“ THAT'S HOW I KNOW I'VE BEEN SENT TO FUCKING HELL. ”
› [ PROMPT. ] @gospul
as teddy sinks another ball in a pocket, “ it's hell? ” she asks as she tosses her pool stick from one hand to another. her and cecily were on a tentative date. [ can you tell who picked? ] they had some drinks, danced to some live music and now they were playing pool. a small laugh passes through teddy's lips as she tilts her head, a gap tooth smile on full display. the score was currently, teddy had five billiard balls in and cecily had one. “ because you're not good at something immediately? it's your turn, hotshot. ” setting down her stick, she moves behind the other and gently places her hands over theirs. “ i can show you some new tips and tricks, but don't get too good. ”
a kiss attempting to convince the other party to stay. ♡
unprompted ask / always accepting / @gospul
𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒…
Elsa should not be here, she realizes that, but there is an undeniable thrill at being at such a late, late masquerade in somewhere that should be forgotten and abandoned. She doesn't know what entirely compelled her to leave the safe walls of the castle, but perhaps it was the rumors that drifted into the castle on chilly nights...
They first begun right before her Papa and Mama had dismissed the rest of the castle's servants. A lot of the old servants, the ones that were curtly dismissed, often had a tendency to gossip in the halls— Some of them had never seen their ghost-like princess, they certainly never received an invitation inside her too-quiet bedchamber, so Princess Elsa received the rumors right outside her closed door.
"Have you heard?" Elsa can remember approaching the door, curious on what was going on. "Have you heard about the rumor of this secret meeting happening in that run-down church on the outskirts, the one near that lake? A real-life healer is supposed to be performing miracles," the voice on the other side of the door, the outside world, told what she imagined must be her friend.
The friend scoffed at this news, full of doubt, but still, in a older-than-you-and-your-silly-nonsense type of tone, replied back to excited female, "Miracles? That's nonsense, Nettie. Magic and miracles do not exist!"
"They do so, Karlina! Don't say that!" Nettie, the name still did not sound familiar, protested without a hint of hesitation. Elsa would have once smiled at such strong passion in someone's voice, but only dread seizes at her heart.
She truly does sound like she believes... Is it because she suspects me? It isn't possible, I don't even recognize her voice, Elsa dismissed the intrusive thought, not allowing anything—not even dread—to make her frozen heart beat once more. Not everything is about her, the logical side of her mind firmly settled on. Not yet, not until the crown passes to her. Since her decision to isolate from the whole world, even her own family, she is like the mist over the waters and lands at dawn and dusk—not entirely there, gentle melancholy, ghostly, and meant to fade away when no one is paying attention.
"Either way, it is not some secret event with some blasphemous sorcery. It is obviously a party," Karlina corrected Nettie, instantly ignoring the whine of her friend's protest.
"Who has a party in an abandoned cathedral?" Nettie asked the same question Elsa had. Both of them, Elsa noticed, had a sense of intrigue. "I heard this isn't the first time that old cathedral has been used when the rest of the world is asleep," Nettie continued, unable to wait. "My older cousin's best friend's little sister claimed she saw all the windows lit in the cathedral last year, said she even heard fancy music from inside! Music as pretty as music from faeries, or..."
Or when the gates were opened, back when the good King and kind Queen used to regularly welcome the people into their home? Elsa interrupts, finishing the end of a sentence she would never get to hear. The eighteen-year-old, too accustomed to silence, made sure to keep her remark to the depths of her mind. She is not meant to speak, not meant to be seen. (Oh, but history already has its eyes on you!)
"Don't give me that look, Nettie. If you even think about going, I will tell your parents, even the bishop himself," the older female warned, then promptly cleared her voice to answer the question. "It is obviously people, no doubt some foreigners or thieves, who do not respect such holy ground," Karlina snapped, clearly done with the conversation. Before Nettie could try to pick up the exciting conversation, Karlina's footsteps already sound off down the quiet hall, and soon Nettie is calling after her friend to slow down.
It couldn't be a party, that doesn't make much sense. Who would have the time to set up such a party, then dissemble everything and leave at dawn? I assume whoever is hosting such an event does not want to attract anyone's attention, so they have to be extremely strict on their schedule... Elsa has never actually hosted a party before, but she vaguely remembers how the servants always made them look so effortless; her little sister often wanted to help, but that only resulted in headaches yet still laughter. As the oldest, she knew, however, the quickness of their staff only came from strict rules, muscle memory, and countless of hands. At the end of the day, everyone would be tired yet satisfied with the result.
If it isn't a party, then what if the other claim is possible? Is it truly someone out there that can perform miracles? Elsa is, once again, alone to her thoughts. Though the servants did not notice her eavesdropping, she still felt like they were all having a shared conversation. It exhausted her, though no words never left her lips, but the topic of their whispers refused to leave her mind. A mystery presented itself at her door, coaxing her to come away, away, away...
𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃… ♥︎
If the mountain folk cannot cure me, then is it possible someone—someone human, someone who prefers the night, someone potentially more powerful than the hidden rock folk—to be able to get rid of this magic? Something tiny in the back of her mind stirred to life, inspired by the possibility. Even if it turned out to be wrong, Elsa did like a good mystery. She is good at sneaking out at night around the castle, so getting past the closed gates did not sound as bad; all she needed was to prepare in the morning, then wait until nightfall. Fate, however, had other plans: at dawn, her parents announced they were going on a trip over seas.
Her father insisted it was a business trip. Her mother smiled, but said nothing. Elsa had no reason to find her mother's silence to be suspicious; where the king went, her mother was sure to follow him. They say knights are the most loyal to their king, but it was mother that made their loyalty look as thin as paper. Elsa knew from an early age: their love were always so deep that being in their presence could convert the heartbroken into hopeless romantics. Not only were they in love with each other, but they were both adored Arendelle and its people.
Their love for Arendelle compelled them to head straight into anything their kingdom needed, not choosing to rely on diplomats and their court of willing subjects. Elsa must not have any love in her heart because she begged for them to stay, stay in the safe walls, and send someone else in their place.
"Must you go?" Elsa can still remember her voice, how small she sounded. She was said to be as softspoken as her mother, but the princess recalled how her voice sounded...rough around the edges. It was not familiar with carrying conversations anymore, so she willed herself to speak.
Eight weeks, her parents promised they would be back in eight weeks. The thought of music leaving the old cathedral and igniting a spellbinding desire to leave the castle is crushed by the news of her parents leaving the Arendelle castle. Before she knew it, she wished them goodbye with a practiced curtsy and waited. In the back of her mind, she thought about the rumors, but the obsession to wait for her parents to return kept her rooted in her frost-covered bedchamber...
Restless days turned to weeks.
No news.
Elsa paced her bedchamber to keep herself from ruining everything.
Time was too slow, but sure enough, eight weeks were up.
Still, there were no news.
Elsa began to skip meal after meal, slacking on her studies, and spiraling into a storm of ice and snow. Gloves were torn, fires did not have the strength to stay lit in her storm, and she swears she keeps hearing a voice—singing—in the back of her mind.
When will you come back home, she would often ask the the locket of her parents. She only opened it when she was breathless and out of energy, when there is a brief lull in her magic; the painted smiles of their miniature portraits taunted her. Anna should still have hers, but not covered in ice. The matching lockets and their near-identical portraits was their mother's idea, a clever way to keep them close to their hearts whenever they are grown and married and busy with kids of their own; their father commissioned two lockets of their own, but theirs held portraits of their two daughters—forever trapped in a forgotten time of laughter and building snowmen, a time that will never happen again for her.
Finally, a message reached the distraught princess: The king is dead.
No, no, no—
The message continued, uncaring and monotone: Long live the queen.
Conceal, don't feel—
Gone are her parents, gone is the hope of finding a cure under the starry night sky, gone are all the days of of normalcy. Unable to feel anything but regret and pain and anger, Elsa moved through the motions of her new life. She chose to sneak out, but only to go to the royal chapel on castle grounds. Not to pray, not to weep, but to practice the day of her public coronation day. She will wield the royal orb and scepter, the same one her father and grandfather once held, in front of everyone in order to be anointed as their queen. Elsa no longer thought about sneaking beyond the castle grounds, not when she had to prepare for the day she stood in front of the bishop to receive her birthright.
After one rough morning of sitting with her father's council of advisors and her regent, Elsa flees from the castle once nightfall chases away the sun. They spoke of father in the past tense, she thought bitterly to herself. A year has passed since the news, though it was like decades have passed. Their parents have missed two birthdays, soon to miss a third one when her birthday arrives in December...
They do not know he is dead. If I got better, or simply removed this curse of mine, maybe I can search for both Papa and Mama? I can do it, I still have time before that awful, awful day in the royal chapel. I can look for them myself! Their lack of faith in the survival of her parents stung at her grieving heart.
They would have come back by now, argued a crueler voice in the back of her mind, calm and sharp as the autumn wind. Elsa halted in her footsteps, hit by the pain of reality. She is never cold, but the cloak of hers swayed in the autumn wind. Over a hill, she is close to the outskirts of kingdom. They are dead, there is no need to search for them, you are the queen that everyone will look to. You are beyond repair, not when you were born like this. Turn back now before the castle awakens to notice you are gone, the thought continued.
With tears in her eyes, she turned back around from her aimless wandering. Yes, she agreed, I have to stop this foolishness... What possessed me to act so recklessly? She must focus on the day that she will have to take off the gloves. She shall keep continuing her practice of going to the royal chapel to practice holding the royal orb and scepter—not the real ones, obviously, but she still must practice for the real day.
One week before the new year, Elsa is possessed by the urge to flee.
Her training all this time in the royal chapel has not once shown signs of improvement. She never once missed a night of training in the chapel, always arriving in the dead of night without fail. Her regent, Kai, reluctantly accepted her decision to postpone the day the gates are opened again. On one dreary winter morning, yet another birthday, she dressed herself with a simple decision: she will buy herself more time.
On her 21st birthday, right after the breaking of her fast, she told Kai that winter—their noticeably harsher winters—is not the best time for the gates to be opened. Their winters have gotten so much worser in recent years...
"Let us have my coronation in the summer of July under a joyous sun, wait until we are free from this awful weather for the sake of all our foreign guests," she told him matter-of-factly, confident in the lack of trembling in her voice. Kai, sadly, has known her since she was a little girl; no matter how much she practiced, she knew he saw her attempt to push back her important day.
Kai took it well enough, but the rest of the stressful day and her tightly packed schedule ruined the short-lived relief—not joy—of her success. Postponing her coronation day until July of the upcoming year is only a temporary fix, but nobody—not even poor Kai—can help make the rest of her days any easier. She continues to isolate, but the paperwork conspires to ruin even her solitude.
Enough is enough, Elsa's heart and mind decided. She may not have left the castle, the castle staff were cut back for a second time now, but she still attempted to keep track of the news of any recurring rumors. It was hard, but she had to thank their family cook Gerda for being a woman that clung to such exciting gossip. Through her, she learned that these nightly gatherings were still occurring—whoever they were, they had a preference for the colder seasons. If I had to guess, they must not like the warmer seasons because the fine weather brings everyone out of their homes from dusk till dawn. No matter, Elsa can handle herself in the cold. She drapes her fur-lined cloak over her dress, already thankful her tight bun is still in place, and takes off into the night.
What she did not prepare to see was a masquerade when she finally made it to the abandoned cathedral. Since not leaving her castle in so long, she did not keep track of the list of religious sites, but she quickly came to the conclusion this cathedral must be an old monastery. No matter what this building used to be in its prime, she was caught off guard when so much light—so many candles—were lit to welcome her inside from the dark night of dredging through the snow.
The sight of too many people made her freeze up, but no heads turn to her. She stood at the door awkwardly, stuck on what to do. With this amount of people, she expected someone to announce her presence to the party. No one knew who she was, just like how she liked it, but the sight of not even one person turning their heads to even look at her will need some time to get used to it. This is not what I was expecting, she thought to herself. How is this happening? More importantly, why? Elsa had too many thoughts, so she tried to clear her thoughts.
Not wanting to attract anyone's attention, she kept the cloak of her hood up and stayed to the sidelines. Time seemed to not exist in this space. The next thing she knew, someone—this party's equivalent of a footman—handed her a drink from a selection of various wine. Unable to say no, she took the glass with a heavy layer of uncertainty. She cradled the glass with two of her gloved hands, unable to stop her one hand from shaking.
Parched from the journey and all the building stress, she takes a sip, then fights off a grimace from her face. She succeeds, of course she does, but she almost failed and revealed emotion on her face.
For a strange party that is so gorgeous, this wine tastes oddly...awful. I thought they would have better beverage. The few amount of food they do have here seems good, but why does this taste so awful? Elsa thought, not sure what to do with a bad glass of wine. I don't know why, but this wine tastes...rather...metallic? Elsa takes one more sip to confirm. She has not drank wine as often as her father, not when she is sealed away in her bedchamber, so she needed to another sip to confirm. This time, the grimace finds its way on her face.
Feeling the hair on the back of her neck rise, Elsa looked up. Her instincts were right, someone is indeed watching her. She noticed a woman, someone who held herself with such an air of confidence and poise that spoke of either royalty or... Oh, you have to be the hostess, thought Elsa, nearly dropping the glass of wine she will not be finishing anytime soon. You look younger than I thought you would be.
The woman in question smiles, coy and amused by...something? Her?
Then she walks her way, apparently straight on the prowl with a mission—
Wait, what? Elsa's grimace slips off her face, replaced with dread. She made it a lot longer than she thought, but her good luck has ran out. Oh, no, no, no— This is bad, why did you have to come here, Elsa? You are such an idiot, she told herself, already choosing to sprint-walk into the crowd of fine dresses and leisure dancing. It is too chaotic for her own taste, but it allowed her to easily lose someone she did not want to talk to—or dance with, now that she thought about it—
Why couldn't I have pretended her wine tasted good? She would have never noticed me, now she is— Elsa's swirl of thoughts came to a jarring halt when the woman, draped in pearls and rubies and more finery than Elsa has ever had the chance to wear, materializes right in front of her. That— Oh, that shouldn't be possible. Then again, people with an unexplainable curse should not exist.
Elsa, naturally, stopped in her tracks. No scream, no fainting were needed. She glanced down at the wine, then glanced back up, and then glanced back up in growing confusion. She is confused, terribly tired, and...intrigued. More intrigued, but not enough to stay here for the rest of the night. She should be scared, shouldn't she? She isn't, not when all of her worst fears have already happened. Only a couple of them remained, but this moment isn't one of them.
The woman took her glass of wine, downed it for her without wasting a drop of the suspicious wine, and then promptly allowed the wine to hoisted off by a footman and his trays of glasses. He didn't bat an eye, but neither did anyone else. It cannot be the wine, not from two sips. I know what I saw, but why is no one else reacting? Elsa still stared, baffled by how fast and willing she took her glass and drank it. Right where her lips once was. An indirect kiss that would have made any man's breath...and hers.
"Excuse me, but I must go—" Elsa tried to move out of the way, still be mindful of society's etiquette, and not allow the air grow any colder than it had gotten since these turn of events.
"Stay," said the mystery woman in jewels, inching closer and closer. "Live a little. My name is Cecily. Won't you stay? You only just arrived," she added, smiling lips close to dropping into a teasing pout. Elsa should be thankful this hostess is not upset, but... No, she has gotten the answer on whether this was a party or something more. Well, almost got the answer. She still had lots of questions, actually, but Elsa needed out.
Now.
Bowing her head down, Elsa moved past the woman with the cat-like gaze. Instead of allowing her to pass so easily, Cecily—what a beautiful name—snaked her hand around hers to bring her right back. Instead of letting go, Cecily brings her gloved hand to her lips to plant a chaste kiss on it. It only lasted a couple of seconds for Cecily to pull her away and speak again, "Stay with me for tonight. The night is young."
Elsa blinked, more stunned than worried of being touched.
"I have some questions to ask you," Cecily added, letting go of her hand. Elsa, for once, wished her hand is not gloved. On the other hand, Cecily's lipstick-painted lips are imprinted on her left glove. Red looks so nicely with her teal gloves, but that shouldn't be her focus.
"You do?" Elsa asked after she felt her heart skipped a beat in a sea of dead hearts.
Cecily smiles even more, this time looking all more genuine.
"Ah, erm, so do I..." Elsa finally spoke again, quietly wondering if her cheeks were pink. "I suppose I could stay for a couple of more...minutes..."
For tonight, only for tonight, Cecily's kiss has convinced her to stay.
she's seen a lot of people at the point of their demise ( and afterward ), definitely more than the average person and perhaps more than even some paramedics, cops . . . the overexposure should probably bother tess more than it does. she knows it isn’t normal, that she isn’t normal. but acknowledgement doesn’t actually help in solving the root problem, no matter what her therapist says. knowing the source doesn’t change the flow of the waterfall of detachment and blank looks and the necessitation to feign emotions that tess isn’t even sure she feels. thankfully, she doesn’t feel the same pressure to pretend around cecily, even surrounded by stone epithets.
| | ᨒ𖦹.° ⁽ @gospul ⁾ ➺ “ maybe they didn't want to die. maybe they weren't ready. ”
“ no one’s ever ready to die. ” it’s stated like a fact, because it is. tess kneels in the shed leaves of an oak tree and brushes away the dirt, picks at the overgrown foliage, and scrapes at the moss clinging to the engraved letters ( always in our hearts ). she looks up at cecily, only to hesitate and wonder if she’s said too much. but even if she has, there’s no point in shutting up now. “ those church folks . . . they may say they’re ready to meet god or whatever, but they aren’t. ” she’s seen it : the contraction of pupils at the exact moment of realization, when they finally notice that the reaper’s scythe is already poised at their neck. everyone is the same in the end. “ everyone dies afraid. ”
❝ and yet, here i stand. ❞ were he not meant to appear at this most holy of places, why then, would a hoard of his kind come pouring from its hallowed halls like the very pests infecting the streets, the boats, the bodies of mortals . . . ? ❝ and why should i not ? ❞ inquisitive, his head tilts to one side just a few degrees, delivers a smile – it barely provides a dim light into dark hues. ❝ a great many have flocked through these doors and emerged claiming not just god, but the work of his gracious miracles lie beyond them. i, myself, believe in neither one. ❞
the two of them can't contain their giggles from the love biting fest they were currently trying to win at. elain knew, cecily would win. of course she would win. the young fae has to try at least, it was valentines day. one of her many favorite holidays. her mouth covers a piece of the other woman's thigh, her tongue gliding over the soft ivory flesh before she chomps down hard, tangling herself further with cecily. ❝ my love. ❞ she whispers pulling away from the flesh, a grin spreading across her lips.
