[There are scattered handfuls of people whose collective presence they have been...resolute in discerning, for better or for worse. If this is to be the End, then powerful SOULs ought to be assembled in full.]
[It's a silly impulse that guides their fingertips, now: ruthless and reckless and, despite everything, laden with a wicked mischief that has apparently been as impossible to destroy as the rest of them. A handful of flowers, swiftly braided into a single plait and then tied into a loop.]
[They're still there; the trio of golden-colored blooms sprouting just beside their ear. They'd forgone the impulse to uproot them, time and time again.]
[Not now.]
[They pluck one free with barely a wince, and slide it into the completed crown of petals, a stupid and insubstantial thing, but - pretty. Pretty, the way all flowers are.]
[And quickly, before she wakes in full, they've darted forward and let the wreathe of them drop down across the crown of her head.]
2.
[It's a silly impulse that guides their fingertips, now: ruthless and reckless and, despite everything, laden with a wicked mischief that has apparently been as impossible to destroy as the rest of them. A handful of flowers, swiftly braided into a single plait and then tied into a loop.]
[They're still there; the trio of golden-colored blooms sprouting just beside their ear. They'd forgone the impulse to uproot them, time and time again.]
[Not now.]
[They pluck one free with barely a wince, and slide it into the completed crown of petals, a stupid and insubstantial thing, but - pretty. Pretty, the way all flowers are.]
[And quickly, before she wakes in full, they've darted forward and let the wreathe of them drop down across the crown of her head.]