seven swans

I saw the dragons drying, I saw the witches whine. We stayed a long, long time. But I'm not afraid to die, To see you, to meet you. To see you at last. alice. 35. she/her.

[yardjhfb-blog]

dominikblair‌

Dom had texted Alice asking to meet him in the bathroom. It was Christmas Eve. He was packed up and ready to go but needed to check in with Alice before leaving.

@alicesolak

Alice was waiting in the bathroom, leaning against the wall, small present in hand. When she saw Dom, who she hadn’t seen in weeks, her eyes lit up, and she walked over to him. “I hate not being in a room with you,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I hate not knowing if you’re okay.” 

[yardjhfb-blog]

olliecavalieri‌

@alicesolak

As much time as Ollie had spent in this church in the past, he couldn’t shake the ominous cloud hanging over the residents of Sallybrook who took shelter in the basement. He never felt quite at home within the walls, not since coming back from school, but at least Alice had arranged the rooms to their advantage. His parents took shelter down the hall, close enough that he was sure they were just fine, but far enough away that he felt like he could breathe. Bringing a small library in his duffel bag was probably the only thing getting him through the lockdown that seemed to be dragging on, but there was a part of him that was worried about Alice. She always seemed so focused on others, and that was increasingly obvious as they moved through the lockdown. So, after tucking his bookmark back into his novel, he moved across the room and took a seat at her side. “Hey, Alice,” he said, a small smile on his lips as he settled by her side. “I’m bored.”

The lockdown had taken a lot out of Alice. She had found herself constantly on guard, making sure no one went missing, making sure her room was safe. This led to very little sleep. Knowing, from experience, that The Haunt would tend to attack at night or early in the morning. During the day, she took short naps, but at night she was devoted to staying up the entire time. She kept a close eye on Ollie specifically, knowing he was way beyond the age of kids that were normally taken, but not wanting to take any chances. She couldn’t lose two of her kids two years in a row. It would ruin her. She wrapped her arm around him when he came to sit beside her, pulling him in close and kissing the top of his head, looking at the book he had in hand. “Hi, love,” she said with a little smile, always too happy whenever he was around. “What are you reading? It doesn’t look familiar.” 

[yardjhfb-blog]

dominikblair‌

“The least I can do,” he said calmly, desperate in still wanting to provide some form of reassurance by holding her face again, bringing her closer towards him as he tried to be a kind of safe space. “And you to me,” he replied so certainly, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. No language, ancient or existing, could ever capture how fundamental Alice was to Dom’s existence. It was easy to blame his taciturn nature, but every time he tried to express it himself it felt like a great injustice to them, and so he relied on her knowing to their connection. Over the years, it became harder and harder to have people by his side. None of it their faults. With Alice, it was different. She was the only one left. The only one he could stand to have by his side and he could breathe easier. As if they’d been breathing together for a long, long time. “Okay,” he nodded, checking his wrist for the time. Rubbing her shoulders, he spoke again, voice gentle and warm, “Would you like to get ready for bed now? Or, if you’d like, we can finish the tea… continue our very important conversation about the snow.”

She laughed, reaching forward to grab his hand, to squeeze it to show her affection. Very few people could get her to feel anything but sadness and worry these days, her heart having been ripped away when her child was taken, but Dom always seemed to know what to say. Of course he did. He had grown up with her, shown her what it meant to be loved and to love, and for that she would always be grateful. “I would rather not talk about the snow,” she replied. “Unless there’s a philosopher somewhere who has something to say about it.” She nudges him a bit and gets up, taking her mug of tea with her. “I’m gonna go get ready for bed. I’ll be right back- make yourself at home.” It didn’t take long for her to get changed and to wash her face, and she came back out in a long white nightgown, a braid draped across her shoulder. There were few people she let see her in her nighttime attire, but it wasn’t the first time Dom had seen her. “Where...where do you want to sleep?” 

[yardjhfb-blog]

isnotgold‌

Feeling queasy, Rowan grabbed the glass of water and stood. “I’m fine,” he said abruptly and turned on his heel, repeating her directions endlessly in his brain so they wouldn’t slip away like last night’s memories had.

Down the hall… stairs on the right… down, down, down the hallway, and—there, on the right, the restroom. He couldn’t have reached it any sooner. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, heart threatening to beat straight out of his chest, lungs heaving. Sweat beaded his forehead as he chugged the glass of water. Then he stilled, listening to hear if the woman had come after him, but he couldn’t hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

That was when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His hair was matted to his forehead, sticking out on one side, and his ashen face shone with grease, red-rimmed eyes sunken and lifeless. Streaks of red and purple and blue paint traveled down his neck, disappearing below his rumpled collar. It seemed flaked in places, and suddenly he was in Peter’s bedroom, those piercing eyes soft with worry, gentle hands doing their best to scrub him clean.

Rowan touched a hand to the paint, pulled back as if he’d been burned. How long had it been there? Where had he gone after Peter’s place? What day was it?

Dizzy with questions, Rowan closed his eyes and prayed that the woman who’d taken him in hadn’t followed. In his state, there was no way he could keep it together long enough to have a conversation.

Alice waited for a few moments, but there was a voice in the back of her mind telling her to go, to follow him, to make sure he was alright. She skipped down the stairs quickly, racing down the hall and waiting outside of the door. She should go in, she though, she should make sure he’s okay. But something else holds her back, her heart beating too quickly, her mind spinning with what he could have gotten himself into. What if he was sick? What if he needed her? 

She knocked on the door, voice timid as she spoke up. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?” 

[yardjhfb-blog]

txt: alice.logan

logan: yeah we're ok

logan: if dom and rowan don't kill each other before it's over I'll call it a success

logan: couldn't i just come down there for an hour? would it really hurt anyone?

alice: you have to make sure no one leaves

alice: or, in your case, kills each other

alice: i wish dom had been in my room, honestly.

[yardjhfb-blog]

txt: alice.isaiah

isaiah: i know... i miss you too.

isaiah: it's alright? could be worse, i guess.

isaiah: you got a good group with you?

alice: yes i have some very kind people

alice: do you know the person youre rooming with?

[yardjhfb-blog]

txt: alice.logan

alice: is your room holding up okay?

alice: mine has been pretty quiet so far

alice: i wish i was spending christmas with you

[yardjhfb-blog]

txt: alice.isaiah

alice: i kind of hate not having you with me

alice: how are you doing, my sunshine?

[yardjhfb-blog]

leilvs‌

Admittedly, Leila is surprised by the other girl’s persistence. She half expected her to shy aware from the created awkwardness, but social norms were often ignored in Sallybrook. There’s something admirable about her determination, but Leila knows all too well that it normally doesn’t end well for her. “Okay,” Leila begins. The introduction confirms her hunch that Alice didn’t wander over by chance. “Alice, let me save you the trouble of saying that if I wanted everyone who knew my name what my story was I’d write an autobiography. So if that’s what you’re here for, feel free to go home.” She takes a sip of her coffee as she considers how this conversation could become even mildly interesting. So she offers, “Or you can be creative and come up with another excuse. The choice is yours.” 

Alice immediately feels conflicted, and shot down. On one hand, she felt like it would be a waste to not ask her what she remembered, on the other she realized that it was a traumatizing experience for her, that she was probably asked about countless times, and it would probably be best if she just left right then and there. But she couldn’t. Not when there was still so much left to answer. Not when she still heard Sam calling out to her. “I’m sorry,” she started, clinging to the bag she had loosely hung around her shoulder. “I just- my boy. My son. He was taken last year and- well- I don’t. I don’t think he’s really gone. I want to get him back, but I need more than...more than what I’ve been told.”

[yardjhfb-blog]

tonydelia‌

@alicesolak

The only reason Tony hadn’t left the shop just yet was because he couldn’t bear the thought of braving the cold. His walk home was a short one, but he foolishly left his gloves at home and didn’t really feel like  He was just fine inside of his garage, a pot of coffee still warm and the winds blowing around outside. What he wasn’t expecting was the front door to bang open, and bring with it a gust of cold air. “Hello?” he called out as he emerged from the back room, wondering who could have even gotten their car to the shop in the first place. His confused look softened when he realized it was a woman he recognized from around town. Alex? Ally? Alice, maybe? “Can I, uh, help you with anything?” he asked, his face morphing into one of concern. 

The last thing Alice needed in that moment was for a snow storm to stop her from getting home. It was almost time for the end of the fall quarter, and she needed to start grading things and getting her materials in to her boss. But, there was little to do when the weather is what stopped you from getting where you needed to go. She had to stop eventually, and walked through the wind and the snow to the nearest shop she knew of. It was only a coincidence that it was the mechanic. By the time she had walked in to the door, her entire body was shaking, her teeth chattering as she tried to warm herself up a bit. “M-my car. Got stuck.” She took a deep breath, then took a step closer away from the door. “Can I stay for a bit?” 

[yardjhfb-blog]

marinaogden‌

Without bothering mere moments to think, Mar wasn’t nearly so good at empathy as Alice was. It helped her ignore her inclinations and jump into a fire without hesitation. However, she had always striven to be as much a humanitarian as her best friend in the fields that she tended to lack in. Shutting her mouth and holding her tongue just happened to be one of those. It was always after she’d funnel the thoughts out of her mouth that she’d realize how it would land.

Following a gentle, doubly doubtful hum, their fingers careened through their hair. “You’d mind it after awhile.” They definitely did; they came home with the scent so often that it fumed an immediate need to shower. They could not stand the acrid stench after so much exposure, no matter how much they liked their job. Well, they couldn’t even be sure they actually liked their job or if it was the position of power they liked. These kinds of conversations filled the few nights the three would convene, and the nights long before the ones they now had of their own free will. 

“Try adopting again,” Marina puffed out nonchalantly as though the suggestion was as simple as ordering pizza for dinner. A second later, it was not difficult to perceive that they were backtracking. The exclamation point hovering over their head was as visible as was how her chin tipped down and her eyes searched the floor. “Like a cat or something. It wouldn’t be anything too much. But it’d build your confidence. And you could get winter cuddles all you’d like. Or you could go bigger, like a dog or a . . kid. I got a parenting for dummies book the other day. You know h-how it it; I read when there’s no fires to fight at work or paperwork. And, I . . maybe . .” She was digging herself a hole; no matter how late she’d realized that. “Uhm, what kind of tea did you make this time?”

It was like Alice had walked right into a tunnel, and surrounding her was ever word that Marina was telling her, but she couldn’t quite understand them. She couldn’t process them. They were scattered around her, and she grasped for meaning. How could they suggest such a thing? For her to just replace Sam? It wasn’t the desperate need for a child that had inclined her to adopt him, but the desperate need to take care of Sam specifically. He was her son from the moment she had met him, they had had a bond, and to suggest getting another child so soon, so close to the anniversary of his disappearance, felt like Marina had just punched her in the gut. Like they didn’t even really know her at all. 

She didn’t realize she had been looking down the entire time at the kettle until Marina said something about the tea, but even then, she couldn’t quite speak. Couldn’t quite explain to them why she couldn’t just....adopt someone else. Not when she knew Sam was still out there, that he wasn’t gone. And if she were to adopt again, it would mean she had given up looking for him. And she hadn’t. She never will have. “Why did you ask that?” She asked, though she didn’t look up. It was rare for Alice to be angry, and maybe her anger was misplaced, but there was little control over her emotions right then. 

[yardjhfb-blog]

loganncrowe‌

“You wound me, Alice,” Logan teased, his voice still soft. It took him only a moment to wrap an arm around her shoulders so he could pull her to his side once more. “I could text you, I guess. Send love letters by owl?” All suggestions that made his smile grow even wider. “Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. How long have we known each other again?” He was comfortable at her side, something that couldn’t be said for a lot of the people even in this room. “Glad I won the battle for your heart over Reilly, though. He was tough competition.”

“Love letters by owl only. I expect to receive one once the week, telling me about your woes, and how desperately you wish you were by my side,” she said with a laugh, leaning against him and resting her head on his shoulder. Everyone was looking at that point, whispering to each other, and it only made it all the more fun. She turned her body a bit so she was facing him, looking up at him with wide, and excited eyes. “You won the battle over my heart, but I think Reilly still holds ownership of my soul in some way...the verdict is still out on that one. I’ll confer with him and then get back to you on that.” 

[yardjhfb-blog]

fathercarmody‌

Reilly still had yet to fully understand the heaviness that fell over Sallybrook this time of year. He had a taste of it, bitterness yet to leave his tongue, but he couldn’t distinguish all the layers — no, he’d have to live it again and again, year after year, to fully understand everything these people went through, to understand the darkness that clouded their lives. He did, to some extent, empathize; to have everything dangling on a string, threatening to snap and send your world crashing — that was something he understood. But not like this. He’d never seen anything quite like this.

But part of his job was finding the current of a community and falling into the flow, and the residents of Sallybrook seemed to insist on plowing onwards, regardless of the inevitable loss on the horizon. The only real difference he’d seen in the lead-up to the Haunt was a grim line pressed across the faces of his colleagues, and fuller pews, people bowing their heads and praying it wasn’t theirs, it wasn’t their son or daughter to disappear next. As much as he wanted to enjoy his growing congregation, he had to look the gift horse in its mouth and wonder: didn’t they realize it didn’t help? Hadn’t they seen what had happened to Alice?

Speak of the devil.

“Alice. Hi,” he said, smiling softly at her from behind his desk. His work was abandoned as soon as she made her presence known; the company of his closest friend in Sallybrook was far more interesting than next week’s sermon (which was looking more depressing than it needed to be; Reilly wasn’t sure if he needed to preach hope or strength or sorrow, and wasn’t sure if he’d ever really be sure.) “Yes, absolutely, that would be great.” He stood, walking towards one of the many, many vases that filled his office. “I swear, the florist must’ve found every Christmas-themed flower in the state. I have petals coming out the ears, and absolutely no eye for decor.”

He took a few bouquets in his hands, and passed her a vase as well, leading her out of the room. It was difficult to tell whether people wanted the subject of the Haunt broached or not, and Alice felt almost like the entire town’s struggle on a microcosmic level. Reilly didn’t want to upset her, but what kind of reverend would he be i he left her stranded with her sorrow? He supposed the best thing he could do was ask, so he did: “How are you doing?”

She laughed when he mentioned the florist. She knew him personally, knew how much he loved and cared for the church. His late wife used to bring them all cookies every week, and if they were to deny it, she would insist on making them dinner instead. He continued on the legacy of his wife’s generosity by donating flowers for every season, though during the Christmas season, it went a little overboard. “Wait until Easter. Those are always the most beautiful. Mr. Balucci picks all of my favorite flowers, and then makes a special bouquet just for me. It’s sweet.” She took one of the vases in her arms, knowing that if she carried more than one at a time, he clumsiness would take hold, and she would drop them immediately. 

“Maybe this year he’ll make you one too. You could use some more decorations in your office.” She said all of this as she walked, her mind wandering away from her a bit as she spoke, something she did quite often with people she was close to. Reilly, of course, was one of those people. She could talk to him for hours without a care in the world, and there wasn’t a day that went by that she wasn’t grateful for his presence in her life. She never had faith in God’s plan more than when she and Reilly were together, because she knew that He had brought him into her life. 

“How are you doing?”

She knew that question held more than it let on, her heart dropping as she looked down at the flowers she was holding so carefully, her jaw locking for a moment as she tried to push her emotions away. So many people had asked her that question, she had almost grown tired of answering it. But this was Reilly, and not some curious neighbor who wanted a peak into her grieving process. “Uhm...” she hummed, holding the vase a little tighter against her chest. “You know, I’m getting by,” she responded with a slight smile, looking up at him with a hopefully convincing look. “Isaiah has been very helpful in talking about...everything. And I think...we’re getting through it.” Tears began to form in her eyes, and so she looked away, picking up her pace and going to the front of the altar, putting the one vase down in the center of it. 

“So I was thinking we could do...all of the red ones over by the altar, and only sprinkle a few white ones in there, and then put all of the white ones around the pews themselves?” She turned around to look at him, hoping this would change the conversation. “What do you think?”

[yardjhfb-blog]

mileshargrove‌

Though it probably wasn’t fair, Miles had an inherent distrust towards the church-going type in Sallybrook. It was unavoidable; his father was an ex-Catholic, spent the Christmas season railing against religion. Miles had been brought up to see the Bible as a fairy tale as much as Hansel and Gretel was — and, when he read it, he had to say: it was as gruesome as Grimm’s, if not worse. Churches offered a sense of alienation far more than they did comfort for him, and he didn’t understand the viewpoint of those who sought solace in these hallowed halls; if they were in such pain, why would they look to the thing that wrought it for comfort?

His father refused to believe in God because he felt that no God could be as cruel as He’d have to be, to do what He did to him. Miles didn’t believe in God because it didn’t fit into the framework of his worldview; he’d been raised without one, and didn’t possess the capacity to adopt that kind of belief. But — it was probably nice. Miles thought it must’ve been nice, to have a big guy up in the sky, watching out for you. The comfort of knowing that when someone was gone they were gone to a better place seemed like a nice kind of net, and Miles understood the instinct to move towards that safety.

Miles didn’t have that kind of belief. When people died, they died. Their bodies decomposed, and they were gone. There was no big end-game waiting in the sky, nothing to look forward to after; some would describe him as a nihilist for thinking that way, but he wasn’t: Miles was a humanist. He didn’t think there was anything to wait on after, so all he could do was make today better for whoever he could. He tried to operate within this framework whenever he could, and this was a chance to offer the kind of empathy and kindness to others that he’d so badly craved for himself. So he would try. It was frightening, trying to try, trying to navigate a conversation with someone so starkly different from himself, but he had to.

“Uh, I —” he stuttered, not knowing quite what to say. His nerves were soothed, however slightly, when she offered a smile in response. He was worried that he’d offended her, and was glad when he realized that wasn’t the case. “Yeah. It’s nice for days like this.” He didn’t specify any further; she could take it in any number of ways, but Miles had meant either days that were sadder than normal, harder to drag one’s heart through, or dreary, blustery December days. For Alice, it seemed to be both. “Nice t’meet ya,” he mumbled, sticking out a hand for her to shake. “Miles. You can, uh, follow me to the office if you’d like? I don’t think we should eat out here, I just vacuumed, but…” He shrugged, turning to lead her. “Funny, how it’s taken so long fer us to cross paths proper. I think I’ve seen you nearly every day for the past… God knows how many years.”

There had been something about Miles, when he was first being considered as the groundskeeper. She had been asked about him, been asked if she thought he would be a good addition to the church family. And back then, she didn’t really know. Maybe it was the look in his eye whenever someone would look at him for too long, or the way he would so easily disappear into the shadows, or how...different he had been from anyone else they had considered for the position. But she knew, the moment she was asked, that saying anything but yes would cause her immediate regret. And of course, as the years went by and they both fell into their silent roles, working alongside each other, it became nice to have him there. A familiar face, an energy she trusted being alone with. A person who she knew would take care of her favorite place, even if he didn’t believe in it. 

She outstretched her palm and shook his hand, letting it linger for a moment as she smiled. “Nice to meet you as well,” she replied, then stood when he did, following him along the echoing marble path to the back rooms where the food and drink resided. “I know. I think one of us is always...busy when the other isn’t. If I’m not talking to someone, you’re off taking care of your work. I never wanted to bother you. I’m sorry if that’s seemed rude or off-putting in any way.”

[yardjhfb-blog]

loganncrowe‌

Though the family parties were often filled with gossip and uncomfortable glances, Alice had always been a bright spot. Thankfully, they hadn’t drawn apart over the years as many childhood friends often did. In fact, Logan wanted to say that they were doing better than ever, despite the fog of sadness that enveloped Alice after the Haunt had taken hold of the town last year. Logan lifted his glass to his lips as Alice responded, which had been a mistake. He snorted into the eggnog, shaking his head as he pulled it away and got a napkin. “Seeing each other, hmm?” he said with a smile on his lips. He could see where the misunderstanding could come from; they tried not to leave each other’s side at these parties. “We could keep them believing that. Might as well make tonight interesting, darling,” he finally said, the words whispered in her ear in a way that could possibly seem intimate to strangers. 

As soon as she felt him get closer to her ear, her cheeks turned bright red, tilting her head to the side, toward her shoulder, as she giggled and took a step away from him. “What?” She asked, clearly amused, though everyone in the room was now looking at them. Alice stood a bit straighter, then took a step closer to him again, “Okay, rule number one though, no whispering. It tickles.” She looked up at him with an amused expression. “Wow, my first boyfriend,” she teased. 

[yardjhfb-blog]

theisaiahmiller‌

Isaiah held his breath for a second. He knew that opening up about what he had seen, what he had felt, would make Alice’s brain wander, make it go places he had been trying to convince her were not real for almost a year. But the last thing he wanted was to hold it back any longer. The sound of his voice, his words, the feeling of long fingers across his throat was one he felt every single night ever since and he wasn’t convinced about it being all in his imagination. The bruises in his neck were proof enough. Isaiah sat down and released his breath. “I heard him,” he admitted in a soft voice. “When everything went crazy– I heard the screaming of the fire and it was…. I wanted to run and help, but then Sam came through. His voice– it was so real, Alice…” His eyes were filling up with tears at the memory, and it wasn’t a good one, not how he remembered it. “It was as if he had gotten inside my head and was talking from there, but he was real. Called me Zay– all of it. But he was angry. At me. Because I hadn’t looked for him. Because I couldn’t find him.” Isaiah had to stop then, a hand rubbing his eyes to keep himself from crying too much. 

Every word that Isaiah had spoken sent something through her, an emotion she couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t jealousy, and it wasn’t fear, though it was something in between. If he had seen him, then that meant that Sam was still out there somewhere, waiting to be found. And what were they doing to allow that to happen? Where had they been looking? Where was there left to look? When Isaiah began to cry, she put her hand over his, her eyes filled with worry and sympathy for him. He, better than anyone else, knew exactly how she felt. A part of her knew that had Isaiah had the funds, he would have wanted to adopt Sam too. He was...is...a special boy, after all. There was no doubt about that. “Did he say anything else? Anything that could help us find him?” 

[yardjhfb-blog]

dominikblair‌

Again, Dom shook his head at Alice’s notion that whatever she was going to say would make him think she was ever crazy. No; if anything, she was the closest to proof of the divine he’d seen. He’d never grow tired of reassuring her, especially when it came to this particular topic. So he stood up and followed wherever she lead him. As she stopped outside a room, one he knew had lost it’s owner, his chest felt heavy. It was Winter. This was only going to be one thing. Dom turned to Alice, and the look in her eyes made him fearful. He could feel her horror as a cold rush down his spine. He believed her, but he only allowed himself one explanation. Even as Dom explained himself before, he could hear himself echoing all the textbooks, journals and scholars he’d delved into rationalise the unknown. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his voice for a belief that wasn’t his but one for his own peace of mind. He cupped her face as he listened to her, tucking strands of hair behind her ears. “Oh Alice…” He whispered under his breath, pulling her into a warm embrace as he stroked her head. “I don’t think your crazy.” He pulled back a little, his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. This sounds awful. I should’ve checked on you sooner, Alice, I’m so sorry.” He paused as he was about to offer some form of reassurance. However, the door opening over night wasn’t something he could explain with a ‘coping mechanism’ or ‘grief’. This was a physical action. There had to be something else. “Why don’t I stay with you tonight? Or a few nights. However long it takes for this to stop.”

Alice let herself get lost in him, burying her face in his chest, and keeping herself pressed to him as much as she could. Few people had ever seen her react to things this way, few people knew the real pain she had been feeling the past year. Dom was one of them, as he always seemed to know how to comfort her. He always knew what to say and what to do. She was sure, if God had granted them a previous life, they would have been intertwined in some way. He had always just felt so familiar to her, in the same way Father Reilly did. It was so simple to get lost in someone who provided them with the emotional intimacy they had been missing. She nodded at the question, keeping her eyes down as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Yes, alright,” she replied, looking up at him then. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I can’t even...begin to describe how much you mean to me.” she put her hand on his cheek, running her thumb across the line of his beard, then let it drop back to her stomach, holding herself together. “I...well...It usually happens at night. Around this time, while I get ready for bed. That’s when I hear him.”