( @no62751 x ophelia )
the soothing voice of sinatra on record crackles over the fire. burning star, deep dark sky, blue rose and a human eye. five, six, seven, eight. she whispers to herself. a step closer to resurrection. the undead animal limps its way across the dimly lit room. its bones fall apart and snap back together like magic. “franky. sit. good boy.” she coos at the dog. half bones, half fur, more obedient than any living creature.
dead bodies on the floor. they no longer decompose like they should, but they don’t move like she wants them to. a step closer to my love, five, six, seven, eight. the knife slices perfectly through the woman’s chest even under the creeping shadows of the basement. ophelia’s hair falls over her face like weeping willow, brushing over the corpse’s skin. concentration is key with the spell that follows the cuts. she bastes the left side with charcoal, the right with a white powder. footsteps nearing. a familiar presence.
her concentration breaks. “another day, my sweet.” another day. she presses a soft kiss along the corpse’ lips before rising off her crouched position. rinse, rose powder. rinse, parfum. rinse, repeat, until death is absent from her body.
lithe fingers run down the long locks to pull them up out of her face. she surfaces from the basement with a frantic look. there’s a splotch of blood on her shirt, some charcoal under her nail polish. nothing too noticeable, but she’s paranoid.
“hyejin.” ophelia answers the door, glancing around the streets. “ah, of course. come in.”
(she knows of my sins.)
“i don’t have what you need, if that’s the reason you’re here”.
“i barely have what i need.” she runs her fingers through her hair, charcoal leaving dark spots along the blond locks. “but i’m close. the ones holding me back are the other witches in the city. they’re suspicious, what i do is taboo, so they’re watching my every move.”
