#cw: d/eath mention
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ask-orchidthemew · 1 year ago
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Cyto's ref page has been updated
AQUA: Get off him, vines! Dissipate in papiliones!
[Aqua casts a transfiguration spell]
AQUA: -in Mewling- tasmir...
PALI: Oh... oh Arceus...
ORCHID: UM, HELLO!? THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING, GET UP HERE!!
AQUA: You go, I'll take care of this. We still need to get out. Cyto... you didn't deserve this. If I knew this would happen... we should've never risked bringing you here... I can't leave you here, and resurrection spells never last... I should at least rebuild the... the body. Maybe then I could... I...
CYTO: Uh... did I... black out just now? Aqua? Why are you crying?
AQUA: wha... I... I don't understand
CYTO: Uh, what happened to your aurora veil?
AQUA: Wait, I've got SO many questions
PALI: Aqua! Orchid and I have a plan! Once we do it, book it for the door! Alright, let's finish this.
ORCHID: Okay
[Pali uses Fairy Lock]
[Orchid uses RE:position]
[Orchid uses Flamethrower]
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lettersandinkstains · 5 years ago
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this is the beginning
cw: character death, abstract? stylistic choices have been made, mentioned suicide, body horror
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but when dawn broke, the snow blankets the world around it in a frenzy as though it has a vengeance against everyone and the summer that melted it just months before. this is nothing new, it is nothing old and it just is. but it takes everything in its crystallized beauty, because so many years ago, it made a deal with death. for it’s white out beauty for humans to admire, it must take life for it to come.
and it always fights with spring, who brings back the warm sun but still so slowly. life follows spring, because life only likes beauty with life. and that is how the world works. it is chaos and it is beauty and it is ugly, and humans accept it as is. they create stories behind these seasons, reasonings why they happen, why everything happens. and they say there is a promise for it all, to suffer is to bring light.
but this year, winter claimed more and winter has brought ghosts she did not want to see. the house is cold and creaky, and sometimes she sees them as they wander the halls and sit in the kitchen. she hears them late at night, their feet stomping on the badly carpeted floor, and it makes it hard for her to sleep. she tries to cover her ears, she tries to pretend she doesn’t hear their voices.
they say her name at times, but it’s always a hushed whisper and words follow she can never understand. she supposes that’s okay, it’s best to never acknowledge the dead anyways. still, she wants to call out to them and tell them to go away.
but they’ve made this house theirs, slinking through packed up boxes and singing softly to themselves. and death waits in the shadows, and in the corners and on the countertops and in the closed off room. it never talks to her, though, because why would it? it’s not interested in her.
yet it watches her as she goes through her days, but the winter doesn’t let it. she tries to count down the days, but the days don’t ever seem to stop. and there is a door at the end of the hall that she cannot open. the doorknob always burns her hands, and she wonders if that’s normal. and when she tries to call someone to check it out, the lines are always busy.
so she leaves it be, but every so often, the ghosts disappear behind those doors and reemerge, and they always stop and look directly at her. and their words are always garbled. and she wants to tell them to speak more clearly. but you should never give attention to the dead, they will never leave.
and death continues to watch.
when she looks out the window, it’s still a horrible white out and work must be getting mad since she’s missed so many days now. but the roads are slick, and she cannot see anything outside. but she’s getting bored with wandering the halls, she’s getting bored with waiting around.
and the door at the end of the hall has remained shut for awhile now, and still, when she tries to open it, the handle burns. it cracks her skin now.
death still watches, it whispers, it waits. it follows and follows. and she wants it to go away. but it does not, its feet pound on the wooden flooring, and the house gets colder and colder every day.
so, she tries to to speak to it one day, her voice garbled and painful.
“what lies beyond that door?” it does not answer. “why are you here?” death does not answer, for it cannot speak. it is merely a concept, a thought, a thing that happens. it’s what everyone fears, it’s what everyone wishes to never meet. yet, she is no longer afraid as it watches and follows her.
“can you at least tell me who died?” she asks one day, when the winds bellow and shriek. the window panes slam, and it is a old house, she had gotten used to it as a child. there were monsters worse than ghosts and creaking walls. it still does not speak, but there is a light under the eternally locked door. “what’s beyond there?”
the doorknob turns by itself, but the door does not budge. the ghosts still linger, and some days, when their mouths move, she feels as though they’re talking to her. they say something she does not recognize anymore.
“what happened?” she asks one day, a plea in her voice for something -- anything. this long winter is driving her insane. she wishes for spring to come, for the flowers to bloom. she wishes to feel warm again because the fire does not warm her skin, the blankets do not help.
“who died?”
and the door swings open as she stands outside of the door, and death’s jaw unhinges but nothing comes out. and as she turns to look inside, her flesh becomes ribbons, unbinding from around her and she tries to cry out but there is nothing that can escape.
“darling, didn’t you know,” death’s voice is a crackle, a cackle, it is insidious to hear. “you’re the one that’s dead.”
her body is not there, but that is room -- just barely the shell of itself of before. most of her pictures and posters have been taken down. there are no memories left of her in the cold, creaky house. and when she steps inside, the billowing, screaming winds of the winter stop.
she steps towards the window, and looks out. the blanket white of snow is all gone, and when she touches the glass, it feels warm beneath her skin but it does not hurt.
when winter and spring fight their continuous battle, life continues to march on and death takes what it is handed by both and all things. there are many things out there that explain why things are the way they are, and she’s never sure what is exactly true.
but when dawn broke, it brought winter with it, with frost on the grass and a light gray sky that never really went away, even when she was living. there is no bellowing winds, there is no rattling glass and there are no ghosts who wander the halls of a house that was once alive. just merely a season where everything continues as normal.
and nobody has ever defied death before, nobody has ever said no to it. for even though when they fear it -- when they fear what could or could not be beyond, they still go with. that is how life had decided to work.
and yet she looks at death, with it standing out in the hallway and she, in her room. just a small step, and she will finally go with him, but she remains grounded. and she stares up at it with defiance.
“i want another chance.”
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