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Today's Document
@theartofmadeline
$LAYYYTER
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@tombkept
𝖎𝖝. beloved dead, hear your handmaiden… a private & selective blog for harrowhark nonagesimus from the locked tomb series ( VERY HEADCANON HEAVY & LOW ACTIVITY * uneathed by corazón she/they, 21+, est.
AN EXPLORATION INTO . . . crisis of faith, death as religion, the crumbling of a prodigy, the byronic heroine, survivor’s guilt, the cost of sainthood & the double-edged sword
˚ ⌑ NOTE: this is a sideblog to @poppyvale will follow back from main
antigone on her way to being buried alive is so harrow-flavored dare i say
˚ ⌑ parabathai , gideon nav . . .
five shots of liquorice sambuca down, and the effects of alcohol had numbed the incessant need to check her phone as night crept through the hours. it wasn’t easy defending jedward in front of a live audience of five very drunk people and a sober camilla, but gideon had given the house party the best of her brain atp and distinctively short sleeved shirt. by the ninth count, someone had egregiously suggested that gideon get a hobby that did not involve emotional starvation. ( thank you, ianthe, in that ‘fuck you also, ianthe’, because i did not ask. in fact, i did not ask so extremely that my brain would sooner piss out edema than any muscle signal of ever asking you literally anything. ever. ) not asking had meant, however, that gideon was liable to objectively horrific impulses, like winding up half coherent at the door of the girl who had excavated her insides.
when? gideon wasn’t sure. drunk gideon was double-not sure of when it had happened, but here she was, knocking blurry eyed with nonsensical encore lyrics mumbled under her breath, until the door winked open in an arc and harrowhark’s shrivelled little face looked back at her and into her soul. then gideon said something, and harrow’s expression soured close to death.
‹ five words. chill the fuck out—bitch. › she felt herself laugh, and knew she was in trouble; a hand closed up over her mouth and she wondered how she’d managed to keep herself from kissing it. or licking it. it was soundly good she did neither. ‹ shit, shit. let me inside, damn, i’m freezing my tits off. › stumble in she did, though it wasn’t like harrow could stop her anyway. towering at six two, gideon momentarily lost sight of the evil poltergeist toeing after her like an unsettled host.
‹ it was a house party! and you were — literally invited. you didn’t even show. unsurprising. were you playing tea time with your skeletubbies. › not that i care, not that i look up hoping its you. blurry eyed and head swaying, gideon stumbled with brief hiccups of giggles; harrow at her side somehow, half stumbling with her to the couches. it wasn’t until gideon had unceremoniously dumped herself over one that some part of her vision stilled and came back. ‹ party was fun, you missed out. dulcie was there! and cam. and corona. you should have seen corona. she was like an instagram filter come to life. › she grinned selfishly, unashamedly, and turned her head to the black eyes glowering down at her. she picked up a dazed hand and, without warning, pinched harrow’s chin. ‹ harrow, harrow— jesus, were you studying on a friday? ›
THE FRENZY OF A CROWD HAS NEVER BEEN KIND TO HER. the quietude of home life had made for an uncomfortable transition into university living ( why add to bells already tolling? to the hauntings her mind conjured on its own accord without the encouragement of liquor ) gideon did not share the same reservations as she as the smallness of their devout upbringing was more cage than comfort for the girl. EVER THE MATCH WAITING TO BE STRUCK, YOU WERE A PERSON COMPOSED OF READY FLAME AND I HAVE BEEN ASH FROM THE START. those eyes of absent fire, the dull sheen of coal bear into the insult of this unannounced visit. as if she had been woken in the middle of the night rather than shaken from concentration for a moment's notice. so gideon stumbles into the room without need for invitation and a steadying breath must be taken to calm her rising ire as the door is locked in her wake.
there were plenty of comments she could rise to refute or defend herself against yet she allows the barrage of slurred absurdity to continue until... ❛ forgive me if i feel no remorse over missing out on watching you salivate over coronabeth. how will i ever recover? ❜ and there it was, the one blow that managed to land, the chink in all that depressed gothic armor.
despite the effective bristling she is concealing that stone of resentment as best she can, hands balling into the sleeves of her massive sweatshirt ━ the bunched up cloth the only barrier between her nails and those scarred palms. this is a coping mechanism disturbed as she is reached for suddenly and a set of fingers uncurl to bat away at gideon's assumptive touch. ❛ i will not be taking academic criticism from someone who is likely failing more than half of their course load! ❜
abandoning her on the couch, harrow makes her way to the kitchenette on the opposite side of the living space. still remaining in earshot but intent on keeping her childhood nemesis out of her eye-line. ❛ maybe if you spent less time waging war against your liver and more time in the library you wouldn't be in such desperate need of a tutor. ❜ the tap runs and the sound of falling water replaces the venom of her voice for a brief stint until the glass is filled. wandering back over to gideon the cup is presented to her with little ceremony and the bark of a demand. ❛ drink this. ❜ handing off the glass with only half the mind to worry about a potential spillage. IT WOULD HAPPEN... given the unsteady way she had been gripped prior to her retreat. a childish part of her silently hoped the contents of the glass would make good friends with the front of the other girl's shirt ( now who is really freezing their tits off? ) ❛ and before you ask again my answer is still no. i rather suffer a thousand house parties with ianthe in attendance than tutor you. ❜ the crossing of her arms across her chest acts as a definitive end punctuation to her refusal.
Endless Wednesday
wedn/esday ad/dams you are so harro/whark coded excuse me
another long hairrow, for this past inktober!
˚ ⌑ FIRST KILL SENTENCE MEME ... » ( ACCEPTING !
FIVE CUPS DEEP AND THE EFFECTS OF CAFFEINE HAS DULLED TO A MIND NUMBING HUM AS THE NIGHT BEGAN ITS CLIMB INTO MORNING. it is nearly four and harrowhark is knee-deep in organic chemistry sifting her way through compound and covalent bonds balancing equations representative of neutrons, electrons, and ━ a half-hearted rap at the door pulls her out from the realm of synthesis. another knock, this time more forceful gathers her full attention ( what the fuck is it! ) the noise-canceling headphones are slid down from her ears to loop around her neck. socked feet make light pads on the wooden floor as she begins her procession through the kitchen to the apartment's entryway.
when the lock clicks and the latch swings away she is met with a towering, torpid grinning @parabathai. at first the other girl does not even seem to notice that her pounding has gone answered. ❛ you have got to be fucking kidding me. ❜ fingertips alight at her brow and harrow's face scrunches up into a pointed portrait of agony. NO, SHE WAS NOT EVEN AFFORDED ONE NIGHT OF PEACE WITHOUT HAVING HER CHILDHOOD HAND DELIVERED TO HER ON AN INEBRIATED PLATER. to make matters worse her past speaks! ❛ you are the prettiest flash frozen peach i ever did see. ❜ she is quite aware that she actually looks like well microwaved shit in a band hoodie five sizes too big for her skinny frame. she also knows, by posture alone, that gideon nav is undeniably soused and only standing due in large part to the generous weight she was placing on the doorframe.
❛ griddle, you're drunk and, not only that, you are talking absolute nonsense. ❜ it is a sigh and pained hiss all in one breath. despite the air of irritation, it was difficult to conjure furry in the face of a very bewildered gideon ( like kicking a puppy, though she might have not been opposed to that at a certain point ) focusing on a general mid-distance so as not to lose nerve, she steels herself for an interrogation. ❛ where are you even coming from? one of those… sportsball parties? nevermind, i don't care. ❜ big mistake, the barista is whipping out the heavy artillery now, eyes like newly-minted coins go wide and watery. ❛ but, harrow. ❜ it is an excruciating and tawdry whine that stirs the slumbering world from sleep. OH, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU. I AM GOING TO KILL YOU SO DEAD━ her hand shoots upward like a diving magpie, clamping down on that pouting mouth. ❛ shut up, you're going to wake up the whole floor ━ just get inside, you carrot-topped idiot. ❜
first kill sentence meme. episode 1 - 3.
sometimes when i first wake up, my heart is racing and my throat is dry.
even on good days, i still feel like i don’t fit in.
have you been out all night?
that isn’t your colour.
one day, i am going to kill him.
you are the prettiest peach i ever did see.
hey, lots of people like this face.
another migraine?
i hate parties.
far be it from me to stand in the way of quiet pining, but, you know, you could just talk to her.
i can’t shake the fear that as soon as i blink, you’ll disappear.
who wears pure silver?
please tell me the night terrors haven’t started.
you went through my bag?
we survive by our commitment to blending in.
every day that you refuse to embrace your nature, you are closer to the day where it controls you.
uh oh, what did you do this time?
is that what you plan to wear?
your first kill’s a big step. it changes you.
what if i don’t wanna change?
i think some people prefer to die young.
i don’t wanna hurt her.
have you started crying blood?
if you keep putting this off, it’s only going to get worse.
just remember: stay calm, be prepared, and always finish what you start.
spin the bottle? really?
sorry, i’m socially awkward.
it’s not easy to make friends when you know you’ll be in a new city in a few months.
why do you think they’re showing up now?
that’s their way of saying you can’t keep a good ghost down.
one day, i’m gonna be the greatest hunter who ever lived.
when hunting monsters, there are three rules: pay attention to everything, be prepared for anything, and always finish what you start.
they keep telling me my time is coming.
this is my life.you’re alive?
you used to be a better liar.
i got my first kill.
there’s a feeling you get when a monster’s breath eases up your nostrils.
most hunters just know a monster when they see one.
you’re the one they warned me about.
once an action is taken, you must live with the consequences.
you brought a summoner into the house?
do you have any idea what time it is?
at what point will you apologise for this shit show?
don’t steal shit.
do you think i didn’t see you?
i staked a vampire.
the worst monsters are the one who appear to be human.
you are spending too much time with the dead. it’s ruining your manners.
i hear you have a body.
show me the body - i’m not squeamish, promise.
i saw bodies like this when i just started - corpses ripped open, organs missing.
i had that nightmare again.
we don’t slaughter. we feed.
wait, back up - someone died?!
have you ever taken credit for something that you didn’t do because it was such a big deal to everyone and you didn’t want to disappoint?
did you guys kiss? did limbs entwine? your lives change for ever?
no one asked you to do that. i was handling it.
take that giant chip off your shoulder and just tell me exactly what happened.
might want to be more careful what you leave near your bodies.
compassion is not a weakness. it’s a gift. to be embraced.
i believe that the next time you take a life, you will show some restraint.
remind me to tell you my first kill story sometime.
do you see the vampire you staked?
want me to be gentle?
no, baby, i want you to make it hurt.
why’d you bite me?
why are your tears red?
i’m not a monster.
have you ever hooked up in a womens’ bathroom stall?
you know, you’re a shitty liar.
i thought monsters like you were supposed to be good at deceiving humans.
i guess i’m not very good at being a monster.
everybody has tells if you look hard enough, and i couldn’t keep my eyes off you.
i know you were planning on killing me.
i didn’t mean to bite you.
i can hear your heartbeat. it races when you lie.
what possessed you to take such a gruesome calling card?
when did we start keeping secrets from each other?
they’re very rare. hard to find. and even harder to kill.
each and every one of them must die.
a hunter is only as good as their gut.
i swear, when i bit you, i had no idea it would link us like this.
i shouldn’t feel anything for you, but you’re nothing like the monsters i grew up hating.
you’re too impressed with yourself - the worst thing a hunter can be.
that childish need for glory will get you killed.
where are my pills?!
why do i even have to do this ceremony?
do you really want to follow in their footsteps?
i look like i sleep in a coffin.
are you keeping your hands clean and your bodies well-buried?
i certainly hope he tastes better than he behaves.
make sure she doesn’t disappoint me.
you know death freaks me out.
your training sessions have been paying off.
it’s a dangerous assignment, even for the best of us, let alone for a first hunt.
i always found that part a bit kinky.
i know how hard it is to kill a monster that looks and feels human.
once those monsters come for you, your instincts kick in.
do you ever ask yourself, like, what if they’re not all monsters?
what if maybe we’re the monsters in their story?
killers don’t get a story.
wait, you want me to bite her?
i want you to drain her.
just because i’m not a killer, doesn’t mean i’m weak.
aw, you’ve got a crush. luckily it’ll pass.
i’m begging you, free your mind, stop wishing to be something you’ll never be, and appreciate what you are.
the truth is overrated.
pull yourself together before your thirst takes over and you kill whoever happens to be nearest.
we’ll figure out your first kill.
everything that happens to you is important to me.
if you hate them so much, then why did you come?
i know i ruined everything, but please call it off.
very soon, you are going to have to make your first kill, or you will get very sick.
i smell blood.
i got all the good genes.
i do think harrow has ocd that is comorbid with her schizophrenia considering one of her most frequent hallucinations are the secondarius bells that signal order and the implication of a routine as it alerts to the passing of time. and of course there is the most obvious compulsive need harrow possesses which is the painting of her face. the break from that routine really worsens her mental turmoil and stability as we see in her first few days on the mithraeum. really her life on the ninth was so perfectly regimented and it is why her illness was not so prevalent until her routine is completely broken down and she is unable to partake in any of her stabilizing compulsions.
˚ ⌑ scythed , ianthe tridentarius . . .
little sister, little sister, where did you go ——— into the cracks and crevices of the old mithraeum’s walls where you think the shadows will hide you ? marble eyes and gilded metacarpals are far too perceptive of that, my darling. her steps are laden and callous but as precise in their cacophony as a cat’s, some bleak and unmistakable red dusk begins to set over the mountainside, casting dark and sharp shadows over the walls : walls, said the emperor ——— of a thousand years hence, hail his bones, hail his tissue and cytosine, etcetera ——— that have stood for millennia and would not break. ( and to that, mercy said at the banquet table yesterday, pfaugh ! it got a snicker out of her and a glare from their elder brothers. worth it. )
her pale hair shimmers some sick and wan shade that her opalescent cape would decay into as she peeks her head into the small alcove. @tombkept said something once to her about how anastasia something - or - other once fashioned this battlement as a miniature chapel for the locked tomb, and that little osteo - witch has the gall still to tilt her head back to say : i’d rather ride alone.
hands clasped in prayer, her fellow lyctor kneels and says her quip strung along the mutterings of a prayer, spoken in sacred tones before an effigy of … something, or someone. who cares, really ? such dark and dreary drapes, plunging the room into only the guidance of hundreds of candles. ❛❛ come on, harry. don’t be like that. i’m not so bad a riding partner after all. and i’ll take all the horses if you don’t. ❜❜ her handiwork of a golden ulna gleams sunlit in that light as she examines the phalanges as nails, her sigh bored and unassuming, but in a curious gesture of compliance. ❛❛ mercymorn and augustine already took most of the mobile troops, so you’ve got no choice. ❜❜ as did she, but it will go unsaid. as most things in the noble third house ( palate and incisors of the emperor undying : holy, holy ) .
agate eyes crawl over that ebony statuette like tiny marble spiders, her gaze chiseling through every small crevice and featureless face. ( it really is a wonder, then : why both the lord eternal and little harrowhark often visit this room. the locked tomb may as well be as fathomless as his eyes. ) outside the mithraeum’s stone fortifications, the roar of a beast rustles the grasslands, and the candlelights waver. ❛❛ hm. you’re not going to hole yourself up here, are you ? mercy would talk our ears off if you do. ❜❜
AMALGAMATION OF VENERATION, IDOLATRY IS FOUND IN LIMBS PALE WITH DEATH AND HAIR OF MORNING MIST AND BOG WATER. lady harrowhark damned to an unrequited admiration ( an infatuation, an infuriating romance of unconscious mind ) all that used up consecration of self... NO AMOUNT OF LOVE CAN WIPE AWAY WHAT HAS BEEN DONE, REVEREND DAUGHTER. her cathedral soul, cavernous, shadow-kissed and vaulting without limit. it is only fitting for the nun the seek out sanctuary to keep ghostly tidings at bay, that chorus of whispers, the dead and unreal alike speaking in unison. a girl inhabited, imbued with loss and dressed with a lunacy she kept carefully contained ━ a vessel of apocalypse just as sword strapped across her back. bowed at the altar but also under the weight of the furious specter.
( am i mad? she asked the other newly wrought lyctor once ━ 'yes, terribly so' she had replied unkindly ) but ianthe was a frivolous liar and delighted orchestrator of melodrama. nothing she spoke could be at face value. here she arrives to disrupt the small respite of prayer with her grating, indulgent tone. ❛ tridentarius, the last time we road together your phalanges seemed to take a special interest in my femur – more specifically the flesh that covers it. ❜
gloved hands clasped tight before her and the veil is pinned at the crown of her dark hair, the terrible nest of it that grew and grew with no end. obsidian eyes tearing away from the altar as she rose from her ingratiation. ❛ i have no intention of staying here, i am only paying my respects as i am sure a heretic like you knows nothing about. ❜ she is barred from her paints and her livery in her sainthood but the filmy of gauzy umbra remains as she pulls the shroud down over her features once more. there had been a minuscule hope that the third house progeny would take her absence as a cause for departure ━ no such luck. YOU HAVE COME TO RELY ON THE DUPLICITOUS ONCE-PRINCESS OF IDA. AN ENTANGLEMENT THAT LEFT YOU TIED FROM MARROW TO TENDON. the odd fear that you may hemorrhage without the other, a faulty circulatory system without proper dialysis.
❛ no wandering hands or i will take that other arm from you and not bother to replace it this time. ❜ through the aisle, past rows and rows upon pews does she travel to the lavender wrongness of ianthe's looming willow of a silhouette. ❛ keep your beast away from mine, this much distance... ❜ halting abruptly the tombkeeper illustrates the appropriate length with the span of openness that lay between them now ━ an adequate few yards. continuing forth she crosses over the threshold to warring horizon, the rumbling of earth beneath an existing unsteady stance. ❛ preferably more and you won’t have anything to carry on about to your nursemaid later on in the evening. ❜ the saint of patience's interest in the other girl was nauseating at best and troubling at worst. harrow firmly believed no daughter of the third was capable of having... familial relations without an undertone of salacious implication.
shanoa’s battle nun design is so crunchy so harrowcore it scratches my brain
some things never change
modern verse harrow very low key attending poetry classes at uni due to ortus’ influence because i feel like he would be more of an older brother/uncle figure to her outside of canon. but of course she still is horribly embarrassed that she is even indulging this curiosity!!!! that being said, if you stare too closely at her bookshelf between all the scientific journals and encyclopedias there is keats, shelley, and of course poe and emily dick.inson without a doubt
˚ ⌑ trianthe , ianthe tridentarius . . .
“worried about me, harry?” two gaunt girl-not-girls under the moonlight – ianthe had thought herself hilarious, flinging hands and arms and feet ripped off corpses at harrowhark’s window, like a character in a romantic comedy ( and surely there is some comedy to be found in their situation, just as there is some romance ). and now between the two of them, one would be hard-pressed to tell the vampire from the human, ianthe with her ash-pale skin and harrowhark with her death-dark gaze. the former princess can do covert, can be quite good at covert. ( wasn’t she just perfectly covert, slipping away from her sister in the night, undead heart fluttering uncomfortably at the thought of poor human coronabeth being exposed to the same bloodsucking morons who want ianthe staked and set aflame for the crime she’s committed, the threat she poses to their vampiric hierarchy. ) but she’s bored, and she doesn’t have nearly as much to lose as harrow if their little rendez-vous were to be discovered.
harrow, her little starving witch-girl – she wants information badly enough to meet with ianthe, and that really should tell you all you need to know about her desperation. her eyes on ianthe remind the pale vampiress that the line between prey and hungry predator has never been drawn as cleanly as it should have been between them, and perhaps seeking reassurance in her own power, ianthe reaches out to grip her throat. ( she is rewarded with harrow’s heartbeat speeding up under her coldcold fingers, she breathes the hidden fear, or excitement, or whatever delightful weakness of feeling in like she’d once needed oxygen. )
“hmm.” ianthe’s red lips are the only color left between them, in the white-washed moonlight, and she purses them in a pretty pout. waits another moment, another flutter of heartbeats, and then releases harrow’s neck. “you’re killing the mood, witchlet. the moon’s out!” and she smiles, and maybe she’ll never be beautiful, but she feels closer to it, with her arms spread wide and the non-discerning night air on her dead skin, and, most importantly, harrow’s attention on her and only her. “let’s make a new deal. come out with me. we’ll dance in the cemeteries and then i’ll answer all your silly questions. cross my heart.”
❛ not even remotely. ❜ from under her breath the retort is a sibilating hush, imbued with an unspoken hex. the manor home is a hollowed out shell of former majesty. it aches and creaks with her descent like a discontented creature. a monster whose mouth she crawls out of each midnight to risk her reputation for study ( for study, an empty seemingly vapid excuse but this harrow the scholar, harrow the academic, harrow the desperate ) the lengths the daughter of drearburh would go to to reinstate her family's prior respectability was boundless and thus drove her to the most reckless solution of all. IANTHE IS ALL WARNING, NOTHING ABOUT THE VAMPIRE SUGGESTED CONSTANCY OR TRUST ( yet you had thrown your lot in with her regardless; a cultist and a once-heir from a legacy of hunters ) the dichotomy is enough to split the earth and set the specters wailing but when she approaches there is no shriek or damning clap of thunder ━ there is just a dead hand around a live throat.
❛ what use do either of us have for dancing? especially enough to amend the details of our arrangement. ❜ this belief lends her a bout of bravery and like a child with a used up plaything she is expelled from ianthe's grasp. she knows it was not for her own benefit as the melodrama persists in the gauzy gesticulation of the blonde girl's limbs. this gives the impression that she at war with the evening itself before the amethyst of her gaze is trained back on the witch. ❛ i don't see how this is conducive to either of our situations. ❜ ever the analyst, harrowhark is offended rather than flustered at the prospect of an evening meeting being turned into a soiree on a whim.
though as fate would have it she would be given the time to further scrutinize the motive behind this proposition. a light is switched on in one of the bedroom's above them and the glow of yellow illumination spills onto the front lawn like a beaming torch. ❛ fuck! fine, let's just move away from prying eyes. ❜ the idea of willingly putting her hands on the other girl would usually give the sorceress pause but the shove she issues is more reflexive than deliberate. whatever it took to scuttle out of view of potential onlookers, the residents of the ninth sect were an inquisitive bunch ━ as not much of interest occurred in these hallowed halls. ALL GOSSIPS, THE WHOLE HEAP OF THEM. A SEWED TONGUE WOULD DO THEM SOME GOOD. ❛ i am not doing any cemetery waltzing though, it's an absurd suggestion even for you. ❜
i just think... modern day witch harrow with skelly cats as pets thank you <3
A little bit of Harrowhark's all I need. [wip]
˚ ⌑ SYSTEMS OF TOUCH PROMPTS ... » ( ACCEPTING !
A SPECTER WOULD BETTER SUIT HER, AS FAR AS NECROMANTIC CREATURES WERE CONCERNED. there is a near translucency to the exiled vampire. it is a quality only heightened by her choice in gauzy fabric to adorn her briary frame; all harsh angles and jutting carpal bone. harrow herself is no more full of a girl; gaunt and evening-eyed like a starved alley cat left out to the elements. this is a false portrayal as she is the lifeblood of her home, the profane thrum that wetted the foundational stones of the drearburh estate. in a gesture that proved more morbid than romantic ( although given the nature of their affair perhaps it was equal parts both ) @trianthe had hefted several appendages in varying degrees of necrosis at her windowpane.
❛ what part of covert do you not understand, tridentarius? ❜ the witch hisses into the night air before disappearing behind a thrash of curtains. she had taken the stairs several at a time nearly tipping down the final flight on her way to the door. the heavy oak swings open to the looming vampire who had situated herself in the archway is poised against the stone in a feigned showing of tedium. harrow , unwilling to make believe with the melodrama of her subject of study is already in a fit of denial. ❛ and before you ask again no, i will not be welcoming you onto the premises anytime soon ━ ❜ a cool hand is upon her skin then, wrapping around her throat the pressure just enough to startle her from her words ━ they catch in throat as her windpipe is pressed further into strain. I MAKE A GOOD SHOW OF IT, DO I NOT? BUT I KNOW YOU CAN FEEL THE BETRAYAL OF MY PULSE. the rapid beat of a traitorous heart but her lips form all the lies she could need. ❛ mind yourself, princess. we have a deal, need i remind you of its perimeters? ❜
