deercountry | magic, madness, heaven, sin

magic, madness, heaven, sin

JULY 2022 EVENT

IMAGE DESCRIPTORS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
Prompt One
[Image One: A statue of Lady Justice with her sword against a man's throat. ]
[Image Two: A pair of hands covered in blood. ]

Prompt Two
[Image One: Two people trying to reach one another being pulled back by multiple, disembodied hands. ]
[Image Two: A feminine figure lying on a boardwalk above the ocean. ]

Prompt Three
[Image One: A pair of black scales held by a statue. ]
[Image Two: A single hand reaching up from the water, implying drowning. ]

[NAVIGATION]

Prompt 1 • Prompt 2 • Prompt 3 • Plotting • Newsletter

[JUMP TO COMMENTS]

GOOD AND EVIL

WHEN: July
WHERE: All over
CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence, revenge, possible torture, possible death, mental manipulation

An excerpt from the book Thus Comes the Reckoning:

Are we inherently good or evil? Are we hard-wired for empathy? Or is violent behavior our innate reaction when the world has done us wrong? This is something that has been debated for centuries, even in the times Before Sodder. Have we evolved since the Dreamless World? Since the Nightmare? Have the Pthumerians and their blessings made us more peaceful and understanding?

While it is true that our world is more generous and caring than the ones we have read about in the Dreamless World, where in spite of our shortages, we want for nothing that we truly need, the very existence of corruption and beasthood should speak of our true natures and of the true natures of Sleepers. There is no time that this is more prominent in our world than in the month of July, when the Reckoning holds sway.

It is unclear if it is the unbearable heat, the Pthumerian's influence, or perhaps just our true selves coming forth, but each July is the prelude to chaos. The pleasantries die off, the generosity wanes, and we forget the lessons of our more kind and gentle benefactors. Fist fights over minor disagreements, people attacking one another with weapons when they don't get their way or wait too long in line, and murders over the loss of a game. Does the summer make monsters of us all? Or does the Beast Moon simply encourage what is already inside of us?

Sleepers will find themselves encouraged towards violence. Many will be drawn to do evil. They will feel a pull to hurt others, particularly those who have hurt them first. Anger will seem like a natural state and many will find that they have lost all ability to reason when they become even minorly frustrated. Vigilante justice will seem like a great idea. Did someone hurt your loved one? Then tear them apart! Did a person borrow something from you and never return it? End them. Criminal activity will skyrocket, particularly violent criminal activity, throughout the month of July. People will feel more inclined to steal, to damage property, to kill, and to get revenge. Torturing others will seem like a perfectly reasonable idea. It is the month to do so and it might even feel good to hurt other people.

Sleepers will also feel violently protective of those they love. They will want to make sure that the violent crimes happening to other people doesn't happen to their people and they might go to such extremes as locking their loved ones up so that nothing can get to them. It's an obsessive need to protect and not let go. Someone might even feel so inclined as to kill their friends just to make sure that no one else can hurt them.

On the flip side, those who manage to resist the violent urges will be more inclined to help those who are violent. Even if you are someone who has never wanted to help another person, you will be drawn to do good. It's not impossible to talk others down, to sway them to being better people and to remembering who they are. It's just a lot of work. But still, those who are impacted by the good will feel that same need to protect others; only for them, it doesn't have to necessarily be someone they know. They want to do the right thing, to protect people from themselves. Unlike the evil, they will know there are limits, and they will not hurt others in their attempt to protect them. But they may end up being willing to, possibly uncharacteristically, sacrifice themselves to do so.

QUICK FACTS: 1. You can only be impacted by The Good or The Evil at one time. Someone who is Good can be corrupted into becoming Evil. If someone is talked down from being Evil, they can either go back to being their normal selves, or they can become impacted by The Good instead. This can happen as many times in the month as possible, but they can only be Good or Evil at one time. You can not be both at once.

2. Characters who can usually heal demons/possessions/etc. can cure Evil in people. Their powers will work the same as they would in their canon/from their blood powers. Game based items that would normally cure corruption however will NOT work to cure Evil. They will still work to cure corruption/beasthood.

3. The Reckoning can still punish you. Just because you're being influenced by outside forces won't matter to her. If she catches you doing something bad and it isn't for revenge purposes, she will punish you as she sees fit. This is left up to player interpretation.

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

FORTUNE'S FOOL

WHEN: July
WHERE: All over
CONTENT WARNINGS: Star-Crossed lovers, encouraged suicidal ideation, possible death

Love. A complicated feeling that puts people into complicated circumstances. And yet, people will find themselves focused on this emotion more so than usual this month. For someone who is already in love, the emotions will become even stronger, almost overwhelming, wanting to burst out of them like a song. For those who were not in love before, they may find themselves suddenly easily falling for others. Maybe they will love multiple people or maybe just one, but love will be an all consuming emotion to those who fall victim to it.

The only problem is that love isn't always accepted. People who are deeply in love will suddenly start to feel persecuted and judged from those around them. They will feel as though their love is unallowed, that the person that means the most to them is being rejected by their family, their friends, by society itself. It doesn't matter if that's the truth: there's just something inside of people that makes them thoroughly convinced that their love is not meant to be. Star-Crossed. Unattainable.

There will be an increased urge to solidify that love as being real and unbreakable. Maybe this is done through fighting back against those who are saying no. Maybe it comes in the form of secretly saying vows and loved ones spiritually tying themselves together forever. Or maybe in the end, the only true way that lovers feel they can truly be together... is in death. All of these will seem like reasonable options— or maybe even the only option. Love is never ending, after all, even if life is.

QUICK FACTS: 1. Anyone can fall in love with anyone else. It doesn't have to be the character that you're already shipping with if all players agree! You can fall in love with someone you know, someone you've just met, or even a total stranger. Love is a gift to everyone, right??? Who needs pesky things like introductions.

2. You do not have to commit suicide. You can, of course, and many will definitely feel drawn to it with the basis of the prompt, but it is not required. Please make sure to mark all threads accordingly!

3. The persecution against your relationship does not have to be real. You can, however, tie this into the first prompt, and have even the smallest slights be reason to think that your love is persecuted. Similarly, people who are impacted by the first prompt may be more likely to actually shun those who are in love. Feel free to work with it however you see fit!

[JUMP TO TOP] • [JUMP TO COMMENTS]

OUR OWN PRISONS

WHEN: July
WHERE: All over, but particularly by the ocean.
CONTENT WARNINGS: Self-hatred, judgement, suicidal ideation, homicidal ideation, possible drowning.

Everyone has personal flaws. Things about themselves they don't like, reactions they wish they didn't have, habits that they want to break. Sometimes the awareness of flaws can outweigh the awareness of our strengths as well. It's easy to get caught up in the feeling that we're less then perfect, that we'll never be able to fix ourselves no matter what we do.

This month, those feelings seem to be amplified. Sleepers will see flaws everywhere; in the people they love, in the Trenchies, and most heavily in themselves. Feelings of self-hatred and judgement will be amplified and even those who are usually confident in themselves will find that they're suffering from it. Sometimes these feelings may manifest as a simple bout of anger and depression; but for others, it can become more severe quickly.

Those who find themselves suffering heaviest from these feelings will feel called to the ocean. Maybe it's a desire to go back to a squid form, a place that's simpler and more straight forward. Or maybe it's the unbearable heat that's putting these thoughts in someone's head and they'll feel like going for a swim would cure it. But there's something inside everyone that knows that if they go into the ocean, they might not come back out again.

Sleepers will feel like the ultimate judgement is waiting for them out there. If they are seeing flaws more in themselves, being by the ocean will amplify feelings of suicide. If they're seeing flaws in everyone else, they might feel compelled to bring those people down to the ocean to drown them. The ocean, associated so heavily with rebirth, could be the very thing to cleanse people of their imperfections, after all. Maybe it would be a favor to everyone if someone just gave in and tried to fix themselves and others. For the good of Trench.

QUICK FACTS: 1. These feelings can cause people to become more corrupt. The longer they are exposed to these feelings, the closer they will get to high levels of corruption, and eventual beasthood.

2. Because these feelings can cause corruption, they can also be relieved through the same methods as corruption. Talking, touching, Moon Drops, get some therapy, whatever the player chooses.

3. People who do not address their feelings and/or who spend too much time by the ocean will inevitably deal with feelings of suicide and/or homicide. Please be sure to handle these topics appropriately and content warn your threads.

[JUMP TO TOP]

CODING

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As the month nears its ending, Peter is drawn to the black beach.

It seems that he finds himself there almost daily, and he loses track of how many days his visits truly span. Is it twice, now? Four times? Has he come here for nearly a full week?

Perhaps on one of his trips, he will not return.

Today, he sits near the shoreline but not quite touching it. He sits where the sand's still soft, not hardened and cold with lapping waves. He can press his toes into it, bury the tops of his feet beneath sand.

He faces the ocean and stares to it. A deep melancholy rolls slowly up under his sternum, something that borders oppressive, a weight pressing into his lungs and heart, making its beats strained and tight. Peter is no stranger to that feeling, to that ache — so weary that it's hard to think about moving at all — but the sorrow of it isn't something that can ever be gotten used to. It's the same as when his sister was killed. The same as when he realised that the word "orphan" belonged to him now. He feels alone, and he feels like he will never feel happy again.

He sits there with his deep ache, breathing slowly and quietly. He's no child — features still youthful, but more man than boy these days. His hair is a mess of dark curls tangled by briny sea air; his face is unshaven. But in his lap, he holds onto a forest green blanket the way a child might hold a teddy bear. Bundled up and clutched, fingers pressing inwards. Luna made it for him. Luna, whom he's hurt in ways he never, ever was supposed to.

Something whispers from the sea, and Peter feels his eyes grow wet. He knows what he deserves. He's always known it.

Edited 2022-08-03 20:40 (UTC)

Though Pyrrha hasn't shouted at the ocean since her first time washing up on these shores, she returns to it with quiet contemplation. Like Augustine, she's probably past the point of the sea being willing to take her back, to return to the peaceful lull of distance from herself and everything that comes with it. Mariana has permitted her the shore or not noticed her there. Either way is enough.

Not for the first time, Pyrrha finds a young person by the shore. She isn't familiar with this one, yet. When she's close enough, walking along the shore rather than making a beeline for anyone, she walks away from the lapping waves, willfully leaving her back exposed, and approaches. She motions toward a spot a respectful distance away. "May I?" she asks softly. Barely words at all.

He sees the stranger, but as though in a dream: Peter's eyes are lulled, half-lidded. Usually strangers make him nervous, but now... not even the usual patters of anxiety flutter in his chest. He just sits there, unmoving, only looking up when the stranger so softly asks to sit.

Peter's quiet for a moment that stretches out, listening to the sounds of lapping waves and sharp sea breeze. Then he nods, just as softly as the stranger asked. It's a slight gesture, but it's there. He doesn't mind. He thinks, maybe, he's glad someone approached, even if he's been seeking solitude here. The loneliness is..... consuming; Peter grips his blanket tighter and gives a slow exhale.

And it might seem like he won't speak at all, the strange wet-eyed young man, but after another few long moments of silence, he opens his mouth to mumble quietly. He looks upset, not at peace. Like he's not sure he believes what he's saying.

"It's nice out here, isn't it?"

Still moving slowly, Pyrrha kneels on the sand and folds her legs under her. Though time runs more quickly here, an explosive run of action and reaction, she sits with more patience than Patience. For a moment, there is no hurry or rush, nowhere else to be, even though she knows there are other things to do. Some small measure of time is owed to her (from herself, no one else).

"No," Pyrrha replies. The sea is many things. Nice isn't one of them. "There is a stillness in the movement of the water." Not a step back. A step forward toward something more honest. Something Mariana might like, that way. Truth over comfort in lies.

The answer surprises Peter, stirs him somewhat out of his odd haze, enough that he's looking over with a soft frown. It's how Peter functions — to hide away from what's scary, what's painful, what aches. Head buried in the sand, eyes squeezed shut, face pressed as hard as he can against the comfort of a blanket. He doesn't want to face what hurts. Too often, it means flinching back from the truth.

But the stranger responds bluntly, and says something that makes Peter's stomach coil with discomfort, because it makes him feel seen. A stillness in the movement of the water. Something waiting out there. He tenses against the tightness at the base of his throat, slightly nervous.

"....It scares me, a little," he admits, feeling like a ghost is speaking more than himself. He lets it speak, quietly, slowly, the words pulling themselves through him.

"But at the same time.... I can't stop looking at it."

And his eyes return there, resting on the dark waves. To what's calling out to him. The stranger's right; it's not nice. But it's alluring as much as it aches.

Pyrrha meets the boy's gaze, a mild challenge for honesty. Lying to others can be useful. Lying to yourself carries heavy consequences, as heavy as whatever one turns away from. His choice, this young man's, but once he included her in that lie, it isn't simply about him. They're both on this shore.

"That's a sign it's dangerous," Pyrrha states without judgment for the fear or the pull. Her trepidation is less personal, not about what the ocean could do to her but substantive even so.

"So we sit," she says, "Neither leaving nor going closer." That too takes effort, to defy gravity. She's felt the ache before, but it's strong enough Pyrrha refuses to listen, years of instinct sending up red flags before it gets too far.

Dangerous. Maybe part of him knew as much, too. Peter's no stranger to this place, by now. To places like it; Deerington was much the same. There were pulls there, places that tried to draw you in. He was always better at flinching away from them than some people, because of a fear already there in him, something worn so raw. He'd run before he could ever get close enough to be snared.

Now.... his fear feels further away, numbed down. He's so tired.

"How long can we keep doing that?" He mumbles softly, eyes drifting back up to look at the waves. He speaks slow and sluggish, as though sleepy, or drugged, or some mix of both. Mostly he's just sad. "Maybe it'd be better to get it over with. Whatever's going to happen... just let it happen."

Pyrrha gets up and moves before this young man, this kid, and blocks his view of the ocean. She crouches before him and keeps herself in his line of sight until he looks at her. A good portion of her heart is there, if she were her only concern. She gets it, she really does. It isn't inevitable, like the bottom of the River. This kid is here and alive and doesn't need to die, even temporarily. So fuck that.

"As long as we have to," Pyrrha tells him. She'll pick him up kicking and screaming if she has to. "Why are you thinking about giving up?" Pyrrha asks him. What has happened to him?

Peter looks up, a little startled as the person moves in front of him. If he were someone else, he might get irritated that his view's been blocked, might flash his fangs at this stranger.

But Peter stopped fighting a long time ago. He can't even remember when. He just sits there, wide-eyed, staring up at the stranger. The question pushes against a bruise within him, aches a little. It's so direct; it's forcing him to look exactly at what's been growing in him for a long time. He has to swallow before he can respond.

"Because... Because all I do is hurt people." It comes out whispered, almost ashamed. "I'm— I'm not good. I'm.... something bad. And that's not... it can't change. I'm always going to be this way."

Saying it out loud hurts more than he thought it would. His breath hitches; his fingers are digging into the sand on either side of him. His situation is a hopeless one, and there's nothing to be changed. He will always, always be this way.

He doesn't want to be anymore.

"Someone," Pyrrha says first. No matter what atrocities and personal pain he causes people-it's unlikely he can top John's "ten billion confirmed kills"-he's a person. Objectifying himself helps no one, not even him.

"Tell me what bad you are doing and why you cannot change that," Pyrrha says in a tone only a degree or two softer than she's used on John. When Peter wants to give up and die, what does he have to lose telling her? Even if he does, Pyrrha refuses to walk away from this wounded child doing nothing.

He hadn't even realised that he'd said it — and how much is behind that subtle difference in words. Something, he calls himself something. It's how he feels, he realises. A thing more than a person.

He's shaking his head slowly, frown deepening into something miserable. He doesn't want this stranger's mercy, doesn't deserve it. He deserves to be a something.

"I'm just—"

How to explain? That he doesn't go out of his way to hurt anyone, that he never would, but that it happens, and he's ruined everything, every single thing.

"—My soul's... It's bad." It sounds painfully childish, but Peter's wincing in his upset, genuine. A whimper kicks in at the back of his throat, and he stutters around it.

"I'm just a bad place. I'm evil. And you can't change what you are."

Pyrrha snorts, loudly. It's a sharp sudden sound, over nearly as soon as it begins.

"We're now Sleepers—squids," she says, "body and soul. You've already changed." It's an inherent aspect of being here. Pyrrha learned about it in John's office, her first day in that house proper.

She lifts one hand to forestall any argument about how that hasn't made him any less bad/evil/etc. People talk enough on the network about doing bad things partially or wholly against their will. Peter's hardly alone in that, and with certain exceptions, people generally accept that and move on.

"Regardless, you can change what you do," Pyrrha returns to her question. "What do you do that is bad or evil?"

His mouth opens but stays frozen as the stranger lifts their hand, his mind reeling quietly, heart skipping another odd beat. That's just it. The ways he's bad aren't because of this place affecting him. And they're not because of the demon, either. Not really.

Peter's hated who and what he is for a long time, even before the demon, even before he lost— everything. It was before that, because the wrong he'd done didn't come from demons or Hell or anything like that. And that's even worse. When he thinks of his soul, and he does so often these days, he pictures it wilted and black, curling in at the corners.

He's cringing at the question, backed against some corner. He could get up, he could leave — walk away from these questions and the answers connected to them, but could he really? When the ocean's right there, beckoning him in? He can't run from this, or the stranger (are they even really there? Is he talking to himself? He feels far away). He can only split open like a broken doll, seams breaking, things falling out. They come from his mouth, words let loose, things he can't ever say but somehow says now.

"I don't do anything. That's just it. I didn't do anything. I didn't stop her — didn't protect her from our Mom, didn't protect her from— from being left alone, and then she came to get me for help, but by then it was too late. Charlie was dying and it was too late, and she died because of me. Because I didn't do anything. And part of me always wanted her to go away, because maybe I didn't love her enough, and she's dead because of me. And I'm here and I'm like this because it's my punishment. Because I'm— I didn't do nothing. I'm nothing. I shouldn't exist, I'm just— taking up space that someone else could. Someone better."

He doesn't know when he started openly crying, but it takes him by surprise to find his cheeks and neck cold and wet, and his eyes hurt, and he's having a hard time breathing — sniffling wetly like a child.

His reactions say so much, and Pyrrha soaks as much detail in as she can. She lacks any sort of context to connect those reactions to. Peter hates himself. He cannot stand what he thinks of as who (what) he is. In the melting pot of worlds people come from, it could be he purposely spilled his blood or he fights for an empire whose actions cause millions of deaths. Those statements have completely different understandings, depending on who gets asked and on what information they have. All she can do is take it in with her training and experience and decide later what she makes of it.

He talks, and the tragedy is personal. No matter how broad the implications, it comes back to the loss of a loved sister (younger, she guesses) that he blames himself for. She thinks of Augustine and Alfred. Though they were far older, that pain has rung through the myriad and changed the course of history. That part is behind them. They're here in Trench, and it's here Peter must live.

Though Pyrrha has been cautious about physical contact (combat far easier than comforting strangers), she wraps her lean muscular arms around this young man and pulls him into a hug against the flat of her chest. She lets him cry as long as he needs. Words won't do much before that.

Once it gets quieter, Pyrrha continues to hug him. She says, "I cannot judge Charlie's death and your actions. I tell you this: you do exist, and you can do a lot fucking more than die." The kind of cutting but loving remarks a parent might give, one who raises their children right instead of killing them.

She pauses, curious, and leans back enough to watch his face.

"What do you mean space that someone else could take up?" She doesn't let that pass by, not with her history.

He's alone, and alone, until he isn't. There's a stranger suddenly holding onto him, firm, not hesitant or cautious. Not like he's something that hurts to hold onto.

If there were once anything in him that could flinch away from it, Peter can't feel it now. There's nothing of fight left in him, the way there hasn't been long before the ocean began this strange pull. He won't fight, can't, doesn't want to. He doesn't deserve to be held (that's what he'd fight against, led by his guilt), and yet he's sinking right into it like a trembling child. He's continuing to cry, some valve within him opened up and allowed to run freely. It's ugly, messy: his crying is wet and cold and noisy, loud sniffles inbetween hitches of breath and whine.

Eventually, it dies down, the way it has to. His body is tired; his chest hurts from the abrupt wrench and swell of tears. His eyes are impossibly heavy. He doesn't move on his own, but lets himself be moved by the stranger — lets them lean back so they can look at him, and Peter's reddened eyes are slowly moving up to meet the opposite pair. He can do a lot more than die...? He absorbs the thought, but a little numbly. He doesn't know if he can. What can he offer? What can he be but nothing? It bleeds into the question asked of him, and Peter's half-lidded.

"I'm a... waste. Don't you think— some people aren't supposed to... exist? Someone else could've been born if I wasn't. Someone else could be here."

...But there is someone else who could literally exist in his place, though he doesn't voice that thought further. Someone... something better. Powerful and useful and brave. Something that even suits this place so much better than he ever can. He's not stupid, he knows that. He knows this place is eating him away because he's not enough for it. He's not enough for anything.

"If I disappeared, it wouldn't matter. Not for long."

Edited 2022-09-23 04:05 (UTC)

One of her hands cups the back of Peter's head. It's loving and gentle but firm. She looks him right in the eye, red flecks in her brown eyes sparking, when she says, "No."

It's confident, calm, definitive.

No, he's not a waste. No, no one isn't supposed to exist. No, Peter isn't less than some hypothetical person. No, his brain isn't right. It's wrong. It's so very wrong it cannot tell.

She knows with the experience of a myriad how much people don't forget those that are gone. The cavaliers might be the closest people, but John... John cannot let go of what happened before the Resurrection. He cannot let go of what happened to some boy who sat on a beach and thought the world might have been better off without him (or the boy that sits in a garage with the engine running or the boy that doesn't look twice crossing the street or any of them). Wake can rail all she wants about the infants who died. John is the only one with a real sense of them.

"It would matter," Pyrrha says firmly, "as long as I am here. It would matter as long as Sleepers are here. It would matter until the world cracks apart and dies. We leave a larger footprint than we'll ever know."

Eternal rest may be what Peter wants. If that were it, a healthy understood desire for death, Pyrrha wouldn't stand in his way. This is as far from that as they are from the Nine Houses.

"If you crawl back into those waters from self-loathing, I will follow you in and drag your squishy tentacled ass clear of it," Pyrrha says. Don't ask her how she'll know which squid is him. She'll manage it. Somehow.

As exhausted as Pyrrha is, as much as she simply wants to lay down and to rest and to forget all the burdens and obligations she's taken on, as much as the sea calls to her, as much as she has suffered (surely, enough, by anyone's standards), Pyrrha stays on shore. She stays present.

He's been held that way, sometimes. Never back where he came from, but in the places after — the Dream, and Trench. His mother would never hold him so close. His father... might try, and only come halfway. Peter knew ever since he was young that he wasn't loved the way he wished he could be.

The gesture is supportive and warm and firm, and still a little alien to him. He stares, heavy eyelids lifting a bit, eyes widening slightly. Surprised, and maybe a little wary, but he doesn't move.

'It would matter,' the stranger says, and Peter's eyes almost immediately swell with a fresh wave of tears. It's so sudden that it surprises him, and he blinks, a little dumbfounded. He hasn't known until this very moment, maybe, that he always needed to hear such a thing. All of this is still so strange and dreamlike, this stranger here on this restless beach, their bluntness — using words that Peter's known but always kept swallowed down, because putting a name and shape to a thing makes it feel even closer.

Self-loathing, the stranger says. Just says it outright like that. Puts a form to how he's felt for most of his entire life.

He might laugh at the threat, ordinarily, but right now, all Peter can do is stare. Some part unnerved, some part awed. (Some part, so small and shaking, wishes to be held this way forever.)

"Why.... do you care? About me."

It's a whisper, the boy unable to bring his voice much louder than that, now. They don't even know him, have no attachment to him. Why do they hold him like this, try to help him?

Pyrrha closes her eyes, takes a few breaths, and mentally looks at a few of the more difficult moments in her life she can remember. Even those she's made peace with ache from damage that can never be fully fixed, not with leaving her her. The more recent memories stab sharp and deep.

She opens her eyes and takes another couple breaths. They hurt all the more for her decision to let Gideon be.

"I have been where you're sitting," Pyrrha answers, "or close enough. I was in a bad place." She's here isn't she? She's drawn to the beach too. "Someone I care about is in a bad position, lost his body, so his soul's piggybacking his best friend's body. It's a temporary fix. Eventually it'll kill one or both of them.

"I tried to pull that move. I offered myself up as free real estate." She motions to her body.

"It'd kill me, but I was fine with that. Call it a noble sacrifice and be off the hook for handling any other shit, for giving up. He said no, and they needed me. God knows what they'd do without me. So there I was, until I came here." She'd offered it again that morning. It hasn't even been a month since that happened.

"No hypothetical. I could've died so someone else got to live, a good person. It was wrong then. It's definitely wrong now," Pyrrha says. She leans her forehead against his briefly.

After another moment, Pyrrha adds, "I've been through too much hell for people I never met to live to let one I have kill himself."

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magic, madness, heaven, sin

— Pyrrha (cw: suicidal themes will be involved in this thread)

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cw: hella suicical ideation things

Re: cw: hella suicical ideation things/suicide references

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CW: extreme depression, suicide/self-sacrifice discussion