#* grace

[bunburie-a-blog]

@walkindvde

     Make no mistake, she’d be trembling if she were awake, but the body her mind has made up for her is steady and still, and moves only when she wants it to. If she’s somnambulating like it’s been said she’s done before, her waking form only has as far as the door of the cell to go before it’s reached the end of its tether.

     “As well acquainted as I am with the content of dreams, sir, I’m certain this is one, and so you ought to dispense with these petty tricks else I’ll start to think you’re cheap.” Nothing wavers in her voice but she has a feeling he can sense fear, or smell it like you’d source out rotten meat or bad milk.

[bunburie-a-blog]

@bonnmot

     “I suppose you’ll not want to talk about it. Well, I don’t want to talk about my own business either, which means we’ll have to think of some other conversation to have. I wonder what else we have in common, if anything. Sometimes people have absolutely nothing in common at all and it’s a wonder they’re the same species.”

[qvietinfvrno]

@cceruleans - grace location: marzan mansion

The shit eating grin that plastered his features once hues landed on Grace was one that he’d offer no apology for. It’d been a while since he’d been on the island, but the Williams were undoubtedly two people that he’d never begin to forget. Especially, Grace in a dress. “Well, fuck. Is this really all it’d ever take for you to dress up?” The short huff of deep laughter leveled out as he descended the stairs and met her at the poker table, his hip lent against the mahogany, “You look like a bond villain, you know that?”

[qvietinfvrno]

@cceruleans​ - grace location: lighthouse - pre plot drop

Generally speaking, he might have taken a far more lowkey approach attending the ritual but given the fact that the one person he was concealing himself from was now very much privy to his very alive existence, he almost didn’t see the point anymore. Maybe it would lead to some kind of bounty on his head, but what was one more death to add to the metaphorical pile? It was perhaps such a careless attitude that left him rooted to the spot, lent back against a large oak tree a short way from the lighthouse as the brunette caught his eye. Familiarity that burnt something far more than distaste - something far more complicated, as Grace tainted his view. “You mind, Gracie? Between your head and ego... you’re gonna’ need to take twenty steps to the left.”

[bunburie-a-blog]

@excommune​

     She’s waiting for him when he’s done with the demon, when the room is emptied and clean and the vomit and blood are the only evidence of what transpired. He might have seen her in the corner, watching while he worked, but if he did he ignored her, and if he didn’t it was through no fault of his. She won’t hold it to him, the ignorance: sometimes people see everything and choose what they want to remember. Grace knows that as well as anybody.

     “I won’t hurt you. I’ve no malice in me, just questions.” In the shadows she looks quite solid, but should light hit her she’ll dissipate, visible only when you turn your head or in the breadth of her movements, like particles of dust caught in sunlight.