Night 21

[passingships]

I've always thought souls were the most fascinating things - even more so when they lacked tangibility. Yet, having been shown the physical - or perhaps I should say spiritual? magical? - form of one, I find myself even more intrigued.

Those eyeless men so many have warned about: at least one of their souls is crimson, braided with shadow. Perhaps that will mean something to someone. Perhaps it will not. If the former, I'd like to know what it means to you or whether, perhaps, you see them in a different light.

It seems that red is the basic colour of the soul and the darkness is rot. Has anyone seen aught to contradict this?

Comments

So late with this, but here goes

[angel_of_death]

Perhaps you were not seeing only one soul.

[passingships]

More than one, you say? Is that possible?

[angel_of_death]

It is more than possible.

Those eyeless men, as so many call them, are hosts to another existence which changes them, has control over them, and sometimes acts through them.

[passingships]

Interesting. Are you implying that this second existence is related to the blackness threaded through the soul I saw?

[angel_of_death]

What did the threading look like?

[passingships]

Thick lines of darkness twisted through their entire body, like nerves.

[angel_of_death]

[Like nerves? Interesting.]

Nerves are what control what you feel and how you react in the physical sense, right?

[After a pause, he tacks on an addendum.]

Would you say the blackness follows the same paths as the actual nerves of the body?

[passingships]

Yes, on both counts. Intriguing, don't you think?

[angel_of_death]

I agree. And to answer your question before, yes. From what you have shared, I expect it is his doing.

[passingships]

That mysterious existence called 'Sorrow' I see mentioned on prior pages, yes? He's - or it - is an interesting fellow. We discussed philosophy some time ago and I've now been introduced to the tangible soul.

[angel_of_death]

I'm curious. What philosophy did he claim to embrace?

[passingships]

I didn't ask. He cut off my head to show me that death is not the end here and then encouraged me to pursue knowledge. The books he's given me have been fascinating.

[angel_of_death]

Really? What are they about?

[passingships]

The first he gave me was a commentary on philosophy. Its pages reflected more cynical perspectives in certain light and positioning.

The second spoke of the colours of the soul. Red seems to be the average man or woman. There are other colours for certain types of individuals. It's not unlike how my society structures itself.

Would you like to see them?

[angel_of_death]

I can't promise I'd understand a word of it. You might have to explain it to me.

[passingships]

That's fine. Although if you can already read and write that is good enough.

Where would you like to meet?

[angel_of_death]

The gardens and the town are both good places. I can meet you in the town square at first light in the morning.

[He was feeling better than he had at the end of the day, but he was still under strict bedrest. He wasn't even allowed to leave the room.]

[passingships]

Very well. I will meet you then. Who shall I look for?

[angel_of_death]

Do you know what a lighter looks like?

[passingships]

Depends on which century said lighter is from. Or world.

[angel_of_death]

[Well... he probably should have thought of that. Damned illness, fogging up his mind. But no matter. He could still describe it.]

A 1941 Zippo with a brushed chrome finish. Do you know what that looks like?

[passingships]

I'm acquainted with that brand, yes. I'll keep an eye out for someone with that, then?

[angel_of_death]

Yes.

Time skip to Day 22 (i'm lazy)

[passingships]

'Find me at first light,' they had said. Shougo made his way to the town square as the sun's pale fingers crept over the walls, throwing cold shadows and intermittent warmth across each dwelling. Perhaps he was too early, he mused to himself as he leaned against the stone well, hands in pockets. The hours he kept were not like most others. Even here, with day and night stretched beyond their normal frames, Shougo was reasonably certain he continued to sleep no more than a few sparse hours at a time.

No matter. If he was early then he would wait for his contact. He had brought a book - the book - with him to read. Shougo thumbed through the pages and settled on a chapter. Thus he remained and would remain until the town roused itself from slumber.

[angel_of_death]

First light. Early in the morning yet, Walter made his way outside.

The smell of breakfast clung to his clothes; fresh bread, sweet fruit, and clotted cream. He wore the servant's uniform this morning, fingers clad in insulated grey gloves cradling and rotating the chrome lighter in his palm.

There was a man outside already, and in the dim light of the dawn Walter could see him reading in the distance.

He waited until he was actually near to speak up. "Are you the bloke with an interesting book then?"

He kept the tone light. Conversational.