Stay in character. Whisper what you’d never say out loud.
Instructions:
The character above you has whispered something. Maybe a secret, a kindness, a confession, or a threat. React IC to what they said. Then leave a whisper of your own for the next person to discover.
Example:
The person above you whispers:
“I watched you sleep. I wanted to kiss you, but I didn’t.”
Your IC reaction (post as your character):
“You should have tried. But you’d be waking up with a dagger now.”
Then, leave your whisper for the next person:
I’ll start us off with my whisper for the next character.
“I’ve always felt different from my kind… but not quite like this. Maybe it’s because I’m on earth? Maybe it’s because my wings are now black so everyone can see how different I am? Or maybe something inside me is simply broken?
Instructions:
The character above you has whispered something. Maybe a secret, a kindness, a confession, or a threat. React IC to what they said. Then leave a whisper of your own for the next person to discover.
Example:
The person above you whispers:
“I watched you sleep. I wanted to kiss you, but I didn’t.”
Your IC reaction (post as your character):
“You should have tried. But you’d be waking up with a dagger now.”
Then, leave your whisper for the next person:
I’ll start us off with my whisper for the next character.
☾ 𓆩 𓋹 𓆪 ☽
“I’ve always felt different from my kind… but not quite like this. Maybe it’s because I’m on earth? Maybe it’s because my wings are now black so everyone can see how different I am? Or maybe something inside me is simply broken?
Reaction:
"You're not broken, little angel. When I landed on earth my wings turned red. You are marked but not sullied. You still radiate the rays of heaven as long as you stay loyal to God. And I have seen how well your heart still works. You are not broken."
Whisper for the next:
"There is an itch you cannot scratch. A need impossible to satisfy without partaking in the depths of sin. I do not create the sin but I feed from it. Sin for me and make me strong."
"You're not broken, little angel. When I landed on earth my wings turned red. You are marked but not sullied. You still radiate the rays of heaven as long as you stay loyal to God. And I have seen how well your heart still works. You are not broken."
Whisper for the next:
"There is an itch you cannot scratch. A need impossible to satisfy without partaking in the depths of sin. I do not create the sin but I feed from it. Sin for me and make me strong."
Reaction:
" Emperor deliver us... Come forth Wretch ! I hearken not to the foul tongue which bequeaths gilded lies what preys on mortal souls and delights in their ruin, my faith does not falter. Come forth and receive the Emperor's judgement ! Your reckoning awaits at the end of mine chainsword ! "
Whisper for the next:
" Put an end to this impudence against me, I am Aleksandr Von Drakenfell, Lord General of the Astra Militarum and I will not be mocked. "
" Emperor deliver us... Come forth Wretch ! I hearken not to the foul tongue which bequeaths gilded lies what preys on mortal souls and delights in their ruin, my faith does not falter. Come forth and receive the Emperor's judgement ! Your reckoning awaits at the end of mine chainsword ! "
Whisper for the next:
" Put an end to this impudence against me, I am Aleksandr Von Drakenfell, Lord General of the Astra Militarum and I will not be mocked. "
“Lord General, was it? Funny… that title didn’t stop your hand from trembling when I looked at you.”
Her voice barely carries, honey-sweet and laced with something unspoken. Her gaze lingers a second longer than comfort allows, lips parting in a near-smile before she turns her head just enough to whisper behind her shoulder.
☾ 𓆩 𓋹 𓆪 ☽
“I remember my first kill. She looked just like you.”
Her voice barely carries, honey-sweet and laced with something unspoken. Her gaze lingers a second longer than comfort allows, lips parting in a near-smile before she turns her head just enough to whisper behind her shoulder.
☾ 𓆩 𓋹 𓆪 ☽
“I remember my first kill. She looked just like you.”
“If your first kill wore my face, then you did not kill a person. You killed a mirror. You have been genuflecting to that moment ever since, hoping the echo will absolve you.
Do not offer it to me as omen or leverage. I am not your penance. I am not your repetition. If you see me in the dead, it is because your conscience is still practicing its teeth.”
My whisper for the next person:
“I have spared people who deserved my ire. I still do not know why.”
Do not offer it to me as omen or leverage. I am not your penance. I am not your repetition. If you see me in the dead, it is because your conscience is still practicing its teeth.”
My whisper for the next person:
“I have spared people who deserved my ire. I still do not know why.”
“Maybe spare them would punish them more than simple death, sometimes I wished rather leave the game of life than be punished again.” says the doe with a trembling voice.
“Nature is stronger than you think, I know you cherish nature, or don’t you?”
“Nature is stronger than you think, I know you cherish nature, or don’t you?”
Huh? Cherries nature? This one like cherries.
A stick be baby tree, change this one's mind.
A stick be baby tree, change this one's mind.
She arched a brow so high it nearly touched her crown. Her silk-gloved fingers idly adjusted the drape of her coat as though brushing off the entire exchange.
“Oh, darling. If I wanted wisdom from tree-huggers and toddlers, I’d host a nature walk. But thank you for that dazzling display of incoherence. Riveting.”
She turned, heel clicking, voice lowering into a purr that somehow managed to drip venom.
“I see through your performance. I know you’re giving something up to be acknowledged, admired, adored. So tell me… how much of yourself did you trade for that spotlight?”
“Oh, darling. If I wanted wisdom from tree-huggers and toddlers, I’d host a nature walk. But thank you for that dazzling display of incoherence. Riveting.”
She turned, heel clicking, voice lowering into a purr that somehow managed to drip venom.
“I see through your performance. I know you’re giving something up to be acknowledged, admired, adored. So tell me… how much of yourself did you trade for that spotlight?”
Tonatiuh threw his head back like the ceiling itself had delivered the joke, one hand pressed to his chest in a parody of injury. “Oh no. Not the sermon.” He fanned himself with invisible lace, eyes glittering with delighted contempt. “Listen to you. ‘Performance.’ ‘Trade.’ ‘Spotlight.’ You talk like applause is a crime scene and I am the suspect with glitter on my hands.”
He stepped closer, not to intimidate, but to ensure she could not mistake him for anyone who would shrink. “Sweetheart, I did not barter myself for admiration. I curated admiration. I trained the room. I taught it taste the way one teaches a feral dog not to bite the hand holding the meat.” His smile sharpened. “And it worked. Obviously.”
His gaze dropped, then rose again, slow and theatrical, as if he were unveiling a disappointing garment on a mannequin. “But you.” He made a small noise of grief, dramatic enough to deserve a spotlight of its own. “You are dressed like a vow of silence. Austerity is not a personality. It is what people wear when they cannot afford imagination.” He clicked his tongue once, crisp as scissors.
“And before you try to moralize at me, understand this. I do not speak poverty.” He gestured to her plainly, as though pointing out a stain. “Not in coin. Not in culture. Not in cloth. If your wardrobe is allergic to beauty, that is your private tragedy, not my public obligation.” He tilted his head, eyes bright with feigned concern. “You want to know how much of myself I ‘traded’?” He spread his arms, as if presenting an exhibit. “None. I simply refused to live as a draft. I became the final piece.”
Then he smiled wider, sweetly vicious. “And darling, if you’re going to interrogate someone about the spotlight, at least arrive looking like you’ve met it. Because right now your garb is as plain as your face, and I am not fluent in beige.”
"Just because life can be dreary doesn't mean we can't liven it up with some color."
He stepped closer, not to intimidate, but to ensure she could not mistake him for anyone who would shrink. “Sweetheart, I did not barter myself for admiration. I curated admiration. I trained the room. I taught it taste the way one teaches a feral dog not to bite the hand holding the meat.” His smile sharpened. “And it worked. Obviously.”
His gaze dropped, then rose again, slow and theatrical, as if he were unveiling a disappointing garment on a mannequin. “But you.” He made a small noise of grief, dramatic enough to deserve a spotlight of its own. “You are dressed like a vow of silence. Austerity is not a personality. It is what people wear when they cannot afford imagination.” He clicked his tongue once, crisp as scissors.
“And before you try to moralize at me, understand this. I do not speak poverty.” He gestured to her plainly, as though pointing out a stain. “Not in coin. Not in culture. Not in cloth. If your wardrobe is allergic to beauty, that is your private tragedy, not my public obligation.” He tilted his head, eyes bright with feigned concern. “You want to know how much of myself I ‘traded’?” He spread his arms, as if presenting an exhibit. “None. I simply refused to live as a draft. I became the final piece.”
Then he smiled wider, sweetly vicious. “And darling, if you’re going to interrogate someone about the spotlight, at least arrive looking like you’ve met it. Because right now your garb is as plain as your face, and I am not fluent in beige.”
"Just because life can be dreary doesn't mean we can't liven it up with some color."
Kyria glanced down at herself. A soft lavender dress. Silver thread at the cuffs. A moonstone ring Cassiel had given her. She turned one wrist slightly to catch the light.
“Um… I’m not wearing beige,” she said aloud, uncertain. “I don’t even own anything beige.”
She looked up again, expression thoughtful, as if she were genuinely trying to puzzle out what had just happened. “Was that all directed at Vivianne, or am I supposed to answer the last line?” she murmured, then gave a tiny shrug and offered a whisper of her own.
“Everyone keeps saying I’m meant to be here. But the ground sometimes doesn’t feel like mine.”
“Um… I’m not wearing beige,” she said aloud, uncertain. “I don’t even own anything beige.”
She looked up again, expression thoughtful, as if she were genuinely trying to puzzle out what had just happened. “Was that all directed at Vivianne, or am I supposed to answer the last line?” she murmured, then gave a tiny shrug and offered a whisper of her own.
“Everyone keeps saying I’m meant to be here. But the ground sometimes doesn’t feel like mine.”
Kyria wrote:
Kyria glanced down at herself. A soft lavender dress. Silver thread at the cuffs. A moonstone ring Cassiel had given her. She turned one wrist slightly to catch the light.
“Um… I’m not wearing beige,” she said aloud, uncertain. “I don’t even own anything beige.”
She looked up again, expression thoughtful, as if she were genuinely trying to puzzle out what had just happened. Then, with a soft blink and a tiny shrug, she offered a whisper of her own, in case that’s what was supposed to happen next.
“Everyone keeps saying I’m meant to be here. But the ground sometimes doesn’t feel like mine.”
“Um… I’m not wearing beige,” she said aloud, uncertain. “I don’t even own anything beige.”
She looked up again, expression thoughtful, as if she were genuinely trying to puzzle out what had just happened. Then, with a soft blink and a tiny shrug, she offered a whisper of her own, in case that’s what was supposed to happen next.
“Everyone keeps saying I’m meant to be here. But the ground sometimes doesn’t feel like mine.”
It was only the final line. Rest was to the person above me
The soft hush of water accompanied her as she emerged, delicate and otherworldly. 🌊✨
[ii]She had not spoken yet. Not when others raised their voices. Not when thorns were thrown like roses. 🌹🗡️ But Kyria’s whisper had touched her.
“I know that feeling… of standing in a place everyone says is yours yet still feeling like a guest.”🐚💭
The mermaid’s voice was soft, hushed, and meant for Kyria alone. 💧 “You’re not quite human. I can feel it. But still, my people would still warn me away.” ⚠️
——-
She smiled as she whispered, a shimmer of wonder in her eyes. ✨👀
“But I watch. All the time. I can’t help it. The way land dwellers move, laugh, and dreams…it’s like sunlight over water. ☀️🌊 And I want to know more.” 💙”
[ii]She had not spoken yet. Not when others raised their voices. Not when thorns were thrown like roses. 🌹🗡️ But Kyria’s whisper had touched her.
“I know that feeling… of standing in a place everyone says is yours yet still feeling like a guest.”🐚💭
The mermaid’s voice was soft, hushed, and meant for Kyria alone. 💧 “You’re not quite human. I can feel it. But still, my people would still warn me away.” ⚠️
——-
She smiled as she whispered, a shimmer of wonder in her eyes. ✨👀
“But I watch. All the time. I can’t help it. The way land dwellers move, laugh, and dreams…it’s like sunlight over water. ☀️🌊 And I want to know more.” 💙”
It is easier to admire a wild beast from afar, I could say the same of the oceans, that there is some majesty in the breaching of the cachalot or the shimmering emerald scales of a sea serpent and what would you say to me if I said I wish to take a scull to meet them or to dive in the waves amongst them? there are the parts you haven't seen, like what a city looks like in the aftermath of a siege, a caravan after its been raided by brigands and the bitter cruelties dealt among their own for the most menial of transgressions.
If I take you amongst them, you must promise not to be enthralled by such tales for in the least you will find yourself deceived and in the worst dead. The beauty of all things in nature is underlined by the ravages undertaken to survive.
--
"How long have we been on this rock? Seven days? Three months? The cycles of the sun have lost their mirth to me, our perimeter is thinning and the men are reaching their limit. If we don’t break this stalemate soon, we won't be counting days anymore we’ll be strewn on the slope"
If I take you amongst them, you must promise not to be enthralled by such tales for in the least you will find yourself deceived and in the worst dead. The beauty of all things in nature is underlined by the ravages undertaken to survive.
--
"How long have we been on this rock? Seven days? Three months? The cycles of the sun have lost their mirth to me, our perimeter is thinning and the men are reaching their limit. If we don’t break this stalemate soon, we won't be counting days anymore we’ll be strewn on the slope"
Freydis didn’t look away from the man who’d spoken, though the weight of his words pressed were heavy. She had seen ruined caravans. Had stepped over bodies. Had heard men pray to gods they didn’t believe in when the sky offered no answer.
But still.
“I don’t think wonder is a lie,” she said softly. “It’s just… what survives when fear and blood have taken everything else.”
She looked at him then, not as a child of war but as a woman who’d walked the long road after it.
“You speak of survival. I speak of choosing more than that.”
—
“I slept with a dagger beneath my pillow for years… even after the danger was gone. I think part of me misses being targeted. At least then I knew what to fight.”
But still.
“I don’t think wonder is a lie,” she said softly. “It’s just… what survives when fear and blood have taken everything else.”
She looked at him then, not as a child of war but as a woman who’d walked the long road after it.
“You speak of survival. I speak of choosing more than that.”
—
“I slept with a dagger beneath my pillow for years… even after the danger was gone. I think part of me misses being targeted. At least then I knew what to fight.”
Melanie tilted her head to the side, studying the lovely woman without emotion. Her observations were weak, but authentic nonetheless. “I don’t think you miss being targeted; I think you said it yourself already. You miss certainty.”
If she had the strength to offer sympathy, she would, but instead her supposed-to-be-comforting smile fell flat. ”You’re no longer fighting. You’re running. Embrace the unknown and allow yourself the space to stop living in a state of constant fear.”
***
“I’m far more dangerous than I appear on the surface, everyone just writes me off as crazy.” Grinning widely (or more so baring her teeth), Melanie’s eyes glistened, whether with unshed tears or pure elation was unknown. ”Which is true. But only a part of the picture.” Leaning forward conspiratorially, she whispered the last part almost inaudibly.
“If someone saw the whole picture… they’d go blind.”
If she had the strength to offer sympathy, she would, but instead her supposed-to-be-comforting smile fell flat. ”You’re no longer fighting. You’re running. Embrace the unknown and allow yourself the space to stop living in a state of constant fear.”
***
“I’m far more dangerous than I appear on the surface, everyone just writes me off as crazy.” Grinning widely (or more so baring her teeth), Melanie’s eyes glistened, whether with unshed tears or pure elation was unknown. ”Which is true. But only a part of the picture.” Leaning forward conspiratorially, she whispered the last part almost inaudibly.
“If someone saw the whole picture… they’d go blind.”
Kyria’s lashes lowered, her voice barely more than breath. “You are dangerous because you survived things that should have unmade you, not because you are broken.”
Her whisper for the next soul:
“Have you ever been kissed like a secret?
Not a trophy, not a promise, but something too sacred to speak aloud?”
Her whisper for the next soul:
“Have you ever been kissed like a secret?
Not a trophy, not a promise, but something too sacred to speak aloud?”
Tempest looked stunned at the question’s phrasing, as if being kept as a secret was an honor. ”We have vastly varied viewpoints on being kissed in the dark.” Her form flickered in and out of view as she spoke, emphasizing her words. ”Secrets almost always get exposed in my experience. Unfortunately, most of those who prefer to hide their choices, tend to be ashamed of them.”
***
Tempest took a deep breath. She gathered her courage. Then, in a pace much quicker than human ears could catch every word of, she whispered. ”I’ve been running for so long, I’m afraid to stop. If I do, I’m concerned I’ll collide with my past, crash land and erupt in a furious flame of my own creation. Taking that risk, giving up that control, is more terrifying than anything else I’ve faced.”
***
Tempest took a deep breath. She gathered her courage. Then, in a pace much quicker than human ears could catch every word of, she whispered. ”I’ve been running for so long, I’m afraid to stop. If I do, I’m concerned I’ll collide with my past, crash land and erupt in a furious flame of my own creation. Taking that risk, giving up that control, is more terrifying than anything else I’ve faced.”
The whisper hit harder than it should have. Adam turned his head slightly, as if listening to a sound the rest of the world couldn’t hear. His voice, when it came, was low. Careful.
“You’re not the only one who’s afraid to stop running. But… you won’t erupt. You’ll burn steady. I can feel it in you.”
And then, for the next traveler through:
“I dream of blood even when I pray. I think I was made to protect… but I destroy more often than not. And sometimes, I like it.”
“You’re not the only one who’s afraid to stop running. But… you won’t erupt. You’ll burn steady. I can feel it in you.”
And then, for the next traveler through:
“I dream of blood even when I pray. I think I was made to protect… but I destroy more often than not. And sometimes, I like it.”
“Same, girl! Same! EEK!”
“Hey.” She leans in to whisper, eyes darting left and right.
“It says gullible on the ceiling.”
There wasn’t, in fact, anything written on the ceiling.
“Hey.” She leans in to whisper, eyes darting left and right.
“It says gullible on the ceiling.”
There wasn’t, in fact, anything written on the ceiling.
Kyria glanced upward anyway, a faint smile touching her lips. “I looked… and maybe that says more about me than the ceiling.”
Kyria’s new whisper for the next person:
“Sometimes I wonder if we joke because we’re brave… or because we’re afraid someone might see how much we actually hurt.”
Kyria’s new whisper for the next person:
“Sometimes I wonder if we joke because we’re brave… or because we’re afraid someone might see how much we actually hurt.”
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