Wait a minute, little back porch lady.

Fnar fnar for changing all Japanese names to English.

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It was only as her footfalls softly skulked across the tiled floor, when the reassuring voice of Galahad interfered with her hesitant-if-not-inwardly-excited train of thought, that Fianna was struck upside the head by the revelation that she was no more than a slave to her own ardent curiosity. She didn't think about it for long. She never did.

It was generally considered a marvellous trait for one to possess, but like all other attributes and quirks, and even the likes of temptations a soul could encounter as it traversed through the alleyways of the afterlife, curiosity only remained marvellous when it existed in a diluted state. Watered down and weak. It was when curiosity was given strength, intensity, and the opportunity to drag common sense by the hair, kicking and screaming, to the peak of imagination’s precipice with the intention of throwing it over the edge, that problems began to manifest. Playing observer to the events that dared to blossom with every step she indulged in, Galahad felt as though her curiosity was preparing to lynch her unsuspecting common sense from the shadows.

The sight of the pearl-haired woman, already the bearer of broken flesh and crushed veins, venturing further into the unlit unknown on a basis constructed upon simple intrigue filled him with fear, and it took all of the knight’s iron-clad will to prevent his lips from uttering the words ‘this is how natural selection picks off its targets, you know’ to dissuade her from her course, but it also took just a second’s foresight for him to consider that there was a high chance she would not pay him any heed if he made the effort.

Oblivious to his musings, Fianna sampled the savoury scent lacing the air, its heartily pleasant tang enough to goad her docile stomach into lamenting over its tragically empty state. Her sandaled feet could barely find the bravery to birth whispers across the floor. It was a rail of honey-tinted light slipping across the floor in the distance that gave her ambling true direction, though the slow pace that she maintained to catch it beneath her feet failed to hint at her inner enthusiasm.

Tracing its origin with a slow glance to her left, Fianna seemed to pause for a moment to briefly ponder what her curiosity would lead her to this time. Her front teeth pinned her lip down before she could grin, like one would quickly turn a spigot to cut off a sudden burst of water after underestimating the strength of the tap.

You could always turn back, he reminded her, you could simply accept that there is, indeed, someone – or something - here, and be content with that knowledge as you turn your back and walk away.

The hint of hope that he could not quite veil from the woman was lost under the weight of the silence she nurtured. Not one iota of her thoughts revolved around his fear.

‘...but you aren’t going to do that, are you?’