#t3nets

[newwayin]

location: on the way to early rise bakery & cafe. it's a beautiful morning, isn't it? specifically: greer ( @t3nets )

7 : 30 a.m. the crisp, cool air bites at his cheek, welcoming the chill with open arms. like always, it bides with a walk with a leash loosely hanging from his hand, he was completely ready to go by himself but upon spotting someone familiar, he doesn't hesitate to approach with a smile on his lips. " greer, what a coincidence to see you out. it's good to see you unharmed. i was on my way to the bakery if you would like to join me. " and charlie is calm with a slightly wagging tail, this time a small cowboy hat is accompanied upon his head. " my treat. "

[alrighties]

🎥 CLOSE UP ON ﹕  the clock just seconds away from striking twelve noon, three, two, one, and foster's gaze drifted towards the chime of the bell above the door ⸻ finch standing in the doorway of the video store, like a dog conditioned to know when to ask for food. though, to actually eat was a concept as capricious as the temperatures of lake michigan when it came to the kiskova stray. foster always came prepared nonetheless. “ here i thought you wouldn't come. didn't see you at all during halloween, thought you fuckin' died like alaina. or worse, you got fuckin' laid for once and i wasn't there to watch. ” and there were a plethora of other reasons he wanted to see finch that night, but just because the day passed didn't mean he couldn't make one of the reasons known now. hands move quick, deft as he rummaged through his satchel, unveiling a line of colored ziplock bags, each vibrant against the dull sheen of the counter. a smug smile bloomed over his lips, surely no one else had thought of this offering : fluffy cake crumbs inside a purple bag, a deep pink one with a berry compote, a pale green one holding delicate frosting inside, and a yellow one that seemed to be filled with sugared sprinkles. some people got all fucking weird about their birthdays, triggering some kind of existential midlife crisis, so maybe this was just foster's way of saying happy birthday without actually saying it. “ should last you a whole week, bon appetit. ” @t3nets

[repentulant]

⁑ finch should consider himself lucky that santiago is clinging to this one more night philosophy. any other night, he would've been pestering for a hit & making an honest effort to catch up to whatever cloud his opposite is floating on already. in honor of the double holiday — halloween & finch's birthday — he'll even skim over the little man tag. ❝ gonna be wall t' wall in there. ❞ he complains, mindlessly following along with the flow of the crowd. he then chokes out a laugh at finch's comment. ❝ jeez, i'd be . . . world's shittiest rendition of myers. appreciate your support though. ❞ he holds the mask up from his side just enough to catch the light — won't be putting it on when he can barely see out of the thing — and lets out a laugh again. ❝ i'm brahms. different mask guy. doesn't really matter though. ❞ he drops the mask and looks up to ponder finch's costume— he thinks he can pinpoint the guy from the newest addition to the crow's franchise, but . . . ❝ temu michael myers meets, uh, sleep token guy without the mask. ❞ santi decides instead. ❝ it could work. ❞

he watches the crowd filter past, blurs of other costumes & reeking of spilled drinks. part of him mourns the mask of the club lighting & mind-numbing flow of people inside. ❝ well, happy birthday to you. off to celebrate with the entirety of red creek now. ❞

*      ❪       🦇       ❫    ﹕ 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗻𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗯 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁   𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀   𝘂𝗽   𝗮    path    beneath    pale    skin    &  a cold slosh of alcohol that   settles    low    in    an empty    stomach.    he    inhales the joint slotted between inked fingers,    eyes    mere    dark    marbles    rolling    in    his    skull.    ❛ yeah  — and  you're   comin'  little  man, ❜  they're  not given much of a choice as a stampede of rowdy youths usher them forward,  clambering  together   in an echo of woops  & raucous laughter.  premade  cocktail mixes overflow red  solo  cups & those that have been emptied crackle  under  their  shoes.  as  if  on  cue they're equipped   with   their  own theme  song;   the  bass  of  warped techno bleating through cheap wireless  speakers &  reviving   what  leftover  adrenaline  had  been   sucked out  by   the  attempt  in  a  total cancellation of one of redcreek's most infamous bashes.  there's  a  crease  at   his  forehead   as  he   makes the half - assed effort   in   clocking   santi's    costume,  brain  far too fucked   to   focus.  ❛ you  dressed  as  michael myers or sumn' ?  like  uh, like a  last  minute  version. temu - style, y'know ? ❜  he  tries,   attention  diverting  to  a  passing  cowboy belt   of  gelatin  shots  spritzed  with  limes,  those  in  which  he  chucks  out  toward   the   direction  of  the  mosh pit.  ❛ fuck  it, i  dig  it. ❜ not one to judge after all, being dressed in hollywood's poorly revamped version of horror's beloved eric draven.

[burnsbr1ghter]

𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖢𝖤   :   the   warehouse. 𝖶𝖨𝖳𝖧   :   greer   aatkani,   @t3nets.

               jayce   let   out   a   quiet   breath,   feeling   the   familiar   warmth   of   the   whiskey   settle   in   his   chest.   it   wasn’t   a   cure,   not   even   close,   but   it   helped.   just   enough   to   keep   the   noise   in   his   head   down.   the   past   few   weeks,   maybe   longer,   had   felt   like   a   slow   moving   trainwreck   ┈   one   thing   after   another,   too   many   things   left   undone.   maybe   this   was   his   way   of   holding   off   on   facing   it,   dragging   his   feet   through   the   motions   because   confronting   any   of   it   seemed   impossible.   what   good   was   it   to   think   about   the   things   that   were   slipping   through   his   fingers   ?   about   the   things   he   couldn’t   control   or   change   anymore   ?   better   to   keep   moving,   to   bury   it   under   another   drink.   the   next   one   would   make   the   day   a   little   easier   to   forget,   at   least   for   a   while.                he   glanced   over   at   the   bartender,   greer,   and   gave   a   half   -   grin   again,   a   feeble   attempt   at   civility,   but   mostly   it   was   an   acknowledgment   of   the   silence   between   them.   he   didn’t   need   to   talk.   jayce   was   just   another   face   in   the   crowd,   but   there   was   comfort   in   that,   in   being   nothing   more   than   a   blur   in   a   room   full   of   other   nameless,   faceless   people.   no   one   expected   him   to   be   anything   other   than   who   he   was   here,   which   wasn’t   much.   just   another   guy   who   came   for   the   quiet   and   the   glass   in   hand.   no   need   for   explanations,   no   need   for   anyone   to   really   care.   the   rest   of   the   world   could   spin   without   him,   and   he   could   keep   doing   this   ┈   one   drink   at   a   time.   it   was   easier   this   way.   he   looked   down   at   his   empty   glass,   already   wanting   the   next   round,   ready   to   sink   into   that   numbness   again.

[den1als]

⠂ ⠀ CASE STATUS : closed | @t3nets , for cairo . ⠂ ⠀ LAST SEEN : redemption chappell .

⠀⠀ ❝ forgive me , father , for i have sinned ... ❞ a loud , monotonous voice echoes throughout the house of the lord , hands clasped behind the sheriff's back as he took long and careful strides down the center aisle . demetrius trails off , the sight of the pew he and his family occupied catching his eye , making him stop right next to it . how long has it been since he attended a service ? weeks ... maybe a month or two - or three . the mental math exhausted him , shoulders rolling back he looked up from the seat to glance around the chappell , taking note of any similarities or changes made .

⠀⠀ ❝ may god have mercy on soul , save thy from evil , so on and so forth ... ❞ a hand waves in the air , brushing off his butchered attempt at ... whatever he was trying to communicate with the priest . demetrius deeply chuckles at his own antics before his demeanor changed ; long arms then opened up in a welcoming posture , a professional , quaint grin on his lips . ❝ cairo , is it ? i hope i'm not disturbing you . ❞

[rusticjpg]

@t3nets,　　DEER LAKE,　EARLY MORNING.

THERE'S  SOMETHING  TO  BE  SAID  ABOUT  GROWING  UP  IN  RED  CREEK  (  about  having  escaped  unscathed  )  —  violence  was  a  phantom,  just  a  big  bad  her  father  conjured  when  justifying  curfews,  a  story  woven  into  her  life's  fabric  through  whispers  and  murmurs,  but  never  quite  pressing  itself  against  her  skin.  she  moved  through  it  like  a  smoke  too,  never  inhaling  it  deep  enough  to  make  it  her  own.

until  now,  when  it  had  flung  itself  onto  her  doorstep  (  because  what  is  deer  lake  if  not  a  second  home?  )

there  he  was,  its  harbinger,  body  sprawled  in  the  reeds  like  a  puppet  whose  strings  had  been  cut.  her  heart  slammed  against  her  ribcage,  a  frantic  staccato  that  echoed  in  her  ears.  her  sanctuary  of  stillness  had  teeth  too,  it  turned  out,  and  dead  creek's  same  rotting  pulse.  the  trees  loomed  above  her,  their  gnarled  branches  reaching  for  her  like  claws.  something  jagged  and  unforgiving  festered  in  the  lake's  blackened  depths  -  and  now,  it  was  wholly  hers  to  sift  through.

“shit,”  she  muttered,  the  word  escaping  her  lips  in  a  burst  of  fog.  she  forced  herself  to  move  towards  him.  his  coat  hung  from  his  frame  in  shreds,  barely  clinging  to  him  like  torn  fur  on  a  hunted  beast.  her  throat  burned  as  she  knelt  beside  him,  the  snow  seeping  through  her  jeans.  up  close,  the  details  were  worse.  his  chest  rose  and  fell  in  shallow,  broken  movements,  each  breath  ragged,  wet,  like  something  inside  him  had  torn.  her  hands  hovered  over  his  wounds,  trembling  —  useless.  "greer,"  recognition  strikes  her  even  through  the  bruises,  the  blood  trickling  from  his  mouth.

“i’m  gonna  get  help,  okay?  i'll  get  help,"  the  words  are  a  fragile  promise  that  spill  out  from  her  in  a  rush  as  she  fought  to  keep  the  panic  at  bay,  gloved  hands  already  fumbling  for  her  phone  in  her  back pocket.  

[ichorstained]

avery spent too much time with finch as it is, having the unfortunate privilege of being one of his roommates. frankly, she did laundry to get away from him and june and now there they were, doing laundry together. she doesn't comment when he throws his clothes in with hers. she's playing the long con -- make all of finch's whites pink. an exasperated sound comes out of avery as she rolls her eyes. " what is wrong with you finch? genuinely. " she had never heard someone accuse her dad of panty snatching but she would probably believe someone if they told her -- as long as that person wasn't finch. " are you sure it wasn't kieran? he probably ran out of clean boxers and stole yours. " or maybe it was a curoius piper but she would never throw her baby sister under the bus. " dude you're making a mess, " she points to the bag he's holding, a frown on her lips.

* ❪ 🦇 ❫ ﹕ 𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗺𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲   𝗮𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀   𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺   𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀   𝗮𝘀   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿  laundry   mashes   together   ( had   shoved   it   all in before she could retaliate ),   the   coins   in   his   pockets   slipping   out   &   clanking   against   metal   with   obnoxious   PLINKS.   the   man   behind   the   counter   clears   his   throat   in   finch's   direction,   a   call   to   sea   that   he   floats   to   like   a   lost   ship,    exchanging  something   that   he   steps   in   to   cover   with   his   body.   a shuffle of paper as he continues the chatter.  ❛  your   freaky   ass   dad   for   sure.   pretty   sure   he   took   a   pair   of   my   fuckin'   underwear   one time.   slept   over   kie's   when   we   were   like  — what ?  twenty ?    —    next   mornin   nothin'. ❜      the   cashier   avoids   hearing   the   conversation   altogether   as   soon   as   their   interaction   ends,   nodding   him   off   with   a   scurry   into   the   back.   finch is shoving an envelope in his pocket with one hand, a powdered bag of laundry detergent in the other that spills from a hole in its corner as he makes his way to the open washing drawer.

[enternights]

𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭　:　finch's bedroom in that fuckass apartment, 6pm 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖲　:　closed for finch kiskova @t3nets

the  last  few  days  have  been  harsh  on  angela.  disappearances,  murders,  arguments,  and  accusations  —  it  was  all  getting  to  be  a  little  too  much;  indifference  is  no  longer  an  option  when  she's  being  forced  to  care.  still,  it  can  get  a  little  overwhelming,  and  sometimes  angela  wants  a  reason  to  forget  anything  like  this  ever  happened.  her  solution  to  escapism  comes  in  the  form  of  one  finch  kiskova,  who  sits  across  from  her  on  his  bed  while  she  shuffles  a  deck  of  tarot  cards  in  her  hands.  “  c'mon,  i  need  the  practice.  it's  been  a  while  since  i've  done  one  of  these,  ”  angela  persuades,  presenting  him  the  shuffled  deck.  “  what  do  you  wanna  know?  could  be  anything  —  life  in  general,  you  career  . . .  even  love?  ” she asks, an eyebrow raised in anticipation.

[clandestone]

closed starter with: darshan and finch (@t3nets) setting: the "apartment", 4pm

This was a call he’d been expecting for a while- it was just a shock that it hadn’t come sooner. Each step towards the front door felt torturous, like he had to force each foot to move, plant, and push forward. It wasn’t fear, or anxiety, or even apprehension, he just… didn’t want to do it. What could be gained? Even if they actually allowed him entry into the apartment, which he was certain would never happen without a warrant, what was he supposed to do about it? Politely ask them to evict the hoard of excess people that lived there? Ask them to pay for a biohazard specialist to come in and deep clean the place? But it didn’t matter that it was a lost cause- a neighbor had asked them to do a welfare check, and he was required to comply. A quick knock on the door accomplished nothing, and he waited in silence before calling out. “It’s Officer Brar, just here to check the place out. Got a few complaints.” He stood for a minute before knocking again, and he was about to leave when Finch popped his head out. “Mind if I take a look around? Just gotta make sure everyone is alive and relatively healthy, and I’ll be on my way.”

[lonelela]

TIME : evening, definitely PLACE : the warehouse WITH : greer aatkani , @t3nets

the buzz of drunken patrons was about the only thing lela could hear besides her own heartbeat. it wasn't very often that she found herself at the warehouse - especially after the fight that had broken out that she had only heard about. she wasn't big on crowded spaces regardless but tonight she wanted the companionship even if it was from the bartender that was serving her drinks all night. "can I get another jack and coke?" she mentioned to greer in front of her. when he came back, she gave a soft smile. "okay, so tell me the worst pickup line that you've heard used."

[horrorphase]

ꜜ ﹙ 🗝️  ﹚ ﹕ it was too early⸻ too damn early that even god and his angels must still be asleep, light barely scraping the horizon, bleeding pale pinks and grays across this forsaken town like watercolor left unfinished. but seth hadn't been able to sit still, hadn't been able to think of anything but yesterday's headline ﹕ bronte dubois and that missing girl, stuck in his mind like a splinter, sharp and impossible to ignore, wondering who she'd become once the town sank their teeth into her and chewed her out. like they did jacob thorne. but the chapel was a refuge, though. silent and comforting, soothing the restlessness in his chest, like being back in his home, almost as if going back in time before his mother was devoured by her own guilt and misgivings. the scent of old wood and incense certainly reminded him of her, but it was really faith that bound them together, even when he finally had to leave that old house. eternal and steady. seth half-expected other congregants to be here by first light, townsfolk already bent over their rosaries, mothers praying for their daughters to be spared. but it was really just him, the carved faces of the saints watching from their alcoves, and the silence ﹕ then broken by the hiss of a struck match, lighting a candle in the votive stand before offering quiet prayers under his breath. a prayer for his mother he wished didn't become haunted by the decision to save herself, then a prayer for the man he wished he could have saved from everyone who cried wolf, then a prayer for the woman he wished he could've met before she became helpless and fractured. then, for forgiveness. a request for absolution, as his thoughts sometimes wished for other people's damnation. and maybe he had been asking too much from the higher power, too focused on his own requests that he didn't even realize the arrival of someone else⸻ until he heard a faint sound by the altar. turning, seth's lips already curved up into polite smile before he even knew who it was ﹕ the new priest, a stranger to this town like he was, younger than anyone expected. and according to mrs. keller at the bakery, alarmingly goodlooking for a man of the cloth. she wasn't entirely wrong. “ good morning, father. ” a small greeting as he stepped closer, his grin easy but careful, like testing the ice over a frozen pond. “ just wanted to light a candle and offer some prayers ' fore the day gets rolling. you here to rehearse today's homily, or just takin' in the quiet ? ” @t3nets

[capitclkarma]

@t3nets || kaz + finch

"it's nice, ya know? not seeing you at the police station for once." he'd meant to keep that to himself, but too many late nights had destroyed what little filter he had. it was important, kaz thought, to make time for family whenever possible. but his spare time had been slim, his energy even more. thoughts of their mother stuck in her room danced across his thoughts, and a quick phone call, and he'd managed to find a few minutes to meet his younger brother. "what were you doing on halloween by the way?" small talk or interrogation talk, both were interwoven together as he tried to connect with finch.

[hypnotiscd]

○    NOW DELIVERING TO . . .    ⏤ @t3nets !

" hey cairo . " nadia has always inwardly cringed at the notion of calling him FATHER , despite that being what he is . even when other people say it , she's had to swallow back a look of alarm . she extends her hand out , offering a box of SISTERS OF THE MOON candles . she knows he likes them , finds them practicable for his work . nadia is good at remembering things , and people ( ironic , when she feels her own parents have forgotten her ) . " here . you'll probably need them for lighting prayers and stuff right ? people will be desperate for them right now or whatever . " nadia doesn't mention alaina's name . she doesn't need to . she tilts her head to the side and she surveys him . " or use them for a bubble bath . i don't know . priests are allowed to bubble bath , yeah ? "

[ofvolatile]

where : redemption chapel . status : closed with @t3nets

under the looming steeple of redemption chapel , thierry pauses , as if the church itself might reject him before he steps inside . the chill of the autumn morning clings to his skin . the heavy wooden doors shuts behind him , sealing him into a space that feels both sacred and suffocating . it’s been years since he last set foot here , the day his grandmother was laid to rest beneath his watchful gaze was the last time . yet this place has always held him in its quiet grip — a tether he has never entirely severed . now , it calls him back , summoned once more by death . his gaze sweeps over the holy space — the crucifix looming at its center , the cluster of votive candles flickering like watchful eyes . at the edge of the pews , thierry lingers , the hem of his tailored coat brushing against the worn wood dulled by decades of worship . the trembling flames seems to respond to an unseen presence , drawing his attention . memories press in , sharp and unwelcome . once the church , had been a place of solace beneath the shadow of stained-glass windows and whispered prayers . but it was also here that he had endured his grandmother's whispered curses , her rosary beads clicking in her hands . even now , years after her passing , her presence lingers . he feels her ghost in the shadows , her cold , judgmental gaze watching , waiting for him to fall . thierry lowers himself onto the bench , elbows resting on his knees , fingers lacing together . but no prayer forms on his lips , only silence . deliberate footsteps draw nearer , and he senses the priest before he sees him . “ father , ” thierry says , cutting through the stillness . he lifts his gaze , and straightens slightly , explaining before the question of his absence can be asked , “ the dead , have a way of calling us back to places we'd rather forget . ”

[alrighties]

🎥 INT. STOCKROOM ⸻ A REALLY BORING AFTERNOON ﹕  the kind so pitifully dull that dumb compulsion could win just about any battle. but some credit must also be given to the boogeyman, how ennui could now easily devolve into some fucked up hedonism ; so many afraid that they could be next without having really lived their lives. but foster just didn't expect his indulgent impulses to be entertained by an older woman who came in to rent a vhs copy of dirty dancing ; going along with his flirtations, giving in to desire despite the ring on her finger. a dim fluorescent light overhead, his back pressed against a tower of unlabeled boxes, foster's gaze was transfixed on the woman in front of him, tracing the flushed hue of her cheeks and glistening of parted lips, marveling at the dazed lust that pooled in her irises, even the small involuntary movements — the rise and fall of shoulders as she drew breath, lashes quivering, breath shuddering around him — were filed away, catalogued inside his mind, an exercise in understanding the way desire bloomed and unfurled in terrible circumstances. there was something raw there, something so primal in this physicality that he just couldn't quite replicate emotionally. the room felt tighter now, pulsing with a heat rivaling the low thrum of bass bleeding through the walls from main store ⸻ but the air immediately shifted when that familiar voice drifted through the gap beneath the door, teasing at the corners of his attention like a damn hook. “ shit, ” said under his breath as he detangled himself from the woman's grasp, zipping up with a practiced tug. the stockroom's door creaked open, and foster stepped into the muted light of the store, his shirt wrinkled, hair a little too tousled, hands adjusting the buckle of his belt. “ didn't expect to see you here today, ” told greer with an awkward smile tugging on his lips as the woman slipped past him, watched her lazily wipe her lips before waving goodbye. foster paused for a few beats, listening to the soft tap of her heels fade, the bell above entrance chiming to signal the end of the encounter. a tired sigh escaped him before a grin found its way back to his lips. “ you've got terrible timing, y'know ? i didn't even get to fi— ” finish the sentence, too distracted by darla, immediately dropping down to rub pitbull's ears with practiced touch. “ guess you'll just have to make it up to me another time, ” foster chuckled, gaze lifting up to greer, voice giving way for a whine, bottom lip slightly pursed. he straightened back up to his full height, didn't want to annoy the dog too much, head canted with interest as he stared at the other man. “ so ... how can i help you today ? looking for something new, or is this just a social call ? ”

𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :   greer    &    foster    (  @alrighties ) !

𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿:   5:43pm.

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻:  the video store.

* ❪ ⛓️ ❫ ﹕ 𝗵𝗲'𝘀  𝗻𝗼𝘁  𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲  𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗹   𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗿  𝗴𝗼𝘁  𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲   𝗼𝗳   vinyl   records from.  her   mother ?   maybe  it   was  making  a  comeback  in   school ? couldn't really keep up with the trends anymore,   stuck   between   the   morals   of   generation   z   &   the mindset   of   a   millenial. he   doesn't   opt   out   of   the   adventure   despite   the   hardship   it   proves,   with   most   video   stores   having   gone   out   of   business   since   the   rise   of   portable   players   &   apps   in   smartphones.   he   supports   her   little   microhobby   in   the   best   way   he   can,   stashing   away   her   ipod   for   the   time   she   was   bored   yet   again.   an   old   soul.   he   loved   her   bad.    darla's   letting   out   a   small   yip   as   the   doorbell   rings   overhead   to   signal   their   arrival,   wet   nose   lifting   &   sniffing   at   the   scent   of   packing   peanuts   that   sends   her   tail   thumping. chestnut   hues   roam   every   labeled   shelf   with   a   look   of   discouragement,   feeling   almost   shameful   at   his   lack   of   knowledge   for   a   culture   he   so   claimed   to   love:  speakers   that   had   been   modified   to   blow   out   the   bass   of   a   crooning   man   in   love,   baring his yearning   to   the   timbre   of   an   rnb   beat.   the   register   is   without   its   typical   cashier   to   aid,   &   that   only   furthers   the   doubt   that   manifests   itself   in   the   tight knuckle grip   on   her   leash.   greer's   clearing   his   throat   &   leaning   forward   on   the   counter,   searching   for   a   bell   to   ring   as   he   waits   patiently   for   them   to   return,   shades   pushed   up   from   the   crook   of   his   nose   &   sitting   on   onyx   curls   that   puff   into   spiked   curls.   ❛   hey,   i   brought   my   dog   in !    hope   that's   alright.   ❜  he   calls   out,   hoping   there   was   someone   on   shift   given   the   open   sign,  further   supported by   the   shuffle   of   feet   from   behind   a   door   that   read ' STAFF ONLY. '  ❛   i   can   tie   her   outside   if   it's   a   problem.   ❜  he   adds. darla isn't so much in agreement herself, head tilted as if she understood every word. a huff of indignation ( a normal breath of air if you weren't crazy ). digits reach down to rub behind powdered ears in silent apology.

[burnsbr1ghter]

𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖢𝖤   :   redemption   chapel. 𝖶𝖨𝖳𝖧   :   father   cairo   dominguez,   @t3nets.

               the   old   chapel   in   red   creek   stood   as   a   solemn   sentinel   at   the   edge   of   town,   its   once   pristine   white   paint   now   peeling   and   faded.   inside,   the   air   was   heavy   with   the   fragrance   of   melted   wax   and   timeworn   wood.   micaela   sat   in   the   first   pew,   her   hands   clasped   tightly   in   her   lap,   nails   digging   into   her   palms   as   if   pain   could   anchor   her.   “   i   don’t   even   know   why   i’m   here,   ”   she   muttered,   her   voice   a   rough   whisper.   “   i   thought   maybe   …   maybe   this   place   would   have   answers.   maybe   you   would.   but   the   truth   is,   i   don’t   even   know   the   right   questions   to   ask.   ”   she   finally   looked   up,   her   eyes   flitting   to   the   altar,   where   the   candles   flickered   weakly   against   the   darkness.   “   i   used   to   think   this   place   was   safe.   that   if   i   just   sat   here   long   enough,   prayed   hard   enough,   i’d   feel   ...   something.   peace,   maybe.   or   absolution.   but   all   i   feel   now   is   ...   hollow.   ”                her   gaze   dropped   again,   back   to   the   floorboards,   her   words   spilling   out   faster   now,   untethered.   “   it’s   not   even   my   guilt,   you   know   ?   not   really.   but   it’s   stuck   to   me,   like   mud   i   can’t   scrape   off.   people   look   at   me   like   i’m   supposed   to   be   whole,   like   i’ve   got   it   all   together,   but   i   don’t.   i   can’t.   i   don’t   even   know   who   i   am   outside   of   this   mess.   and   the   worst   part   ?   i   don’t   know   if   i   want   to   let   it   go.   what   does   that   say   about   me   ?   that   i’m   scared   of   what’s   left   if   i   don’t   have   it   weighing   me   down   ?   ”   her   voice   cracked,   but   she   didn’t   stop.      i   tell   myself   it’s   not   my   fault,   over   and   over,   but   it   doesn’t   sink   in.   how   do   you   get   rid   of   something   that’s   seeped   into   your   skin,   into   your   bones   ?   ”                she   exhaled   sharply,   a   bitter   laugh   escaping   her   lips.   “   you’re   probably   gonna   tell   me   to   pray.   to   let   it   go   and   trust   that   god’s   got   a   plan,   right   ?   but   that’s   not   enough.   i   need   something   real,   something   i   can   hold   onto.   because   i’m   drowning   here,   and   no   one   even   knows   it.   ”   her   voice   softened,   barely   audible   now.   “   i   don’t   think   i   deserve   to   be   saved.   ”