SHE’S A TRAGEDY CLOAKED IN ILL-FITTED SKIN, A SURMISE OF PREMONITION.not someone, but something– her, a mangled cultivation of human horrors and wreckage. chaos dons the shape of a woman and ev learns quickly that it is as consistent in her as it is for the other living counterpart: emotional dissonance. … or, maybe a lack thereof.
“ Sorry I didn’t bring any flowers,” he says, not bothering with a ‘hello, nice to meet you’. it seemed they were past that. the need for discovery was rough on his skin. common sense telling ev that, yeah, he should of expected what little show of force he’s made to not do much other than raise her suspicions further. the deadly plague of her gaze is as much of a warning as it is.. abstractly docile, a not-so-silent indication of overt hostility. reasonably so.
not everyone’s welcome in a house of bones, after all. he’s cracked open a mausoleum to find the banshee within, therefore he’s fully aware that the time limit before she considers haunting him next is nearing an edge.
so he’s keeping it cute. tells himself to keep his mouth shut and look stupid. ignorance is now in counterfeit bliss as he’s eyeing, none too closely, through the smoke. ev stares –– his are pupils sharp, eyes gray like knives yet somehow, at the same time, blurred and boringly unimpressed. “ .. I’m a friend of Adam–– kind of. He thinks so, and follows me around like a kicked puppy. So if he comes back, then I guess it’s my head next. ”shifting himself with a slow roll of his heel, ev faces the right until he can reach a hand outwards, lazily gesturing towards the rest of her room.
“ He didn’t like when I snooped around too much and got weirdly angry when I did. It pissed me off, so –– looks like I.. now see why? ”
“ha! you’re funny, too.” she laughs, genuinely, a most pleased smile returning to her. the proof is in his quip: he knows. for years she’s loomed inside this prison, the inner workings of a mad mans heart, his dearest love and desire molding the walls and infecting the air. he holds her from the ceiling like a marionette, an untarnished doll to play house with ‘til the end of days. a dance for him and him alone. for years he’s lurked inside his sweet home, content with the filth, eager to see it grow. she would exist so long as he wills it. so long as his poison heart continues to beat. so long as she haunts him. so long as he’s allowed to lie.
“i wondered why somebody would come to this dump,” she says, pivoting on her feet to behold the room once more. beyond lies only more decay and wreckage. their home became naught else but a tomb. for mother, father, sister, and even sweet little brother, settling comfortably into his early grave, wanting for nothing more. she watches him in the dark corners, mourning. but for whom? “sounds about right though, kicked puppy and all. but relax---if you’re lucky, he won’t be too mad.” she speaks not his name. not for the love it once and always holds, or the curse of pain it brings too. they are not who they were. never would they be again.
“well?” a smug aura takes her. what was an ill-fated meeting turns into something rather amusing and ever so exciting. the spectrum of emotions churns through her; he’s rife with possibility and wonder, each piece of him alive and teeming, those seen and unseen. his red smoke is like an ominous reflection, just like the dull look in his eyes, like the shadow at his back. she leaves him and takes a seat upon her bed, settling rather close to the rotted carcass ‘neath tattered sheets and mangled foliage. her legs cross and she folds her arms. “find anything worthwhile?”
dededos
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
snowghoul
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
