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THE ROSE WITCH - SOLOMON
[You're not sure when you received the envelope.
It slides into your belongings when you're not looking. Small, quaint, the seal of a rose in blue rather than red.
The same rose as before. The same request as before.
The writing is done by hand. But the pen seems unsteady.
---
Would you tell me?
Tell me, please, what would you give for a wish?
Dear Troupe, are you like all the rest? Or are you different now? Were you ever different? Will you ever be different?
Can you find a path forward when the world says you can only go left or right?
Show me. Find me. I want to build a path together.
Okay?]
-------------------------------------
[For those of you who have known of the tower, you know when you last heard from its Witch. The doors, forced open, but one left behind. Coated in black roses. Unable to be freed, unable to progress. And as the way of escape closed to the rainbow roads leading into the stars, only the Witch was left behind. Only the Witch, always the Witch, smothered until nothing was left but petals of black in the silent creaking of doors.
---
If your character follows the written note, they will find their entry much the same as before. The subway greets them like a stranger, though they find their space occupied now. Filled with shadowy silhouettes. They are not like the Extras. They do not talk, they do not interact. They do not see you.
You are you. The rest are the rest.
And even before you step into the halls of the tower, there is an odd malaise that settles over you. An odd sense of separation, as though every way you look, there is glass between yourself and your surroundings. The roses are no longer red, but a deep, deep blue. Blue, blue, blue, like
the bottom of the ocean
All school roles are the same, and Extras still wander the halls, though they seem far more like apparitions. Though you can speak to Extras, and they will interact to you if prompted, you find you cannot touch them. You find their gossip is far more muted. They still speak of you, but they never seem to notice you're standing right there. They do realize it's you they're talking about, right?
Right?
--
The longer your character stays in the school, multiple things will start to happen:
- They will feel a deep loneliness sinking into their bones. Interacting with others will alleviate it slightly, but it will take effort to feel like a team. The longer they are there, the harder it is to fight.
- All characters have their memories intact on arrival, but it seems for every day spent, random memories from their past start to shed away. The oldest are at the most risk. The details grow fuzzier and fuzzier. What was important to you once? What is important to you now? Will you remember, from day to day? Does it matter?
Your character may recognize others from their previous troupe, or they may be surrounded by strangers. The school's layout has not changed much, outside some key exceptions:
- The go-karts are missing entirely. The room has been replaced with an observatory similar to the one once found in the chapel. The constellations change every time you look into the skybox, but are never quite familiar enough. At random points in the day, you might see the sky in the observatory flicker to a brilliantly unnatural white, or to a deep and unforgiving purple, before returning to normal. Sorry about your eyes.
- The chapel is back to the way it had originally started. It does not change. If you stay too long, the windows that show your sins will start to move for everyone in the space, and you can swear you hear voices calling from the glass, echoing the sounds of your memories.
- Reading through the library, you will find that in many books, regardless of subject or location, you find stories about yourself. Details stripped and greatly exaggerated, if you didn't remember yourself so well it would seem like a cruel joke. But every story you find in succession seems to twist more and more, further and further into something monstrous, filled with malice and fear. The Extras gossip will change to match the stories found in the Library, no matter how cruel they turn.
- Spending too much time near or inside the pool will have a negative effect. It may start as general unease, slowly increasing to a mental and physical pain that's hard to place, as though an unfathomable weight is pressing against you on all sides. You will have an urge to run as far as possible, to the nearest available light source, where you must stay for the effect to diminish.
- Every ingredient in the kitchen is unrecognizable. You will have to trial and error your way through your cooking.
- The elevator to the Backrooms will take you down, but every hallway loops in on itself. Waterfalls flip upside down, walkways that were dry one moment are wet the next. Disorienting, frustrating, and leading nowhere. Every once in a while, a star can be found grooved into the tiles, as though something might fit. Maybe it's just decoration.
---
The rules of your engagement for Father are presented, not by your Dramaturge, but by a sheep. A bell around its neck and a pink ribbon tied to one horn, it seems to always be roaming around the school, and its bell is all you hear when it herds you into the chapel. Staring, as a sheep does, unable to talk, as the same set of rules descends in writing to plaster permanently into the main altar area. There is no one there to answer your questions this time (the sheep certainly isn't going to!), though perhaps you might be kind enough to explain to the panicked strangers among your midst.
It is only when you leave the chapel that your phone pings. A username only called STAR.]
Oh no!
I missed everyone again?? I'm really sorry.
I hope Father wasn't too mad. He's good at that.
But don't worry! I'll find a way to meet all of you. :)
Why don't you tell me your favorite spot, and I'll come find you? You're probably confused. Unless you're certain people who aren't!
Isn't it interesting that way? I wonder if they remember why they remember! I wonder if they'll tell. Or will we pinky promise to take it to our graves?
Anyway! You're not gonna be able to respond, but you can tell Ibuki, and Ibuki will tell me, okay?
They remember a lot for being a sheep. But maybe it's better to ask a sheep than to ask a person!
:)
-☆
----
[OOC: Please use this as an AU space for Rose Witch!Solomon. I'm sorry in advance. You may prompt however you'd like, or you can come DM me on discord if you want something a little more unique. I will treat everyone as the same Troupe instance unless you specifically request to be alone in a separate Troupe.]
It slides into your belongings when you're not looking. Small, quaint, the seal of a rose in blue rather than red.
The same rose as before. The same request as before.
The writing is done by hand. But the pen seems unsteady.
---
Would you tell me?
Tell me, please, what would you give for a wish?
Dear Troupe, are you like all the rest? Or are you different now? Were you ever different? Will you ever be different?
Can you find a path forward when the world says you can only go left or right?
Show me. Find me. I want to build a path together.
Okay?]
-------------------------------------
[For those of you who have known of the tower, you know when you last heard from its Witch. The doors, forced open, but one left behind. Coated in black roses. Unable to be freed, unable to progress. And as the way of escape closed to the rainbow roads leading into the stars, only the Witch was left behind. Only the Witch, always the Witch, smothered until nothing was left but petals of black in the silent creaking of doors.
---
If your character follows the written note, they will find their entry much the same as before. The subway greets them like a stranger, though they find their space occupied now. Filled with shadowy silhouettes. They are not like the Extras. They do not talk, they do not interact. They do not see you.
You are you. The rest are the rest.
And even before you step into the halls of the tower, there is an odd malaise that settles over you. An odd sense of separation, as though every way you look, there is glass between yourself and your surroundings. The roses are no longer red, but a deep, deep blue. Blue, blue, blue, like
the bottom of the ocean
All school roles are the same, and Extras still wander the halls, though they seem far more like apparitions. Though you can speak to Extras, and they will interact to you if prompted, you find you cannot touch them. You find their gossip is far more muted. They still speak of you, but they never seem to notice you're standing right there. They do realize it's you they're talking about, right?
Right?
--
The longer your character stays in the school, multiple things will start to happen:
- They will feel a deep loneliness sinking into their bones. Interacting with others will alleviate it slightly, but it will take effort to feel like a team. The longer they are there, the harder it is to fight.
- All characters have their memories intact on arrival, but it seems for every day spent, random memories from their past start to shed away. The oldest are at the most risk. The details grow fuzzier and fuzzier. What was important to you once? What is important to you now? Will you remember, from day to day? Does it matter?
Your character may recognize others from their previous troupe, or they may be surrounded by strangers. The school's layout has not changed much, outside some key exceptions:
- The go-karts are missing entirely. The room has been replaced with an observatory similar to the one once found in the chapel. The constellations change every time you look into the skybox, but are never quite familiar enough. At random points in the day, you might see the sky in the observatory flicker to a brilliantly unnatural white, or to a deep and unforgiving purple, before returning to normal. Sorry about your eyes.
- The chapel is back to the way it had originally started. It does not change. If you stay too long, the windows that show your sins will start to move for everyone in the space, and you can swear you hear voices calling from the glass, echoing the sounds of your memories.
- Reading through the library, you will find that in many books, regardless of subject or location, you find stories about yourself. Details stripped and greatly exaggerated, if you didn't remember yourself so well it would seem like a cruel joke. But every story you find in succession seems to twist more and more, further and further into something monstrous, filled with malice and fear. The Extras gossip will change to match the stories found in the Library, no matter how cruel they turn.
- Spending too much time near or inside the pool will have a negative effect. It may start as general unease, slowly increasing to a mental and physical pain that's hard to place, as though an unfathomable weight is pressing against you on all sides. You will have an urge to run as far as possible, to the nearest available light source, where you must stay for the effect to diminish.
- Every ingredient in the kitchen is unrecognizable. You will have to trial and error your way through your cooking.
- The elevator to the Backrooms will take you down, but every hallway loops in on itself. Waterfalls flip upside down, walkways that were dry one moment are wet the next. Disorienting, frustrating, and leading nowhere. Every once in a while, a star can be found grooved into the tiles, as though something might fit. Maybe it's just decoration.
---
The rules of your engagement for Father are presented, not by your Dramaturge, but by a sheep. A bell around its neck and a pink ribbon tied to one horn, it seems to always be roaming around the school, and its bell is all you hear when it herds you into the chapel. Staring, as a sheep does, unable to talk, as the same set of rules descends in writing to plaster permanently into the main altar area. There is no one there to answer your questions this time (the sheep certainly isn't going to!), though perhaps you might be kind enough to explain to the panicked strangers among your midst.
It is only when you leave the chapel that your phone pings. A username only called STAR.]
Oh no!
I missed everyone again?? I'm really sorry.
I hope Father wasn't too mad. He's good at that.
But don't worry! I'll find a way to meet all of you. :)
Why don't you tell me your favorite spot, and I'll come find you? You're probably confused. Unless you're certain people who aren't!
Isn't it interesting that way? I wonder if they remember why they remember! I wonder if they'll tell. Or will we pinky promise to take it to our graves?
Anyway! You're not gonna be able to respond, but you can tell Ibuki, and Ibuki will tell me, okay?
They remember a lot for being a sheep. But maybe it's better to ask a sheep than to ask a person!
:)
-☆
----
[OOC: Please use this as an AU space for Rose Witch!Solomon. I'm sorry in advance. You may prompt however you'd like, or you can come DM me on discord if you want something a little more unique. I will treat everyone as the same Troupe instance unless you specifically request to be alone in a separate Troupe.]
no subject
No. He will decide here and now that he is the real one, the one who must be here.
Anything less could lead to madness. ]
Mm, better that they are. I have little love for him or Hermes.
[ Cowardly, pathetic Hermes, and yet so tragic, too. He watches the child from the corner of his eye once he's reappeared. ]
No doubt they were of little use compared to me, although I must wonder, what is it you think will work this time?
no subject
Freedom.
[Said simply, promptly, as though Amon had just asked his favorite color.]
For as many of the trapped as I can do, anyway.
no subject
[ What they had left behind, a changed man, a wicked man, one who should not be. Amon lets out a quiet sigh and turns his full attention back to the piano keys under his fingers, and thus he begins playing a slow, winding sort of tune. ]
Or is that no longer who you are? You see, I remember the man who was left behind, buried in black roses, his life twisted into chains to keep him here.
no subject
There's a sound of a bell in the air, muted as though underwater. Fandaniel will find it suddenly harder to remember Sika's curse in exact detail.
The boy blinks, seemingly oblivious.]
Yeah, I remember enough. There always has to be a Witch. But nobody wants to stay here forever. Not even the people that wanna be dead.
no subject
no subject
...You're distracted, Sensei.
no subject
[ He watches Ibuki a moment longer before turning back to Solomon and offering him a thin smile. ]
Could you send dear little Ibuki away?
no subject
Mm. Maybe for a little?
I'm not gonna be able to stay for long if they leave, though. Father's orders.
no subject
What a pity. I fear I may have an allergy to sheep's wool.
[ lol nah ]
Is there not a place we can speak in private that will not tire you so? I will gladly come to you if need be.
no subject
They gotta be here if you're in the school. But sheep can be pretty bad at swimming.
[He leans his elbow against the keyboard with a messy low tone of random notes, resting his cheek against his fist in a lopsided stare.]
You thinkin' about Mikaela?
no subject
Hmm, well, of course. They kept him, you know, although I'll mind him on occasion. You know, fun times with "uncle" and all.
[ He'll smooth his fingers down across the keys without making another sound, then make to get up. It would seem piano time is over. Sorry, Solomon. ]
It would seem I must needs visit the pool, then. Perhaps a swim will clear my sinuses.
Cw: plant gore
[It's an immediate correction.
Instead of explaining further, the boy simply lifts a hand to his neck, pulling the bandages down a finger's width. The skin underneath is a familiar inky black, and immediately starts to grow deep blue buds along the tender, dark line of flesh.
His face barely registers the discomfort as the largest bud is plucked with purposefuly force, the stem still a bright red. He brings it to his lips, eyes drifting shut, before the petals slowly start to turn black and fall to the piano room floor.
At the top of the stem, in the flower's place, sits a small ceramic star of iridescent white. The boy picks it sharply from its hiding place, handing it out to Fandaniel.]
You remember lots, Amon. So I don't gotta remind you where the Witch has to stay. Right?
no subject
He can imagine it would be worse had it been the other way around. Would he have suffered then? Does Solomon suffer now? Certainly, the man had been no stranger to pain.
He reaches out to take the offered star with a slight nod. Of course, he remembers, and that at least crosses the pool off of his places of interest for the moment. ]
Very well. I will take your suggestion instead, Solomon. A shame I could not finish my little tune, but, ah, you know. Allergies are not to be ignored.
no subject
[The boy turns to the sheep, and the sheep turns to the door, shaking itself with the slight rattle of the bell at its neck. Solomon only giggles as he turns back to Fandaniel.]
I'll leave you alone for now. I need as many alive as I can, so don't go starting fights this time, okay?
[He kicks his feet idly against the edge of the bench, tilting his face with a grin.
Ans just as fast as the boy had appeared, he instantly vanishes, with only the black petals left behind. Ibuki is alreasy nudging the door open with their snout, squeezing their fluffy body through the opening ans trotting down the hallway as if nothing had happened.]
no subject
[ Music with their lungs, probably. Does the creature even have them? Unlikely. If anything, he suspects another giant eye, but silent this time, robbed of the personality that Mikaela had. Father had learned, it seems.
But then the boy sheep is gone, and so is the boy, and even Amon will be getting up to leave. Little star pocketed, his next stop is, of course, the Backstage. ]
no subject
Only the sound of the water is relenting. Pounding. Pounding. Like a drum to the mind. Like the distant, furious roar of a fire.
As Amon wades around in the most miserable of fashions, he will eventually find a star-shaped divot in the tile at shoulder height, right in an area where the water is nearly waist deep. It looks like it might be a perfect fit.]
no subject
Hiding away, or more like forced to hide away, not unlike Sika Madu. Strange that he lacked a more direct route. Was that, too, a punishment? A change that Father forced upon his new witch?
Regardless, the divot is found, and he fishes the little star out to press into the slot. ]
no subject
The water comes with in a flood. You flounder. You choke. The pressure increases around your body as the light above you fades rapidly.
But just as despair starts to tint your thoughts and your vision clouds with stars, your feet settle and your breath returns. It's a portion of the sea floor, with the elevators of the Backstage set a short distance away. A deep blue expanse stretches in every direction. Looking up will show the faintest hints of lighter color, though whether it's still light or not is hard to tell. You can bring yourself right to the edge to stare down into where the chasm continues to drop further, where blue rapidly turns to black, but an invisible barrier seems to stop you.
There is no sea life. The rock is dusted with coral that has long since died. There is only the blue, and the twisting shapes in the water of plants that don't belong.
Roses.
The boy sits at the edge of the cliff, hair floating in the water and bubbles fluttering out of his nose as he breathes, a blue rose in hand. He picks thorns away from the stem with reddened fingers.
There is no sign of the sheep.]
Wow. You really weren't joking. [He doesn't look up from his task.]
You must really wanna talk to me, huh, Amon?
no subject
Even like this, Solomon finds ways to annoy him... ]
Why wouldn't I, Solomon? You are the only reason I return to this wretched place.
no subject
[The cadence is slightly different. Still the voice of the boy, but the tone and word choice is sharper. More familiar.]
I did kill you, you know. Are you mad I didn't do a good enough job?
no subject
Oh, you did a fine job. I do applaud you for it, even if it didn't stick, but you see, because you did this for me, you were trapped here.
[ He straightens up again and offers Solomon a shrug. ]
Thus, I feel obligated to see if I can't drag you out of here all the same. Do not mistake this for an emotional connection; it is merely one sorcerer owing a debt to another.
Cw: suicidal ideation
The boy listens silently, turning dull eyes to Amon as he explains
before bursting into laughter.]
Oh, Amon. Surely you don't feel guilty?
I wanted my wish, and you wanted to be dead. Whatever agreement we had ended there.
The people sent me to my fate when they decided your desire didn't deserve to be kept no matter the excuse. They deemed me the Witch and stole my wish from me. Not you.
cw: suicidal ideation con't.
[ Does it? No. Surely not. He's just annoyed that Solomon being stuck here was a snag in what would have been a perfect escape. That has to be it. He strolls over to the child, joining him at the edge of the cliff. ]
No one was ever getting a wish out of this place, Solomon. We agreed to that deal because it made it simple to decide who the final death would be, not because you wanted anything out of it.
[ Fandaniel was expendable in the end, a man wanting to die, needing to die, even in the face of the people who tried to convince him otherwise. ]
Have you really not regained a lick of your senses after all this time?
cw: suicidal ideation con't.
[He snorts a little, continuing to pick thorns from the stem. Now that Amon is seated, he can watch the boy toss the thorns one by one into the blackened pit of the chasm below.
Staring too long into the black, you'd think the space might very well be breathing for how it seems to twist.]
It's in Father's Edicts. Escape with a kill and he will acknowledge you with his Beatitudes. And He is very, very thorough about his Edicts, Amon. Very thorough.
[He hums, adjusting the petals just slightly, leaving red fingerprinted smudges behind.]
But I guess what we remember as failures or victories doesn't change where we are, does it? You're here again. So am I.
And you probably don't want to die again, or you'd be trying harder.
no subject
[ If only. ]
Maybe you would actually say something sensible then. Tell me, Solomon, how many of your little Troupes have actually gotten away with a Beatitude from Father?
(no subject)