omens | vivian & morgan
@mcrganvyrg
In the late night’s revelations made of shadow and terror, Vivian felt like all of the voices inside her head were simply projected to the outside world to hear. For a blinking moment she thought the voices had emanated from her ears and in panic she turned around to see if the people would jump her, blame her - but none seemed to have noticed. She relaxed into her seat but not because she did not find the words to be terrible and ominous, but because they did not, as she had feared, come from her.
But, Gods, the voices - even darker than what she had heard from inside her head.
She was afraid. Mortified. Terrified. And unlike the others, she cared little of if it showed on her face. Why hide such a dark, dominant fear? It was not weakness, it was reason. It was reasonable to be afraid of the dark, for many a horrid things hid inside it, shielded and protected while it left the others bare and barren. Vivian had retreated from the wedding feast few short minutes after the voices have spoken (or was it only one voice? She could not say.), frightfully for she had known they would seep back inside her head to pick and lick and nick at her mind and sanity.
Gods, she was so very tired of it all the time.
Soft knock disturbed her, barely a minute after she had closed the door to attempt to go the sleep. In this hour, it could only be one person and momentarily she felt the shadows in her head retreat by an inch.
“It is open, Mor.”
