#emmorte

[satankissed-a-blog]

                                               EMMORTE | SC  

   She leaves the BRIGHT sunlight for the cool dimness of the bookshop, her eyes shaded by a pair of sunglasses. She begins to move silently through the bookcases as if she were a WISP of black smoke, her red talons grazing over the spines of the books. She’s looking for something, something specific, an ancient book unseen by any NORMAL man in his lifetime. Yes, the Book of Beasts: written by the scholars of the medieval period to guide those who wanted to RID hell’s spawn from Europe. However, there was no attendant to assist her, forcing her to make her presence known. “ HELLO? “ she calls out into the warm dimness “ Is anyone around? I could use some assistance “ Her words are civil, if not a touch cold. But, that was a symptom of being clinically dead.

[traumeriinmoved]

@emmorte liked this for a starter.

  ❝Do you carry any children’s books?❞ As she makes her inquiry, a toddler can be seen peaking out from behind her legs and staring at the entity. Rosemary told her daughter she could ask herself but the little one is far too shy. 

[singingrass-blog]

With only fifteen bucks, roughly, to one’s name - one really needs to carefully pick and choose what one spends it on. The case, of course, isn’t quite so with Job Edwards; whereas one might choose to spend their very little cash on places to stay or warm grub to put in their bellies (wisely, as one might add) -- Job decides to spent it on books. He figures he’s homeless either way -- spending another night curled up on a cheap motel bed isn’t going to make much of a difference in that department and, anyway -- the weather’s been getting warm enough again so that spending the night on a park bench isn’t an entirely dreadful idea.

It’s his fourth time in this bookstore in the past week. Having come to the aforementioned decision still does not make it any easier choosing which books to spend his money on. He passes shelf to shelf, recognizing some titles, discovering others for the first time; debating between books he’s read before and books he hasn’t; books he’s heard about and books that are complete and utter strangers; reading back covers, examining the art on the front; allowing some books to open at random and reading a passage or two from mid-story.

Finally, his current debate is between a copy of Yevgeny Zamyatin’s We, a novel he’s heard of, but never read himself -- or a copy of the Language of Flowers which he used to possess before his recent having tragically lost whatever little personal belongings he’s managed collecting for himself in the course of several years. Unsuccessfully having tried ruling between the two for the past fifteen minutes or so as he crouches by the latter’s shelf, he finally straightens back up to his full six feet three inches and brings both books to the counter, lips tugged sideways in a goofy-looking, crooked smile.

“If you could only choose one, which one’a these would you take?”

@emmorte, sc.

[satankissed-a-blog]

“ I  want  you  to  be  NICE  to  me.  Like                         the  first  time  I  came  into  the  bookstore. “

EMMORTE | SC

[lycaean-archive]

@emmorte​ 

                ❝  most  in  my  family  have  died  at  least  once  ,  i’ve  got  to  say  ,  i’m  jealous .  ❞

[volchistaa-blog]

❛   YOU CANNOT REMOVE APART OF YOURSELF SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU DO NOT LIKE IT.  ❜      marya morevna had long ago learned to accept- in fact, embrace her flaws. the things that made her heart gnarled and ugly, misformed and cruel. she had learned to accept that they were parts of hear that would not go away. she could puff some powder or smear some lipstick over them but they would always be there, under the surface. she would never hide them.     

@emmorte

[ordenic]

what are some of elliot's pastimes?

LITTLE HC THINGS.  /  elliot’s pastimes.

surprisingly, he has quite a few. you’d think he’d forever be busy, you know, handling the universal balance and all of that jazz, but when he’s not ‘on the clock’, one can find him doing a multitude of things.

one. he very much enjoys writing in his journal. it’s a way to, somewhat, connect with humanity & think as they would. some scholars say that writing things down can lead to a healthy mind  /  while that’s the least of his worries, he can appreciate the concept of it. even if it’s just for a brief moment, one can find a certain booklet in his hands, inscribing his memories, his journeys, anything that comes to mind. it’s a small little thing, about the size of his hand. a subtle grey tone all around ; the spine patterned like a marble slab. call it a little home away from home. 

two. cleaning is actually something he’s quite fond of. it’s at his very core  /  fixing the messes that his counterpart, chaos, does without even realizing he does. though this isn’t at that big of a scale, it still has the same fundamentals. bring order to the disorderly ; in this case, the disorderly happens to be dirtied dishes or an unkempt room. no music, no distractions. it’s like an switch that’s been flipped to the on position and he’s off.

three. one probably does not know that he has a small toy poodle named caspar, unless they’ve been to his residence or seen him walking the animal. when he gets a chance to, he likes to take casper out to a nearby park, roaming the trail and allowing him a bit of freedom. though he’s not an outside dog, elliot does like to keep him cooped up for too long ; whether that’s taking him to a colleague’s home while he’s away or by taking him outdoors. walking his dog keeps him active  /  it keeps his mind from wandering too much. order & chaos are two sides of a very fragile coin. one can’t allow any trace of discord within or it risks the very fabric of the universe. keep calm, keep on track & all is well.

[digrity]

             ╰ ･ﾟ✧ * — &.  Le diable se cache toujours dans la lumière : @emmorte.

EMANATED  NERVOSE   /   the  gossamer  suffusion  of  macabre  lingers  on  his  skin   &   wan  fingers  worry  through  hair  perhaps  weeks  outgrown.   ❛   ―  and  what  if  you  are  the  EVIL ,  what  then ?   who  is  there to  stare  back ?  is  there  no  one ?  ❜   wintered  words  dissolve  between them  with  death - like  gravity ,  a  morbid  consideration.

             it’s  wilted  flowers  that  rot  and  die  but  sharp  thorns  still  stay  intact  . The  hollow  of  lungs  when  there’s  no  air  left  to  take  in  and  all  that’s  gone  is  the  desolate  prayers  of  the  living  wishing  for  help  from the   dead.  Sadness  engraved  with  a  bitter snare,  biting  down  on  flesh  and  devouring  a  banquet  with  a  smirk  on  cunning  lips . ❛  if  you  are  the  evil  ??  then  you  must  face  it.   —————  no  matter  how  you  wish  against  it .  if  you  are  the  evil  it  will  be  your  eyes  staring  back  at  you .  and  sadly  you  can’t  get  rid  of  what  your  own  eyes  can  see.  ❜