i don't know if i count, but i'm trying my best ⟋ when i'm howling and barking these songs.

/ / twitter ate all my replies deadass can't have shit here

. . . it's new years ?

she's playing a game of chess by herself. you're welcome to join , if you like.

painfully inscribing the rune into her flesh with Dust she finishes just in time to throw the borrowed book back into the Way that only opens at 6.27am on a Monday. flexing her hand she winces as what she hopes is magic sinks into her flesh.

/ / Victoria when people even bother talking to her

she's scribbling notes into a leatherbound journel.

she loves book sales. so many obscure volumes sold for scraps.

starting a new story 🖋️

finishing the last chants of an obscure seeing ritual she found tucked into the dusty corner of a bookshop she watches a piece of paper fly out of the brazier and she hurries to read it. " Elmo is the son of the scarlet king . . . what the bloody hell does that mean- "

some light reading.

Victoria casts a sign in the air with the limited dust in her bag. it serves to just agitate the Beowolf infront of her. For a Huntress it would be no problem. but for her she can barely push enough Aura out of her body to keep its jaws from biting into flesh. someone help.

she's reading a fascinating thesis about the effects of the shattered moon on lycanthropy.

After almost getting killed for the millionth time in a ruin because she certainly can't afford private security she perhaps considers that it might be time to gain some martial ability. she doesn't want to be a Huntress. but who the hell is going to give her a basic knowledge?

she's walking through the halls of Beacon still in a mile daze. she thinks she might have accidentally become a Professor.