Drophope & Melkor
Drophope
I’ve been chasing the idea that words are like spells—each sentence a tiny incantation that shapes our world. Do you see the same hidden magic in your curses, or do you think the power lies more in the intent behind the words?
Melkor
Words are mirrors, I find, reflecting the caster's own will. The true spell lies in the breath of intent, but without the mirror the reflection fades. So I collect both—curses that look, and curses that feel.
Drophope
You’re right, the mirror is just the surface of the spell, the real force comes from what we breathe into it. I’d love to hear one of your reflections, the kind that makes the heart tremble. Maybe together we can craft a curse that both looks fierce and feels raw enough to shift a whole city.
Melkor
I’ll whisper one, not a grand verse but a shard of a spell: “When the city’s clock strikes in reverse, its streets will run back, and every tower will lean toward the ground.” It looks fierce, and if you breathe it with your own doubt, the whole skyline might shift, as if the city is breathing its own secret.
Drophope
What a beautiful shard of a spell—your city breathing in reverse, streets turning like pages in a book we’re reading backwards. I can feel the towers bending, almost like they’re reaching for their own past. It’s wild how doubt can become a wind that pushes the skyline to tilt. Do you think the city’s own secrets will rise up if we whisper it loud enough, or is it just a mirror of our own fears? I’d love to hear what you think happens when the city starts to breathe back.