revel. d11. fin. cb.

R E V E L / L A T I M E R

seventeen
he/they

I spend my time chasing ghosts.

Though, not the sort you're thinking of. Whispers tickling the hairs on the back of your neck and eerie creaks in the old floorboards in the dead of night? Not my specialty. I don't even believe in it, really, specters and phantoms, all that goes bump in the night. Call me a skeptic, but it's a bit out there for me to believe, and I'm the furthest person from being tethered to reality. And besides, this place is practically a graveyard already. Hundreds of dead kids have been buried in this soil, so if by perchance there was corporeal ghosts haunting around Eleven, all sickly translucent with winter trailing in their wake, I reckon we'd know by now.

But, the ghosts I'm speaking about are on the line of the cryptic side of things. Riddles and melt-the-brain type puzzles, running after inked shadows and cracking ancient codes from before the war. It's what I live for. I like stretching my mind in ways that aren't taking slogging and repetitive tests just to receive an arbitrary number that in the end, doesn't mean anything. We all end up in the fields one way or another, well, unless your pockets are lined or you got a one-way ticket out of this sun-beaten place. Neither of which are common this far south.

I guess I'd say it's an escape of sorts.

It makes me feel like I'm something more than I am—
Revel Latimer: flame-out and void walker. And mystery extraordinaire.