( Evident as it is that Abella is inclined to smiles and light-heartedness, that might be first proper joke she's heard today. The thread of tension that survived the first drag of her cigarette eases with her quiet laughter. )

Mm. We have, um-- a tradition, I suppose? I always thought it was harmless fun, make-believe, like so many old stories.

( And then. She hopes that isn't too obvious, doesn't want to bring down the mood. I always believed is easier to brush over than, I used to. )

Each month has two types of souls under it. Some have more, for solstices, and the like. When you are born dictates what kind of soul you have, and the belief is that... ( she waves her hand vaguely, trying to find the right words for summing up astrology without being particularly clued into it. ) The forces of the universe influence you in particular ways, your personality, your fate, maybe? But it's not like everyone born with a particular soul is identical. There's so many, Changeling, Suffocated, Radiant.

( Decrepit, a memory presses forward unbidden, unwanted, and Abella is glad that a drag of the cigarette keeps her hand from shaking. )