❛ i guess i don't really care if it's dangerous or not. i'm going either way. ❜ — @crucialelement
" you'll die. " angie croons from her place held securely in donna's arms, whole body seeming the sway to a rhythm only audible to herself. a bout of sinister giggles follows the singular nod from donna. confirmation that, should emily depart from the relative safety of the beneviento estate, her survival rate would diminish greatly.
not that it was particularly high with the doll-maker and her dear friend. or anywhere in the village, for that matter. whether she was heading for miranda, or merely breaching the threshold that separated them from the icy zephyr of romania's winter. it had become a macabre scene of gruesome slaughter. one that left no survivors: that retained no mercy.
" then what good will you be? " a soft thud followed by a patter of light footsteps as angie scurried across carpeted floor to skip playfully around emily. " dead in a ditch. left to rot. " porcelain sings once more, and despite the sigh of dismay that follows — as if truly caring for the fate of the woman — there's a twinkle of twisted amusement at the prospect pf someone so strong, so willing, only ending up a corpse. nothing achieved. nothing to show. so much strength wasted.