G H O S T S
"I think love is like ghosts," the half-blood stated, staring upwards as their Claith company lifted a ginger brow.
"How so?" She inquired for a moment, half turning herself to look at him.
"I know other people say they have seen ghosts, but I really can't. I don't know if I believe in them or not yet."
The Claith leaned towards him, pondering his words before nodding as if in agreement, "My ghosts have never really been anything other than fakes," she said. Her emerald gaze scanned over the snowy road before the bench they sat on.
"Maybe I should start hunting ghosts rather than sitting around and waiting to see one," the Silven said towards their companion, watching as she clasped her hands together to keep them warm. No butterflies seemed to encompass them, a mark of the Phantasma affliction they had both experienced. Despite what protection they may have offered, the half-blood especially felt comfort by the sheer presence of her.
"I've never been a good ghost hunter. Perhaps I'll sit and wait from now on," replied the young woman finally, looking up towards the half-blood.
"Maybe.." the half-blood said, trailed off after the first word of it, drawing the Claith to lift her brows once more.
"Maybe what?" She asked, turning her gaze back to his own with a questioning expression.
"Maybe if you put on a white tablecloth you could be my ghost." They said without much remorse, evidently a mark of conviction on their words.
She blinked at the statement and red rose up into her cheeks, her expression seemed blank for a moment before she gave an embarrassed little laugh.
"Do you really want me to be your ghost? I might scare you off."
"You scare me?" They released a slight chuckle and a delicate smile rested on their lips, continuing, "I was just subject to an Arken attack, I don't think you're all that scary. We should probably be worrying about if I scare you." The Silven turned at that moment, locking gaze with her.