#slight eldritch horror
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cosmicourple · 9 days ago
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dumb A.U where Odysseus is actually jst the aspecty-but-mostly-reincarnation of a very ancient n very Eldritch Deity of shadows, shadow play, morals n haunting memories, ironic tragedy, all that creepy / unnerving cryptid stuff bla bla bla,, and. Yeah, they always kinda. knew what they were / are but never felt the need to do anything w/ the info (mostly bc their true form is in a good ol’ coma deep in the depths of the Underworld so they don’t rlly feel their ‘normal’ self + they’ve never been giving a good enough reason 2 to start using their Eldritch Entity Powers :3)
until,,,,,, Thunderbringer. Idk why only then Ody’ would decide “ight that’s it, I’ve had enough” but I’m just thinking of a cool scenario w/ Neal Illustrator’s animatic where, right in front of Zeus’s face, Ody’ stills, then transforms. In a simple swish in motion, shadows dart under Odysseus, him dropping into the shadows, then whooshing out, ink black feathery tendrils swaying close besides their his unrecognisable form, flowing up, up, up with him into the air before snapping into them, gently pulsing inside them, his now haunting humanoid! owl face as white as porcelain, hair now a smooth yet ruffled mess of thick black feathers and plumage, their all consuming eyes burning like sparks into the amusing look of horror on the King of Gods face,,,,
The First Great War was Not Good For The Woods.
The First Great War was Not Good For Pan Of Whom They Followed.
These Disruptions by The Godlings Are getting Troublesome to Deal With.
How Inconsiderate Of Them
…and then. Andthentheyfucked—-
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writing-for-life · 9 months ago
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Dream—Mindy Lee
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bottle-of-harpoons · 4 days ago
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What if the Submas bros were an ...
🌟aesthetic 🌟
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willingcannibalvictim · 4 months ago
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i’m an eldritch being in the way oobleck is solid when you punch it and liquid when you let it melt in your hands. i am eldritch in the way an idiom is. i am eldritch in the way you have a hole in your heart after losing something you love. i am eldritch in the way you get deja vu. i am eldritch in the way a way is. in fact, there was never an is to begin with. i am a god among men, or at least i wish i was.
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sklorpee · 2 months ago
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Some crazy-ass eldritch Cassandra art cuz its spooky season!!!!
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oh to be an unsupervised kid left to roam the local forests and eventually, become friends with the eldritch being hiding in the distant shadows (it looks like a frog) (it has treats for u)
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falloutglow · 5 months ago
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The Sickness of a Stranger
Summary: It had only been a couple of hours since Nick and Echo surfaced from the Dunwich Borers. Only a couple of hours since Echo found Kremvh’s Tooth and only a couple of hours for the radiation and who knows what else to set in.
Tags: Nick Valentine/Echo (oc), Ellie Perkins, Piper Wright, Doctor Sun, Dogmeat, Mysterious Stranger, Takahashi (Fallout)
Additional Tags: Eldritch, Dreams, Sick Fic, there are consequences when diving into stagnant water deep in a cave people and that’s not just the radiation either, radiation poisoning
Word Count: 5.5k Complete
Part 2 of Deep Into Darkness arc
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yume-callme · 8 months ago
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Introducing Dream-World
Dreamworld is set in a futuristic Earth that has been ravaged by floods caused by climate change, and the arrival of a mysterious comet.
But humans managed to harness the immense energy of said comet to be able to overcome the floods, creating manmade islands, cities that travel with the flow of the ocean, and even finally managed to send colonies to space.
But with this energy came a strange development.
a handful of the youth on Earth started to manifest incredible abilities, all of them saying it literally came from their dreams.
The main story is set decades later and mostly centers around these four idiots, who may dig deeper than they were supposed to
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spacecorps · 8 months ago
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sometimes I think the real eldritch horror in this world is humanity. to understand the complete breadth and complexity of the human experience would drive anyone to madness.
hell, I experience existential dread just perceiving my own place in this vast sea of people.
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paisleywraith · 2 years ago
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The best and worst in you.
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cosmicourple · 18 days ago
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*drops this and runs* Time loop Ody becoming increasingly more demigod and stockpiling experience and power with each loop which catches the gods’ attention because what the heck. Athena looked away for a couple months and now her ex-champion- ex friend?? is a Demi god. The crew and Eurylochus become very worried, and the second in command can’t help but think, ‘Did the gods do this? Did that wind god do this? Was it the bag?’. Guilt racks him every loop he came to that conclusion. Every loop, they noticed how distant Odysseus is, like a dead man playing with toys just to see what happens. Some loops they grow scared of him and Odysseus pushed down the sparks of guilt in favour of mischievous amusement.
Things sort of are consistent depending on the actions Odysseus takes and some are consistent regardless of his actions. It’s gotten to the point where he can safely predict what’s going to happen next and could only experiment until the day he drop dead for real.
Yet during a loop, something changes. It’s subtle at first; haunted looks, headaches from others, things Odysseus sort of shrugged off but then it becomes a pattern spanning across time. Eurylochus sometimes collapses from horror, unable to look at Odysseus in the eyes. Athena rushes in, frantic and panicked like she saw her champion die. Odysseus would have questioned the changes but he’s too apathetic and more curious than anything to see changes he never created, in the end though it wouldn’t matter. Then Poseidon and Zeus happened and both of them have unreadable expressions on their faces.
Slips of the past flicker in, love, hatred manipulation all unveiling slowly, leaving only the gaps for them to peer in. Odysseus is connected to him, he has to be.
Why else would they sense the titan of time’s power in the fallen king?
OH MY GHUHGFBHUYYHBDWWFHHYHYG I LOVE THIS??????????????????????? YHRFRFEREEE😭😭😭
ohoho— Kronos is a very obvious but still great candidate to be involved w/ all this bullshit haha yessss, get Luke P.J.O-ed King of Ithaca >:]]]].
mmmmmm- u hammered in exactly how I view Odysseus’s current mind-state in this A.U hryyjiijnhg God(s), the crew becoming scared / seeing their cap’ all of a sudden (both in personality and in appearance—) alienate from them, Athena’s confusion & horror at her Champion’s whiplash of a gene! transformation, the Sky n Sea Bro’s (im assuming dis is wha ur talking about idk htgfdd-) previous Loop memories slowly dawning on them & the dull dread of Father the Titan of the Harvest being involved in it all, EURY’S HAVING GULIT ABOUT THE SITUATION BC OF LACK OF CONTEXT⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
AUGGGGGG— there’s always so much angst n fucked up character moment potential w/ not only timloop! A.U’s. But w/ this fandom in general QTYIJHDDSNKKIJBGFFFF
ghuuuygf generally, ty SO MUCH 4 the contribution, It means a lot to see ppl wanna interact with my weird A.U! stuff 🥹☺️🫶
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daimonion (or, average warlock talking to his beloved cringefail patron)
please click for better quality bc tumblr decided to siphon it of all lifeforce smh my head
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annaberunoyume · 2 years ago
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Another Eldrich!Wally comic dub, this morn!
youtube
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nyogtha-art · 1 year ago
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The Screamer
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wandixx · 2 months ago
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I've seen a lot of different takes on Fear Toxin/other fear causing stuff (Yellow Lanterns Ring or something)(later just called Fear Toxin cause I'm lazy) but here is another one.
Danny seems like he isn't affected by Fear Toxin because his biggest fear is that his accident changed him so much he is no longer human, he can no longer truly experience human things.
So when he gets lungful of fear Toxin, he feels normal. He was antsy before, because c'mon, it's a rogue attack but it's not worse. Or so he thought. Because the anxiety lingers. Not enough to register as abnormal just this slight hypervigilance that makes you see things about yourself and your surroundings that you'd never realize otherwise. He'd realize he doesn't blink as often. He'd realize that if he doesn't consciously focus, he sometimes seems to not touch the ground. Forgets to breathe. He can't feel his own pulse at time. He'd realize people will miss him when he's walking down the street as if he was invisible (people just don't care about everyone they pass by). When he'd look straight into his reflection, he'd look slightly to the left. Not enough to actually name anything that was wrong but just stretched enough to fall on the wrong side of the uncanny valley. If he just caught his reflection in the peripheral vision, it'd be vaguely shadowy creature with glowing green eyes and white smoke instead of hair. Overall he'd be just wrong enough to be distinctly not human.
For everyone else, he'd be just a dude. Literally couldn't find more normal dude than this dude. Will pass as absolutely normal human unless someone is specifically looking for ecto-ghost stuff. Even most magic users wouldn't clock him at the glance
Tldr: Fear Toxin makes Danny perceive himself as some sort of eldritch horror but not enough to make him believe he'd actually be affected, while from outside perspective he's Just A Dude™
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yandere-wishes · 9 months ago
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𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℍ𝕚𝕘𝕙
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❤️‍🩹Characters: Yandere! MH Ghouls x GN! Reader
❤️‍🩹Summary: There's something ancient within you. Lost and forgotten. You're an eldritch creature living amongst monsters. A piece of you lives within each of them. And a piece of each of them lives inside you...
❤️‍🩹Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, Body horror in Frankie's part, slight gore and blood in the rest, angst, super cryptic.
❤️‍🩹Could be read as romantic or platonic.
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I am a monster, for now and forever. I am a monster, what a terrible being.〜♡॰ॱ
There's something ancient within you. Lost and forgotten. ~❣✧❣
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⚡︎Frankie Stein ⚡︎
There's something ancient within you. Lost and forgotten. Frankie is desperate to unravel it. To crack it open. She feels you in every one of her limbs. Feels you in the stems of her patchwork heart. That has to account for something right? 
Your melancholy seeps through you, tainting the tiles in shades of gold. 
Frankie blames the binding of your skin, she's always found it too loose. 
Nothing extramundane, to tether your essence within yourself. She wouldn't mind taking you apart and stitching you back together. Recreating you into something perfect. She's grown wry of watching you crack your ribcage open, shoving astral celestials where your heart should be. You mutter things, things she doesn't understand, things she's scared she'll never understand. Her bones rattle, a rouge spark runs down her spine. Every piece of you haunts her...
Frankie use to believe, verily childishly, that parts of her were salvaged from you. She knows now that that's impossible, yet she still wishes every night for the childish dream to come true.
In many ways, Frankie has always been bound to you. Your first friend, your first confidant, your first punishment, your first comprehension. Even when you'd been too young to understand the cacophony of the world, you'd still know the two of you were connected. 
It had only taken a lifetime to understand why. 
Bones collapse into constellations. Somehow she feels you slipping away. Her slender fingers trace the stitches across the hollow of your chest. A meteoric reminder of her work. "It's okay I'll have you fixed in no time." Frankie doubts you find any truth in her incentive. You've always been drawn to pessimism. Still, she feeds the needle through skin and muscle. Praying she remembers the stronghold pattern her mother taught her. 
The shade they used for your blood is too bright. You bleed in rivers, 
flowing with no end insight. You wash away her sorrows with farfetched promises. Awakening a longing, she never knew she had. 
Frankie wishes she could pluck out your spine. Kiss each vertebra like an iridescent pear. Maybe then your souls would tether, maybe then everything will go back to the way it once was. The needle snags across bones, marring your skin in star-kissed bruises. She pecks each one, muttering a sorry across cold flesh. You feel like home under her lips. A home she never got to know. 
Yet the echoes of its brilliance linger faintly in the hearts of those who once knew its warmth.
Frankie smiles as your eyes crack open. Dizzy and distant, you've yet to notice your enhancements. The pieces of herself she tethered onto you. She wonders when you'll notice the new eye, the new leg, the mismatched fingers. Her heart sparks thumbing loudly in her ribcage. 
She sinks down, by the operation table,skinning her knees. You feel like home, now more than ever. 
Your fingers find her head, patting the matted hair, she smiles something solemn and forlorn. She trails her fingers over one of the stitches on your arm, prying her slender digits between the threads and into the gaping tissue. Her fingers release a spark, your body arches off the table. After all, blood has always been a good conductor for electricity. "It's just a power boost. You'll be right up in a few minutes." a giggle rips from her throat, as you mummble an acknowledgment. Eyes overcast with equal parts grief and glee. 
She always knew she loved you how could she not? You'd been linked to her for as long as she had a conscience. You had always been her everything. Sometimes she wonders how you both ended up like this. Stitching pieces of yourselves into each other. 
Frankie closes her eyes. Her mind struggling to regain control. Her deep breaths waver as she hears shifting from the table. 
"It's alive..."
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𓆩❤︎𓆪Draculaura𓆩❤︎𓆪
Draculaura can smell the ethereal ichor now. Maybe it's always been there. Hidden under bygone layers and golden sand. She wonders if now, knowing what you know, makes you see her as anything less. You're older now, smarter. Maybe you understand the world just a little bit better than she ever could. 
Despite her gifted immortality, Draculaura likes to think that she's grown, too. No longer the little batling who faints at the mere scent of blood. Yet the urge to vomit is still there, an acidic reflex in the back of her throat. She's been avoiding you lately, simply because you make the urges go away. 
She can't live with that.
Can't live with what you make her. 
You trace the heart on her cheek. Your fingers feel like divinity sinking into her skin. You try to reason with her, tell her the truths of the crypt. "Surly Draculaura, you must know who you really are. Isn't it silly that you persist in this nativity?" Your words are harsh. Good intentions wrapped in silver blades. She bites her tongue, killing the queries before they dare spill. 
You make her crave things. 
Things she's avoided her whole life.
There's blood on your lips, dripping onto the ground. She fights the urge to kiss you. The heat of the sun amplifies the scent of the decaying flesh. Her stomach growls, this isn't right. The grip on her parasol tigtens. There is justice behind your actions, not one she can make herself understand. She watches as you tear into the decomposing body. "Don't", it's nothing less of a prayer. She feels her fangs elongate. How she wishes the world would turn to black.
Can a vampire be haunted? 
Surly they can, it's the only answer to your staunch lingering. 
Draculaura's coffin feels too snug, like a home and a prison encapsulated in one. She wishes she could feel cold dirt under her nails, feel the thrill of digging her way out of a grave. It's your fault, it has to be. Why must you awaken such ancient sensations? Such horrid cravings, such primal needs. 
Why must she see divinity in your face, liquid darkness shimmering behind enigmatic eyes? You are something terrifying, something painful. You are what she was supposed to be, what she's fled from her whole life.  
Your silhouette is a curse and a blessing. A reminder of a lineage she was thrusted into. A legacy she never wanted. Everything about you is a hunting familiarity for a family she never knew. She wonders if she would have been the prettiest girl in the morgue. She wonders if her father should have let her die all those eons ago.
 "I used to be human" She confesses one night. She doesn't know why you agreed to come over. Why seeing you in your pajamas sparks one too many fond memories.
"So?" your tone is one of perplexity. She feels foolish under your gaze. You glide the makeup brush across her cheeks. dusting them with faded nostalgia. "I can't eat them. It'll feel like I'm eating myself" How long has it been since the transformation occurred? how long has it been since she shedded the body of that sickly fragile girl? She's been a vampire for centuries yet still can't get used to the title. 
"You can eat these ones..." Something ancient within her stirs, her bones rattle with comprehension. She knows what you mean and it fills her with a need to scream. 
Draculaura can't see her reflection, can't gauge how different she is now. You used to help her with her makeup back in high school. Back when the shade of your lipstick determined your personality for the day. She's never seen her face. She prays it's identical to yours. She prays that someday she can embody you...
There's a deathly hunger within her. Bubbling in her stomach. She needs to let it out before it kills her. Can she even die? She's almost sure she wants to. You almost make her want to succumb to the impulse of quitting her humanity all toghter. Your presence makes her all so hungry. She's gotten better at hiding it under school-ghoul gossip and trend talk. 
She settles for a kiss tonight, a rushed peck on the cheek. Some vampire she is, instead of bleeding you dry she's pouring her sorrows into you. She wonders if you take note. See the ghosts jouncing within her soul. 
Draculaura's nails pick at the skin of her birthmark.
The skin cracks.
blood trickles. 
Can a vampire even be haunted?
Yes. 
She knew the charade wouldn't last forever. 
Knew that one day the lights would dim and the stage would fade to black
A final curtain call. An impending doom.
The final nail in her glass coffin. Rendering it to shards.
And she'll be left plucking fragments from her eternal flesh.
There's a small joy in knowing you'll be her effacer. 
The one to put an end to 2,000 years of pretend. 
"And then he was all like "You know?" and I was like "Whatever" and he was-" 
"Draculaura, I have no idea what you are talking about." She turns to face you, your smile is a crushing weight. On her shoulders crave. You throw your head back and laugh. Laughing at how little she's changed since you shared a desk in class. Since your most eminent concern was fearleading practice and algebra tests. Draculaura should laugh too, this she knows. Yet she remains distracted by your neck and all the glory it holds. 
Just a small bite won't hurt...
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☾🐾☽Clawdeen Wolf☾🐾☽
Clawdeen is protective to a fault. A trait she could never identify as innate or habit. Still, the urge to stalk you persists. Pricking away at her fur like wolfsbane. 
Clawdeen's been brought up to believe in legacy, to worship the moon and the stars and their maker. Ancient things have a way of lasting lifetimes. She knows this now, finds its evidence when she unravels her family, her pack, herself...you. Her kind has been known to nurture those they love, to birth and raise every great warrior. She ponders again if this was originally encrypted in their blood or if her species picked it up throughout the years. 
All she knows is that something inside her awakens when she sees you. A testament to an ancient love, long since stifled under sand and snow. 
She wonders if that's what she's done with you all these years. If, in her own way, she's raised you to become some sort of warrior, a great beast living amongst subsidiary. 
The two of you sit beside the bay window. Her newest sketchbook draped across her lap. You lean in resting your head on her shoulder, listening as she explains the inspiration behind each design. 
You feel like you've been mauled. A piece of you thrown in every direction. Only to morph into the creations of your hunter. "You remember your first design?" you ask, closing your eyes to still the world. "Wasn't that when we wrapped Howleen in a red blanket and my mom's scarf?" Her claws prick her upper lip as she stifles a giggle. "And made her walk around the house like it was a Scaris runway" You add, relishing in the bygone recollection. 
Your childhood memories together are coated in ichor. Jejune days 
when you'd watch her tumble over herself trying to be everything she could never be. Even back then, you'd known something was amiss with the world. Seen the ancient wolf that lay dormant within her. felt its bonds call out to you, pulling you in deeper. You'd cling to her like a frightened child to a teddy bear. 
But you're older now. Instead of the scared child, you've turned into the monster under the bed. Funny how everyone's heritage catches up with them at some point. Even when you grow unaware of its presence. Legacy still tends to echo in your bones. You're both the same in that regard.
"I can never tell if I'm alive or dead." You tell her one night. 
"Neither" Clawdeen's voice is rigid, stiff. She can feel your awakening and rebirth. It sings in her head, more vital than a howl. "creatures like us don't die so easily. We only transform." She remembers the legends, the wars, they rattle in her bones sending shivers up her spine. Neither of you have ever died. You've survived every tribulation. 
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" you reply, Clawdeen notes the embers that burn behind your eyes. How they spread across your body like a wildfire.
"What doesn't kill me, simply gives me a reason to kill it" She swears she sees the moon flicker in retort. 
Clawdeen slits her throat with her claws. 
Choking on moondust and half-fallen stars. 
Her father once told her heritage is everything before giving her a golden ring fashioned as a wolf's head. She still doesn't know what he means. 
She knows her kind was born from misplaced love. 
She's just glad your fates are entwined. 
"Someday you'll have red eyes." You trace your thumb over her lashes as you speak. Trailing down to play with her curls. She knows what you mean. Oh how, she wants to devour the hope you offer so freely. Rip it from your heart and feel it pulsing under her fangs. Maybe then her stars will align and she'll truly understand what she is. 
 Clawdeen's feelings grow teeth, gnawing at her carnivorously as she pulls you close. Muttering a 'thanks' as if it holds the weight of the world. There's comfort in the thought that she's molded you. Helped nourish your flames until they grew so potent. She's ever only been the middle child of the moon. But with you, she feels like so much more. Like something celestial, something ancient. An heirloom made of blood and moonrock. 
Above you the clouds part. Giving way to the full moon. 
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₊˚.༄Lagoona Blue₊˚.༄
The air in her lungs feels synthetic, dry. She chokes off the sand and ozone, blinded by the unfiltered light, leaving burns on her frail, scaled, skin. She wonders if this is how a fish feels as it's being reeled on land. She wonders if she's any different now.
Her heart hammers when she sees you, cracking her ribs in hysteria.
Water lilies bloom from their marrow, she counts them just to distract from the stars burning in your eyes. Her teeth catch her bottom lip, gnawing the pink flesh like a shark does its prey.
Her eyes burn when she catches a glimpse of you by the pond. Gazing conflicted at three-eyed frogs. She can't help but see you as a cacophony of unmarked graves. Too many ghosts linger across your body, they're prints evident in the afternoon sun.
You leave a water lily behind her ear as you brush past her in the hallway. She thinks your perfection is exaggerated, artificial like the air. The kind daydreaming divers pray to find in rogue oysters. Lagoona is sure you're the last of your kind. An endangered creature too proud to ask for help. She clumsily fingers the flower's petals. The wave of nostalgia that invades, has her gasping for air.
The ocean she once called home is overrun by rot. She too is infected by the pollution that plugs her gills. In her dreams, she treads through clean oceans, webbed fingers entwined with yours. There is no corrosion here, no death. Just you and her and everything that entails the definition of good. When she wakes up she notices that her gills are falling one by one. Pastel blue glints scattered, floating across her bed like the empty husks of sea stars.
She too is the last of her kind.
She too is destined to perish in agony.
She wonders if you hear her tears. Hear them fall into the abyssal sea. Feel their reverberations as they create rings on the surface. She can't expect such a thing from you. You're in your own world struggling with your own scars. You left her another flower today, nymphoides indica, she doesn't understand what you're trying to tell her.
The pond has started to bleed too. Its decaying scent is pungent from miles away.
has it bled into her?
Is she infected too?
You're there again today, worlds apart yet close enough to touch. Her body stiffens as she kneels next to you. Desperate for your attention, desperate for you to tell her what she is. Maybe, just maybe she can confess her love in time to share a grave with you.
"I used to be so beautiful.." Your voice sounds evasive. A final cry for help before the ocean consumes you. Your reflection in the pond is muddled over. A glitch in reality, something Frankie would have more experience with. "you still are mate…you still are" Her words are earnest, yet she doubts they bring you solace. "If it's any consolation, I'm polluted too..". You laugh so condescending it makes her stomach churn. She rolls the words in her mouth again, tasting them for misunderstandings.
"We're all polluted Lagoona. We always have been."
You're made of one too many pieces, all doused in poison. You rearrange the water lilies on her head. Your fingers feel like home threading through her hair. "The last of our kind." Lagoona giggles, her body is growing dryer, desperate, the moisturizer and hydration station have long since stopped working. Now she awaits the poison to take over fully. You're her memento mori another helpless creature awaiting death.
And yet, to her, you're still as radiant as the first day she met you.
Lagoona's grave will be in the sea. It's a last wish one you decide to honor. You kiss her on the cheek as she turns to you. Body half submerged in her home. She hugs you, with all the longing her frail corpse can muster. It's only too late when you notice that you too are being submerged. Dragged into the eternal depths. Lagoona refuses to part with you. This is her final gift, the last present she will give you. A quick and painless death. One with a comforting presence.
Her father used to tell her strange tales of bizarre men who'd come to their ancestrial home, seeking answers far too advanced for them. She wonders if she's had the answers all along. Maybe she just had to look a little deeper.
It doesn't matter now. For her final breaths, she is at peace. She is content to end like this. With you in her arms.
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𓂀𓆣☥Cleo De Nile☥𓆣𓂀
Cleo likes to think she's come a long way from her former self. No longer an autocrat cheerleader with stary eyes and a need to be worshipped.
She likes to think she's filled out the role of queen, of sovereign, of absolute. 
She's done her dynasty proud...
Shattered and transformed herself into the perfect vessel. 
It's not until she catches her rogue reflection in the gleam of your eyes, that she realizes she's still the same. Eons have passed yet Cleo still remains the same frail cowardly daughter bearing the burden of the D'Nile name. 
You look every bit a queen, a sovereign, an absolute. You've grown to fill the role you never knew you had. 
Cleo bleeds gold. She always has. 
Little did she know, you did too. 
You always had.
There's a crushing weight, something that makes her long for entombment. "I wish I were a mere child once more." her tone is sand on sand. So faint you think it nothing more than a mirage of sound. Her head lays on your lap bleeding out her sins as she prays for the sun to melt her. Feeble, unstable thing she is. Hailing from a feeble unstable place.
Maybe it would do you both some good to forgo the past. To embrace a thundering, grotesque future. Maybe it's time to retire the thrones and gold bangles. Maybe it's time to depart. 
she laughs at such a preposterous notion. 
Cleo's Icoffine lays in a pool of shards and wires and golden beads. Her bandaged fingers wrapped tightly around your bicep, tugging you closer until the scent of spices and flora became overbearing. "it's...okay" you lie through the rage bubbling in your throat. Through the tears that sting the corners of your eyes. "It's not-it's...it's never been okay", the words feel like boulders crushing her bones. turning her body and bandages back to dust. 
You've known Cleo to always wear a broken crown. Funny how, after a millennia, the cracks still keep growing. Only now they bleed into her corpse, cut through bandages, and aim for the heart. You want to wipe her tears away. To whisper glory and purpose into her bejeweled ears.
Cleo lies on the golden floor. It's cold, frigid, she doesn't remember gold to be so unwelcoming, so petrifying. You pull her hand to your heart, hovering above her. Watching as she melts and hardens in the same breath. 
"Allow me the pleasure of death once more. Allow me the luxury of being the only monster you ever have to know." Cleo doesn't remember missing her sarcophagi so much. Her lungs fill with broken promises as her eyes sting from mulish obsoletes. "I've been so blind for so long." She confesses, free hand fiddling with the jewels on her blouse. Running them along her nails waiting to see which will scratch first. "As have I, there's no need to-" her voice is harsh as she sits up. The undead rising from its bejeweled grave. Her hands cup your face. She tries to be gentle, to cradle you like a flower petal. "I'm-I-" her breath hitches as her fractured mind screams. "I hate myself all so very much. Yet I love you with every bit of the heart I thought I lost all those millennia ago."
Chaos has a way of squirming through her veins. 
Her dreams are tainted in rubies, seeing you lying in the sand. 
The noise above is defining. She hates that she's not used to it by now. 
It can't be fair. 
The world can't take you from her. 
You're the only lifeline she has left. 
The only hope that remains. 
You tell Cleo you want to die one starless night, she understands the sentiment. You don't know why that makes you cry. Her lips leave phantom kisses across your eyelids. Spilling gold pleated secretes into your skin. Cleo wishes she kept you entombed next to her, rotting away far from every disaster. Yet she knows she can't, not now at least. You've morphed her into her purpose better than her omnipotent father and cruel sister ever could. With you by her side, she's truly become a queen, a sovereign, an absolute. While you rein above her, some all-knowing creature who she can't help but worship. 
Maybe someday, decades from now. 
The love you share will be dethroned
How unlikely such a feat seems.
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