doktorjules:
How predictable it is that when the door doth threaten to close that he retreats, forcing the back of his boot ‘gainst it as if that would prevent it from fully shutting behind him. Compelled or otherwise, he was not so enchanted that he would allow himself to become cornered at the scene of the crime. He knew that the Countess wanted his blood and he could not blame her, though he would not be so willing to walk himself to the gallows just yet. Single eye redirects its stare o’er to where the armor stood on proud display and he tenses when he swears it feels as if it’s inhabited. The voice speaks to him still with its saccharine lilt, and Julian is sure he’ll choke on the guilt which sits thickly in his bones.
❝ And now you dead-——nothing. ❞ He ought to flee, to escape back to the tavern and have drunk his fill ‘til he can no longer remember this night and yet still he stands here! Has all his repressed sentimentalities finally come rearing their ugly head? He was already cursed by that Witch; who was to say he was not cursed again? ❝ Why was I lead here? ❞
‘ lead? ’ amusement: it flows from the voice, filling the room with an odd sort of warmth. but that in itself is apt, is it not? this room should be warm, the ghost thinks. it should burn. ‘ invited, perhaps- but you’ll see no hand clasped with yours. if you’ve been lead here by anything, it is your own wish. ’ ------ a subtle breeze, cold now, flows through the drapery surrounding the bed and shifts the fabric, as if someone is currently drawing the drapes and standing from the bed.
‘ why did you come here? ’
