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✧∭✧∰✧∭✧ Cause Space was just a Word Made Up ✧∭✧∰✧∭✧
Agastya’s hand rest lightly on the lady’s waist, each hand in hand as they swirled through the ethereal welcoming ball. They’re mask kept the anonymity still, but the girl with midnight black hair and a dress that curved her body perfectly in a deep pink kept Agastya’s mind from anything but them. “So, you from around here? What’d bring you back for another year?”
Agastya chuckled softly, a wry smile playing on his lips as he considered her question. “I suppose you could say I’m back here to challenge myself,” he replied, his voice smooth and melodious. “To prove to myself that I have what it takes to truly master the craft of writing, to delve deeper into the mysteries of language and storytelling.” But deep down, Agastya knew there was more to it than that. He had returned to Ninth House not just to prove his skills as a writer, but to unravel the tangled threads of his own existence. To seek out the elusive purpose that seemed to flee him at every turn.
As a poet and wordsmith, Agastya had always been drawn to the power of language that shaped reality, to weave words that could change hearts and minds. He saw writing not just as a means of self-expression, but as a gateway to a deeper understanding of the world around him. “What might you be doing back, Miss Vixen?” Agastya’s voice like silk, tilting his head in the soft light, a halo illusion atop his head.
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@Mouschi • Devon Dearest • if you look up vixen he means the first definition 
