#mortemori

[feminurge]

"ask what you want to ask", she murmurs. it's a delicious sound; threat so sugary it melts on the tongue. smells like something beautiful too. hot pink eyelashes, still painted from last night's gig, flutter until ishtar's eyes settle on the little witch. her smile is too thin to show teeth but no necromancer could believe her to be anything but a monster, "i'll decide what to do with you depending on how boring i find the inquiry." @mortemori @fairyaltar

[banalrasaaa]

✦ 𝓠. “ drop by if you ever want to talk. or if you don’t we can just sit together in silence. either way, i’m here for you. ” @fairyaltar. @mortemori.

They stand there, divided between two divorced emotions. The image of their little apartment comes to them, alone, muted. It is both comforting and terrifying. A safe heaven that is also a cage for their ghosts, for those unbidden hauntings that claw at their brain. They want to go back, they need their solitude, to escape this callous world that doesn’t care about anyone’s name or faces. 

In their cage, they spend weeks without talking to another person, without touching, without being seen. And the silence eats at them the way salt air corrodes every other building in their neighbourhood, rusts anything metal, inflates wood until that too starts to crack and erode. The way that same silence erodes their mind, makes them as faceless as the ghost that crowd that tiny room.

It is this distortion that makes their anger flare at the mere suggestion of needing anyone, a fire to protect their loneliness, keeping it from the cold of being witnessed. 

“Who says I need help,” their fingers claw at an adorned pendant hanging from their neck, a sharp thing like them. Those equally serrated eyes watch her carefully, trying to bottle down the emotion. “If the best you can do is sit around in silence, then maybe I won’t— sounds boring.” Their lips curl in a repressed smile. Mockery and playfulness, it seems, is a gentler blade than anger.

[mortivivens]

@lemourtes answers the first toll.

a  breath  of  laughter  escapes  her,  no  more  than  a  splintered  sigh  against  the  raw  contour  of  cracked  lips.  even  now,  it  is  laughter  only  in  shape,  empty  &  jagged, more  akin  to  the  dying  gasp  of  one  run  through  with  a  blade.  gaze  remains  cast  downward,  anchored  to  the  ground  soiling  her  bare  feet.  it  isn’t  the  woman’s  words  alone  that  wound  her,  but  the  wisdom  they  cradle:  the  prudent  ruin  they  suggest.  the  possibilities.  the  illusions  she  allows  herself  to  entertain,  if  only  for  a  moment,  before  they  sink  their  teeth  into  her.

fingers  tap  against  her  own  arm,  restless,  as  though  to  keep  time  with  the  uneasy  rhythm  of  her  contemplation,  a  habit  of  discomfort.  there  is  no  true  offer  thus  far,  no  bargain  laid  before  her.  still,  the  thought  of  one  lingers  in  the  space  between  them,  unwelcome,  persistent. 

“ ━  &  you  believe  a  condition  like  mine  can  be  undone ? ”

she  had  meant  to  make  the  words  empty,  stripped  of  feeling.  an  indolent  inquiry,  nothing  more.  but  no  matter  how  she  tried  to  hollow  it  out,  the  bitterness  curdles  at  the  edges,  ascending  from  the  depths  of  her  stomach.