BLOODSTONE

bath my skin the darkness within, the war of our lives - no one can win.

[theladyintweed]

Tyntesfield, England by Andrew Menage

[gatarojastuff]

[upyrica]

We were alone with the quiet day, and his little heart, dispossessed, had stopped.

The Turn of the Screw by Henry James

[feketemoly]

‘The Bitter Hand’ by Stephen Mackey

[thegildedcentury]

Weird Tales, September, 1945

[edge-walkers]

I’ll show you fear in a handful of … d u s t …

[etherealess-blog]

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe novel characters fight disgusting demons, whose eyes are red like burning coals. The eyes of my demon were red because of tears. ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

[etherealess-blog]

we are all ghosts to you

[etherealess-blog]

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe novel characters fight disgusting demons, whose eyes are red like burning coals. The eyes of my demon were red because of tears. ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

[etherealess-blog]

i’ve been all over you

[etherealess-blog]

sadness will last forever

[etherealess-blog]

CLARA OSWALD IS DEAD. 

[etherealess-blog]

But your heart grows cold, the north wind blows and carries down, the distant… Rose.

[etherealess-blog]

like we supposed to be

[etherealess-blog]

Wind him up and watch him go.

[etherealess-blog]

“You think because I am poor, plain, obscure and little, that I have no heart?”   jane eyre, 2006

[etherealess-blog]

climbing into the tree to hang the wreath of weeds on the hanging branches, she and her flowers fell into the gurgling brook. her clothes spread out wide in the water, and buoyed her up for a while as she sang bits of old hymns, acting like someone who doesn’t realize the danger she’s in, or like someone completely accustomed to danger. but it was only a matter of time before her clothes, heavy with the water they absorbed, pulled the poor thing out of her song, down into the mud at the bottom of the brook