shokhan — Roleplayer Guild

On a red-stained sheet, sat a man of average build. His demeanour was calm, but his dark, demonic eyes were frantic. The psych ward was full of abnormals - people who were deemed unfit to be roaming among the ‘sane’. The elite were the ones who decided and among sociopaths, and psychopaths, people with split personalities and those with crazy eyes, sat a witch. Her days consisted of mixing herbs and remedies, the higher-ups believing it would do these people good, half of which weren’t even diagnosed properly. She sits on a bed opposite a man who looked like he had given up on life, observing him. He’d flinch whenever someone passed by, almost instinctively. When food was brought to him, he would wait 8 minutes before beginning to eat it. And it was always in an order that couldn’t be altered; first, the drink, second the salad, and last, the meat. He didn’t eat dessert, didn’t have a sweet tooth for it.

He had attempted suicide once before too, at the age of four. Though what burdens a soul so young, that they don’t see a way out has always bought the woman to question the sense of life, death, the past, and the present. What could drive an individual to want to end their life? To be blind to a world full of wonders, vibrant colours, and the moon. Oh, the moon, in all its glorified beauty. 

No, she couldn’t accept it. 

Next to him, sat a young girl, with a round face and a button nose. Luna had come to know Jonae very well. In the space of 4 years, the woman had had a total of 15 panic attacks. The doctors came to the decision that she suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. She had been witness to her husband’s demise. A deadly glass of red wine laced with arsenic was how his life was taken from him. Jonae didn’t trust the doctors or the nurses, but she trusted Luna. She told her about the night he died, vivid memories that took the woman to their dining room. She spoke so vividly of the scene, Luna could almost taste the steak and roasted potatoes. The poison as it made its way down her husband’s throat and the hitched breathing. The horror-stricken eyes, his hands reaching for his throat and then accepting death, gracefully. 

When she finishes her shift, it’s not home that she goes to, but her sanctuary, in the clearing. When the town had found out about the witch, they had wanted her gone, banished. Apparently, there was a darkness in her they couldn’t fathom. In their eyes, she didn’t even belong in the ward but instead, at Satan’s door. It wasn’t until the suicide rate increased, that they even considered asking for her help.

The woman had died many a time, and every time she rose from the dead, her body and powers seemed to strengthen. It was in the dark of the night, they reached their peak, for the moon was her supplier. Her tavern of witches had parted ways centuries ago and whenever a town found out about her immortality and youth, she too would leave. Not because she would become weak, but to avoid death. The things this woman had seen in her lifetime was enough to turn anyone cold, but there was something within her preventing her heart to be completely void of sentiment. This witch felt. She was kind to nature. She was kind to the animals that roamed. 

She stands in front of her table, her hair in thick black, messy curls, wearing absolutely nothing, in the cold of the misty night.

And so she begins, her soft voice filling the air around her.
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şoxan

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