Hello, everyone! after dealing with real life and the other nonsense of living, panny and i have decided to bring back war of change. give a round of applause. we’ve worked through all of the information and hopefully improved coherency and cohesion; however, tell us if we missed something. eventually, we’ll announce an event to celebrate the re-opening, so look out for information on that. -RAIDNE, THE HEAD ADMIN
From the moonless night, screams of terror and fear resound, spreading across the world and infecting the masses; however, those sleepless nights occurred years ago. A new era began with the fires of war, and with no end in sight, the residents of Selene Isle trudge through life, basking in the momentary peace. Despite their prayers for continued monotony and peace, a storm brews, stirred to life by the continued presence of Rapture and Wraith. And as we set our sights on the seemingly peace laden isle, we must ask: how shall this tale end?
As the years passed, the number of true pairs increased; however, they continued to live in the shadows, catering to the whims of the mundane. Seven Moons kept watch over them all, instructing them and assisting them, but for many, the attitudes and ideals of the organization were smoldering, suffocating. With Seven Moons and the mundanes, they could not grasp the freedom, the power dangling before their eyes. In the beginning, rebellion was a dream, a fantasy, a figment—developed by the repressed and carried forward due to the nature of humanity. No one expected the call to sound, and no one expected the call to be answered. However, it happened.
"Ah, here's the bouquet," smiled the petite blue from her place behind the counter, offering her customer a receipt and a soft bow of her head "Give my best to your wife, I hope she recovers quickly."
Watching the elderly man tip his head to her and exit the store, Miel stepped around the counter to pick up a few branches of queen anne's lace for the next order she would piece together. She had made quite a few recovery bouquets lately and was beginning to wonder if something might be in the water. Usually there were certain times of year for certain occasions; spring date bunches, winter holiday wreaths, pastel Easter boxes, things like that. She was used to making big, beautiful displays for welcoming a new baby, or long-awaited anniversaries, but she couldn't help but feel a little brought down by how many beautiful flowers were being brought together to mourn the wounds of family and friends. Those kinds of orders always left her feeling a little heavy.
That morning, Miel had been determined to have a good way, she had picked out her sweetest outfit; a peach dress and a lace cardigan, and she had tucked her long hair into a disorderly bun, decorated with baby's breath. Her bright demeanour had not flaked in front of all the customers she had greeted so far, but it was beginning to wear thin after her third solemn bouquet of the day.
All she wanted to do was throw stephanotis and dandelions at people until their unhappiness faded away.
Miel had grown quite attached to the various meanings flowers were said to have, choosing to add these details in when she made bouquets. She liked to send people off with beautiful groupings of flowers that not only looked lovely but also held the emotions she wished for those people to experience, or those which related to their particular situations at the time. It was something she was very proud to have learned during her time working in the shop, she even kept a small pocket book on hand for the extra tricky flowers.
After collecting a bunch of plumosa fern, queen anne's lace, spirea, and clematis, Miel began to prepare the flowers to create a bouquet of mental sanctuary and victorious beauty. This bouquet was not so much for her next customer as it was for herself, a fact she hoped would not seem obvious to anyone she worked with, or worse; her customers.
I'M FALLING APART AGAIN AND I CAN'T FIND A WAY TO MAKE AMENDS
callisto watched the milling crowds from his second floor window. his job granted him an opportunity to gift individuals with the briefest moments of joy. the bouquets consisted of various meanings, and they were created with specific incidents and occasions in mind. people rarely stopped to dwell upon the hidden meanings of the beautiful flora creations, preferring to rush forward with their lives and to toss aside their fragile hearts without regard to the outcome. humanity became accustomed to a certain lifestyle, which produced broken hearts and courted misunderstandings. the pastel haired sacrifice understood the implications behind the bouquet orders, staring at them in dismay and feeling his heart break slowly and steadily. in the end, his heart seemed numb and unable to crack any further as he pushed himself away from the kitchen counter, figure swaying dangerously as he glanced around the space. an electric current traced through selene isle, affecting people at random and hinting toward a impending future event. the possibilities were endless; however, he could not dwell on the future and needed to remain firmly rooted in the future.
unlike the limitless routes of the unwritten future, his past haunted him, set in stone and constantly reaching out to grab him. pale purple colored eyes shifted to stare at his arm, which was hidden behind his shirt sleeve. underneath the loose fabric, pale scars stretched across the thin joint, and in recent months, the cuts had risen higher and higher on his arm. his right hand settled over his left wrist, fingers wrapping around the appendage and tightening subtly as the seconds passed. his life seemed to be spiraling beyond his control despite the simplicity of his existence. with a mournful sigh, he released his wrist, letting his right hand swing back to rest at his side. chiming of the bell filled the room, slipping into the space from the store below. time to return to work, he breathed, voice shattering the comfortable silence of the living space.
with unsteady steps, he began walking. each step brought him further and further from his sanctuary, and upon reaching the door to the staircase, he paused and searched the brilliant sea of flowers from above. pale lips quirked into a sincere smile upon catching a glimpse of blue underneath him. his young clerk had busied herself with a bouquet. pale brows furrowed as he proceeded down the stairs, one hand clinging to the railing, and with nearly silent steps, he approached the woman. as the distance between them diminished, he caught sight of the flowers being arranged in the bouquet—plumosa fern, queen anne’s lace, spirea, and clematis. the arrangement meant mental sanctuary and victorious beauty; however, callisto did not recall an order requesting such an arrangement. miel? he called out hesitantly, fingers tugging at the hem of his sleeves and disrupting the fit of his shirt, and despite his hesitant call, he did not know whether to inquire about the bouquet or not.
