where ghosts wander || ONC 2022

chapter eight; of death and hope and desperation, not necessarily in that order

It's not that I don't want to know more — it's just that I'm still very much afraid.

A little less now, maybe, than a few hours ago, but still.

It's a frightening thing, to consider all that this could mean.

It's even more frightening to think about trying to explore it.

Because now that we've talked about it (more or less), Priya wants me to consciously access the curse magic. Wants me to try and see what I could do with it — without the hindrance of my wand. Find out what exactly it does, if it proves our theories right or wrong, if something else entirely happens.

I'm... not terribly opposed, I find.

It's more Priya's thing, to just soldier on without a plan like a headstrong lion, whereas I would much rather take the carefully calculated and safe path, sneaky as a snake, but I don't think that this the type of situation where sneaky is going to be of any use. 

Plus, I'm growing rather tired of carefully calculated and safe.

So. It's not that I don't want to know more — it's that the current priorities have shifted towards a more practical approach, no matter how frightening that may be.

The apartment is not happy with our plan.

Priya doesn't let that deter her.

She cheerfully sits on the table when the constant tilting becomes a bit too much, and continues scribbling observations and experiments we absolutely have to try into an old notebook I've left out for her.

The apartment tries for a while longer, but thankfully it stops tilting the floors before I have a chance to get seriously motion-sick.

It tries to enlist the help of the cats next, sliding away their food-bowls whenever they try to take a bite, but that only makes them angry at the apartment instead of us, so that was a fruitless attempt.

I'm sure it would have come up with something else eventually (it always does), but Priya is too fast, and too eager.

(It's a little addictive, to be honest. It makes me excited, too, to watch her ramble on about this theory and that, even as the fear knots tighter in my stomach and makes my fingers tremble.)

(It's a little addictive, to sit opposite her and listen to her rambles and try to learn something. To watch the light of the setting sun play across her face, light up her freckles.)

(It's a little addictive, to try and count them, to find galaxies and constellations. It's more than a little embarrassing to look down and realize how my notes on her rambles have gotten derailed — from stardust influencing our magic to maps of the night sky to maps of Priya's freckles, across her nose, her cheeks, the back of her hands and up her arms.)

Priya is too fast, and she catches a glimpse into my own notebook when she gets up to clap her hands together.

There's a look on her face that I can't interpret, a smile that has no right to be so fond.

"You remember that, then?" she asks, even as I fumble my notebook shut and my face grows hot.