eventually, jelan finds themself in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere, where the fence is low. she sings to the plains from her front deck to fill the quiet, to drown the whispers of golden eyes watching from the bushes. their voice echoes and booms and rolls through the desert, filling the loneliness, hoping someone will find her. and often, people do.

im feelin jelan rn im listening to that witch in training playlist but like her fave movie is hands down kikis delivery service and she makes her own alcohol which numbs the senses and she and chloe sit on the floor surrounded by plush cushions and lavish rugs theyve stolen from rich kids at parties they sneak into and get drunk and touch each others faces to make sure theyre really there and kiss bc its nice and jelan talks about how when they water plants they can feel them soaking up the liquid and the water pulsing through the roots to the stem and how the sunlight filtering through the shreds of chiffon and organza curtains is filled with tiny fireflies

jelan is a little witch kid they have at least 3 incense sticks and 2 scented candles burning at all times and their balcony is filled with herbs and flowers and vines theyve cultivated and use for poultices and medicine and sometimes they see the ghosts of their dead friends circling around the ceiling fan and hear whispers of devils chanting from beneath their feet and they walk suspended on smoke breathed from bongs and dirt and the words on pages of books that shouldve been burnt long ago