hauntstart | AN OPENING

[ When you died, you, amongst the many dead set adrift in the depths of unbecoming, were chosen by the world. You were caressed, stood back up, and death was brushed from your shoulders as they straightened your body back into a shape presentable enough to be a person again. Grave dirt sloughed from you. Your lungs and heart stretched, yawned, and opened to a pale dawn. You came back whole. Three gifts from the world that loves you were pressed into your hands.

Maybe Violence's wet and ruddy hands took yours in hers with a firm grip.
Maybe Hierarchy's gloved hands took yours in his with expectation behind that grasp.
Maybe The Audience's many hands swarmed up your hands and wrist, and shook with star-struck enthusiasm.
Maybe Charade's hands, bejeweled with costume jewelry, took yours and pressed a kiss to the back of your palm.
Maybe Challenge's rough calloused hands pumped your hand, grip tight and demanding answer.
Maybe Lore's hands, charged with unknown power, touched yours and a spark sizzled between you both.
Maybe Pain's taloned claws dug in, small pinpricks of pain welling up where skin came near to breaking.
Maybe Love's warm palms and gentle fingers entwined together with yours.
Maybe Portents's hands with nails freshly inked traced a runed pattern against the back of your hands.
Maybe Devils' hands, radiant with heat and promise, caressed yours with a giggle or pinched.
Maybe Architecture's hands in elegant angles shook yours in the precise motions of a promise sealed.
Maybe Death's phalanges and metacarpals locked about your hand and, for a moment, seemed they would never let go.
Maybe Life's verdant and furred hands met yours briefly, in an energetic clap of camaraderie.
Maybe Impulse's electric mechanisms whirred in an exploratory imitation of a greeting.
Maybe Controversy's hands held to yours fast, tugging you in opposite directions as they reluctantly parted.
Maybe The Bizarre's hands spiraled up about you and, with the cold impression of mist, vanished before you could return the clasp.
Maybe Miracle's gold and shining hands took yours in a shake of perfect agreement.
Maybe Prey's frantic and small hands pumped yours in an eager and nimble greeting, gone before you had a chance to react.
Maybe The Hunter's heavy strength enveloped your palm in their planned and patient grasp.
Maybe Corruption's scales slid up past your hand, wrist, and arm, up to your cheek, where she patted you with gentle sympathy.

But three made contact, gave gifts, and the last one had one more offering to leave with you. Lastly, the world has given you a train ticket. Departure: any time. Destination: elsewhere. You just need to find the platform.

You awaken in a world that loves few things. A world that even death picks over the offerings, taking few cleanly and completely, leaving old hurts pile up in the hinterlands outside the cities, where locals take refuge from ghosts and comfort and distraction in each other. Things go wrong here, frequently. Things go weird here, frequently. Reality is thin, as many parts of reality have better things to do than hang around here all day. Because you are loved, maybe things will go better for you while you are here.

You awaken, more specifically, in a part of the world called Lockscentre. This is a part of the world that is a city. You don't need to guess or be told either of these things, as you wake up in the clearly labeled LOCKSCENTRE STRANGER CEMETARY.

Or, well, it says that clearly when you climb out of your coffin.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The best thing for Rae if we both come back, don't you think? So it's in both our best interests if I tell you everything that might be helpful. I've gone through something similar before. I think that's helpful.

[ Cobra do you know how much information this is to process? your boyfriend had to go to a whole oracle and bleed his heart out to get this sort of information, and now you're just handing it to Key like that's supposed to mean anything to him?? isekai novels don't exist in Eyam probably and even if they did he can't read them! ]

[ his brows furrow like he wants to argue. ... rather, he wants more information. he wants more pieces.

more than any of that he wants to get back to Rahela. ]

... hah. All lady Rahela really needs is me. But she does seem to hate it when the people around her die. [ he shoots back finally with an easy smirk. evidently deciding he'll just roll with this. but... those gears are turning. this is a puzzle to solve now. on top of all the other puzzles. ]

Right. We're going for the full, absolute victory here! Everything she might possibly want! Not just 'good enough'!

If you've gone through something similar before, you must have an idea on how to get out right?

It's different from the last time. But they pretty much told us- this little blue paper is our ticket out. We just have to find where we can use it.

So you did see them. [ he muses out loud. ]

Those boney and bloody hands... whatever "they" were.

Uh. Probably? I don't know if I would describe them like that, but there were hands. For sure there were hands.

Three pairs of hands. One of them was covered with blood, another traced a pattern on my hand, and the last was nothing but bones. You can't tell me you don't know what bones feel like.

The hands I got felt very much like they had flesh and skin on them.

... so I got different hands. Dead hands. I'm sure that means absolutely nothing special.

Oh absolutely. I'm sure there's no symbolic meaning to that whatsoever.

AN OPENING

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