Our Twisted Words

== ༻01༺ ==
"Who are you?" The words came out louder than Ilsa had intended them to.
The boy looked away, "Someone dangerous."
"Dangerous..." Ilsa whispered. She knew he was dangerous.
"Yes. You shouldn't even be here. You shouldn't be talking to me,"
"What's your name?" Ilsa pressed. She wanted to learn it, even if only to satisfy herself.
The boy met her gaze, "They call me Ghost. I don't remember my real name,"
Ilsa furrowed her brows and nodded. The name suited the thin, fragile, pale boy in front of her. He was probably her age, but he didn't look it. He looked a hundred years wiser than her.
"Okay...Ghost, why are you here?"
Ghost snorts, softly, "You know why I'm here."
She did. He was the last of the Death in the world. Because he was Death. A monster. Just like his family, the rest of his kind.
"What would happen if you touched my hand?" Ilsa asked quietly.
"You would die," Ghost stated, calmly.
Ilsa frowns, "I meant what would happen. How would-"
"A light would burst from your fingers. Your life-light. It would flow into me, and you would crumple to the ground." Ghost cuts me off, probably seeing the desperation in my eyes
"Oh," Ilsa says.
"You should leave," Ghost states.
"Of course." She says, reaching for the key to the cell. She unlocks the door, pushing it open.
"Thank you," Ilsa says to Ghost.
"For what?" Ghost inquires.
But Ilsa never heard that. She had left the cell, with the truth she had desired so much.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
Ilsa focused on what Ghost had told her, letting the words fly through her mind.
Life-light.
Death. 
Crumple to the ground.
She had always wanted to learn how Death killed.
Now she knew.
Somehow, it disappointed her. She had expected something...amazing. Extravagant. Brilliant.
It seemed simple and boring to her.
Ghost had looked at her as though he was scared of his powers. Ilsa wanted nothing more than to have those powers, even if they truly were simple and boring.
Even if it meant killing Death.
Ilsa looked up as she heard the steady beat of footsteps outside her door. She assumed it was a Scholar and was quite surprised to see Myra.
"Ilsa," The older girl said coldly. Ilsa's sister hardly ever treated her like a sister should. Instead, Myra always acted like Ilsa was a burden-someone she needed to take care of and look after, not someone she wanted to take care of and look after.
"What are you doing here, Myra?" Ilsa asked, not giving Myra the satisfaction of looking at her.
"Scholar Avel told me you went to see Ghost." Myra sounds angry, for no reason I can think of.
"Indeed I did,"
"Ilsa, you can't just...Ilsa, do you want to die?" Her unsettling green eyes settle on me.
The question is so sudden that Ilsa hesitates before thinking of an answer.
"No, Myra. I want nothing more than to stop Death," She answers truthfully.
"I don't want you going to see Ghost ever again. Is that clear?"
Ilsa starts to answer 'yes' but stops. "No."
"What?"
"I can't let you control my life. You're not my mother. You're hardly my sister!" Ilsa stands up. "I can do whatever I **** well please."
Myra pales slightly, but replies, "You're messing with dangerous things, Ilsa. Death itself. I hope you don't end up dying because of it,"
And then she left.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
Ilsa didn't sleep much that night. Nightmares plagued her; so much that she eventually woke up, shaking and sweaty.
1:02 AM
Grabbing a robe, Ilsa pulled it on over her nightgown. It was cold at Ivereia, despite it being the middle of summer. Ilsa lit a candle, holding it in front of her as she pushed open the door.
The candle flickered as she walked down the stairs, providing a soft glow. Ilsa reached the bottom of the stairs at the same time she heard a faint creaking.
Someone else was evidently awake. "Hello?" She asked cautiously.
"Ilsa? Is that you?" Ilsa sighed with relief when she saw it was just Avel. The older boy looked much less stern by firelight.
"Yes,"
"What are you doing awake at this hour?" Avel inquired.
"I could ask you the same thing, sir," Ilsa asked teasingly, raising an eyebrow.
"Nightmares again, isn't it?" Avel asked, ignoring her remark.
Ilsa blushed, embarrassed, "Yes. I was coming down to the kitchens to prepare myself a cup of tea."
Avel nodded, and the two locked eyes. Ilsa had known Avel for what seemed like forever- since the time Ilsa had arrived at Ivereia, a 5-year-old without parents; a 5-year-old clinging to a picture of her parents.
"Shall I accompany you?"
"I'd be honoured," Ilsa answered, smiling.
The two walked down the halls together, and Ilsa asked, "So, why are you really awake?"
"I don't know," Avel shrugged, "Just...woke up, I guess,"
"Mhm," Ilsa clearly didn't believe him, but she just shrugged it off. They entered the kitchen, careful to be quiet and not wake anyone else up.
"Peppermint or chamomile?" Ilsa asked, turning on the stovetop and placing the kettle on it.
"Peppermint," Avel answered, sitting down in front of the fireplace. Ilsa placed the teabag in one of her favourite teacups- made of delicate china, with silver flowers painted on the side- for herself, and got another teacup for Avel.
Ilsa hummed while she worked, quietly singing, "No fear of the dark, for you, my light, will always guide me."
The lullaby had always been one of her favourites, probably due to the fact she had the slightest memory of a woman, who she assumed was her mother, singing it to her.
"You have a lovely voice," Avel said softly.
"Thank you," Ilsa replied, glad the darkness could hide her blush.
Ilsa grabbed the teacups, passing Avel his. He took it, thanking Ilsa. They sat together, and Ilsa watched the flames flicker in the fireplace.
Oh, if only she was content with what she had.
After they had both finished their tea, they sat in silence for a long while. Avel finally broke it, but Ilsa, having been focused on thoughts about Ghost, didn't hear.
"Could you repeat that?" She asked, wincing. Ilsa knew she really should pay more attention to the present, not the past- even if the past was simply this morning.
"I asked," Avel started slowly, "If you would marry me,"
Ilsa whipped her head towards him, opening her mouth to form a word, then changing her mind.
"What?"
Avel looked at the ground, "I'm 21, Ilsa. Mother expects me to marry soon...and I've known you forever."
"Oh," Ilsa said. She couldn't think of anything else to say. Her best friend just asked her to marry him.
Not exactly the ideal situation to be in.
"It's not like we have to get married now" Avel continues, "We would just...marry someday."
"I don't know," Ilsa admitted, "I don't know if I want to promise you that,"
"I'm sorry. This must be..." Avel trailed off before continuing, "Confusing,"
That was an understatement.
"What's confusing?" A voice asked from the doorway. Ilsa looked up and saw the person she would have preferred to never see again.
"Nothing, Myra," Ilsa lied, standing up. "I was just saying goodnight to Avel,"
Giving Avel a small wave, Ilsa brushed past her sister, feeling her sister's gaze on her back.
Ilsa climbed back up the steps to her room, ignoring the little voice in the back of her head that reminded her that she hadn't done what she had intended to do. But she could go see Ghost tomorrow. For now, she would have to be fine with what she already knew.
== ༻02༺ ==
Ghost couldn't stop thinking about the girl.
She had come and instead of being scared, or even cruel, she had asked him a question, calmly.
Who are you?
It had surprised Ghost, especially coming from the mouth of this girl; this girl, who was a creature of the night, with dark hair and even darker eyes.
Someone dangerous.
Scowling at the door through which she had entered and left, Ghost tried to push those thoughts away.
But he couldn't help hoping that she would come back. It was a stupid thought; he knew that.
Thank you.
What had she been thanking him for? He had done nothing to help her.
And, he thought bitterly, I wouldn't have wanted to help her, anyway. It's her fault I'm here, trapped, locked away.
"Ghost."
Her voice was sharp as knives, cold as ice. 
"Myra," Ghost acknowledged, barely raising his head. She came here everyday, and each time was the same. Myra would hold her hand over his, not touching it, but so so close. 
It was painful. Terribly painful. Sometimes Ghost would pass out from the pain. Sometimes he would beg. 
It never changed her mind, never helped him. 
This time was the same as always. She walked close, close enough that Ghost could see the differences between her and the girl. Besides the physical differences, there was also the fact that Myra had a craving for the pain of others. It made her eyes crueller, but her heart stronger. 
Love is for the weak. 
That was what father had said, night after night.
Without Death, there would be chaos. 
"Ghost!" Myra snapped her fingers, "Listen to me,"
"I'm sorry,"
"No, you're not," Myra scoffed, "You're never sorry,"
It was true; but only slightly.