Uxie
ΰ¬(ΰ©Λκ³Λ)ΰ©* ΰ©β§ββΛΒ°
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cosette
ghost
to see the world in all its tainted glory
cosette awaji
ζζζ°Έ / ζ·‘θ·― ζ±ζ©
japanese/chinese
twenty-four
nov 30
astrophysics major
deceased (2 years)
for a dead person, cosette awaji is pretty spirited. a bit of a character, with a bright smile and a loud voice β she seems committed to making her presence known in every room she steps into. cosette is often found lamenting her situation, although she seems quite content with it at other times. maybe she's just looking for someone to talk to, since being a ghost must be quite a lonely affair.
weirder even is her home, as much lived-in as it is desolate. the furniture is well-maintained, but stunningly outdated β you swear that couch was last popular a decade ago, and the hot water keeps running out β despite her insisting she's been dead only two years. the locked doorway down the hall from her bedroom, too, seems to hide secrets you might be a bit too afraid to confront. perhaps blood leaking from the walls, or even worse, her corpse?
despite her forthcoming nature, cosette herself seems to be quite an enigma. she chatters animatedly about her past routines, her interests, but they all seem to be in relation to this little house of hers. you know, at least, she used to be a masters student, but she seems to become cautious when you ask about her family or friends. you took a peek into her bedroom once, and it was a far cry from what you would have expected of a girl like her β dreary, and a bit unlived-in β like its resident was no more alive than she is now.
she shows you her planetarium projector, an old model you feel like you remember seeing on the shelves when you were younger, and you watch her fumble with the batteries with non-corporeal hands. when she finally figures it all out, triumphantly, she points out the constellations on her ceilings to you. the twinkle in her eye is unmistakable, and it is times like these she feels so human β you suppose she once was β at least, until she drifts through another wall.
you conclude that cosette wouldn't make a bad roommate at all. so long as she stopped appearing in the mirror while you're brushing your teeth.
weirder even is her home, as much lived-in as it is desolate. the furniture is well-maintained, but stunningly outdated β you swear that couch was last popular a decade ago, and the hot water keeps running out β despite her insisting she's been dead only two years. the locked doorway down the hall from her bedroom, too, seems to hide secrets you might be a bit too afraid to confront. perhaps blood leaking from the walls, or even worse, her corpse?
( cosette reminded you the stench would have made the place unliveable already if that was the truth. )
despite her forthcoming nature, cosette herself seems to be quite an enigma. she chatters animatedly about her past routines, her interests, but they all seem to be in relation to this little house of hers. you know, at least, she used to be a masters student, but she seems to become cautious when you ask about her family or friends. you took a peek into her bedroom once, and it was a far cry from what you would have expected of a girl like her β dreary, and a bit unlived-in β like its resident was no more alive than she is now.
( cosette told you that she died in a car accident, somewhere near her school. you wonder why she's tied to the house, then. ghost logistics seem finicky. )
she shows you her planetarium projector, an old model you feel like you remember seeing on the shelves when you were younger, and you watch her fumble with the batteries with non-corporeal hands. when she finally figures it all out, triumphantly, she points out the constellations on her ceilings to you. the twinkle in her eye is unmistakable, and it is times like these she feels so human β you suppose she once was β at least, until she drifts through another wall.
you conclude that cosette wouldn't make a bad roommate at all. so long as she stopped appearing in the mirror while you're brushing your teeth.
night train
milena
β‘coded by uxieβ‘
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