[sharpeandcook-deactivated201810]

                                            CROWS IN THE ATTIC

                                                   PROLOGUE                                        A CRACK IN THE STONE

                              Yes, y’know the devil’s got your number                                       And he’s knocking at your door.                                     –   Willy Russell, Blood Brothers.  

Darkness falls suddenly, swiftly.    Tonight is the night; a group of five teenagers make their way down the street barely noticing the uneven pavements that coloured their childhood. The bottles of alcohol clink loudly together, the wind tearing at their blue-and-white striped plastic bags, a cloud of cigarette smoke following wherever they go. The five of them chatter, laden with rucksacks, their laughter bouncing off the houses that frame either side of the cracked road. They scream and joke, pointedly ignoring looks from aggravated neighbours who know to stay quiet; there’s little point in saying anything, the backlash is never worth the bother with most kids.     Turning the corner out of their own territory, the small group moves on, each knowing where they are going, where they will spend the night; one last celebration before the school year starts again.     There’s a house like it in most areas, abandoned, left to the kids and their graffiti; in their case, this one is further from home. Their noise follows them like pollution, hanging over the immediate surroundings until finally, almost twenty minutes later, the place in question breaks the skyline. It hasn’t been lived in for years, the garden is overgrown with weeds and the grass itself, an unhealthy yellow, comes just up to the shins. A brown sheet of metal covers each of the downstairs windows and once, covered the door but since then someone has broken in - squatters, probably. Silence falls over the group, three boys and two girls taking in this abandoned wreck.     “Is it cold or is it just me?” A dark-haired girl asks.     “It’s definitely you.” The other answers instantly.     “Beth’s scared!” A blonde boy laughs.     “No, I’m not! It’s just cold!”      Perhaps if they weren’t already laden with alcohol, the group would have noticed what Beth did - the sheer difference in temperature. But then, perhaps, they wouldn’t have; they’re just teenagers, after all.     “I could keep you warm?” Another boy grins broadly.     “I’d sooner die of hypothermia but thanks, John.” She projects a brightness into her voice that she doesn’t really feel.     “Are we just gonna stand here all day or are we gonna continue this party?” The third boy - Max - speaks up, brandishing his bag like a trophy, his free hand grasping the other girls. He doesn’t wait for an answer, he just pushes forward through them, his girlfriend trailing behind him.     “Are we really gonna stay here?” Rebecca asks, “It looks like there’s going to be spiders.”     “And dust, lots of dust,” Beth chimes in helpfully, glad that someone might dislike this idea as much as her. “I mean, where are we gonna sleep?”     “Who says anything about sleep?” Max cuts across, John sniggering behind them.     Rebecca eyes the house with uncertainty but her steps still fall in time with the boys. “Promise me if I want to go home you’ll take me, Max.”     John and their friend - the one with the cocky grin - Liam begin to whistle.     “Rebecca’s got him whipped!”     “Max!” Rebecca can see her boyfriend wavering, not wanting to be shown up by his friends. “Promise me!”     Max rolls his eyes at his friends, “Sure babe,” he says lightly, “whatever you want. Now can we please get inside before someone calls the police.”     Any mumbles of complaints are ignored as the group comes together, forcing those in front to step forward until finally, they are over the threshold. The floorboards are broken, ripped up in some places, the discoloured wallpaper is peeling off and there are the obvious markings where pictures had once hung down the passageway. Torches burst down it, each teenager holding up their own phone to light the way; cigarette butts and empty beer bottles already litter their path.     “I think I just saw a rat,” Beth pipes up.     “Tell me you didn’t just say that.” Rebecca breathes.     “She didn’t just say that,” Max pulls Rebecca further in, the obvious leader of their little group, “let’s check out the living room.” Slowly the five of them pick their way through the passage until they get to the living room. The furniture surprisingly enough is almost untouched. Over the years the colour of it has faded and the cobwebs are thick enough to imagine giant spiders living in the crevices of the cushions.     Each of them drops their rucksack in the middle of the floor, John plonking unceremoniously next to his own belongings begins to unpack its contents and the others follow suit - Beth and Rebecca take more care, laying down jackets where they will sit. Bottles upon bottles are unpacked and dumped between John and Max before being passed out among the rest. Liam pulls out what the older generation describe as ‘whacky-baccy’. With the roach of it between his teeth the male lights it and that thick pungent smell immediately fills the room.     Liam passes around candles and the girls take them, Beth wordlessly snatching Liam’s lighter out of his hand, nose wrinkled with disgust at the smell. “Has anyone ever told you that stuff stinks?” She asks, lighting the candle in her hand. “And how many of these did you bring?”     “You should try it sometime,” he offers her the blazing, fat-ended roll and shrugs as she wordlessly brushes it away. “Oh, enough to light up the room.”     “I asked him to bring them,” Max spoke up, his oddly angular rucksack in his lap, arms around it, “Because I brought a surprise, fresh off the internet.” His grin turns mischievous. With a flourish, he yanks open the bag and pulls a wooden board from it in one smooth motion before setting it on the floor in the middle of them all.     “Is that….what I think it is?” Beth asks, having just sat down on Rebecca’s right-hand side.      “Oh cool,” Liam leans forward, the polished wood gleaming under the candle’s light, each black letter of the alphabet, the neatly carved or written - he’s not sure - ‘yes’ and ‘no’ options. “I’ve never seen one of these.”     “Except in shit horror movies,” John is interested too, his drink held lazily in one hand.     “Aren’t these meant to be dangerous?” Beth asks, frowning at the harmless board and the planchette.     “Dunno unless we try and this is the perfect spot to find out,” Max argues.     “Because it’s super creepy in here?”     “I’ve always wondered what constitutes super creepy-”     “Shut up John,” Rebecca snaps, cutting him off.     “Everyone put your finger on this -” Max’s finger touches the wooden planchette, it’s circular bit of glass magnifying the plain wood it rests on. “Pass me that,” he practically rips the funny-shaped cigarette out of Liam’s hand and takes a few large pulls, before breaking into an abrupt coughing fit.     Liam, already glassy-eyed and squinting breaks into a fit of giggles. John plucks it out of his hand, shouting something that sounds very close to ‘wussy’ before taking his own tokes. The three boys put their index finger on the wooden slate, the girls following after.    “What now?” Rebecca whispers as Max uses his free hand to throw back half a bottle of beer in one go, his cheeks flushed red.     “I guess we start.” Max strains his answer, eyes settling on each friend in turn. “Are there any spirits here?” He asks, his voice climbing in volume. Around them, the house is deadly silent, still as if even the rats have stopped moving. “We’re here to talk to you-”     John breaks off into sniggers. “We’re here to talk to you? What you gonna offer them tea and crumpets next?” The whole group laughs, drowning out whatever reply Max might have.     “Shut up!” Max suddenly shouts over the rest of them and obligingly everyone falls silent. With her hand connected to the planchette, Rebecca’s free one grasps Beth’s and though her boyfriend is sitting mere inches away - so that their legs brush when either of them moves - it’s her best friend she looks at for comfort.     Seeming to read her mind, Beth pulls a face. “…I dunno about this.”    “Scared again?” There was no tease in Liam’s voice, it was a clear challenge.     “No, it’s just stupid.”     “John doesn’t think it’s stupid, neither does Max…What about you Rebecca?”      All eyes fix on her. Max’s and Beth’s are the most important; the boyfriend she worked so hard to get and her childhood friend before she knew the other three idiots existed. “I think we should drink, smoke and talk.” It was the best middle-ground she could find; Beth would understand, she always did.     “So I just wasted thirty quid for nothing?” Max raised his eyebrows at them. “C’mon, don’t be boring - what’s the worst that could happen?”     Beth and Rebecca look at one another and the boys, apparently used to these silent conversations chatter among themselves, wondering if the board will work.     “I will if you will,” Rebecca whispers to her best friend.     “We shouldn’t mess with this stuff,”     “If we get freaked out then we just stop, right?”     “I suppose…”     “We’ll go home,” Rebecca can see she’s winning, “I’ll stay at yours, we can just leave the boys here,” She squeezes Beth’s hand, “C’mon, school starts on Monday, it’s tradition…”     “The tradition doesn’t include Ouija boards,” Beth can’t resist pointing out but one pointed look from Rebecca and she’s sighing. “Okay, fine,” she hisses, “for tradition.”     “We’re in.” Rebecca pipes up.     “Well hallelujah, put your hand on this,” Max answers, his eyes flickering over the other four. “No messing around this time, alright?” Each person nods, five fingers on the planchette once again. “Is there anyone here that wants to communicate with us?” Of course, nothing answered. “If there is, use us, we’re here to listen.”     For a few uncomfortable moments, there was nothing. Everyone looked at each other, the threat of uneasy smiles curving the girl’s mouths - until the planchette jerked. Rebecca pulled her hand back with a little scream.     “That’s not funny,” Beth shot at Liam.     “Put your hand back on!” Max urged and Rebecca wasn’t really sure why she did. As soon as she reconnected, it moved again, slowly but surely edging forward toward the block-lettered ‘HELLO’.     “Who’s doing that?” Rebecca found her voice.     “It’s not me,” Liam was quick to defend himself.     “It’s spelling something!” John breathed, eyes wide with amazement and sure enough, the block of wood kept moving. “I-T-S-M-E…”     “I swear to god, Liam, you need to stop right now-”     “It’s not me, idiot!”     “Prove it!”     “Everyone takes their hands off on five, deal?” Liam demands, “One, two, three, four, five.” Instantly, the five of them take their hands away and like nothing strange had happened, the board and its marker were still. Looking at one another, barely beginning to understand what they were playing with, each made the mistake of putting their fingers back on.     “Are you trapped here?” Max’s voice cut through the room and everyone’s eyes dropped to the Ouija board and it responded, the movement smoother now. No. “Do we know you?” No. They held their breaths “…Who are you?”     “We should stop,” Beth suddenly starts to urge, pleading with them all. “This isn’t right.”     “They’re answering!” John cut across any argument that might have started. Every set of eyes fixed on the Ouija board, watching the planchettes movements as it edged towards each letter. “I-AM-THE-END.” The magnifying glass settles definitively on the letter D, showing no further signs of moving.     “That’s it!” Rebecca’s voice breaks the stunned silence. Her untouched bottle is set on the floor beside her. “I’ve had enough, I’m going home.” She fixes Max with a meaningful stare but the boy falls short of her expectations and with an aggravated sigh, she turns to Beth - to trustworthy, reliable Beth. “Let’s go.”     Beth doesn’t need much encouragement. She is as pale as a sheet as she gets to her feet.     The front door slams shut, loud enough to make both girls scream, and then, of its own accord, the planchette starts moving again.                                              I-A-M-C-O-M-I-N-G                                              I-A-M-C-O-M-I-N-G                                              R-U-N-R-U-N-R-U-N.     “Make it stop!”     The boys are already moving the planchette off its own course to move it across to the block letters on the bottom-centre of the board. Only, when the rest of them take their hands off it, the wooden block moves again, displaying the same message. Rebecca grabs the other girl’s hand and tugs her out of the room toward the door - it’s shut. Completely, irrevocably shut. Despite any good sense the pair of them have, they try to pry it loose.     “We’re locked in!” Rebecca screams over her shoulder, unable to hide the rising hysteria in her voice. Desperately she tries to pry the door open, making her fingers bleed with the effort. “MAX!” A great crash comes from the living room and though both girls are shaking with fear, there are no words or questions; their friends are in that room - they are already turning back.     They only get halfway down the passage when the boys burst out of the door at the same time, elbowing each other, all in a rush to escape.     “We’ve gotta get out,” All of the colour is gone from John’s face - Max and Liam look the same.     “The door’s closed!” Beth almost shouts as a dry sob leaves Rebecca.     “Get out of my way!” Max, none too gently, pushes both girls aside and with all the confidence of a teenager puts both hands on the rusted doorknob and turns, yanking with all of his might. “Help me!” He shouts to the other boys and glad for something to do, they run to his aid. None of them seem to realise it’s already too late.     “What about the back door?!” Beth is off like a shot and though Rebecca’s legs feel like jelly, she stumbles after the other girl, through the passage and into the kitchen. All the drawers are opened, rusted pots and pans spill across the sides and everything else is strewn over the floor, concealing most of the shattered tiles. As for the back door? It doesn’t give, either, it remains stubbornly closed. Swearing in frustration, Beth tears away and tries one of the windows.     In the house, something moves. It can hear the five teenagers downstairs, their panicked footsteps. It doesn’t understand their words, only the fear that weaves through them, the kind that makes voices crack, that makes flesh delicious. A quiet gurgling accompanies it, lost easily amongst the noise below. Its five fresh meals have gathered near the stairs, five thundering hearts clustered together. Three loud crashes at once, five screams and then five sets of footsteps - heading in different directions.  If it was capable, it might smile at its own cunning, instead, it moves soundlessly forward - drawn to those sounds like a moth to the flame - and then, completely disappears.     Rebecca climbs the stairs, taking two steps at a time; anything to get away from the chaos below. She is met with the bare passageway, the thing that hunts her and her friends gone without a trace as if it had never existed.     Shaking, unable to force herself to turn around, Rebecca can only move forward, avoiding the gaps in the floor, praying to God that she might find an exit. With one hand against the wall to steady herself, she moves, not noticing the black drops on the floor. There are four rooms and each door is closed, the house has fallen completely silent but fear stops Rebecca from considering what that may mean - she’s almost certain she can hear her friends trying to be quiet.     Holding her breath, a trembling hand grasps one of the doorknobs and turns it, pushing it slowly open and revealing the room beyond. It might have belonged to a little girl once, judging by the faded pink frills that line the rotting sheets but Rebecca doesn’t notice that. Like a miracle she sees an open window, practically crying with relief until her eyes are immediately drawn to a messy pile beneath it.  Amongst the torn strips of clothing, spattered with a dark, stiff-looking red, are bones and chunks of flesh. Stumbling backward, hitting the floor, Rebecca scrambles, pushing herself from the gruesome sight and towards the door on her backside.     At first, she doesn’t register the other screams. She can’t hear anything over her own terror as that pile sears itself into her memory. Then, an entirely new sound breaks the barrier; a shriek unlike anything else. It tears through the air, inhuman and deafening and as though someone has lifted a blockade on her senses, now Rebecca hears the cries of her friends mingle with it.     Frozen and vulnerable, she can’t bring herself to move; there is nothing except the awful sounds echoing through the house. Downstairs is a flurry of activity, it seemed as though a stampede has suddenly ripped through the place and maybe this is what jolts Rebecca into movement again - back into real life. She gets to her hands and knees, she can hear John begging, his voice closer than the screams. Or maybe her friends have stopped screaming now, she can’t hear Max or Liam.  One thing she can’t do, though, is convince herself none of this is real.     Using the wall for support, Rebecca somehow hauls herself onto her feet. One cautious step after another she moves forward; a mere ten paces packed into eternity. Through the banisters, she can make out an all-too-familiar shape. Her knees almost give out there and then, a gasp catches in her throat. You have to see. Another step, closer, further down and toward the pool of blood against the last step. Please….     John is lying by the front door, propped against it, hands limp at his side. His shirt is drenched with blood, his neck twisted at an odd angle. A hand goes to her mouth and Rebecca practically stumbles down the last five steps, crashing to her knees in front of him.     “J-John?” Her voice is small, unrecognizable to her own ears. He doesn’t answer. John will never talk again. The tears come in earnest, creating tracks down her skin. Beth. Max. Liam. She tears away from the mess of her friend and, a few feet from him lays Max’s head. His body is nowhere to be seen. “M-Max…..BETH?! BETH!?” She doesn’t think that screaming is probably the worst thing to do. In fact, she doesn’t think anything at all except her friends’ names, like a mantra whispered in times of need.     Blood pouring from her shoulder, Beth limps into view. Her colour has completely disappeared and her eyes are drooping but in that moment Rebecca’s relief is so enormous she doesn’t drink in those details. All she can see is that her friend is alive. “L-Liam?” Rebecca asks, rushing to close the space. All Beth can do is shake her head.    “I-It’s okay, it’s ok-ay,” she hiccups through her tears, her hands finding Beth’s wounds.    “No,” Beth gasps, “It’s not, they’re all dead.” She isn’t crying, her voice is flat.    “Th-the window,” Rebecca urges, “There’s a window upstairs.” She puts Beth’s good arm across her shoulders. “We h-have to go. We have to leave.” She doesn’t hear Beth’s reply, she’s already moving, trying not to look at the remains of Max and John on the way. “J-just don’t look,” Rebecca breathes to her best friend as they edge up the passageway, towards the stairs.     Fine beads of sweat trickle down Rebecca’s forehead as she tries to support Beth. Now with their backs to the remains of John and Max, she forces the other girl to take the first step up. Only fourteen more steps. Beth begins babbling then, about monsters, about the Ouija board as Rebecca fights to get them both up the stairs.     Finally, at the top, Rebecca is panting from the effort. Beth’s head keeps lolling as though she can’t keep it up. The house is completely silent; maybe they can make the jump. Maybe they can still get out. Rebecca just knows that she can’t stop, that she can’t leave Beth behind. The door of that one room remains open, mere feet away and for one foolish moment, Rebecca feels hope blossoming in her chest. We can make it. We can. By this point, she’s practically dragging Beth as they approach the threshold of the bedroom.     That rancid pile still remains, proving to Rebecca that she didn’t lose her sanity. The buzzing of flies registers in the quiet of the house, laying their eggs among the decay. The window opposite them is unboarded, the glass that held the frame is shattered and above all, it’s open. Fresh tears spill over Rebecca’s cheeks. “L-look, Beth,” she whispers to her friend, heart pounding its joyful tune; Alive, alive, alive. “It’s open, we, we can go h-home.” Readjusting her best friend’s position, Rebecca pushes forward. “We’re almost there.” Beth will have to go first, she knows that; she just has to hope that the fall doesn’t bring any more injuries. “We’re almost there.”     “Are we?” Beth finally speaks.     “Just a little furth-er, I promise, then we’re sa-safe.”     Then, the sickly gurgling starts again; the sound that nobody had heard before. It’s coming from all directions, guttural, animalistic even. Beth’s getting harder to hold up, her legs keep buckling, slowing their progress and Rebecca’s tugs become desperate again. “Beth,” There’s no hiding that level of terror, Rebecca doesn’t even try. “You have to stay awake, we have to go!” Behind them, the door slams shut.     For the final time that night, the house is filled with screams.        

This chapter is dedicated to: Dezaray aka @oblivionsdream  for bringing our characters to life and joining us on this journey.

[apartofthegrey-blog]

Hi, people. I’ve not been around for a couple of weeks and this blog is the reason why. Sharpe and I have begun a writing blog together, to pursue our dreams as authors. I cherish you guys so I figured I’d share this. 

[apartofthegrey-blog]

Hi, guys, I'm here and I'm alive. This is just another post telling you that I'm a little bit useless and real life is lodging itself firmly in the way of some down-time. I will try and get back and do replies at semi-regular intervals. Just bare with me - I miss you and this place lots.

[apartofthegrey-blog]

Hi, people. I’ve not been around for a couple of weeks and this blog is the reason why. Sharpe and I have begun a writing blog together, to pursue our dreams as authors. I cherish you guys so I figured I’d share this. 

[apartofthegrey-blog]

Hi, people. I've not been around for a couple of weeks and this blog is the reason why. Sharpe and I have begun a writing blog together, to pursue our dreams as authors. I cherish you guys so I figured I’d share this. 

[apartofthegrey-blog]

Hey, guys, I'm sorry I've been MIA but my best friend and I have begun a writing blog together. It’s a bit sparse at the moment but this is what has been taking up my time. Here’s a link if you’re interested: Click here

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    ‘i’m… in between jobs right now. i used to work at a CLUB.’ the less said about that, the better. the purple ribbon around her neck was all the reminder she needed of her time at the pudding and PIE. but she put on a smile on anyway, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear and the flower that rested there. there was no reason to be anxious already– he didn’t much remind her of the PRINCE that had betrayed her long ago in her old home. ‘my name’s NERISSA.’                “IT’S DIFFICULT to find work,” Caleb said, and not without sympathy. “Oh? What did you do there?” The dark haired male wasn’t the kind that judged others but then, Nerissa wasn’t to know that just as he didn’t realise that she would prefer to leave the subject well alone. His eyes flickered to the flower, following the locks of hair before making eye contact again. Was it him or did she look nervous? “Caleb,” he offered a grin, something friendly and warm just like him. “So, uh, I probably shouldn’t admit this but it’s...been a long time since I went on any kind of date and I’m a bit rusty.” His grin turned somewhat sheepish.

[apartofthegrey-blog]

“Y-yeah, I think I’m fine.” Elena checked the cover of her book for tears before even checking her palms or knees for bloody scrapes, her priority on her book, as it always was. There wasn’t much to worry about, though, even if she had hurt herself; fae healed quicker than humans, and she had a decent healing ability despite only being partially fae - not that she knew about her lineage.

She looked up at him and then froze, clutching the book tighter to her chest. Something about him seemed familiar, like something out of a dream - or a nightmare? Unable to place his face, Elena gave the other an almost timid smile and then looked down again. “Thank you for checking on me. I’m E-Elena.”          IT WASN’T lost on the vampire, the way Elena checked her book over before she worried about her own injuries. She was a true book lover and Oliver liked to imagine that if he had been given those opportunities in his human life then perhaps he would have been too. He offered the female a hand to take, to help her from the floor and it was left dangling awkwardly in the air when the female looked up and made eye contact for the first time.            “Elena, a pleasure,” Oliver assured her easily, her timid smile being returned with a charismatic one of his own; even as a human peasant all those centuries ago the Marks boy had been anything but shy. “I’m Oliver.”

[apartofthegrey-blog]

Dying for more threads, I'm not gonna lie.

[apartofthegrey-blog]

When you get this, please respond with five things that make you happy~! Then, send to the last ten people in your notifications anonymously. You never know who might benefit from spreading positivity~! 🌼

Ooh, okay.1) Tea.2) Music.3) Books.4) Writing.5) Friends, other half and family.I’m really not hard to please tbh.

[apartofthegrey-blog]

TO DO; - write more headcanons. - develop Eryk, Eliza, Tressa & Remi more. - post starter calls for each character.

[apartofthegrey-blog]

“I don’t think you can make others see me and I doubt you can revive me, so not really?” what else could he wish of her? It wasn’t like he had wondered much about what would happen when he died and Nate didn’t think he had any unfinished business… Or maybe he just didn’t remember any kind of unfinished business, had he forgotten anything? He could still remember everything that led to his death, and… The male visibly winced as he remembered the feeling of the car hitting his body, the bones breaking and perforating both lungs and his heart. It would have been impossible for him not to have died.

“So a medium?” a pause… was that the correct term to use? “Or is it a clairvoyant?” he had been more into the whole monster part of myths, not really the ones that dealt with any deads that didn’t become unliving. Another wince at her question “Well, I kinda remember everything and when I say everything it’s the everything that I don’t wanna remember.” Like how he had felt while dying, fuck, did all ghosts remember it? No wonder some decided to be fucking petty and hunt everyone. Though luck he wasn’t mean enough to go petty and hunt everyone. “So, uh… Do you do this every day? Because it must get tiring no?” and maybe he should stop talking.

              “ONLY YOU can manifest yourself but it takes a lot of work and energy.” It wasn’t entirely impossible for a ghost to become visible to ordinary humans but as a general rule Octavia didn’t advise it; sometimes the effects were irreversible. She watched as the male winced and pursed her plump lips together in a thin line, wondering what it was that made him react in such a way. “You don’t want to find peace?” She asked, eyebrows raised, sipping at the whiskey that settled on her knee.                 “A Medium,” the female answered, taking his answer with a nod. Sometimes ghosts had no idea they were dead and that was the thing that stopped them from moving on, their deaths being so traumatic that it robbed them of the truth. His next question surprised her and it showed in the widening of amber eyes before it was gone, replaced with a shrug. “Every day,” she confirmed, stretching against the sofa for a moment before her frame relaxed again, a chuckle following. “Of course it does, ghosts don’t keep normal schedules....I’m Octavia, by the way.”

[apartofthegrey-blog]

  there’s apprehensive in the woman’s– though old as she was, she still had theTEMPERAMENT of a girl, even a maiden– features as she settled in the chair, trying not to fixate too much on her dress hemline and whether it was suitable for meeting someone NEW or the purple ribbon kept around her neck. she tangled her fingers together to busy herself before nerissa eventually glanced up. ‘can i ask what you do for a LIVING?’

        her amber eyes FIXATED on them, squinting in an attempt to see if they were a mundie or something else entirely.

@apartofthegrey ( blind date starter call. )

                 CALEB COULDN’T remember the last time he had been on a date. For a moment there was an awkward silence and the male wondered what on earth had possessed him to think that a blind date was a good idea, despite the fact that the red-haired female sitting opposite him was gorgeous. Dark eyes fixed on the female and he offered a small smile, knowing his job was hardly desirable, plenty of others had turned their nose up at him in the past due to it. “I’m a carpenter by trade, how about you?” His London accent betrayed him immediately.

[apartofthegrey-blog]

Lia actually flinched when he looked at her. Sometimes the court wasn’t the best place for someone like her, not as bold as most of those inside, certainly not into all the politics and trickery that were required. Contempt was mostly what they directed at her, some with envy in the mix. The look that the dragon was sending her only held hate, unadulterated and unfiltered hate, the kind that could have burned her alive if such a stare allowed such. “It doesn’t seem to be working.” It was better if she didn’t show fear, right? Sitting straighter, she lifted her chin proudly “You have to take better care of yourself.” Raising from her place, she took a step forward before thinking better and stopping “Let me bandage it properly.” God, the guards seemed to have done a truly poor job.

       IT GAVE Cameron great satisfaction to watch the female cringe as soon as she made eye contact with him. He hoped she understood that the only reason she was alive and standing in his presence was the collar around his neck if he had all of his abilities this entire castle would have been aflame. He watched as she straightened her entire frame, lifting her chin in that oh-so-human arrogance. “And why exactly would you care?” He asked roughly, an eyebrow arching at the Princess. She hesitated, stopping herself from fully approaching him. “I’d rather you didn’t.” He said bluntly. “I have no use for your human remedies.” The Princess had been given a particularly stubborn and hateful dragon to be bound to and Cameron had no intentions of staying imprisoned for the rest of his life. He would be free or he would die fighting for it as his parents had.

[apartofthegrey-blog]

Shit.

The girl looked at him and Jude was certain he was looking into the eyes of death. He was paralyzed with a fear he’d never known before. Before he knew it, Jude was being tackled to the ground, hands that felt like a steel trap wrapped around his throat, burning from the girl’s ( was it actually a girl ) touch and from the sheer fact that he couldn’t breath.

Slowly but surely, Jude’s vision began to go dark. The last thing he heard was Octavia’s voice. He was trying so hard to push the girl off of him, to grab for the woman he came here for, but his airway was constricted, and as Jude slowly began to feel himself slip out of consciousness, he was beginning to agree with Dawson. Coming here was definitely a bad idea.            HANDS WITHDRAWING from Priscilla’s shoulders, her heart thundering so loud she could hear it crashing in her ears Octavia did her best not to give in to the panic; to keep herself level-headed. “JUDE!” She shouted his name, too wrapped up in the moment to really register the level of emotion in it. “STAY WITH ME!” Stepping back, the Medium did the only thing she could think of and rammed the pole through Priscilla with a savage kind of strength.           Though they were dead, ghosts had a particular weakness for iron. As soon as it pushed through the girl’s flesh, she disappeared, her hold on Jude relinquishing suddenly, dissipating the small girl almost immediately. Octavia took her place, rushing to the male, crashing to her knees beside him. “Jude? Jude?!” Her vision blurred with tears, fearing she was too late. “Answer me, damn it!” She struggled to pull him onto her lap, tipping his head back in the hopes of clearing his airway. “Jude, please!” A shaking hand went under his nose, in the hopes of feeling him breathe.

[apartofthegrey-blog]

Eden could see he was ready for an argument, she was hoping that this wasn’t about to turn into one because she wasn’t ready for one, she never really wanted one. Confrontation was so not her. Instantly Eden shook her head, “I could never hate you.. sure the pain I felt when you left was intense but I would just remember the good times and I would get through,” she muttered pursing her lips a little, hiding any emotion that may have been visible on her features. “I never got your number, honest truth but like whatever its in the past and well here we are now..” she trailed off a sigh leaving her lips, Eden really didn’t know where to go from here. “I didn’t feel good enough but anyway do you want to maybe come and get a drink with me, we can have a proper catch up,” she suggested, trying to be the bigger person and of course she wanted to hear about how he had been.

                   THE HUNTER watched as her expression went determinedly blank and found himself mirroring it, as if he had to protect himself somehow though he couldn’t be sure entirely why. He nodded as she spoke, not having anything else to offer the female; for all of his faults, Luther was honest and if he did not know what to say then it was always likely that he would say nothing at all. Out of the uncharted territory of emotions, the male was grateful at her change of the subject. “Sure,” the male replied without hesitation, after all she was someone he cared about and it had been a few years since the two had been in contact; he assumed there was plenty to share. “Whenever you’re free. I don’t start working for another day or two.” Though of course even when he wasn’t supposed to be working, Luther often did. 

[apartofthegrey-blog]

 he doesn’t try to speak again as she clings to him. there’s an      awkward pause that lasts only a few seconds, as he tries to      decide what to do. whether he should hug her back, or keep      his distance. whether he should try to get her on her feet,or      let her stay here for a while. eventually he settles for wrapping      an arm around her, in the hopes that his presence and his      warmth makes her feel more safe, more secure. ❝ it’s okay,      you’re safe now. ❞             THE PRESSURE of his arm, wrapping around her shoulders registered and if it was possible, Eliza clung tighter to the male as if she never meant to let him go. It’s okay, you’re safe now. Another sob tears out of her throat, her entire frame shaking with the force of it and again, unsuccessfully, she tries to form words. Minutes pass in this way, with the blonde’s knees locked together tightly, holding the stranger, crying. “T-t-thank-you,” she finally manages to sputter. “T-thank you.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, the female tries to blink away the last of her tears and slowly, relinquishes her grip to wipe at her face with shaking hands. “W-why me?” she asks in a quiet voice, expression full of confusion and fear.