#epochic

[unalived]

               TURNING A DARK corner into someone else’s feeding session and subsequent murder will never cease to startle him. He is a creature of the night, judge and executioner to the flesh beneath his fangs, and yet, he cannot justify the actions required by his survival. It’s no easier to watch another do the same, to sink into the sweet abyss of this ritualistic bloodletting. This man eases his hunger with far more comfort than Jonathan will ever have, even after having broken his vow to never take another life. 

               That man’s convictions belong to another time, a world where young people aren’t so inclined to stick safety pins in their ears and various other extremities. He could only imagine the mass cases of sepsis that would arise from such a fashion statement back when he was human. 

              The woman’s drained body slips from the other vampire’s hands, dropping to the pavement with a dull and sickening thud. Jonathan sets a pale hand against his hip, regarding the scene with mild horror. 

     ❝ You don’t intend to just leave her here, do you? ❞ The police are far more competent at tracking killers now, even if the motives become crossed during examination.

@epochic

[talchl-blog]

SHE’S  ON  A  HIGH ,     almond  hues  glancing  around ,   details  of  the  theatre  encompassing  her  so  very  bewitching .   there’s  a  warmth  that  bubbles  up  in  chest ,   a  feeling  so  foreign  now ,   one  not  felt  since  her  sister  was  living   &   breathing  in  this  cruel  world .   &   petite  frame  moves  through  the  building  gently ,   taking  everything  in  like  a  breath  of  fresh  air .   everything  is  almost  fuzzy ,   like  being  in  a  foggy  forest ,   &   a  part  of  her  feels  a  bit  of  apprehension ,   but  it’s  smothered  so  swiftly  that  she  hardly  has  the  time  to  register  it .

eventually ,   she  stops  in  front  of  a  sparkly  golden  dress  draped  over  a  mannequin ,   slender  digits  raising  to  finger  at  the  fabric .        ❝       it’s  beautiful     .  .  .       ❞

@epochic

[phansorem]

    THOSE  WERE  UNGODLY  MELODIES.  beautiful, yes,  that  much  was  true;  but  not  welcomed, even  so.    the  reason  why  was  as  fickle  as  candlelight,  and  not  half  as  soft  at  the  flame  itself  -  no.  Nathaniel  was  unreasonably  jealous  of  the ebony  instrument,  the  main  company  of  his  lonely  cursed  existence  -  and  those  dead  fingers  were  no  more  worthy  of  the  marble  keys     as  his  own.       ❛     only  family  members  are  allowed  to  play  the  piano,  sir.    you  better  step  away  from  it.   ❜

@epochic  requested  a   starter.

[satankissed-blog]

                                                     @epochic

    ❝ I ONLY buy the best, darling ❞   She  PURRS,  caressing  the  soft  fur  of  her  MINK  coat.  She  was,  after  all,  born  with  the  proverbial  SILVER  SPOON  in  her  mouth.  She  did  not  want  the  finer  things  in  life,  she  EXPECTED  them.  Of  all  the  SINS  she  has  committed,  GREED  was  her  most  frequent  offense.   ❝ The dress is by DIOR, of course  ❞  She  says,  revealing  the  garment  to  the  stranger    ❝  a 1953 original ❞  

[drgnbld-blog]

THE WORLD EXISTED IN SHADES OF RED. Blood upon blood upon blood; the threshing teeth of wet flesh and nightmares, all-consuming, ever-grinding. With sharpened fang did it bite and bite, tearing parts of the sparrow away. Only the puppet remained; the mechanical monstrosity, the bitter wraith of ash and death.

“Doctor O’Deorain.” A stiff greeting, echoing in the tinny way of metal and falsities behind the cold muzzle of his mask. “Here to examine more of our angel’s--” There, Genji’s voice dipped, tearing into a ragged-edged growl. “--work?”

@epochic / moira o’deorain

[worrshiped]

                                                   @epochic

  She  poses  in  front  of  the  mirror,  INSPECTING  her  selection with  a  keen  eye.  She  makes  SURE  that  everything  is  absolutely  perfect,  lest  there  be  a  stitch  out  of  place.  The  saleswomen  knew  not  to  QUESTION  Miss.  Chandler:  she  was,  after  all,  ARMED  with  daddy’s  credit  card  and  no  one  would  deny  a  17-year-old  girl  with  daddy’s  money.  Of  course,  not  all  were  understanding  about  a  teenager  shopping  in  the  Gucci department  of  Saks  

[kintsukis]

   ELDRITCH  STAR  ,  WANDERING  --  a  white,  glowing  forme  against  endless  nebulae.  IS  IT  HUMAN  ?  she’s  shaped  like  one,  with  a  star  in  her  chest  and  stardust  left  in  her  wake.  one  day,  maybe  she  could  be.  she’s  been  wandering  for  so  long ---  from  one  end  of  space  to  another  !  ---  that  she  bumps  into  what’s  definitely  not  a  satellite,  tumbling  forward  slightly.  upside - down,  she  can  make  out  something  human  -  shaped,  but  not  human.  HUMANS  CAN’T  SURVIVE  IN  SPACE.

    looping  around,  the  star - being  picks  up  the  battered  NOT - HUMAN,  cradling  them  close  before  flying  towards  parts  unknown.     “  let’s  get  you  patched  up.  “

@epochic / time to pluck wheatnerd from the space garbage i guess

[brotherwed-blog]

         There was someone in the house, someone alive. She could hear their steps echoing through the halls as though it were thunder roiling in some great storm. The only other sounds that lived here were her mother's insipid moans, the settling of the house itself as it sunk ever deeper into the muck of its foundation, and the music she could at times cause the piano to produce. His intrusion was loud and unmistakable. How dare anyone step foot in Allerdale? This was a sacred place, a place that belonged only to the dead now, and any living presence here was a violation of sanctity.

         His pull was strong, nearly gravitational, and it ripped Lucille from the piano bench, the heavy wooden cover slamming down over stained keys. Her skirts swished across the misshapen floors, but did nothing to move the fine layer of dust that covered them. The air was entirely still in her presence as she made her way towards the trespasser, motes dancing in what few sources of light permeated the house. It didn't take her long to find him, so loud was his presence to her. "You are not welcome here."

@epochic