Someone is in my room looking for you. I tried to tell them where they can find you, but they're very insistent you come to me instead. Shall we find out if it's a trap?
[ A voice recording, late at night. Al is outside in the dark, in the cold. It makes him sound tense, yet there's also a dreamlike softness. Always in their language: ]
Death isn't death, here. No one can truly die. I've seen it. You have, too. The bodies. The grief. All mean nothing when they rise as beasts. And then… [ Whispered sharply, ] Voilá.
[ There's a long pause. Quietly, ]
A question haunts me, my Death. If no one can truly die, are we really alive?
[This feels like something from long ago, brought back up to the surface. The thought of it reminds her of her bitter anger towards him for what he almost did, and what he may again be thinking of. It’s why she is slow in replying but does not let him wait.]
( days later, only after he's looked at sullivan's blank polaroid at every angle, in every light, and only after he's sat with the bone tomahawk across his lap, thinking about his granddaddy, does he reach out and ask: )
[ How does she get in his room? Who knows! It's Peony!
But one day, a terrarium of peculiar mushrooms, a curled scroll of bizarre sheet music tied with a velvet ribbon, and a little vial containing a single blonde lock of hair appear on his bedside cabinet.
And of course, there's a toy left for Delphine as well!
On Sully's pillow a scented letter is left;]
Dearest Sullivan,
I do hope it isn't presumptuous for me to bring you a gift to celebrate the end of the year. But I do suppose that in a way, this is a part of you too, celebrating the finality of the months before Spring arrives once again. You are always welcome to darken my door.
[ near christmas, adam leaves a short note for sullivan. handwritten inside of a simple card, sealed in a small envelope with a press of candlewax. it reads:
I would like to add to your collection. At your leisure. - Adam ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
un: magazine
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un: magazine
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text, mid-month
I tried to tell them where they can find you, but they're very insistent you come to me instead.
Shall we find out if it's a trap?
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Who is it?
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🎀🐈⬛🦐
text
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( after whenever sully does the trade )
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un: dom
[ But he types, deletes, types, deletes. ]
I'm angry
It doesn't feel normal
I don't know what to do
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Use single words. Concentrate it.
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ignore that
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@mr.wright
Liv, how much do you love your brother?
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1/2
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@cestlavie
You have new tattoos. I counted seven.
@mors
I distinctly remember blocking you.
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🎀🐈⬛
@cestlavie
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voice, forward dated to end of the month/event
Death isn't death, here. No one can truly die. I've seen it. You have, too. The bodies. The grief. All mean nothing when they rise as beasts. And then… [ Whispered sharply, ] Voilá.
[ There's a long pause. Quietly, ]
A question haunts me, my Death. If no one can truly die, are we really alive?
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You promised me you wouldn’t leave me.
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text
can you come with me?
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Whose is it?
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text, un: magazine
[ All those severed bones - it's free real estate. ]
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but I think I prefer being picky.
Have you sliced much off?
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voice, un: magazine
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forward-dated, un: dom
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cw: suicidal thoughts
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@goatface
what's the blank polaroid for?
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I wasn't sure if you'd want what it'll show, or something else.
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[ Christmas Gift ]
But one day, a terrarium of peculiar mushrooms, a curled scroll of bizarre sheet music tied with a velvet ribbon, and a little vial containing a single blonde lock of hair appear on his bedside cabinet.
And of course, there's a toy left for Delphine as well!
On Sully's pillow a scented letter is left;]
Dearest Sullivan,
I do hope it isn't presumptuous for me to bring you a gift to celebrate the end of the year. But I do suppose that in a way, this is a part of you too, celebrating the finality of the months before Spring arrives once again. You are always welcome to darken my door.
With love
Peony
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will you play this music for me if I ask?
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( a gift, a note )
I would like to add to your collection. At your leisure.
- Adam ]
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text, un: magazine
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