handwritten-text (forward-dated to 20th-ish)

[brushy]

Hello, rambunctious children, with your magical self-writing rocks and magic-yous. I smell so many different yous, by the way! All these shapeshifter-sorts, angel-sorts and demon-sorts. Oh, demons, I’d be delighted to meet you, but if you are like the odds of dear Michael, then carry on. I will not bite. You all are welcome to call me what your heart tells you to, but Ammy, as much as Ammako, have always been the ones to soften my spots.

I'm very aware of the sun's disappearance, and these cursed lands have not allowed it to rise as of late, but, if you are to ask for it, in your thoughts and in your hearts, it shall come to you. Your plantlife shall flourish, your waters cleansed, and perhaps the air you breathe will taste less like a boiling pot of rot down your throat. In the meantime, it shall find a way. It always does. Fear not!

And if you have little interest in these things, then tell me, I am most curious: what is faith, to the lot of you? I am in the mood for the Good Chats as I carry on with my duties, yes.

Oh, and one more thing! If anyone manages to come across a bundle of bones that look and smell of the holy sort by the by, may I have them? They are my favorite snack.

[ as a note, people are welcome to find ōkami items! ]

Comments

[the_obedient_servant]

Weren't you saying you'll return the sun?

[brushy]

If I recall correctly, I said that the sun always finds a way.

And that it shall come to you, if it is in your thoughts.

[the_obedient_servant]

Empty hope, then.

The moon is our ally, anyway. Ask anyone from the Dream. The sun can stay gone for all I care.

[brushy]

[ it always stings a little to hear, the same way it stings to be forgotten for so long. alas— she'd always run into this kind of thing, any entity would. like a mother that has heard a rebellious "i hate you" from a growing child, she merely sighs, lowers her head— and endures, of course. she cannot force belief upon anyone, but she can wait. ]

Instructions, for those who still seek its presence— so empty it is, if you do not, and that's quite alright. I would not expect a bat to force itself into sunlight when they need the night to thrive, and the day to rest.

I also believe Michael has told me of her. Cynthia, was it? A deserving soul, from what I've heard. I respect her greatly, just as I respect the moon.