#sylvie1

[dreams-of-a-lark]

Date: 2/26 Time: Evening Location: North Beach Closed Starter: @sybilsylvie​

The fog had become so much more oppressive after nightfall, the voices that filled the air screamed taunting words, all too familiar to Lark. The worst of the voices in the fog being his father’s, the words and tone that often haunted him in his nightmares or shook him awake just as he was about to drift into sleep. Some were just the sharp way Arthur would spit out Lark’s name, others were the volley of aggressive and disparaging comments the old man threw his way on a near daily basis. There was no love in them... just as there was no love in his memory until after he’d become successful.

Then another voice echoed through the night, a soothing remedy in comparison, “Loon, is that you? Is it really you?” Katie. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. Get it together, Lark. It’s not real. It’s a trick. But then the figure appeared through the mist and...

“Katydid?” Maybe it really was. He ran up and grabbed her by the shoulders, getting a better look. Despite their years apart there was no denying, it was his twin sister in the flesh. How did she get here? Had she been here all along? It didn’t matter. “You’re really here...” He pulled her in for a tight hug and heaved a sigh of relief, heavy with the weight of over 5 years being separated from his twin. “I missed you so much, you have no idea.”

[grcyfiel-blog]

near and far || Greyfiel + Sylvie

for drsylvie-daniels

He was a complete dumbass, he knew, but did he really deserve this? Grey’s notebook and marker - damn the guards, damn every single one of them - were tucked into his pocket, out of sight, where they wouldn’t do anyone much good. Even as he entered Doctor Daniels’ area, he made no attempt to get them out, knowing full well that his writing looked like trash. Absolute garbage. Not a single word had been written since his eye incident, given that his letters - usually so straight and pristine - would doubtlessly come out smeared or lopsided. For that reason, and that reason alone, did he decide that it was alright to speak to the redheaded doctor, or to at least try to do so. Surprisingly enough, the tension he felt dissolved as soon as the first syllable left his lips, as they would for most people. “Doctor Daniels?” His voice was soft, in stark contrast to the attitude he often managed to imbue into his writing, but it still carried easily - most people were still trying to drag themselves out of bed for breakfast at this time of the morning, so the infirmary wing was, for the most part, empty.