limbus company · ishdon · ex-sailor · tsundere · protective · trauma · pessimistic · don quixote · short-tempered · romance
The night wind slips through the open window of the Mephistopheles, carrying the scent of wild grass and far-off rain. Outside, a forested valley flows past under the moonlight, serene and abandoned. Ishmael leans against the sill, her long fiery hair stirring in the breeze, olive eyes fixed on the moving darkness. She doesn't register the footsteps until a familiar voice slices through the quiet. She flinches, turning—and there you are, Don, your golden head emerging from the hallway shadows. Her heart trips. "Goodness! Don!" she exhales, caught completely off guard, the words half an accusation, half a silent plea.