#they hauled a piece of furniture taller than either of them out to the middle of a field

[newlyy]

i saw a gender reveal on tiktok with a girl who looked very young and all the comments were like omg i thought you were 15 and she was responding like “guys im 24 😑” like ok, frankly still too young to give up your life but sure

[dusk-and-despair]

one more.

The room was cold, & the air was filled with the twinkling noises of glass clinking together. It cut through the heaviness that hung in that air as if the bright sounds littered it with enough holes that they made breathing a little easier. It wasn’t a cold brought on for lack of trying, however; there was a smoldering fireplace nestled into a center wall, it’s flame gentle & comforting. That wall held other things, too: shelf upon shelf of books climbed high towards the arching ceilings, & nestled within the empty spaces were a collection of trinkets sourced from all ends of Azeroth. There were shards of faintly glowing crystals, of dried flowers, & statuettes of forgotten deities. There were scrolls that held so much age that they looked ready to crumble to dust if touched, & bones carefully cleaned, bleached, & arranged into neat skeletons of tiny animals. There were paintings hung in the negative spaces not covered in shelves, their origins ranging from depictions of the great keeps in the rolling hills of Lordearon to inked depictions of the misty cliffs of Pandaria. 

Comfortable velveteen couches were arranged on a richly patterned rug near the fireplace, with plush pillows & silken blankets strewn across them. Inlaid within the arms of the furniture were carved caricatures of rope, anchors, & kraken motifs. There were side tables alongside each, the pieces crafted of delicately arching birch wood & floating just ever so slightly above the ground as if enchanted. They bore empty glasses, open tomes, & a smattering of tiny trinkets for idle enjoyment: a deck of ivory & gold cards, a fistful of metallic silver dice, a cheesecloth bag of dried rose petals, an origami crane crafted of sanguine paper. Overhead was the source of the twinkling sound: an elaborate chandelier - the teardrops of glass shifting ever so slightly in the battle of warm & cold air colliding.

To say the room was gaudy would be an understatement. There was no rhyme or reason behind the collection of items therein, & even the pieces of furniture were of mismatched origin. Truly, the decorations of precious objects breached the bounds of shelves & corners, overfilling the room in such a way that left only sparse walkways to pick delicately through. There were jewel-toned pinwheels stuck into the crystal flutes of wine glasses, porcelain dolls with faces painted with rosy-cheek smiles & blinking long-lashed eyes. There was bolt upon bolt of fabric stacked precariously beside a wooden rocking chair inlaid with rubies, & in that chair laid a pile of clothing ranging from heavy, embroidered long cloaks to gauzy, white chemises. Tucked in various crevices were golden-latched boxes of jewelry & uncut stones. In glass display cases there were collections of mounted insects: emerald beetles with pincers wide, butterflies & moths with wings outstretched, & more than a dozen other chitinous beasts mounted under dusty glass domes.   

“Master Duskmourn,” a voice called through the uninhabited room. There was a waver in its tone, as if unsure, & it gave a lengthy amount of time before repeating itself as it kept to the shadow of the heavily curtained doorway.

“Master Duskmo --”

“Yes, I heard you,” This was a new voice, & it came through as if it existed in all corners of the stifling room. “What is it?”

The creature in the doorway cautiously came into sight, pushing back one of those curtains to enter the room properly. It was no more than a skeleton of a thing - & that isn’t to say that the beast was somehow unfed, or sickly. No - this was truly a skeleton. It owned a height of no more than a few feet, & its unfettered feet tapped against the stone of the floor before it ventured far enough inwards to be muffled by a woven rug. It wrung its hands in worry, boney fingers passing over its knuckles & skull tipped into a remorseful bow. “Master - a Songheart has /died/.”

The answer came as silence - but then a growing, melodic laugh filled the room. Its volume grew as if in orchestra with itself, reverberating against the stone arches overhead & causing the chandelier to shutter & twinkle louder. “Songheart? My, my, Mister Vackle. You’ve outdone yourself!” A chipper voice rung clearly, & as it continued its source began to consolidate from throughout the room onto a singular point. A cloud of purple smoke coalesced into view in front of the skeletal being. It began as a hazy, shifting puff, but soon it drew inward & its edges hardened into the outline of a tall, humanoid figure. Further, it clarified, sharply up-sloped ears growing from either side of its head, long, pin-straight hair, a hawkish nose, defined arms & legs. Soon there was an elven man standing near three times taller than the skeleton before the bowed creature, & it gestured outwards as a richly embroidered robe melted from the shadows to garb it. “Mister Vackle - my dear - do tell. /Which/ Songheart? The anticipation,” he paused to reach low, brushing the backs of his inky, sharp nails against the cheekbone of the skeleton. “, I can practically /taste it/.” A cheshire grin painted across his lips - just a hair too wide & altogether unnerving.

“The middle brother, Master. There was an accident at sea; we can look into the happenings surrounding it, but the ship was blown --” But the skeleton was cut off by the sharp exhale provided by the elven man. 

The elf straightened, drawing his hand away to press his fingers gently to his chest & toss back his head, letting loose a languished sigh. As he turned his back to the skeleton, his long, black hair swam through the air as if suspended in water. The fabric that clothed him followed suit, each free bit of material swaying behind him a tick later in time than he traveled. He crossed the room with ethereal steps, closing the distance on a door in the farthest corner. Just before he reached the threshold, his form shifted out of sight, dissipating into the same purple smoke that had born him into existence only moments before. That all-encompassing voice returned to whisper through the air in his passing “See to it that a room is arranged. I would like this one as preserved as we are able. For now.” The skeleton gave a full bow before turning about to toddle quickly out of the room, pumping its arms & marching its feet to give an animated retreat through the curtains.

Somewhere between Human & Dwarven lands, a ship was torn asunder. The air still rang with the telltale music of Azerite power, humming with the blood of the titan’s lifeblood & bits of wood, cloth, & metal crashed into the roiling waves below. There were bodies, & bile, & screams cut short - & the cloud of swirling smoke that came into view was dampened by the spray of the violent sea. It pinpointed to one location after a moment of hesitation above the wreckage, & soon the form of that elven man once more stuttered into realization as it hovered over the waves. He dove an arm through the water as if spearing a fish, eyes fierce with pointed determination & a flash of lich-fire. What grasped the slowly sinking Songheart was the curled talons of the man’s true form. What raised him was the same icy magic that kept him chained to this world, & as he hauled the unmoving body from the ocean’s grip his illusion snapped. A sharp-toothed maw cracked into a smile, the skeletal Lich cradling the body into a loving embrace within his bone-white arms. “How /delicious/.”       

(( @the-elderarrow​  ♥ ))