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Oh, sorry for getting in your way. No no, don't you apologise. I understand the fear of being perceived, thus I'll greet you with a smile and a an affirming tongue. The weather's nice, isn't it? It seems morose and unpleasant for those who are ignorant - but it doesn't only cast down leaves of fading auburn, but also littering people under the incandescent trees that cradled them. I've observed many people of age, reminiscing a time they'd prized over the crunching of leaves - from that to observing the innocent youth, like us, supposedly. You're currently in Moon's Earl city, a trademark for curiosity and faith and all sorts of obscene tales.
You're, comically, also within the boundary of the "mansion", it was found a long time ago - I wont specify who about. Too much effort. It seems to be a sanctuary of the afflicted and esoteric. A select few are found or taken in by abstract (yet I would say respectable) beings who call themselves "God". Well, probably more than a few. I know many, many abductees who have lived under the roof of these "Gods", even people who leave this world without a trace. Funny, isn't it? Moon's Earl isn't the only blueprint for miraculous chronicles like this. This is Zephitys we're on, after all.
Ah, abilities - where do I begin. As of myself, I have a natural gift of universal knowledge. I can obtain information about the mansion, the staircase infront of us, the people outside, the people who live in solitude, and even you. Your thoughts. I bet I could read your mind right now - you're speculating my appearance, correct? Don't be silly. You're right infront of me, and I definitely look anything but feminine. And now you're looking around, scuttling for any information I can give you. You're humorous, you are. Having an ability doesn't make me a minority, you know. Quite frankly, I'd say there's a fine balance between people who are "gifted", and people who are "non-gifted": and I would prefer to be humble, but I'd say I'm lucky to have an ability of such high accessibility. I do believe I'm smarter than anyone else: that's my gift. I'm not exactly serenading you with a faux. Although I will say that the concept of "gifts" are only normalised here in Moon's Earl - you don't really hear of this information anywhere outside. Unless you crave eternal solitude. Despite that, most, if not all, of the mansion members have abilities - most people on the streets have abilities. They would only be peasantry compared to me however, you could probably only expect them to flaunt their three hands, or three eyes, or envelope their neck around yours. It's abstract - yes.
Abilities aren't a format of paradise - you know. Some are punishments, in my eyes. I guess you could say mine is to an extent. I don't care enough to elaborate, but I'll tell you that I know it all, therefore I feel it all. And, undoubtedly, all abilities run on a special bodily function called brightblood. Taking the role of a fuel, an ability can't function without it - brightblood is produced in various capacities depending on one's ability, specially adapted and carved out into a picturesque design for the sake of survival. For me, let's say, my ability is always active, unless it's nullified (that's something I find rather humiliating), so brightblood is the only thing I produce.
Oh, who's he? That's Andrew Rodgers. Ignore him. He's rather pathetic, a spoilsport who turns a blind eye to common sense, and is instead shrouded in naïveté and those ridiculous sports studies of his. He has an ability to manipulate the weather, and weathering aspects - but get this, he only produces a very minimal amount of brightblood, so he tends to pass out after activating his ability. From tarnishing the rain, to something puny like igniting a flame. I find it funny, I don't know about you. He talks as if he's so superior - it irks me. Let me tell you a secret, for that matter - I was the one who took him in. It was a few years back, I'd saved him from being held captive in a whole 'nother dimension. You see why I'm so respected now? I'm not only a "civilian" in the mansion, but also their strategist. I work for some of the top-ranked figures within the "Council" - a secret society where these "Gods" confide in fates even I don't know. Rodgers could only dream about being on my level.
Oh- I see it too. What is that? There's something under the drawers, either stained with coffee or painted in a cosmological array of gold. It's crumpled, I'm now just noticing, as it's bruising like sandpaper against soft skin. I see it now. It's a letter, the handwriting rather chaotic... Give me a moment. I'll have a look at it...