“Let me see your hands.”
Deanie narrowed her eyes. Augustine sighed. Deanie fiddled with her hands, doing her best to separate the slivers of glass from her skin.
“Allow me.” He pulled a pair of tweezers from his pocket, taking her hand in his with a gentle grip.
“You carry those with you?”
“Never know when you’ll need them.” He remarked, his long lashes brushing against his glasses. “So, you’re having some trouble accepting what Laelith said.” It was phrased almost like a question, a probing conversation starter to judge whether or not she would start screaming again, she reasoned.
“What’s to accept? That I’m dead? That I’ll never see my family again? That I’m stuck here with you? All negatives in my book.”
Augustine hummed, digging particularly deep for one of the glass pieces, making Deanie wince. “And what part are you hung up on? Being chosen?”
“Immortality doesn’t just happen.” Deanie argued.
“Well, not for most people.” Augustine admitted. “But we’re special. Haven’t you ever wondered why you were never affected by the Madness?”
“Not really.” Deanie said. “I was more focused on surviving the people affected by it.”
“We have a theory that for whatever reason we survive the Madness, we become Undertakers. It’s likely genetic, and with the right genes affected, we might even be able to come up with a cure.”
“A cure?” Deanie could hardly believe what she was hearing. She’d been living under the reign of Bloody Sundays for years and now this man was telling her there was a cure?
“It’s not perfected yet.” He hastened to add. “We still have a lot of testing to do before it can ever see daylight. But the results are promising.” Augustine set the tweezers aside. Deanie flexed her hand, grateful it no longer stung. “There.”
“Thanks.” Deanie slipped her hands below the table, fiddling with the folds of her nightgown.
—excerpt, The Undertakers
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beginning to arrange Watson's Sketchbook for print and I would like a WORD with the miserable creature who drew so many of them incredibly low res, in wildly varying styles and line weights, neglected to name a single file, AND made a bunch of comics that have no clear page breaks
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I FINISHED MY FIRST DRAFT OF THE UNDERTAKERS
LAST LINES
The bathroom was empty as she stared into the mirror. Her eyes were tired of crying, rimmed in red. [redacted line]
And Deanie smiled.
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lol shoutout to @sablefoxx for a hell of an undertaker themed commission!
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