the wind howls through ancient wild groves, copper waves whipping in the night. fog swirls all around her, opaque in the moonlight and the woods echo but she’s not afraid of what might be creeping along the shadows. she’s already walking among her nightmare with an anguished heart, looking for someone & perpetually HAUNTED. beacon hills became eerily vacant, leaving behind a misty eyed shell of the precocious strawberry blonde who couldn’t find a rift between dimensions in time to save her love & she’s crushed. the eternal unknown calls to her, a spectral void to which she lost him & she waits for any sign of the otherworldly. SHE’S ALWAYS CRYING ; the wailing woman once described a myth had truly become lydia martin. eclipsed with emptiness, porcelain visage tear streaked & white dress billowing in the vivid night, the BANSHEE waits under a bluish luminescence. waiting for her time to disappear from this abandoned ghost town & join her lost love, waiting for him to come back even if he can’t. even if she waits forever. Even if the storm finds her to spirit away too.
