GUYS remember when we were all freaked out about the “when the summer dies, severing the ties” line in dathoml? I HAD A THOUGHT. what if that was from the perspective of sister imperator? and now that i think about it, it seems like the entire song might be.
I HAVE A THEORY - explanation below (SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE)
so we have the lines:
“When the summer dies
Severing the ties
I'm with you always, always”
and obviously the movie took place in summer, and she dies in the movie. the ties have been severed. she’s no longer living, this leads to the next line about being with you always. sister is a ghost now, and also, motherly love for copia and all that. moving on.
“Will you walk the line?
My path serpentine”
to me this seems like sister asking if copia will follow in her footsteps, or the path she’s set for him in the way of this satanic ministry.
“Remember always
That love is all you need
Tell me who you wanna be
And I will set you free”
this feels very aligned with some of the things discussed in the movie. along with how she set copia free from the fate he was so worried about, and making him frater copia.
then there’s the chorus. her love is cold, her love is deep. she seemed harsh on him many times, so maybe that’s the cold part. and obviously a mother’s love is deep. so.
THEN THE REST OF THE SONG KINDA FOLLOWS THIS GENERAL THEME.
and then remember the whispers in that one part of the song? maybe that’s a reference to how she felt at one point with nihil.
maybe i’m overthinking this, BUT TO ME IT SEEMS LIKE ITS FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF SISTER IMPERATOR.
well you made it though your first session with Dr. Lecter! how will the second go?
a/n: song inspiration for this chapter: lacrimosa by mozart
hello!! i just wanna say thank you so much for reading. just a warning: this chapter contains descriptions of a panic attack and brief descriptions of a car accident with an animal. if this is something that might bother you i recommend doing what’s best for you mentally. enjoy!!
tags: @flow33didontsmoke
chapter 2: il sentiero
Your first session with Dr. Lecter had gone well. You were still a bit apprehensive as to what you might show the man so far, but he had given you lots to think on.
He truly impressed you so far. From what you could gather, he not only was incredibly intellectual, but also a man of philosophy. You could admire that. Hell, you already admired him. He seemed good at his profession. Already, he’d referenced the work of Dante.
“The path to paradise begins in hell, as Dante put once. Just as you right now are in low conditions in your mind, I have to imagine that we always have brighter places to work towards.” he had said, his deep voice rang clearly across the room.
You had thought about it, and he had been right. You’ve got to start somewhere, even if it’s hell. Though you felt dramatic for calling your current situation “hell”. You appreciated how well-read he was though. It had inspired you.
An hour later you were sitting with a copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy in your lap, weighing down on your legs. The cover had a painting behind the title and other writings on the cover. You scanned the faces that were shown, and in interest, made out two figures, staring at legs coming out of the ground. For such a classic renowned book, it sure did have a strange cover. But the wisdom in your psychiatrists words had inflicted a curiosity upon you that was deeper than any unsettled emotion.
The evening after your session wore on, and in time, you had fallen into a deep sleep.
Days passed slowly, and the pages of the book turned with your continuing progress. It took patience to get through. Both the days and the book. Your job flooded you with responsibilities and when you came home and opened the heavy book, you were faced with words that did take some effort to decipher, but soon you found comfort in the word-laden pages. You tried listening to his advice about how the path to paradise begins in hell. What could paradise have in store for you? How long would this path take? Why couldn’t you have just started halfway? What if this wasn’t hell, and your journey hadn’t begun, and things would only get worse? Anxious questions seemed to constantly flood your mind, attacking any means of traveling on said “path.” Throughout the next few days, when the questions occasionally became too much, you would think back to Dr. Lecter’s rich voice, the distinguished air of his room, his analytic chestnut eyes. And the thought that soon you’d be there again. All hope wasn’t lost for you. You had Dante, Dr. Lecter, and this so-called path to paradise. You’d been through a lot to even make it here. You would try this. You had to.
Before you knew it, you were once again in the refined waiting room. Music once again played softly and the receptionist seemed to be in the exact same nervous state she was in yesterday. This time as you sat you allowed yourself to study your surroundings a bit more. Your eyes focused more clearly on the paintings that adorned the walls, you allowed yourself to breathe in, the air smelling of books and something you couldn’t quite name. You allowed yourself to gain a less tense position than last time, though your hands fidgeted slightly in your lap and you couldn’t help but notice the pattern of your breathing and your heart. You were nervous. You usually were before sessions, it wasn’t something you were unaccustomed to. You knew though that as time went on, you would relax into things more, just as you had already.
“He’s ready to see you now,” the receptionist spoke suddenly. A pleasant smile was plastered on her face. You nodded at her and stood, crossing the waiting room to stand in front of the wooden door, just as you had the week before. You looked back at the receptionist. Her face was now turned back to her work but her eyes still held the smile from the moment before. The nervous energy that had encompassed her not too long ago suddenly seemed a lot less nervous. Maybe it was simply energy. Maybe she was simply passionate about her work. She didn’t seem unhappy. This made a smile begin to grow on your face too. You made a mental note to talk to her more next time.
Sounds from the other side of the door interrupted your thoughts. It sounded like footsteps against the wooden floor, heading towards you. And as if on cue, the door in front of you opened to leave you smiling at the face of your psychiatrist.
He looked about the same as the last time you’d seen him. The same well-styled earthy hair, paired with the earthy eyes, the charming smile. The one different thing about him was his suit. The one he wore today was a brown plaid one.
“Good evening,” he spoke and a part of you relaxed at hearing his soothing voice, “How do you do? Please, come in,”
You smiled and stepped past him, walking into the large tranquil office. It felt reassuring, in a strange way, to be back here. The quote about the path flashed through your mind.
“Good evening to you as well, Doctor,” you replied to the man and turned to give him a smile as he followed you through the doorway, “I’ve been quite well. And you?”
“I happen to have been the exact same,” he replied. Just as last time, he gestured to the two chairs in the middle of the room and you both made your way over to have a seat. Once again, your thoughts danced around how intimate the setting was. You appreciated it. His eyes studied you, and it now felt like a common thing to get the feeling he wanted you to speak. This time, you took the opportunity.
“I’ve begun reading The Divine Comedy, as you quoted it in our last session,” you said. For a moment, you wondered if you shouldn’t have said it. You weren’t sure why. It just felt personal, deep. You knew it was meant to though. You also couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment you were feeling or if it was the strange feeling of being open. Your eyes suddenly focused again on Dr. Lecter and for a brief instant you thought you might’ve seen interest flash across his features before he spoke.
“What a keen memory you have,” he replied. The way your last name formally slipped from his lips at the end of his praise made your lips quirk up in a slight smile, “You must tell me your thoughts on it,”
“It’s fascinating. I love finding the meaning in such complex words. It all gives me so much to think about. While I have not read too much of it yet, I do intend to continue,” you remarked.
“I must admit, I quite agree with you. The meanings and knowledge woven into such works are intellectual delicacies. It does one much good to take a bite,” he responded.
As the session carried on, you did your best to comprehend his thought-provoking words. It only made you want to read the book more. Your mind wandered back to it, even as the conversation had steadily drifted away from that topic a while ago. In between the continuing banter, the appealing idea of curling up with the book when you got home became a thought that was growing in prominence. You might light some candles, settle into bed, maybe get something to eat or drink. You pictured the how the world would look from your window. The way buildings would be soaked in shadows of the navy night, the way wind would trickle through leaves in quiet susurrus. The night would be pretty to drive home in. Stillness protruding from the trees around the roads that led to your home. The idea of such a pleasant evening was incipient in your head.
Your attention was about to return to Dr. Lecter, when a sudden memory flashed through your thoughts. Headlights on a dark road, the shining eyes of the deer, the sudden franticness, a sickening jolt of the moving vehicle, a gut-wrenching scream. The recollection instantly made your stomach drop in the most dreadful way. You felt as if you were back in that moment. Your heart began to race, an execrable gut-churning feeling of pure terror took place in your abdomen and stomach. Unbeknownst to you, your hands had begun to fidget in your lap. Your eyes fixed on one spot on the floor. The emotion of panic felt like it had taken over your entire being. The moment just kept replaying in your mind. You saw it, even worse, you felt it, over and over in your mind. You silently screamed for a way out, feeling desperate. Your breaths became short as you felt increasing horror in your chest, laboring your breathing with pressure. You just wanted to make it stop. You were scared. You wanted a way out. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please get me away from this.
Abruptly, something began to intrude on your distraught and terrified state. A voice began to make its way through your racing thoughts. It was a deep and rich voice, dusted with an accent. Taking a moment to hurriedly try to identify the voice, it was Dr. Lecter’s. He was saying your last name in that formal way he had a habit of saying it in. Your eyes darted to him, seeing that he was now crouched next to your chair. That calm demeanor was still on. He felt so far away, the memory playing over again in your mind. You felt your mind begin to delve back into the state it was in before. You faintly heard your name off his lips again.
“Look at me,” he firmly instructed. You felt like you couldn’t, as if you were frozen in your memories. Your name left his lips once more. “I must ask you to try and listen.”
You wrenched your eyes away from the spot on the floor, turning to him. Though your eyes were on him, you felt as if your mind was a million miles away. For an instant, with the help of his voice, you felt more stable. You tried your best to keep your eyes on him.
“You are safe, you are in my office. No harm will come to you here. No doubt you feel overwhelmed right now. Try to focus on your breathing, in and out,” with his words, you began to break through the wall of panic that had settled in your mind, “I assure you, your mind cannot immure you.”
The world around you slowly became present to you again as he spoke. He continued, and you listened, fighting away the emotion. Occasionally your eyes would squeeze shut and your abdomen would tense in fear, but Dr. Lecter’s voice would always pull you back to where you were. You focused on him, the comforting words that continued to leave his mouth, the way he pointed out things in his office to distract you. He spoke softly about some of the paintings, your eyes caught occasionally on the strokes of the paintbrush that had created images with swirling emotion. Like the state of your mind.
Eventually, your focus was more on him than it was the memory that had resurfaced. Parts of your face were still tinged with worry, and you didn’t feel all that comfortable with your posture, but it was better than you had felt minutes before. You didn’t notice the doctor had been silent until he spoke, your name leaving his lips in that formal way before he finished his question.
“I take it that what just occurred was quite an intense panic attack. Might I ask if you know what triggered it?”
“A memory,” you spoke, you watched as he gently rose and stepped back to his chair where he took a seat, “It’s not important now.”
You wished so badly to be able to tell the man about the memory, but felt if you got into it, you might get stuck in that well of emotion and never come out.
“What has the ability to bother us to that extent is of great importance.” Dr. Lecter replied smoothly. You noticed the way his eyes silently searched you, as if deciphering you like an ancient language. The man was perceptive. You wondered what exactly he was searching. Your body language, your mind, signs of another panic attack. At this thought, you took special notice of his own body language. His legs were crossed as they usually were and his chin was tilted upwards ever so slightly. His hands were folded neatly in his lap. Even after witnessing such a paroxysm of emotion as yours, he managed to stay calm and unalarmed. You couldn’t deny that it was impressive.
“Could I talk to you about it at our next session, Dr. Lecter? Extreme emotions like that seem like too much to handle at the moment,” you felt bad saying that, and worried it came across as rude. But at least it gave you something to plan for leading up to the next session.
“If that is what you feel will benefit you the most,” he said with the slightest nod of his head, “Though, never be afraid to feel. It is much more than a mortal burden. Emotions allow us to have such a scope of remarkable experiences. Those of us filled with vehemence are bestowed with one of the best human gifts and burdens. Do not be afraid of it.”
The formal concluding niceties occurred as you were left ruminating on his words. He had a point. Of course he did, he knew this stuff.
Eventually, you had both risen from your respective seats in the middle of the room and were beginning your walk to the door you would be exiting from. He opened the door for you, but you paused. Looking back a him and giving him a soft look you spoke.
“Thank you.” you said, you saw a spark of both pride and slight confusion glow in his eye, accompanied by a slight turn of his head.
“I’m your psychiatrist,” he said, your last name leaving his lips in that formal way you’d grown used to, “It’s my pleasure.”
You stepped out of his office and before you knew it, you were back in the chilly air of the night. You looked at the building you had just exited, seeing warm light glow from the rooms inside, a contrast from the dark sky overhead. Part of you wished to be back in his office. Bach playing softly in the background, surrounded by art and literature from times far passed, the doctor’s sophisticated and accented voice ringing clearly through the room.
You could get used to this.
And now, you had Dante waiting for you to read when you got home.
a/n: hello! so i began posting this on another blog, but have decided to continue posting it here since i’m on this way more often!! it used to be called love crime (sopravvivero).
i’ve developed my plan for the plot a LOT more, and definitely know what im going to do with it.
if i tagged you, it means that you wanted to be added to a tag list or reblogged it. this is the first chapter but i’ll be publishing the second very soon!
summary: When you begin sessions with your new psychiatrist, the renowned Dr. Lecter, you never would’ve imagined falling into the rabbit hole you get stuck in. Faced with a horrible trauma, deer and cannibalism haunt your subconscious. Suddenly, Dr. Lecter is a part of all this. In more ways than one.
chapter 1: the beginning
“Dr. Lecter is ready to see you now,” the polite receptionist says, with a smile sent your way. It’s no more than a flash of positivity before she turns back to her paper work, reflected by her thin framed glasses. As her eyes scanned over the work, turning back to frantically look over her desk, presumably searching for something, she gave off an obvious air of worry. Perhaps she was new.
You were too.
Your first day of therapy. Well, your first day of therapy with this new psychiatrist. It wasn’t something you were exactly frantically nervous about- as the poor polite receptionist was. You’d been to therapy before. You were accustomed to the shallow invasion and prodding of the mind. This time, your hope was that this new Dr. Lecter would be unique. Different.
You’d heard many good things about him. Ranging from his written work and studies, to his success with patients. And after the worsening state of your mind and the life you had built around you, you decided that it was time to try again. So far, you weren’t disappointed. The office was classy. Nice chairs were set in the waiting room, where you had sat for some time. There was tasteful art, quiet classical music in the background. Bach, you had guessed. Other than the receptionist, it had emitted an air of class and calmness.
You flashed a smile back at the receptionist, returning the politeness.
“Thank you very much,” you replied. You weren’t sure if she heard given how diligently she was scanning her desk currently. But it was of no matter, you had been polite, it was the most you could do. You stepped up to a wooden door, unsure if you’d have to knock. Before you could, the door was opened, and Dr. Lecter was revealed to you.
He was handsome. You weren’t one to judge or weigh value off of looks, but you would give him that simple statement. Looks were not the most important thing to you, and you certainly were not meaning it in a romantic way. But he was handsome. The eyes that quickly met yours were brown, maybe with a hint of hazel. His hair was brown as well, it shone in the light from his office. He wore a navy blue plaid suit, giving him an obvious air of seriousness, of class and respect. His lips curled into a smile, and yours followed suit.
“I imagine you are my new patient, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” he spoke, his voice was rich and soothing.
“Dr. Lecter, I’ve heard many wonderful things about you and your work. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well.” you replied calmly, mirroring his niceties and charm. He had a quiet suave demeanor. As if on instinct, you both reached your hands out for a handshake. More niceties. This doctor was very formal. You appreciated that. As your hands touched you felt his eyes scan you quickly. Almost like an eagle searching a field for prey. Though, there wasn’t malice behind this look.
“Please, do come in.” he said, leading you into his large room. And what a large room it was.
It had a mostly grey color palette, with the exception of the one wall which was a dark red. To your right was a large wall, with two large red and white striped curtains. To your left, a desk, obviously a professional one. Lamps and books and art decorated the top. Further back to your left was another desk and a chair, but nothing was on this one. Behind that, a fireplace. The room was lined with cabinets and bookshelves, and art (specifically paintings) were anything but scarce. Right in front of you however, were two chairs facing each other. And there was a ladder, on the wall behind them, leading up to another level of the room. This one was lined with books of all shapes and sizes and colors. You took note of the other items in the room. Your eyes scanned from the couch against the back wall, to the couch in front of the windows. The room seemed lightly dull at first, but the more you gazed, the more points of color stood out to you.
After having visually scoured the room, you summarized that the collection of books, European furniture, and art was not simply the doing of the building’s hypothetical interior designer. By his outfit and the look of the room, Dr. Lecter was a man of intellectuality, power, curiosity, and ambition. He was impressive.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the two seats in the middle of the room- each sat directly across from the other. Each had small tables next to them, but one had a book (presumably for taking notes on patients) and a box of tissues. You assumed the seat that the book and tissue box adorned table belonged to: was his. So you took the other seat, smoothing the bottom half of your clothing as you sat down. He took a seat across from you, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap.
“I have no doubt you know why you’re here.” he said politely. He was direct, eyes still piercing into you. You were afraid to look away. You wanted to maintain the eye contact but at the same time, the socially nervous part of you longed to break it, longed to gaze around the sophisticated room instead of facing his perceptive gaze.
“Yes, Doctor.” you replied, finally working up the courage to break the mural stare and look down as you smiled at him. He returned a brief smile, and nodded once.
“So then, I hope you won’t mind if I list off the reasons you put for requesting my psychiatric assistance which led to us meeting today?” he inquired, taking his notebook from the small table next to him.
“Not at all, go ahead.” you gave him an encouraging nod and he opened his book. As he looked over a page, a realization came to you. You realized how intimate the placing of his chairs was. You mirrored him and put one leg over the other. You wondered if this was a tactic of his to create a sense of connection, equality. Interesting.
He began to list off the reasons of your current visit, words coated in that smooth accent. He finished and looked up at you.
“Is that all correct?”
“Yes,” you said, pausing a moment. There was some more, but this was only the first session. You hated the way it sounded so labeled when it was all laid out like that, so shallow. Realizing your answer might’ve seemed curt, you rushed to say more. “Yes, that’s all correct.”
He set his book down on the side table and looked at you for a moment. The thought crossed your mind that he might be waiting for you to speak, you were about to say something when he spoke at last.
“How do you feel right now, at this very particular moment?” he asked you, your last name politely slipping from his lips at the end of his question, eyes endlessly boring into you.
“I feel,” you hesitated, trying to come up with the right words. “Comfortable and welcomed. Yet nervous.”
“I’m glad you feel comfortable and welcomed, I try to provide sufficient hospitality for those in my care. Though, tell me, why do you feel nervous?” he asked.
“I’ve just met someone new. Someone who will be peering into my mind, learning the most personal parts of me. It’s an odd thought that a man I met a few minutes ago will come to know my mind so deeply.” you replied, watching Hannibal process your answer. He had a good poker face.
“Are you afraid of what I might uncover in the depths of your mind?” he asked.
“I think everyone’s a little afraid of what can be perceived in the most personal parts of their mentality. We all have only so much we express. To the eye it may seem to show enough, but there’s so much hidden where we store our deepest thoughts.” you replied. You liked the knowledgeable banter.
“Knowing those parts of you is a fundamental aspect to your treatment, as it is to any patient. I am not here to judge, or to exploit. I am here to come to know your being and attempt to help it in a way that is beneficial to your mental well-being.” he replied.
“You make a good point, Doctor.” you replied, flashing him a smile. He returned it, and opened his book.
“Well then, shall we begin?” he asked, his eyes still focused on yours.
“Of course.” you replied.
And so began your session with Hannibal Lecter, your new psychiatrist.
summary: Strange things have been happening in the cemetery. But things only get stranger when you meet the culprit. Now, you have to deal with him quite often. A rivalry blossoms in this macabre place. Maybe more?
warnings for this chapter: pocket knife, blood/fakeblood, cursing, and Mary is just Mary
word count: 3k words!
an: i’ve been planning this for forever, i have so much lined up and planned and im so excited!!
each chapter will have a goth or rock song as its inspiration. the two for this are: Shadow by Twin Tribes and Vicious Pastimes by House of Harm
Enjoy!
Light had not yet begun to creep in and chase away the shadows of night when you opened your eyes for the first time of the already rainy day. You sat in front of your window, feeling the brush of cold air- which did carry a few sparse drops of rain- against your skin. It was another early morning. Too early, by your standards at least. Your body- with your eyes being no exception- longed to be back in your warm bed, asleep, and not sitting in front of a window at an hour most would rather quit their job than be up at. But you couldn’t quit your job. As much as some days you told yourself you were going to, you knew you couldn’t. Much to your dismay, there would be too many monetary issues, along with a few slight emotional ones. But nevertheless, you were awake now.
Admittedly, you’d been awake, for a longer time than you were willing to acknowledge just yet. More than that, it had become a worryingly growing habit to be up later and later. And that was how you had come to be in this situation. In the earlier hours of the night, your body had ached for sleep but your mind had overpowered that with a near constant bombarding of new thoughts. Luckily you had gotten a little sleep, enough to the point where you knew you could make it through the day. The only downside was that it hadn’t been enough sleep to make it a deep sleep, and since it wasn’t a deep sleep, it hadn’t stopped a crash of thunder from waking you up. You’d decided (though it wasn’t really your choice) to give into remaining conscious, and observe the spectacle of weather that nature was performing. You had opened your window, though it had taken you a minute since all your body was still drowsy and frankly felt a little dead. The scent of petrichor had filled your lungs, and you sighed into the morning air.
It seemed like it was both a few minutes ago and a small eternity since that had happened. Maybe you would’ve sat there for an eternity. That is, if your alarm hadn’t startled you out of your state of…well, being. You shut the window, and to your relief it was much easier to close it than it was to open it, now that your limbs were accustomed to being awake again. You climbed out of bed, still reluctant to leave. After stretching for a moment, you walked softly to the lamps around your room and turned them on. Now that the room was bathed in a soft golden light, you could get ready. And so you did.
As you threw on your clothes and readied your appearance, you thought about the tasks for the day. There were never too many, but you supposed that was a large benefit of working at a cemetery. Then…it dawned on you. That you, for now the third time this week, had to stay late and close up. One of your new coworkers had now been continuously “sick” quite often. She had been the one in charge of the night shifts and you wouldn’t be surprised if she was fired soon, as much as it was nice to have someone to talk to there in the few times she came in during the day. Your boss had tried to stick you with the night shift a few times in your coworker’s repetitive absences as well as your daily ones, but to preserve your sanity, you had refused.
It came as a great relief when your boss accepted that you wouldn’t be doing the night shifts. But he seemed determined to at least make you close up late, and you had reluctantly given up and accepted that fate. When you thought about it, the night shift truly wasn’t so awful. It simply required sitting in the office/visitors center, peeking at the surveillance cameras a couple times, and taking a stroll around the grounds once every few hours. You may have taken it if you didn’t respect your need for sleep so much. But did you truly respect that need if you’d been up so late lately? You wondered if you should take it, but after another crash of thunder interrupted your thoughts, you were reminded of the fact that you were not a morning person. Especially not with weather like this. And so you decided against it. Plus, it left more time for you to spend with the small group of friends you had. The group of friends who all dressed in dark (mostly black) clothes, with chains and corsets and other accessories that only enhanced the looks in the best ways, and found themselves at rock concerts so often. The same friends who many would have made snap judgements of- or been scared of- treated you with such kindness and closeness. You smiled to yourself as you remembered the outing you had planned with them that was coming up soon.
When you thought about it, it was slightly ironic. You, who worked in a cemetary, and was a bit too familiar with the late hours of the night, and had goth friends. It all seemed dark to the outside eye. But to you, you couldn’t be happier. You reveled in it all. You admired the style your friends had, and you’d even put together some nicely crafted gothic outfits of your own. You liked the quiet of nighttime, it allowed you to think without much interruption, and you always felt so at home at night. And you appreciated the tranquility of the cemetery, you respected those who had found their final resting place there and you’d come to care for the place greatly. As much as someone else might’ve not seen the beauty in all this, you did. And that was that mattered, in your opinion.
After completing your morning routine, you set off on the short walk to the nearby cemetary. By this time, the storm had calmed down, leaving only howling winds and a few rogue drops of rain to be your opponent on your way. You scurried down the stairs of your apartment, trying not to step in any puddles, and ultimately failing. A long jacket was wrapped tightly around your figure, in your attempt to keep out the cold. Finally your journey down the long flight of stairs was over and the rest of your walk began! You stepped quickly around more puddles, and occasionally pulled your jacket closer to your body in the chilly air. The sky was still a giant swirl of gray, but you had noticed that hints of blue had begun to creep in, replacing the lighter areas of gray. A few cars swooshed past you on the old road that laid next to the sidewalk, harshly pushing some of the resting water into your path. At this point, you didn’t mind. It was all just a factor that would become blurry after the passing of the next few hours. It took a little while longer, but at least you reached the black gothic gates of the familiar cemetery. The day had- at last- finally truly begun.
⊱ ────── {⋅.𖤐 𐕣♱ ✯ ♱𐕣 𖤐.⋅} ────── ⊰
Tombstones blocked out patches of the now sunset covered sky. The graveyard was peaceful. A less-than-warm wind still blew through the trees, although it had warmed up a bit. It wasn’t so cold that you weren’t able to handle making your walking rounds throughout the day, thankfully. You had truthfully enjoyed the way the wind had made your face burn and tingle ever so slightly, and the puddles had cleared up a bit more than you’d expected. Some still spotted the ground, but there were much less now.
Closing up the office/visitors center on days where you needed to was always a much better part of the day than you always expected it to be. You loved the way that the cemetary was doused in all the colors of the setting sun, saying a final goodbye to those who had said their final goodbyes to life. It calmed you, in a strange macabre way.
Though, you knew to keep an eye out during your leave today. Strange things had been happening. Today as you’d made your rounds, you’d noticed some out of place things, some random items, and an eerie feeling all throughout the day. Maybe it was some carefree, or really careless teenagers out for some disrespectful fun, maybe it was a homeless person who didn’t mean any trouble but had needed a place to stay during the previous night, maybe it was the remains of a funeral? But no funerals had happened recently, at least none that you’d seen. And you knew the cemetery was locked at night, so you weren’t sure if a homeless person would be able to get in. But then how had these things happened?
The first, well, strange occurrence was when you found a discarded food wrapper. It wasn’t all that unusual, you’d found worse things in the cemetery. But this one seemed new. It hadn’t been crinkled much and it wasn’t dirty- much to your relief. The next, was a dark black and red pocket knife. It had looked sharp, like a good brand. That was what probably disturbed you most. The last largely obvious thing you found, was a ring. It was silver, with a skull. With an intricate black design all around it. You had picked it up, pocketing it, intending to take it back to the visitors center and put it in what would be an improvised lost and found. But you had forgotten and would continue to forget, as it was still in your pocket. It had been heavy, but you liked the feel of it. The other things had been an empty thing of eyeliner, a discarded piece of paper, and a smudge of what you desperately hoped was fake blood. You had tidied it all up, and tried to brush it off. But of course you couldn’t. I mean, who really would? Not many things happened in the cemetery. It was typically so quiet and uneventful. Though eventually you had been able to push the thoughts from your mind and focus on getting home quickly and safely. Telling yourself you’d think about it when you reached your long-awaited home.
Finally outside and done with the center, you had begun to watch towards the gates. Your coat was once again pulled tightly around your form and you walked with a new tiredness. You admired the thick trees that surrounded the cemetery, listening to them rustle in the wind as the sun faded more and more. You could see blue weighing down heavier and heavier on the sunset.
You finally reached the gates, starting to get the lock from the coded box on the pillar that held up the gate and marked part of the entrance. Just as you were starting to put the code in, you heard a noise. A swish, a changing of chains and metal against metal, and something landing on the hard ground. The pillar you stood by was partially hidden by a tree, which was helpful in keeping others from somehow accessing the lock. But you turned, to see what had just happened behind you to your left. You looked over and your eyes widened. A man stood there on the grass. He was tall, and had black spiky hair that slightly hung over part of his face. On his chest was a dark tank-top that looked it’d had it’s previous arms viciously sawed off, around his middle was a chunky belt, and on his legs were ripped up black jeans. Dark bracelets adorned his arms, along with rings. His neck wasn’t barren either, no, he wore a couple morbid necklaces. On top of his tanktop, was what you could best describe as a jacket vest thing that had multiple pins stuck into it.
Who was he? You watched as he looked around, scanning the graves. When he looked satisfied, he started to walk. This was near the front, by the entrance. He started to walk to the back, or the middle, wherever he was headed, it was away from your direction. You wondered how he wasn’t cold. Looking back at the lock box, and peaking up at the darkening sky, you decided to go against your better judgement. You had to close, and by what you could guess, this was the guy who’d left the stuff in the cemetery! And of course it went against the rules to leave stuff like that and especially to hop the fence after closing time. After a moment, you got the urge to speak. He was still a few feet ahead of you, but you didn’t want to get too close and have him be violent.
“Hello? Sir, I’m sorry, but we’re closing now. Well, I need to close up. Sorry. Are you ok?,” you asked with some hesitation. The man froze and turned to look at you. When you could see your words begin to register. His eyes quickly landed on you and you watched as they widened and then narrowed at you.
His hand rose to his forehead, pushing back his hair while sighing, before running it down his face.
“Fuck,” he said exasperatedly. It wasn’t directed at you. It was the kind of curse someone says when they know they’ve been caught. And he had. He really had.
For the moment, you just stood there as he looked like he was contemplating what to say. Blue had taken over a little more than half the sky at this point, and the temperature wasn’t growing any warmer. You began to get a little nervous. But the man spoke and you were brought out of your thoughts.
“Were you followin’ me?” he asked, looking at you directly in the eyes. The question was avoidant and you thought it should’ve been obvious why you had been following him. But looking at him, it seemed mischievous. You were a little frustrated, yes, but you hoped this would all be solved out soon.
“Yes? No- but also yes. I just saw you hop the fence and you know, didn’t want to startle you. But we are supposed to be closing now, I can tell you where to find a schedule of our opening and closing times if that helps?” you asked.
“I got that. You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” he asked, and it became even more clear now that he had intended to roam in after hours. His words weren’t entirely malicious but they certainly weren’t filled with thrill.
You scoffed, “Maybe you don’t know what you’re doing. I mean, I found plenty of evidence you were here already.”
You watched as he took in your words, his eyebrows lifted and turned now to face you more. Your arms had closed in an effort to both stay warm and prove your point.
“Huh?” he asked. What an intelligent answer, you thought sarcastically.
“Yeah, I found your stuff. Food bags, pocket knife, all that. I wondered who it was but I think the culprit’s been found,” you replied, the smallest smirk growing onto your face.
“Fucking shit..,” he muttered looking around frustratedly “I knew I left some damn thing here.”
“Yeah. So, maybe you don’t know what you’re doing. Whether you do or you don’t is irrelevant. I need to close up, and unless you want this situation to escalate I suggest you leave.” you paused, hoping you hadn’t been too harsh “Please.”
“Well shit, now I guess I gotta. I mean, with you findin’ and followin’ me and all. Sucks that I just got here too, babe,” he replied. A little smirk accompanying his ending sentence. You were confused by the pet name. Those things always confused you. Was it flirting or was it just mischievousness or politeness? You couldn’t tell what it was in this situation. But either way, you were glad that he wasn’t being too difficult.
“Thank you,” you slowly said “You can come with me to the gate if you want, I don’t mind, I’ve just gotta get the lock then-“
Mary cut you off. “Nah, I got it sweetheart.”
He started to walk over to the fence that surrounded the cemetery and for the second time that night, hopped it. He only stopped once to call over his shoulder, “See you around,”
⊱ ────── {⋅.𖤐 𐕣♱ ✯ ♱𐕣 𖤐.⋅} ────── ⊰
You had watched him walk off, face frozen in a confused expression. Questions and possibilities had raced through your mind as you stood there in the almost total darkness. He had disappeared into the trees, not turning back, and you’d stood there until he was out of sight. That had been a while ago now.
Now, you were resting in your bed, letting the warmth of your apartment wash over you. You were still very confused, and still had a brain full of questions. Who was he? Why had he been there? Were you too mean? Why didn’t he just come in the daytime? Of course no discernible or explanatory reason came to mind yet. In the end you knew you’d just have to wait and see, but it had been such a strange occurrence.
You wondered if you’d see him again tomorrow and you weren’t sure whether to be unhappy or intrigued. He had been messy around the cemetery. And he had hopped the fence. Along with his snark. You decided to be displeased and hesitant for now.
As the night went on, and with the sky now being completely dark, you laid in bed staring at your ceiling with two thoughts and two thoughts alone. The strange man, and the cemetery.
Tagged by @fishwithtitz I actually like this version of myself I may update my author photo with this...it's me writing 90% of my fics on my phone hehe
Design yourself in picrew!
Tagging @thew0man @ghostchems @can-of-pringles @ramblingoak @delullu @prophetofthesufferpuppets and YOU!!!!!
Thank you for the tag, @fishwithtitz & @copias-juicebox 🖤
This is KIND OF me? They didn't have a hairstyle that was closer to my actual hair but if I curled it, it would look like this 🤣 And yes, I have a knife, because I identify as a threat.
Tagging: @her-satanic-wiles, @portaltothevoid, @angellayercake, @ramblingoak, @ibikus and anyone else who might wanna try!
Make yours here
dededos
tangentwithtanner
romaincrisis
areudirty
andulkaphoto
