the afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground as they stood in the secluded clearing of the beacon hills perserve. a walk, they'd taken to calling it— a way to clear their heads. (more as a way to spend some time together alone. best friends needed time to themselves away from the ground sometimes too.)
@fevrals, allison: ❝ you know, i think the lines you’re afraid of are all made up. ❞
when allison's words are proclaimed and reach lydia's ears, the ginger can sense the tinge in her voice— it rests on the spectrum between determination and uncertainty, leaning towards the latter. they're enough for lydia to stop walking, on cloud sneakers coming to a skidding halt. ❝ made up? ❞ tilting her head slightly, expression a mix of contemplation and intrigue, she turns around.
❝ me being an apparent irish folklore banshee who is able to sense death before it happens, is a totally-okay line to be afraid of. last night, i found a dead body in the school gym's pool. i am coming across dead bodies in pools, allison. ❞