Given her closed eyes, the rabbit had to wonder if she had mistakingly opened a window
instead of the ballroom door as the whispers coursed like a rushing wind. Her large ears
bore a hypersensitivty to the noise, causing her all to but receed further into herself, her
lips trembling. She let go of the door frame to clutch at her ears, a nervous habit she had
developed and one she had tried to stop – it would be dreadfully useless if she needed to
fly, after all. She was small enough and the mansion was grand enough that she could
traverse in the air if she wanted to, however it was the paralyzing fear that kept her grounded.
Eventually she had to come to terms that she would never find her lifelong friend blind,
and slowly opened her eyes, blinking a few times to readjust to the darker than usual setting
than she was accoustumed to. Honey-coloured hues swept the length of the ballroom, taking
in what would’ve been a grandoise area of dance had it been full of life.
Cream took a moment of respite to think on it – she was not much of a dancer herself, but the
young girl liked twirls and swirls as much as the next child, especially if any storybook Prince
Charming were involved. Truthfully, she was not much for frivilous thoughts, but it brought a
surreal comfort to help with the reality she was in a haunted mansion and Cheese was very
much missing.
– A squeak of terror came from her as the sound of the male’s voice cut through
the windy draft, ceasing all noise but his tenor. Her gaze rapidly shifted until they
fell on the source; a portrait of two humans.
When it became apparent that yes, it – nay, – he had spoken, and that she was now in
the presence of two, a royal red flush spread across her cheeks as she caught
herself staring like a deer in headlights. Her hands immediately busied themself away
from her ears, to the corners of her dress to allow her to fumble a curtsey, which while
botched, was still a valiant effort under such duress. “A-Ah! I .. I er.. I’m.. – !!”
Stammering was just as bad in her books, and she had never felt so embarassed infront
of the portrait ghosts, nevermind the fact that, for all she knew, they could be behind her
friend’s disappearance. With no evidence nor proof, she could only do what she knew best;
being cordial. Cream entered fully, gaze to the ground. “I.. I’m sorry, Mister and Misses. I
was just trying to find my friend, I didn’t mean to disturb you or anyone.”
Cream, truthfully didn’t mind the fact they were ghosts, or portraits. Most of the ghosts she
had come across were not benevolent, but she hoped the couple proved otherwise. It’d
be wrong of her to paint them in the same light as past experiences.
SUCH ғᴏʀᴍᴀʟɪᴛɪᴇs ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ, ᴇsᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ɢɪᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀʙʙɪᴛ ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜᴇʀsᴇʟғ ɪɴ. Regardless, it had pleased the elders after the initial wave of shock had washed over them and crashed along the shores elsewhere, and led them to believe that this girl was much more than what she had bargained to be--than what her trembling, sniveling outward appearance hung around her neck and paraded around like some sort of pathetic show highlighting the cliché fear of ghosts--oh, how terrifying!
Granted, the Whirlindas had been dead for 39 years--14 years, of which, they had been haunting this particular mansion as ghosts.
Mrs. Whirlinda's portrait had been the one to react first; its pupils and irises fused into one as they fleshed out across their respective eyeballs, coating them in bright beams of green light; a vivacious smile crossed its grim visage as the lips drained themselves of their dusty brown hue, only to burst into a vibrant crimson that heightened the smile tenfold; the cheeks were dotted with delicate carnation strokes; and blonde curls piled themselves atop its cranium. Finally, as its skin grew [translucent] blue, the ghastly wife presented what was the dead shell that she had wormed herself into upon resurrection (hers was a peculiar case--a deal with the devil, so to speak) as she now inspected the girl further, choosing to remain concealed behind her frame for the time being. The Missus giggled, mouthed something indecipherable to her husband, and then bid the rabbit adieu in the form of a wave--the retracting of her fingers and back, rather--before she dissipated from the wall, leaving behind a stoic depiction of her former self.
Her spouse would follow suit, but his living countenance still scrutinized the mortal from beyond his mount. A gloved hand, not previously presented by the artist, rested upon his cheek as brows narrowed overhead; he almost appeared annoyed, though his tone suggested otherwise. ❝Ah--there we are. See now, sweet child, we know what you want--what you desire--why you are here. And we can help you.❞ His expression softened as it had begun to gain color in a similar fashion to the show that his wife had put on moments ago.
A trickle of wind cascaded over the rabbit’s bare shoulders--cold, slender digits of tingling chill that danced over her skin, surely causing any fine hairs to rise. Immediately, a large gust barreled past the girl, leaving an air of a feminine scent--perfume--in its skittish wake. As the faint smell of lavender and rosemary shrouded itself about Cream in a blanket of oddities--comforting to some, perhaps, though she had just been touched by an invisible ghost--a small gathering of twinkling specks appeared just in front of her for a short moment before bursting in grand entrance, sending wayward sparks of imagination flying in every direction. As the clearing was now void of any flashy decoration, Mrs. Whirlinda, in full, hovered before the girl, shifting her tail underneath herself as if to sit as dainty hands settled themselves in the lap of her dress.
A catlike playfulness danced across her visage. ❝But, oh,❞ she continued for her husband, voice low and sultry, ❝do many wary travelers find themselves lost within these decaying walls with even the utmost caution by their side.❞ A pause; her smirk widens but only for a moment. ❝I'm sure your friend must have been spooked, however, yes?❞ Above, something scraped along the floorboards of the second floor--presumably Cream's partner in crime--but Mrs. Whirlinda paid it no attention and kept talking, deeming it as being a mere mouse and nothing more. ❝Regardless, we would need to know more about your friend if you seek our assistance in finding him or her.❞ She meant no harm, and they could tell; not a flashlight nor vacuum cleaner was to be seen anywhere on her person.
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
andulkaphoto
dededos
vaporwave
