occupation: keeper of a withered bracing neurodivergence: huskshedder. under care of sister leaeth of the sixth gate
likes: warm neosoil
dislikes: SunNet shadowbans
blood type: a-
‘But there’s not much time. There will have to be other sanctuaries as well protected as the Gardens of the Queen.’
The Epsilon threading is recovered from a crush dreaming, unspun while coastered out. This sojourn will make its way to Ceriel only after the light fleets away. The gardencity has held secrets from ancient bud. They blossom in petaldance to the eyes of those who stare not at the mist but at the neo-soil below. Ponder their footwork. Careful as they toe across chalk shadows. Etched spectres of those bleachnuked long before into this ghosthood. This is what is meant. In that lost heartbeat belched up from loam there will always be a pattern. Strung through the limbs that push and pull. It is for the desperate, the drowned in ichor, to try to see through the black gloop. To make out the sky past the surface which no light ever breaks through. Those who stare at earth exhume it instead.
likes: armcrate stashes, rearguard backs
dislikes: vapesmoke chemtrails
blood type: ???
occupation: choked girl
likes: good mindfits, bad hair, moon omens
dislikes: valley doll flooze,
blood type: 0+
“The spider has taken the same amino acids that are in your hair, skin, body and has put them together to make a beautiful continuous filament with perfect crystallinity.”
But in the only outward radius that matters, the smoothness of her silver is so severe that it ripples the way a whisper stirs over the breathless stillness of the water. You can count on it to crease out some soft patterns before the water settles back to placid serenity.
Well, the only settling this ghost is doing is settling in. And as they commune within her foundation she soon feels it’s the ghost’s foundation and not hers. As if she’s lost in some forest of shadows. What’s a forest? Is that a Hub? But Hubs are never dark. I can’t help you, she says. I’ve never seen a forest.
The ghost is greedy. It’s already attached itself to her where her mem cores the spark of her current, her glyphic pulse, drawing strength to translate itself into another way to read it. That was mine first, she wants to say. But her inner voice is saying something else. Take all you can. You’ll need it for the way home.
-excerpt from Sigma threading crossflow, rivered to via archival by codex ghoster id-claimed as ‘the wren.’