THINGS ARE STARTING TO COME BACK TO YOU, AND YOU'RE CURIOUS. YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON. › FROM ELIZABETH MARCH. @embodies
She still sensed it, the universe spinning around with no ending or beginning; the way her blood curdled a horrid gurgle, even if it no longer pumped to her brain. She haunted marble walls on silent feet. The place a fusion of malevolence and beauty, and Jane, despite her hollowed flesh and often unseeing eyes, couldn't help but find a strange sort of enticement within said walls, all perfectly draped and painted. She knew quite little of its happenings, bizarre spirits of muddled eras all sharing one patch of land; although the mind became a hazy thing due to submittance of the final years of her life, she was no fool. Isolated company was merely favoured, a lithe black cat scampering against corners, gaze finding deathly endurances but never remaining long enough to understand reasoning behind vile acts. Sitting, feeling, unthinking.
Where there was rot, there was Jane Ives. Stuck in the jaws of a hellish beast, taker of lives, but leaving the soul to crumble. Oftentimes she wondered what she was actually doing here; inner workings utterly vandalised by a madman's execution for warped world-peace. The toxicity resting in her bloodstream confused old memories, scorched her past-life: all she remembered of her mother entailed a whiff of perfume and a few phrases of a lullaby she used to sing. One day she'll uncover truths, the ugly and pure— but for now, the body only yearns for kindred consideration, perhaps something to call her own. Three decades would rear its date in a handful of months, and a spark had begun to litter in her mind's eye.
“Yes. I am curious.” The very first time Jane saw Elizabeth, she was positive she had moved to a better destination; swore she bore witness to an angel welcoming her to heaven's palace. (Oh Saint Peter let me in, you must know where I've been! Won't you tell me at last who I am?) Ever quickly, the hand she wished to hold, she realised, was sharp, a creature's claw; fascination did not dwindle but fear ushered the child away. It's clear the woman saw everything happening inside her hotel, including frizzled recollections resurfacing, taunting innocence of youth and marking it for horror. “I remember... things.” Honesty possessed no hesitation, as the words spilled it felt good to speak them aloud. To relieve herself. “There is a block. A... something foggy. It stops me remembering.” Frustration threatened its course, as one might perceive through her jaw tightening, lifeless pallor nearly gaining a flash of colour.
This is your story, written and rewritten, scratched out, burned and buried. “Did I... Was I always... this?” Is it foretold that I haunt the head of a girl graced for much more than her destiny provided? Chin cants, shoulders purposely squared like trying to light a guise of confidence. “Bee - cause I do not think I was always in this place.”
5 notes
·
View notes
(personal vent about my sack of shit father ruining christmas again)
me, my fathers only "daughter"/child:
helps my grandmother for weeks to prepare for his christmas party that neither of us wanted (he goes way over the top. invites his friends that are all loud drunks. cooks food we don't like. keeps the whole house up partying into the early hours of the morning. makes a mess and refuses to clean up after himself. doesn't spend time with us and instead hangs out with his friends, even for family holidays and events. etc.
me and my grandmother are disabled, constantly in pain/have stomach issues, and generally just want to be left on our own for holidays, so the whole event is just awful for us)
has been up since 6* in the morning, continuing to prepare for his party so he doesn't throw a hissy fit, running on only a few hours of sleep*, running around from store to store, cleaning, cooking, decoaring, etc.
spends hours trying to wake him up.
after doing everything I am capable of skill/strength wise, I took a two hour power nap before guests come.
helps serve dinner, makes drinks, fulfills every task my father gives me to maintain the delicate peace in the household, cause my grandmother wants to murder him*.
does all of this with no complaint.
my father:
promises his full and undivided attention and help the day before the party (this is the only day he's offered the slightest help outside of making a huge dinner no one but he and his friends wanted), he then breaks this promise, does nothing, delegates every task my grandmother has given him to me, and then leaves at 6 at night to go party, ignoring the amount of cooking he needs to finish.
doesn't come home for almost 12 hours (he came home at 6am), waking me up*, sleeps till 1, leaving me and my gradnmother do 90% of the things that needed to be done today (as his guests are coming at 4).
invites more friends than he originally told us about, ditching us after dinner (which we served) to go hang out outside and blast music so loud it shakes the house.
and then complains that I "slept all day" and "did nothing" so now I need to clean the whole kitchen and all the dishes of over 15 guests, not him, the reason there's such a mess to clean.
he continues to demand this even after something he cooks, knowing I hate it and it makes me feel ill, and stinks up the whole kitchen, making me go lie down because it made me nauseous and gave me a migraine.
I then get to spend the rest of my christmas eve cleaning, doing dishes, while barely holding back tears.
thanks dad, for ruining an already awful christmas, you fucking asshole.
5 notes
·
View notes