in reality was the entirety of her home; a bed, a table, nothing else. Chaos, it reigned over the room, scrolls and clothes sitting about the whole adobe, reflecting the same chaos that troubled the mind. 

Eventually, the mender of faith sat down again after gaining some composure, and with fast strokes of the hand took to writing. And so she did, for a long time, perhaps days whole. For the time she wrote, she felt rejuvenated - perhaps it was a fix. A cure to the great distress that had for months triumphed, but it was only momentary. Upon finishing the writing, she called upon the fastest of her owls, and they flew off.

Spoiler

private letter to callahan @Fleeperpriest

"Callahan, friend, brother, liege,

I have contracted what might be the worst of the diseases. I feel it, and it is worse than you could imagine. We had triumphed many a similar one in the past, but I do believe this current one might be the worst any breathing man & rotting one has experienced. Maybe you know a cure, but I do too. I have often heard of hermits, who live in monasteries and make of each other their life. They study, work, and pray. What more could I ask for? I promise that from this exile of mine, one I have imposed upon myself, I shall be everdiligent and loyal to God. I will pray, every day, and keep you in my thoughts. I only hope you won't die, for I will keep sending letters on letters your way. 

I will keep you updated on my days, but it shall have to be a rare correspondence, the place I am headed to is far and my days full. I won't have the time to write to you, and neither the distance! It might take even months for my letters to reach your home. That said, I promise that once every four years I will contact you, and send updates regarding my journey. I have decided that while my isolation is mandatory, I will not let fate break the chains that bind us together. 

Be well, my brother, for I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers.

Please do not die.

In faith,

the levyling sister Angelica of Lemon Hill."

Spoiler

(the following letter is written in caecic)(and private) @Reckless Banzai Screamer

"Dear nephew,

I am to disappear from this wretched continent. I have grown tired of my days in pain and will fix it, hastly.

Write to me if you may, I would love to know of your days. And if you have any questions, too, simply write. I will be here, always. Contact a new guide if you need, and tell them I had faith in you.

Auntie Angelica."

Having written her letters and teadied her house, Angelica prepared for the travel. She had wishes to visit her doctor before leaving, and so she did, adventuring into the depths of the forest where the doctor's house stood. A tiny office, away from public eye, to create a feeling of familiarity with his patients. "Doctor, I have found the cure." Angelica said, but the doctor protester. "There is no cure!" but she did not give up. "You are my most treasured patient." he chimed during the conversation, "Your mind, it works in odd waye. Perhaps your brain is wired differently from all other humans. Perhaps, it is your instability which made me take up your case. You are fleeble, unwilling to change, at times unpredictable. You chase an impossible dream, an utopian reality. You wish to remain yourself and be happy, that is not how it works, Angelica."

And she remained silent, she had nothing to say. No, no, she had a lot to say, but nothing to say. Those words were better left in her mind. "You became a vampire, once upon a time, and then the week later you were a nun. Then you tried to be a Princess, a scholar, a witch. So many roles you play, so many masks you wear. What is the true face, what is the identity of the puppeteer? You are one, none, and hundred thousand." the doctor could have gone on for hours detailing the flaws of his patient, but he knew better, and eventually stopped. "This new adventure, it is only a new mask you wear—a new identity you wish to sew, but not the last. I am certain, one day, you will walk back into my office, wearing a different mask. A different soul. A different, tormented thinker." 

Good luck, Angelica.

Best wishes, nun.

Safe travels, princess.

Bon voyage, vampire. 

The door cracked,

the chest hollow,

the travel ahead, long.