Evette looks about ready to faint in relief, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" 

"Come on Evette, let's get you to my house and let them work." Edith nods to the two adventurers and herds Evette into her house. Evette appears to have lost whatever strength she had and Edith is practically carrying her inside.

Cirice looks at Kvasir and nods, following him to the side away from anyone lingering about. Waiting to make sure they're not being eavesdropped upon she watches the women go into Edith's house. "Well that's sad. Her late husband haunting her because she's trying to move on? I really hope that isn't really what's going on, then she would look back on their good memories together and them be tainted..." 

Casting her gaze at the small house with the door standing open she sighs, "At least it doesn't sound like anyone has been hurt... Mother Moon willing no one will be. I pray we can help them. What do you think?"

It isn't that Cirice knows a way to lay the dead to rest, she merely has faith that if they do find the ghost Mother Moon will help her do what needs to be done. Perhaps if the ghost is upset with his wife they can merely mediate between the two and resolve things that way. 

The look on Kvasir's face is borderline illegible as he watches Evette and Edith disappear into the latter's house, exhaustion melting all of the strength from Evette's body-- poor thing. Believing yourself to be haunted by someone you once loved so deeply... that has to be a traumatic experience, whether it truly is of ghostly origin or not. His breath hitches a little, however indistinguishably, at the thought of amber eyes and warm hands, of bittersweet memories becoming nightmares and nightmares alone, of their last argument chasing after him in scarlet-stained messages and ear-splitting howls in the night--

He shudders, slightly, ears drooping.

Such thoughts should be saved for a later time, if he returns to them at all, and... there are more pressing matters.

"...It's... a possibility, but I want us both to keep an open mind," he says quietly, nervously tapping his fingertips against his wrist once again, faster this time, a hasty staccato of anxiety. "It all seems... a bit too targeted, for my liking. We should just be cautious as we investigate this together, Miss Cirice."

Kvasir takes a few idle steps toward the house he presumes to be Evette's, his brow furrowing a little.

"...should we start by asking around, or by getting a closer look ourselves? It is important that we ensure that no one gets hurt, still. The last thing we want is for this to get especially dire, but we do want to source it to the roots."

Cirice notices Kvasir's anxiety as he drums his fingers on his arm and the droop of his ears. She follows him the few steps he takes towards Evette's house, reaching out and putting an arm on his shoulder gently. 

"I think let's take a look inside and then ask around. If there are other people also being haunted then we might hear them screaming too. But... Are you okay? If you're scared we can wait until the morning. Ghosts aren't supposed to be active unless its night I think so if we want to not run into them we can wait until dawn and hope. Or is it something else? You can talk to me if you feel comfortable, I'm a pretty good listener. I know we just met but I really like you, please let me help if I can." She gives him a soft, reassuring smile and squeezes his shoulder gently. 

She's worried about the girl Evette but Kvasir's anxiety bothers her too. She doesn't want her new friend to be scared or worried or anything. He's so kind and sweet, she wants the best for him. If she needs to she can go into the haunted house and face the ghosts alone, she pities the ghost more than she's afraid of them. 

For a split-second, surprise flickers in Kvasir's eye at the way Cirice immediately dives into an attempt to comfort... him, a low flame of disbelief that he quickly snuffs out, steeling his expression back into that carefully-maintained neutrality as quickly as he can.

"You're very kind, Miss Cirice," he says, managing a grateful smile at the very least, not wanting her gentility to go unappreciated. "But I assure you, I'll be just fine. I merely sympathize with poor Miss Evette. It's a rather dreadful situation she's being put through, isn't it? Haunted by an old love when she's still trying to work through it... it's no wonder she was so inconsolable, is all. I'm merely worried for her."

It isn't entirely a lie, at least; Kvasir truly does sympathize with the poor woman and the waking nightmare she's being dragged through, a field of shattered memories with newly-sharpened edges, ones she'd rather keep away in cotton-filled jars to save the softness. The personal edge to it is something he can merely keep to himself, for now. This isn't about him, after all; they're here to investigate, to source this problem to its roots, and uproot it like a weed, dismissing it once and for all so long as they have the power to. They may not be exorcists, but he's hopefuly that there's at least something the two of them can do.

"I'm fond of you as well, Miss Cirice-- enough to say I trust you. I think looking around inside is our best bet-- I'm hardly fearful of any ghosts this place could drag out."

"I don't think I'm especially kind, I just worry about others. It is terrible. I want to help her. She deserves a chance to heal. Everyone who is hurt like that does." Cirice says firmly. "I trust you too Kvasir. You seem like a really kind, wonderful person to me. Together we can save that lady!"

She proclaims it with the absolute confidence of someone who has no idea of what they're doing but is convinced they can figure it out as they go. Checking again to make sure that the crowd has dispersed she walks up to Evette's house, looking at the door hanging open and peeking in a little bit and calling in, "Hello there. Ghosts? Mr. Madison? I'm Cirice, I want to help you if I can. You're haunting Miss Evette and making her really sad. I think it's time for you to rest, okay? My friend Kvasir and I will help you, I promise. We're coming in!"

Careful not to disturb or touch too much, she heads into the house and looks around. There are some broken plates in the kitchen littering the floor and paintings and pictures have been flung from the walls, shattered glass glittering in the light of a few candles that have burned down nearly to nubs in their holders. Above the mantle is a message scrawled in red. 'Have you forgotten me?' No wonder Evette was so freaked out. This must have been terrifying to try to sleep through.

It's strange to meet a woman as modest as Cirice.

She speaks with conviction, with certainty, as if she truly believes she's not the gentle, sweet soul Kvasir has appraised her to be-- it's odd, really, that she seems to lack that self-awareness. This kind of humility is rare, but he doesn't doubt that it's genuine; especially as Cirice pauses at the doorway, announcing their presence to any spirits who might be present within the building before entering, with all the sweet politeness he's come to expect from her. It's so, so endearing that he can't help but pause to make his own addendum.

"Ah, yes, uh... Ghosts-- it's me, your... boy. We're... entering the premises."

As soon as Cirice steps foot into the house, Kvasir is quick to follow, ears perked in full alertness as he drinks in the sight of pure chaos. The shattered remnants of porcelain, displaced portraits, overturned furniture and other such things, steam billowing from dying masses of wax in golden candle holders. It certainly is an ominous sight, all of the discord that's accumulated, and he can certainly understand how hellish living among this must be--

His gaze strays to the mantle, and his breath hitches.

'Have you forgotten me?'

The words cling to the wall like gossamer clings to a butterfly.

They're red, vivid red, no matter how dried and dark they've grown as time has dragged them forward, the bloodied words as stark as cardinal feathers in snow, as oleander against moon-kissed grass-- a warning, penned in the early-shed fruit of a pulse, blaring and brutal. It's such a simple phrase, but one that aches all the same in its cruelty, in its desperation; solemn, resigned, but pleading, a silent wish to be remembered as someone builds a life without you in it, as their memories of you become memories alone, no more seeds to plant, no more roots to settle, mere traces of flowers that once adorned a garden in a backyard with no place in it for you anymore.

"Have you forgotten even me?"

His head spins.

"Kvasir?"

His head spins.

"Kasra?"

Kvasir feels his throat go tight, but he's quick to force out a shaky breath; this is no time for foolish sentiments, no time to give in to the melting mass of divine and mortal in the recesses of his mind. He approaches the mantle, glancing over the dreaded words with a careful eye.

"This... certainly is blood," he says carefully, fighting off the nausea beginning to bubble up. "I'd know that anywhere. Then... well, Miss Cirice, this certainly is quite the ominous portrait so far, isn't it?" He pauses before nodding his head over in the direction of the broken plates. "Do you think ghosts leave fingerprints behind?"

Kvasir looks like he's having a hard time but trying really hard not to show it. Cirice was already worried about him, but he's trying to be strong so she doesn't want to make him crack. It can be really easy when you're holding yourself together for even compassion to cause you to fall apart. She bites her lip, worry furrowing her brow and picks up a few pieces of the broken mess on the floor before he suggests finger prints.

"Ack oops... Uh, maybe? I... Don't really have a way of seeing fingerprints even if they did." She considers a piece of broken glass in her hands for a moment, holding it up to the light. "Honestly I don't see why a ghost would leave fingerprints. They're incorporeal, right? Just throwing things around with magic and stuff. Can you tell how old the blood is? Or maybe... Well I don't know how you would, but can you tell if its from an animal or a person?"

She goes over and gently blows out the last of the dying candles, not really needing them for light with her darkvision¹. "I'd like to try to find all the evidence we can and clean this place up as much as possible so Evette doesn't have to tomorrow. Maybe even make her a nice little nightlight that won't go out with Mother Moon's blessing². Then she'd never have to be scared of the dark!" 

Cleaning up she thinks harder about what she remembers about ghosts, "Shouldn't there be goop or something? Like weird slime left behind?"

---

1 Night Sight
2 Light

"Well, the blood has dried by now, so at the very least, I can tell it's been here for a while," he mumbles, his brow furrowing as he glances over the too-vivid red letters. A displeased hum leaves him as he leans in closer, examining the dried blood with rapt attention, as much as he doesn't want to-- the metallic scent still makes his head spin, the nausea cloying and heavy, but he fights it off. "Sorry, though, Miss Cirice-- there's no way to differentiate between animal and human blood once it's outside the body, and I can't think of any kind of magic that'd allow me to tell, either."

After one last long look over the words-- 'Have you forgotten me?'--, Kvasir leans back, stepping away from the mantle and humming to himself, tail swishing back and forth in that same pensive movement.

"It's best that we don't try cleaning until after we've gotten our evidence, though," he says, starting to wander the room, carefully scanning for any signs of human interference-- Gods, he hopes it's human interference. "Let's see... I've hardly seen any strange goop or anything. So far, this is all looking quite like something a human being could've done, friend."

He hums again, kneeling beside some of the broken plates, unbothered by Cirice dimming the lights. [1]

"...What do you think? I'm looking for fingerprints specifically because I think there's a fair chance all this could be caused by human interference," he says, not entirely sure if he's saying it because he believes it or wants it to be true. "Ghosts are a possibility, but we have to keep an open mind. The lack of ectoplasm-- I think that's what it's called?-- alone seems like a good lead... let's try chasing after any specific supernatural leads."

Kvasir rises to his feet, glancing around the space once more before raising his voice.

"Ahem-- uh... Ghosts? Mr... Madison? Is there anyone here with us?"

---

[1] Night Vision

"That makes sense, I'm just not well versed in much magic or medicine so I figured it was worth asking about." Cirice shrugs, "If its old then maybe it was written before she noticed it? Like it was written before all the stuff was thrown around maybe? Hmmm..."

"I'm not sure about fingerprints... I don't even know how to find them. But if it is a person I'm totally going to beat them up for terrorizing poor Miss Evette." As Kvasir tries to get the ghost to speak to them she keeps picking up a few pieces of the broken things and holds them up, looking for any evidence but unsure of what to look for. She picks up an especially sharp shard of ceramic and frowns, "Wait... I found more blood on this plate. OH IT IS A FINGERPRINT! A BLOODY ONE! GHOSTS DON'T BLEED! LOOK!"

Cirice hands the plate to Kvasir carefully so he can inspect shat she found.

"Look there are some drops on the floor too. Maybe whoever did this actually cut themselves and used that to write on the wall! What a jerk! We've gotta find them and teach them a lesson about being mean to others." She huffs angrily. It seems her mission to lay the dead to rest has become a mission about teaching others to be kind and courteous to others. "We should go ask Evette who'd be upset about her moving on. Maybe a jealous admirer?"

As Cirice explains her reasoning for asking about differentiating between the blood, Kvasir is quick to shake his head-- he doesn't want the poor girl to feel like she's asked a foolish question or anything, because really, she hasn't. With the things magic is capable of, it's natural to wonder something like that.

"You're quite alright," he assures her, holding up a hand. Even if there isn't a way to figure out the minutiae of such a thing, there is a part of him that admittedly would find it useful-- some kind of spell that would let him identify the origin of shed blood... Oh, that could make so many treatments so much easier, now that he thinks about it. He's going to have to tuck that thought away for another time. "You had no way of knowing. Still, I don't think it's more than a few hours old, or so-- likely set up while she was distracted or asleep."

As soon as Cirice goes back to looking around, Kvasir continues roaming himself-- with no response won from his first attempt at communicating with any potential spirit, he... feels a bit stupid continuing to try. It isn't as though anyone other than Cirice is here, and he doubts she's the judgemental sort, but it feels a bit embarrassing all the same to call out to some entity that very well may not be present at all.

His idle musings are quickly scattered by Cirice's enthusiastic interjection and the quick press of shattered ceramic into his gloved hands-- sure enough, the shattered edges are crusted with blood, and there's a bright, bloodied outline of a few fingerprints against the stark white of the shattered plate, a clear sign of a jerky, pained motion, lines of blood lightly dragged away from the place of impact in a clear show of a quick reaction. It's fairly obvious that this was the product of an unintentional injury; a very, very corporeal wound, at that.

The relief he feels is selfish, very much so, but carries the same sweetness of petrichor and dew-lined grass, the gentle comfort of a storm long-passed.

"...It's certainly a possibility," Kvasir mumbles, turning the ceramic over in his hand. He pauses for a moment, letting the weight of all the implications sink in before this strange mess of sadness and rage knit themselves together over him, entangling him amidst the threads. "...how cruel, to play with the heart of someone when they're merely trying to build a life beyond grief. Disgusting."

The edges of his words are practically hissed out, sharp with anger.

"...a jealous admirer, perhaps, or... even a family member. A family friend-- someone close with the late Mr. Madison, perhaps?"

Kvasir's anger and annoyance seems to mirror Cirice's own as they come to the joined conclusion that it was definitely a person who did this for whatever reason. "Whoever it was doesn't really care about Evette. They wouldn't have tormented her so. If it was a family member or friend it might have been someone who really loved Madison but maybe didn't love Evette as much. Maybe even a former lover of his! We could talk to Evette in the morning about who would maybe be upset about her moving on. But for now I'm going to clean this place up."

Cirice grabs a broom and she and Kvasir start cleaning up the mess. She wishes wholeheartedly she had a way to mend the broken bits of Evette's things laying around but that is not one of Mother Moon's blessings. Tidying up the floor, mopping up the blood, and setting pictures and paintings back in place brings some of the comfortable atmosphere back into the home. Cirice gets up on a chair to wipe away the awful message with a rag, smiling at Kvasir as she does so. Taking the power out of the message and reclaiming Evette's home for her felt good. It takes a few hours to get the place fully spic and span and she's had a little time to poke around the rest of the small house, noting that the bedroom Evette likely slept in was strangely untouched from the "ghostly" tantrum. In Evette's room Cirice makes the bed and places a small seashell on the bedside table making it glow with soft moonlight¹ as a way to ward off the shadows that might linger to frighten the traumatized girl. By morning the house is looking much better and the only evidence left from the night before is the bit of bloodstained ceramic they'd found.

As dawn breaks a very timid Evette opens the door of her house gently, peeking in with the skittishness of a newborn fawn, "I-Is it safe?"

Even with an act as delicate and careful as cleaning, the anger simmering off of Kvasir is practically palpable as he gathers up remnants of shattered porcelain with a bit more force than necessary, some of it chipping away into smaller fragments in his mercifully gloved hands before he tosses it away. His ears lie low, swept back against his skull in a show of silent seething, his tail still bristling with fury even as he tries to maintain a cool enough facade. No matter how steadily he clings to a steely countenance, those vulpine features will always betray him, opening the vault that shelters all his poorly-kept feelings from the naked eye.

Who does this to a person-- shoves them face-first into all the ugliest shrapnel of their grief, into false-spun accusations and blame, chaining them in guilt as if yearning wasn't weight enough? His arm aches with the force behind the scrubbing he's giving the floor, but he hardly cares; disbelief and disgust hang heavy on his tongue, the taste tangible. He's hardly known Evette long, but she seems a sweet woman, and... and no one deserves to have what few good memories they had with someone long-lost tarnished.

Kvasir stops, briefly, fingers curling around the rag in his hand just a little too tightly before he goes back to scrubbing again.

Fury and determination prove a good time-passer, naturally, because by the time he and Cirice wrap up cleaning, Evette's timid voice sounds from the door like a chime in a mild breeze, soft and uneasy. He rises to his feet, quickly taking hold of the shattered, scarlet-stained ceramic, and walks to meet her.

"Good morning, Miss Evette," he says softly, ironing out all the edges from his tone. "It's quite safe, yes. Miss Cirice and I took care of everything, and we... have quite a few questions we need to ask you."

He produces the piece of ceramic, the look on his face dire, apologetic.

"...one of your shattered plates had a blood-stained handprint on it, Miss Evette. It's reason enough to believe that your haunting may not have been caused by a ghost, but rather... an incredibly cruel villager. Would you happen to have any idea of someone who'd do such a thing?"

"What...?" Evette looks genuinely lost and confused by that. "Someone did this... One of the people here? Are you sure?" Her tone is hesitant and uncertain. "Why? Who would do something like this..."

"Take a deep breath and think about it," Cirice says, giving her a comforting look. "Who might have a reason to do this?"

Evette looks like she really, really doesn't want to consider it but she takes a seep breath, deflating and going inside to sit on her small chair. "My husband Madison's family was rightfully upset when I started dating Nelson... They said it was an affront to his memory. But... They wouldn't do something like this, surely! His mother and I got along well before and his father died years ago... The only one who really could have would be...." She trails off, her voice catching in her throat. "Mikael... His brother. He was very upset and threatened Nelson. He said we were dishonoring his brother's memory..."

Cirice pats her shoulder, "Well we don't know yet. But thats a good place for us to start. We'll go talk to Mikael and go from there. Don't worry. No matter what you'll not be bothered anymore. We won't stop until we find the one who did this and make them stop." She's confident they can do it. Dealing with people is much easier than a monster or ghost.

"Thank you, truly." Evette looks about to cry again.

The hurt that cracks across Evette's face with all the impact of a fist against a pane of glass makes Kvasir's heart sting a little.

There's really no easy way to discuss this with her, unfortunately; no easy way to tell her that her ill-fated marriage is being dredged up and weaponized against her as some sick, twisted act of vengeance. There's no easy way to tell her that her that mortal hands vandalized her home, not phantasmal ones, that this is all the product of another living, breathing being's anger for her efforts to move on. Even still, as he watches those big eyes of hers widen, glassy with unshed tears, he cannot help but wish there was.

Any vestiges of that fury still lingering within him recede, a little, hiding away like a rabbit taking shelter as his instinct to comfort takes precedence.

"...Thank you for the information, Miss Evette," he says softly, approaching carefully, taking one of her trembling hands between both of his and offering a light, comforting squeeze. "Again... we are so, so sorry this has happened to you, but we're going to figure it out. We promise. It will all be okay."

Kvasir gives her hand one more gentle squeeze before slowly withdrawing his arms, moving to unlatch his herb satchel and sift through the vials within, immediately fishing out a particular container full of pretty, wiry pale flowers. He glances it over, briefly, before pressing it into her palm, following it up with a separate vial full of a blue, cloudy liquid, sealed rather carefully with a cork and wax seal.

"...This first vial is just a few sprigs of lavender," he says gently. "It has no innate medicinal properties, but some find it comforting to keep around. The second one contains a light sleeping medication in case you feel you need it-- I have the components labeled on the side, if you're concerned about that. I made it myself-- I'm a medic, you see. I don't just go around handing kind young ladies strange vials, I assure you. Don't feel as though you have to use either, I just... don't want you to spend all this time pacing around by yourself, fretting over Mikael and the like."

His tail flicks the air nervously, an edge of sheepishness undercutting his expression as he turns to Cirice.

"Well, Miss Cirice... I suppose we've a 'ghost' to go interrogate. Shall we, if there's nothing else Miss Evette needs from us?"

"Thank you once more sir... Ma'am. How can I repay you?"

"I don't need anything. I can't make you a sleeping potion, but I did make you a little nightlight in your bedroom. Get some rest."

Cirice looks at Kvasir with a grim nod. "We'll be back as soon as we can be."

Evette nods, "I will, thank you again." She scurries into her bedroom and shuts the door behind herself. 

"I'm going to ring that "ghost's" neck." Cirice swears, looking furious. She'd been holding it in with Evette in the room but her anger boils over, the runes on her hands peeking out from her her gloves glowing bright with violet light. "Okay maybe I won't hurt them but what they did wasn't okay. How dare this guy make Evette feel unsafe in her own home. He might be grieving, he might be angry that she's moving on, but it is not ever okay to take that out on someone else. Let's go find him."

Cirice opens the front door, fuming. The other woman, Edith is outside.

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes, can you tell us where Mikael lives?"

"Mikael? He lives over there." She points to a house on the other side of the square. "The small house with the green door. Why?"

"We have reason to believe he's involved. We'll go talk to him. Thank you, ma'am."