Darkness. Everything was very dark.
A long, glossed mirror stood tall and proud before Luco. There was some light, shining down softly from somewhere not visible to the eye. He could feel the weight of something in his right hand. Gripping his spindly fingers firmly around the object, he turned it over in his hand. An apple. Shiny and red, an inviting aroma circled the air, drawing his lips to the tender skin of the fruit. He brought the apple to his mouth, his jaw opening and his teeth slicing through the raw flesh. The taste was so sweet, calling him in for more. He took another deep bite, exhaling loudly in appreciation. His mouth surrounded the apple once more, however he paused, the item resting on the tip of his tongue.
Drip.
He looked down to the floor. A small puddle of red liquid began to form around his feet. His eyes flickered back up to the apple. Upon realisation, his pupils shrank, constricting in sheer horror. For this was no ordinary fruit. What appeared to be blood seeped from the wound that Luco had bitten out of the flesh. His eyes began to focus on the inside of this not-so-normal item; the once white core had soured to a dark red. On further inspection, the internal crimson was moving... it was beating.
Drip.
The scarlet liquid welled up on Luco's white sleeves in small flowers. For this yield he held in his hand was no golden delicious, granny smith or pink lady... this was a...

SLAM

Voices. A stir. Crusty morning eyes batting open. A dream. All a dream.

A light was stricken up, touched to the tips of several candles which illuminated the room. Luco looked up and caught a brief, accidental look at himself in the broken in half mirror hanging on the wall; a hood was shadowing his face, casting dark shadows along the sharp angles in his face, the gaunt and darkened figure becoming unpleasant. He could never bear his reflection for too long. It was a waxing moon that night, a good time to uncover what lay ahead for him. He was feeling mixed emotions about the current situation.
He picked up a leather pouch, placing his hand inside and mixing the contents up the bag up. Three times deosil precisely. He immediately brought a small handful out and cast them upon a black cloth in front of him. The snow coloured crystals clattering down and landing in different directions. If a rune is upright, it has a certain meaning. A few symbols were facing upwards, the visible symbols glowing slightly.



Raidho.
A journey. A change. Coming towards an important choice.

He paused, looking about his room in thought. However he quickly focused in on the amount of papers covering the floor that were all very illegibly written on. Christ, even the homely mess of his dormitory began to depress him too long if he stared and thought about it for more than a couple of seconds. He quickly snapped back to the runes.

Perthro.
A secret matter. Initiation. Ah.

A few metaphorical cogs began to turn in his head. He slid a cigarette out from behind his ear and slipped it in between his lips. Leaning down slightly, he lit it from the naked flame of a candle dripping with wax. His eyes flickered over to the remaining runes, tendrils of smoke curling from his nostrils up to the ceiling.

Berkano. Mannaz.
Promise of new beginnings. Aid in the form of a new ally. Well, it's about time.