Scene: Secrets Beneath the MoonflowersThe garden was bathed in eerie, silver light—moonflowers breathing softly, casting violet shadows across the dew-dark earth. Rossie sat cross-legged beside Eli by the edge of a gnarled jasmine bush, the night's silence heavy with secrets and unspoken fears.
Eli's lantern flickered, haloing his sharp features as he leaned against the old sundial. Rossie's knees bobbed with nervous energy, her fingers tangled in the hem of her sweater.
She broke the silence first, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "Eli… There are rumors swirling around. About a power—not just magic, but something darker. Something called mistura'." Her eyes found Eli's, pleading. "Michael is missing. Some people… they say he might be connected to it. That he could, somehow, be the next vessel."
Eli gazed at the lantern's small flame, lips pressed in a thin line. "The mistura'…" His voice held reverence and dread in equal measure. "She's not just magic, Rossie. Mistura' is the goddess of calamity, older than the parador. The parador bends animals—but mistura'? She can compel anything with eyes and breath. Animal and human alike." His face darkened. "If Michael falls to her… he could turn anyone—everyone—against themselves. Even your closest friends."
The garden seemed to recoil with his words. The moonflowers' glow waned, as if afraid.
Rossie's hands tightened around a stem. "What do we do? If there's a way to save Michael, I want it. There has to be something besides… hurting him."
Eli was quiet for a long moment. Then, somberly: "There are only two ways. The first is to kill the vessel—banishing mistura' back into the ancient book. Painful, yes, but clean. The second…" He turned his lantern to Rossie, his eyes all shadow and sorrow. "You could journey into the other world—through the Altar of Abyss. Face mistura' yourself, and try to seal her away in the abyss forever."
Rossie's heartbeat thundered. "And come back?"
His answer was a whisper: "Maybe. Using the altar means you'll enter dead sleep—your body vulnerable here. For a day, if you're lucky. But if you fail… you'll never wake up. Mistura' shows no mercy—not even to the brave."
A cold wind slid through the garden. Rossie's breath fogged in the air, her thoughts fracturing—kill Michael to save him, or risk her soul to the abyss. Neither choice felt like hope.
Eli placed a gloved hand on her shoulder, gentle but insistent. "You're not meant to do this alone, Rossie. But you have to choose. Some evils won't wait for the dawn."
Silence fell, broken only by the softest hiss of wind through jasmine. And in Rossie's heart, confusion and terror bloomed beside the moonflowers—a question with no gentle answer, and only shadows ahead.
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The garden was bathed in eerie, silver light—moonflowers breathing softly, casting violet shadows across the dew-dark earth.
Rossie sat cross-legged beside Eli by the edge of a gnarled jasmine bush, the night's silence heavy with secrets and unspoken fears.
The air felt thick, almost electric, as if the very atmosphere was charged with the weight of their conversation.
Eli's lantern flickered, haloing his sharp features as he leaned against the old sundial, its shadow stretching like a warning across the ground.
Rossie's knees bobbed with nervous energy, her fingers tangled in the hem of her sweater, twisting the fabric as if it could somehow anchor her to the moment, to reality.
She broke the silence first, her voice trembling like a leaf caught in a gust.
"Eli… There are rumors swirling around. About a power....not just magic, but something darker.
Something called mistura'." Her eyes found Eli's, pleading, desperate for reassurance.
"Michael is missing. Some people… they say he might be connected to it. That he could, somehow, be the next vessel."
Eli's gaze shifted to the lantern's small flame, his expression hardening, lips pressed in a thin line.
"The mistura'…" His voice held a reverence that chilled her to the bone.
"She's not just magic, Rossie. Mistura' is the goddess of calamity, older than the parador.
The parador bends animals—but mistura'? She can compel anything with eyes and breath. Animal and human alike." His face darkened, shadows dancing across his features.
"If Michael falls to her… he could turn anyone...everyone....against themselves. Even your closest friends."
The garden seemed to recoil with his words, the moonflowers' glow dimming as if they too were afraid.
Rossie's heart raced, pounding against her ribcage like a caged bird desperate to escape.
"What do we do? If there's a way to save Michael, I want it. There has to be something besides… hurting him."
Eli was quiet for a long moment, the weight of his thoughts pressing down like the oppressive night air.
Then, somberly, he spoke.
"There are only two ways. The first is to kill the vessel—banishing mistura' back into the ancient book. Painful, yes, but clean. "
"The second…" He turned his lantern to Rossie, his eyes dark pools of shadow and sorrow.
"Someone, maybe You could journey into the other world—through the Altar of Abyss. Face mistura' yourself, and try to seal her away in the abyss forever."
Rossie's heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out the night's whispers.
"And come back?" The question hung in the air, heavy with dread.
His answer was a whisper, barely audible above the rustling leaves.
"Maybe. Using the altar means you'll enter dead sleep—your body vulnerable here. For a day, if you're lucky. But if you fail… you'll never wake up. Mistura' shows no mercy—not even to the brave."
A cold wind slid through the garden, wrapping around her like a shroud.
Rossie's breath fogged in the air, her thoughts fracturing....kill Michael to save him, or risk her soul to the abyss. Neither choice felt like hope; both felt like a descent into darkness.
Eli placed a gloved hand on her shoulder, gentle but insistent, grounding her in the storm of her emotions.
"You're not meant to do this alone, Rossie. But you have to choose. Some evils won't wait for the dawn."
Silence fell, thick and suffocating, broken only by the softest hiss of wind through jasmine.
In Rossie's heart, confusion and terror bloomed beside the moonflowers—a question with no gentle answer, and only shadows ahead.
The weight of her decision pressed down on her, a heavy stone in her chest, as the garden seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her choice.
The night stretched on, dark and full of foreboding, as the moonflowers whispered secrets only the brave dared to hear.