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g-espenstaaa:
“Oh really?” She didn’t seem phased by the other’s accusations; they were about as ridiculous as God being merciful. Brows knitting in amusement, the other’s floundering panic became more and more intriguing to her. It took a special sort of sadism, to enjoy the terror in their visage: their confusion, they clearly were a newly turned deceased. Not a soul, Borna could not collect her…unless.
Well, it depended on the other’s actions: Borna had no issue with forcing a death if push came to shove. To hell with the natural order, she thought: sometimes one must dirty their palms, a notion she was all too familiar with.
For a moment, she considers brushing off her accusations solely due to her own tolerance. However anything rendered during such a bizarre interval could be useful, and she missed entertainment. It was so much fun to mess with others, their fear fueling her hilarity. The mortician takes one step closer so they are only a few feet apart, a good distance for thoughts to be shared (position formal despite baring a sliver of characteristics that belong to a murderer, useless in a refined area such as a church).
A smile so sweetly sarrachine, yet the presence of warmth was void in her eyes as they bore down at the other. “If I was the one who killed you, do you think you’d still be able to walk about, speaking?” Honeyed tongue, acidic bite rolling off as water on a duck’s back. The implication of such was clear: Borna would never allow a half-assed display of murder to go unfinished such as her death was.
Despite her warning, however, she maintains her soft, level tone; she doesn’t rush or hurry proceedings along, rather gently encourages progress, despite the sarcastic edge. Thus, a silver-tongued allusion to what business she truly has here is offered without any further ado–
“As you have perhaps discerned for yourself already, I am here by no accident. No less than you yourself are.” Hands clasped behind her back, head canted to the side, as if to give the impression of a spaced out visage. “I cannot guide you to the other side, because you are not properly dead.”
Pale orbs narrowed slightly, her eyes roving until they located the miniscule puncture marks on their neck.
“You are not a soul.”
@n-galmurrr
“You are not a soul.”
Those words stated so cruelly, so bluntly--- so coldly---- thundered over and over in Ania’s head. She was not “properly dead”, yet she also wasn’t a soul. What exactly did that leave her as? Some specter? Some ghoul?
If she could have felt her heart beat, she was sure that it had begun to race again. Her chest rose and fell with useless breaths; she didn’t need to breathe any longer. She couldn’t.
With her hand on her chest, Ania attempted to steady herself as another wave of dizziness washed over her brain. Her legs had tried their best to be strong, but they gave out on her and she landed on her behind.
“What--- what are you talking about? I’m still alive, aren’t I? I’m still human...!” The words died on her lips as she looked up at the stranger in front of her. Their eyes were cold and pitiless as if they had seen what Ania was becoming many times before and they weren’t fazed in the slightest.
Ania turned her eyes away and looked down at the pews. Shame started to cover her like a shawl although she wasn’t sure if she should have been ashamed. A stranger feeling began to churn inside of her body, from somewhere other than her stomach, and it was a different kind of hunger than she’d ever experienced. It was stronger, more ravenous and it hurt every part of her body as though she was dying without whatever her body was suddenly craving.
“I’m still human, aren’t I?” A single tear welted in Ania’s eyes once she returned her gaze back to the odd woman. Her fear was waning but was being replaced by dread. From something she knew but was unable to register.
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Please Reblog is Your Blog is Safe for Non-Binary People.
If my mutuals can’t rb this then we can’t be mutuals
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Her German was not the best despite having had ample opportunity to practice, but the moment she heard the words “alle tage ist kein Sonntag”, she instantly knew what the stranger had said.
He had appeared out of nowhere it seemed to her--- one moment she was stepping off the steps of a building--- and the next, she had nearly bumped into this man. His eyes were not fixed on her, no, they were fixated on the graying sky as though it was his first time actually seeing the clouds. His expression was poignant to her, some face that belonged on a painting in the Louvre or some other hard to get into venue. Something about him struck her and she couldn't just walk off her mistake, pretend it didn’t happen. No, she had to speak to this man, to somehow reach out to him and impress upon him the way he had impressed upon her.
“Der Regen macht dich auch traurig?” Lady assumed that the rain was the root cause for the man’s supposed melancholy. She took one last look at the clouds before settling her brown eyes back onto the stranger. “ Entschuldigung, mein Deutsch ist Scheiße. “
nowhere will you find such a poetic moment. the sky opens up & swallows the sun. a morbidity of standing amongst the evil of this world, whilst still managing to possess a kind heart. even when you slip down the slope, you claw & scratch through your haze. the touch of god not so unlike that of the drugs, that muddle his weak mind. for nothing is as satisfying as the first time. & the only reward is more suffering. always more suffering. yet, there is still beauty to be found in the downpour. still appreciation. thanking god for watering the earth’s crops akin to clenching the last of your sanity in a maimed & bloodied hand. looking up to the grey sky, & squinting at the droplets landing upon his face. at least you can still feel. at least, at least, at least. yet, all he can manage to say is… “alle tage ist kein sonntag.”
@woman-phantom / / lyric sc. (alle tage ist kein sonntag - david garrett and till lindemann)
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e-temmu:
“Not necessarily,” a brusque response, foreign tongue rolling the delivery off in a lazy drawl. A pair of black boots broke the line between light and shadows, the owner fully emerging not a second later. A rather strange being, dressed in the attire of an old fashioned embalmer, countenance blank as equally lifeless optics roved over the entire scene. Here she was, to collect an apparent soul; yet all she finds is a new addition to the legion of the undead.
The embodiment initially thought the other fully dead. One could even dare say that she’d gotten her hopes up in this respect: business (loathe as many do to refer to her services as such) having been slow for some centuries now, it would have been ironically refreshing to chance upon one in need of her line of charity.
But, alas, this theory was dashed soon enough, for beyond the usual night chorus of mournful souls, there was the distinguishable sound of speech ─ she had to strain her ears a touch to catch it, true, but she’d heard it all the same; though the sign was as obvious as the other’s sudden movements, - lo and behold - the other was still not yet ready for the long journey yet. There’s something that can be said about an individual who almost revels in the apparent parting of a complete stranger, but about this she didn’t seem to care: in fact, on the contrary, she didn’t turn her back on said stranger for having been disappointed by her signs of life, but instead remained, a step or two away, as though curiously expectant.
“You don’t feel a heartbeat, don’t you?” The other didn’t need to answer that for her; Borna could tell that nothing pulsated behind that wall of flesh. Death knew, oh did she know. There was no need now, for one so dead. Whether the waiting to introduce herself to the unfortunately lost soul is a blessing or a curse is a matter of perspective, but the irrefutable truth is that she’s been courteous enough to not abandon them.
Ania whipped around and gasped silently at the sight of a stranger suddenly appearing before her. No, she couldn’t feel her heart beating, but she could imagine that it would leapt if she could have still felt it.
“Who are you? Stay right there! Don’t come closer!” She took a quick look behind her as though planning an escape; knowing where her exits were was a great idea. Her brown eyes slid back to the strange figure and she took a step back.
Upon thinking about it, maybe this intruder had been the one who had attacked her? Ania had seen no one attack her, it easily could have been this individual who had done this to her. “You did this to me, didn’t you?!” Her hands crawled over her neck, over her blood stained dress and over her skin up to her head where she clutched at strands of her blonde hair.
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Lady Gaga, The Edge Of Glory (2011).
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Gary Oldman in BRAM STOKER’S DRACULA (1992)
dir. Francis Ford Coppola
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Living Dead Girl
Shaking, Ania sat herself up. With her hand on her head, she attempted to steady her breathing. She couldn't remember what had happened to her just now. All she could recall were her fingers dancing along the piano keys.
"Am I still alive?" Her eyes darted around the room while her breathing quickened.
"Where am I?", she cried.
Slowly, she noted that she recognized the room she was sitting in. There was blood surrounding her--- and on her own dress and neck. Ania cried out again and shot up to her feet. Her head swung side to side as she took more of her surroundings in.
There, the piano stood behind her still. The stained glass windows sparkled, stoic and unmoving. The silent witnesses to what had befell her.
Her hand slipped to her throat. She could feel punctures on her flesh, could feel that the blood flow had ceased. Her blood was dry, caked on her porcelain skin. Her heartbeat through her skin could not be felt.
"Am I still alive?", Ania gasped out again.
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Death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints. It takes and it takes and it takes.
Mia Allen (Evil Dead 2013) RP Blog
About | Rules | Verses | Interest Checker
Mobile Links: About | Rules | Verses
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Lady observed the woman very carefully. She placed her well manicured nails over her blood-red lips and cocked her head to the side. She couldn't trust this young woman just yet; her words were not good enough. The vampire had been so silent, covering her tracks, and yet, this human--- she smelled human--- had been following her without fail.
The girl did seem plenty confused and her heart was starting to beat a little harder with the adrenaline she was possibly feeling. Oh, nobody liked a confrontation, after all. There was no telltale sign that this mortal lying to Lady.
"Alright, let's suppose you're not lying. I'll let you walk away. You have five seconds to start walking or I'll assume you were lying." Lady slipped her fingers away from her lips, lightly scraping her nails down her cheek as though to threaten this young woman. Subtle, but not so subtle.
&. 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.
@woman-phantom “Are you here to kill me? ”
She had been losing track of time again. Somehow finding herself in a place she didn’t remember going to. Had she been wandering? Blacking out? Mia’s head was pounding. Ever since the cabin, it was like her body was no longer her own. That’s all she felt at the cabin and not much has changed since she escaped. What if it wasn’t gone? Or maybe she had finally just lost her mind like her mother.
The question had her confused. She glanced around, her surroundings not familiar at all. What could she possibly have said or done for this woman to think she was here to kill her? The woman in question was also unfamiliar. There was something…off about her. Mia couldn’t put her finger on it but she was unsettled.
“Uh…what? You think I want to kill you? Lady, I don’t even know who you are or where I am. Or how I got here.” Mia frowned.
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Lady Gaga Presents: The Chromatica Ball Summer Stadium Tour
(2022)
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