deadcfnight:
❦
The hour was still slightly too early to guarantee safe passage yet, with the alternative requiring Briar to deliberately subject herself to endure increasing doses of fever dream-like fragments, she was willing to risk the harm of golden hour. Bundling up in her usual layers nonetheless, Briar aimlessly skulked about town, weaving between patches of elongated shadows with practiced ease. Only a few people seemed eager to be out and about, likely suspecting the weather would take another dive for the worst without warning. As a side effect, Briar’s options to distract herself through people watching were few and far between. Torn between appreciating the light cloud cover and wishing it would vanish entirely, she sought out the comfort of an alternative location which was foolproof for what it delivered. A blanket of deafening quiet always accompanied time spent upon the memorial grounds — especially enticing to immerse oneself in it sharply offset the clamour which had otherwise been ricocheting within Briar’s skull. Whilst a sparse handful of stragglers occupied the park, only one held a resemblance which struck her as recognisable. Incidentally, after a half-loop of the park, each purposeful step Briar took furthermore would find her gravitating towards the figure. Her eyes keenly drunk in the sketch once she stood close enough, helplessly ill-equipped with imaginative talent yet unable to help covet the artist’s skill nonetheless. Momentarily lulled by the woman’s motions as well as the relaxed metronome-like rhythm of her pulse, Briar’s invisible cloak of subtlety was stripped of its illusion the instant the artist’s heartbeat broke into a startled thrum. A sheepish half-smile flit across Briar’s lips as she vaguely answered with only a shrug before her gaze returned to the abandoned drawing. “Poor thing,” she murmured, visually tracing the tattered threads of the drawn bride’s dress. “Beautiful, but… tell me, would it not be more realistic that she be left naked? I imagine the dead lack any modesty.”
Everleigh’s heartbeat began to slow down to a normal pace once more as she took in the sight of the woman before her. She had a cold vibe that didn’t quite feel malicious but rather just lacking the sunny warmth of most people. Unlike others she’s encountered with such a vibe, Evie didn’t feel threatened exactly. Part of her sensed the potential for danger, but the vibe the woman gave off was more sad than crazed.
“Oh..Um sure, I suppose. But most people bury their loved ones in a favorite outfit. So I kind of felt it would be fitting that hers buried her in the wedding dress she’d been only hours from wearing when the aneurysm took her life. At least that’s how I pictured it in my head.”
Evie shrugged as she glanced back down at the canvas. She had whole stories in her head about the people she drew and all of them had at least a kernel of truth. The visions often came to her in tiny snippets when she met someone close to death. But sometimes they were far off too and she always wondered if a stranger she met on the street might one day stumble across her artwork and see themselves.
