by deadacct » Tue Feb 19, 2013 10:17 am
Username: { c a s t i e l.
Name: Enoch
Why is he so worried? Poor Enoch, though gentle and kind as he is, just can't seem to catch a break. See, struck young with the curiosity and utter hunger for celestial knowledge, he read and studied and memorized spells, incantations, signs and sigils; anything that would conjure and invoke spirits or otherworldly beings which would give him the knowledge which he did seek. When he thought he had something within his reach, which did seem to happen more often than not, Enoch would stay up for hours and hours with only the dim, flickering light of a candle to light his dusty old pages. Eventually, his eyes having been trained to the dark, Enoch grew weary of going out in the day. Instead, he preferred to stay in and catch a short nap and a snack before studying some more. As time when on, he became known to others as a creepy, mad bean. Not that their whispers reached him, because he had since pushed out of his mind all desire to socialize with anyone but the spirits, who still hadn't come to him.
Eventually, though, Enoch did venture outside. His eyes weary with something, and dark from sleep deprivation, he began gathering material. Paper, ink, anything he could find to write with. Once, he was stopped and asked by one of the braver beans what he was doing. Enoch replied, his voice low and shaky and his eyes darting about, "they've come to me, I have them." And without another word he started back home. Now, anyone who knew anything about Enoch knew that he was talking about the spirits. But, as it was, the only thing that could be happening to him was he was going insane. The lack of sleep and social interaction was getting to his brain, and he was hallucinating. To them, he was really just crazy.
But Enoch believed that he was seeing beings from beyond the veil. And not just ghosts, but angels too. They were telling him, urging him to write. And so he did. Enoch wrote whatever they told him to, whether it be about life or death or what to eat for breakfast. That's what's put him here, shifty and jumpy and altogether mad in the head. When he does venture a walk outside, Enoch talks to himself, spouting preposterous nonsense, until he suddenly scurries back to where he came from; his dark, secluded haven. And that, simply, is why he's always worried. Because they tell him to write and write and write without a break. Or maybe it's because he really is just a delirious lunatic. Ask him, though, and he'll tell you.
"I asked for them, and now they won't let me go."