#vedia sahin-van ness ...

[purslanes]

location: sahin-van ness manor vedia & rosalind @tidelure

dreams  are  delicate  fabergé  eggs.  they  are  fine  artistry  orchestrated  and  plucked  from  the  subconscious,  untold  symbolism  presented  to  a  sleeping  mind.  just  as  easily  they  fall  to  disturbance.  rosalind  knows  she  is  in  a  dream  because  she  should  be  cold,  but  is  not.  sahin-van  ness  manor  looms  a  proverbial  black  hole  over  the  landscape.  its  man  made  terrors  built  with  brick  and  mortar  and  stone  same  as  any  other  home,  but  infused  with  a  blackness  of  spirit.  its  mad  face  she  has  not  been  witness  to  in  two  long  years  and  it  stands  waiting  for  her,  beckoning.  

you’re  like  alice  and  i’m  the  white  rabbit.  a  child’s  voice  echoes  from  eons  ago.  or  perhaps  she  has  been  alice  all  along.  carpet  pulled  from  beneath  her  feet,  upending  her  and  sending  her  tumbling  down  the  rabbit  hole.  this  is  true  in  a  sense,  because  she  is  so  lost  –  always  lost  –  and  hopelessly  abandoned,  adrift  in  life.  please,  someone  notice  me,  she  wants  to  cry.  don’t  leave  me  here  on  my  lonesome.  

the  howl  of  dogs  at  a  distance  and  she  is  the  rabbit  again,  racing  wildly  along  the  lawn.  a  heart  encaged  behind  ribs  flutters  to  be  sent  free,  released  before  the  gnashing  teeth  of  hounds  are  upon  it.  from  lawn  to  forest  she  flies  with  abandon.  branches  whip  against  her  tender  cheeks,  slicing  into  her  soft  skin,  but  she  barely  registers  the  pain.  gnarled  trees  are  replaced  with  the  open  grounds  of  the  sahin-van  ness  family  cemetery.  gravestones  poke  out  from  beneath  the  dirt  in  varying  shades  of  white  and  gray  like  finger  bones  stripped  of  their  skin.  how  fitting  then,  for  the  ghost  of  vedia  sahin-van  ness  herself  to  be  wandering  amongst  them,  just  as  pale  and  gangling;  princess  of  moss  and  decay  and  secrets.

the  world  is  a  mockery  of  me,  rosalind  thinks  bitterly.  the  mirror  of  a  girl  stands  poised  before  an  open  grave,  one  foot  dangled  over  the  precipice  of  the  other  world.  but  her  own  pace  doesn’t  slow  until  something  catches  at  her  ankle,  forcing  her  to  her  knees.  she  looks  back  just  in  time  to  see  the  tendril  of  kudzu  vine  looped  around  her  before  she  is  being  dragged  across  the  earth  against  her  will.  fingernails  scraping  into  the  dirt,  she  screams,  “vedia!  vedia!  help  me!  you  have  to  help  me!”

[tidelure]

ON A NIGHT MUCH LIKE ANY OTHER IN THE MORS OF OCTOBER, AMID THE FOG AND THE RAIN, VEDIA'S DREAMS TALK HER TO THE EDGE OF THE WATER ╱ feat. WYMON VISSER

what is a ghost?

the academic might name it an anomaly, a breach from the understood and acceptable by something not yet peer-reviewed. the novelist, prone as they are to using one word while meaning another, may say a metaphor. the catholic, guilt. the child, who is closer than they know to the very truth, may simply point to the shadow in the corner and close their eyes.

if we are to accept each varying answer as baring a measure of truth, the only through line is this: something one cannot bare to look at head on. perhaps this is why, in the end, we have no definitive photographs of our spectral visitors. it is not that they refuse to be documented, but rather our inability to turn our head and aim the camera.

so when vedia sahin-van ness rises from the soft down of her bed and emerges from behind the locked door of her ancestral home, it is not with the intention to haunt. it is, of course, without any intention at all ⸺ she is, after all, asleep. and if she had time for scheme and design, even in this state of dreaming, she certainly would have had time for shoes and a coat. as it is, as she descends the great hill that leads to town, mud caking the high arches of her soft feet to the slim round of two ankles, it is without either. without even awareness. and yet ⸺ by the time she has circumvented the boardwalk, thick mass of dark hair pulled from the ribbon that once bound it, white peignoir stuck to her body by the cold tongue of the rain, drifting through the thunder with tender calm until she stands before one who once loved her on the docks of the cove ⸺ IS THIS GIRL NOT A GHOST?

she seems to be speaking. she seems to be saying something against the rain, that voice so like a length of silk lost under the coverlet of storm. the wind whips her gown until it loses its courage, tucking between her legs, slipping off her round marble shoulders. she's reaching for something outside of our understanding, one slender wrist extended out to the monsters of the deep. her feet balanced on the edge of wood, a ballerina. a tightrope walker. a child born on the sword of damocles.

can you bare to look at her, @scpsis ?

[scpsis]

closed starter · for vedia @tidelure location · panhandle oyster co.

she was, without a doubt, lovely as ever, seated beneath the swirling chandelier made up of dozens of delicate individual paper lanterns, ( a fixture paid for by none other than adem sahin-van ness himself ) just as she was, without a doubt, always welcome in his establishment — to him, vedia was an extension of her father. namely, her father's money. judge observed at her in the same way he would an unguarded, crisp stack of cash : with criminally selfish intent. she was to be belauded, almost treasured. a delicate string of pearls hung around an aristocrat's bulging neck. the brunette was one of the very few whom judge dropped everything to attend to personally, listed high on a registry of prioritized customers that implied a direct phone call to him if he wasn't already working. tonight, he'd been out on his boat, immediately returning to shore at the mere mention of her patronage. the sun-bleached coveralls he adorned while approaching vedia's table seemed out of place compared to the polished restaurant's interior, but he moved with enough purpose that he may as well have wearing a three piece suit. " how's everything tasting ? " there's only a hint of a smile on his lips.

[kilmerhq]

VEDIA SAHIN-VAN NESS is looking for their POTENTIAL DIRECTOR they are said to be around 32-50 and look like RIZ AHMED, CARLA GUGINO, DEWANDA WISE, IDRIS ELBA, RAMI MALEK, UTP. you CAN, BUT DO NOT HAVE TO contact them @tidelure to apply for this connection. more info under the cut.

muse  name  :  vedia sahin - van ness .

type  of  connection  :  platonic .

suggested  age  range  :  32 - 50 .

suggested  faceclaims  :  idris elba, billy crudup, jessica chastain, rami malek, dewanda wise, edgar ramirez, carla gugino, luke kirby, sam reid, riz ahmed ( !! ), UTP .

contact  ?  can (love a good headcanon sesh!), but do not have to .

supplemental  info  :  a successful hollywood director, they arrived in kilmer amid location scouting for their next film. having found the environment of the macabre town suitable to creating, they've lingered, and in the midst of this trip they came to a performance at the local playhouse theatre, witnessing one of vedia's haunting performances. they have since approached her to leave this little town and work with them on a picture, only to find a strangely taut resistance from her family.

[tidelure]

ᵀᴴᴵˢ ᴳᴵᴿᴸ ᴵˢ ᶜᴴᴬᴿᴳᴱᴰ ᵂᴵᵀᴴ ᴬᴸᴸ ᵀᴴᴱ ᶠᴱᴹᴵᴺᴵᴺᴵᵀʸ ᴵᴺ ᵀᴴᴱ ᵂᴼᴿᴸᴰ. ᴵᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒ ⁿᵉᵃʳ ʰᵉʳ ᵒʳ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ ʰᵉʳ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠⁱⁿᵍᵉʳ, ᵃ ˢᵖᵃʳᵏ ʷⁱˡˡ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉⁱᵗʰᵉʳ ᵏⁱˡˡ ʸᵒᵘ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵖᵒᵗ ᵒʳ ᵉˡᵉᶜᵗʳⁱᶠʸ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ ˡⁱᶠᵉ. ᴵᶠ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ˢᵒ ᵖᵃⁱⁿᶠᵘˡ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃ ᵐᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃᵇˢᵒʳᵇ ᵉˡᵉᶜᵗʳⁱᶜⁱᵗʸ, ʰᵒʷ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿᶠᵘˡ ⁱᵗ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵃ ʷᵒᵐᵃⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉˡᵉᶜᵗʳⁱᶜⁱᵗʸ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ⁱⁿˢᵖⁱʳᵉ ˡᵒᵛᵉ.

                  ⁰⁰¹            𝚜𝚊𝚑𝚒𝚗 - 𝚟𝚊𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜,          𝚟𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊.   

GENERAL .

FULL  NAME.     vedia nanne sahin - van ness     SOBRIQUET(S)  /  ALIAS(ES)  /  TITLE(S)     .     aside from the occasionally shortened vee, and some cousins who call her an affectionate nana, she's known to more than one individual in town as  princess.   AGE     .    twenty - five  ( 25 )  GENDER  +  PRONOUNS     .   cis  woman,  she  +  her     ORIENTATION     .   tbd     OCCUPATIONS     .   unemployed, aka heiress to the sahin - van ness fortune & lead actress at playhouse theatre.     TRAITS     .   captivating, sensitive, charming, fanciful, coquettish, selfish, vain, spoiled, curious, mercurial, escapist, jealous, warm, graceful, romantic, melancholy, creative.

PRESENCE .

HEIGHT     .   stands at 5'2"   HAIR     .     dark brown, long & meticulously upkept.  EYE COLOUR  . green, though up close one will notice a blue limbal ring at the border of the iris. also known as central heterochromia. example here.  BODY . very petite, slender.  DISTINGUISHING FEATURES . most noticeable is her large doe eyes. particularly small wrists and ankles.        VOICE CLAIM     .     tbd. 

HISTORY : TRIGGER WARNINGS : mention of mental health condition ( delusional disorder ), suicide/death, implied murder.

this is a story about many stories. you would be forgiven for thinking it an anthology, one which moves from one tale to the next with identifiable delineations in between, the usual deaths and births and corresponding blank pages to mark them, but this is not quite that sort of chronicle. the story i am about to tell you is one that overlaps, one that has been written from one pot of ink onto the same few scraps of paper. if you lift each page to the light, you will see the overlay of the dozens who have come before whispering in faded ink: ghosts in the margins. this story, as you must understand, is a palimpsest. i cannot tell you about her without speaking of everyone who came before.

it begins with someone very far away, an ancestor very distant and yet not so remote to be the very first man. he was a sahin, as she is a sahin, and he lived in the cove, as she lives in the cove. yet the one we know now sits on great wealth, and this man has been dirt and rock to lay upon. but as the tale-tellers would tell it, he is clever as a fox and just as willing to dig in the mud to find his meal. clever and foxlike enough, they say, not to care what bones he unearths in the process. smart and beastial enough to do what must be done to ascertain a future. what is known for certain is this: one day the sahin family line has no hope, the next it prospers. what can be said of the dates is that they are coincidental at best, damning at worst: this change occurs on the meridian line of the cove's great shipwreck. it is never proven, ne'er so much as confirmed by the breath of a dying man, but still there are whispers of men who stood out on the cliffs, hanging a great lantern from a tall distance, calling a ship to its fatal end so as to gut and skin it. profit born from death.

so that man from very far away, he grows very rich very suddenly, and from the seed of business he plants grows the sahin empire. their profit tangles inevitably with the sleepy town of kilmer cove, twisting until they stand as a pillar of the very community, but so too does tragedy braid itself into the family line like supporting beams. inexplicable deaths and strange misfortunes plague the sahin family generation by generation, and amongst the townsfolk comes the word curse. cursed they are, each and every one of them, for the acts of their ancestor.

in all the time that passes the world grows more modern, and perhaps less superstitious, but no less strange. there seems a time where curses and sea-doom has been outgrown or at least cast off, shed like the worn shingles of an aged house, but the curse in our blood always comes back. safiye sahin-van ness is a woman of untenable loveliness. though she passes before her granddaughter may meet her, it's said they bare an eerie resemblance to one another: a thing vedia may only gauge from old photographs and the haunted look upon her father's face. but safiye, beloved as she is, meets an early and tragic death like so many come before her. held by a mental health condition that would never fully relent no matter what treatment was provided, safiye would come to believe she was a kelpie being forcedly kept from her home in the sea — a idea no doubt acquired from the town's oft-discussed dark lore. in a fit of delusion, she sought to return to the saltwater: and in pitching herself from the cliffs, met a final end. in the sahin-van ness household, who blame the townsfolk's gossip for the ideation fixed in safiye's head, talk of the curse and all local legends are banished.

in vedia's birth, the world alters its very material. everything becomes silk and satin. paranoid for the safety of his child, the sahin-van ness patriarch keeps his daughter swaddled at all times, and ensures that which she comes into contact with shows only its soft underbelly. weaned on the milk and honey of the world, the girl grows to be as she is fed, soft and heavily sweetened. how could it be any other way, when she's been shown no salt, no fat? undoubtedly spoiled, indefensibly selfish, she is also a delight incarnate: a heady mix of charm and beauty, naïvete and genuine warmth, that can only be bred under the proper circumstances. perhaps it is this tincture of soul that sees her so beloved, or perhaps this love the town shows her is built from fear, the wariness that without protection, she will be dragged under by the same dark force that stole those innocents that came before. a preeminent darling. a doomed daughter.

the township releases its breath as she grows, drawing finally into the shape of a woman: this, surely, is a good sign. but fate likes to strike at the weak places, the liminal spots of the body, the space between exhale and the very next inhale. drawn to the glamour of the thespian, vedia debuts at the playhouse: a talented little ingenue, all agree. compelling and convincing in equal turns, masqueraded from one role to the next, too skilled for their little stage. yet it is not until her first tragic role that the audience goes still — her performance so real, so terribly raw, that they can feel the scratch of pain in their own throats. for one long minute the room stays silent, no sound to be heard but the clenching of jaws. the applause, then, is ravenous. a great beast rising up and over her heard. the girl in the spotlight blinks as if stunned, as if forgetting where she finds herself — who she finds herself situated within. then in a moment she is back, great doe eyes blinking coyly at that array of hands, the scent of honey filling the room once more. yet as this great talent persists across more shows, growing more consuming with each tragedian role — from shakespeare to chekhov, tennessee williams to arthur miller — so too do the rumours. no mortal thing, this talent of hers. too strange, too overlarge. this unnerving ability is a portent, an omen, a sign: the curse is back. and it possesses vedia's thick-beating heart.

SPARKNOTES .

vedia is the daughter of the sahin-van ness family, one of the wealthiest & oldest families in town. though well-respected, local rumour is that the family is cursed due to their ancestor's terrible act -- allegedly purposefully causing the infamous kilmer cove shipwreck which resulted in many deaths. the family has had many great tragedies over the years, including several early deaths; most notably among them vedia's grandmother (who she's said to very closely physically resemble), who had a delusive disorder which saw her believing she was a kelpie. in an episode she throws herself off the cliffs to "return" to the sea, resulting in her death. due to her father's belief in the family curse, vedia is coddled and closely protected as a child by himself and those around her. consequently she becomes a darling of the town, an unofficial princess. long thought to have been swaddled enough to avoid the family doom, lately there is talk that the curse has reached vedia, due to her performances at the playhouse — her tragedies on stage seem so real, so genuine and heartbreaking, that it can only be the mark of some kind of haunting.

HEADCANONS :

per this quote, vedia has something of a classic transatlantic accent, as does the rest of her family.

vedia sleepwalks something terrible, a challenge she's dealt with since childhood. generally this only occurs within the house, but there have been a handful of occasions she's been found in her nightgown in town.

while she is genetically only a sahin, the hyphenated surname van ness comes from a second/late in life marriage three generations ago. at the time it was a big deal, as the van ness family (and their fortune) predates even the sahin's, and the merging was the cause for great celebration. while the marriage never bore any children, the surnames have remained hyphenated, and children in the family are given a middle name from one of the van ness ancestors.

the sahin-van ness's have a storied history of getting their dogs from the same breeder one town over, and have also had teddy's mother, grandfather, and various other ancestors in the house.

she wears a locket baring a figure vedia has yet to identify, but is actually melpomene - the greek muse of tragedy. she borrowed stole this locket from a box in her father's room. it belonged to her grandmother - the one she supposedly bares a great image too. he does not know she has it, and she takes great pains to hide it from him. is vedia possessed by the spirit of melpomene .... has she made a deal w her .... whose to say !

she knows far more about the world and the "curse" than she lets on :) the charade is upkept for the benefit of others, most especially her father

as could be expected, vedia's family live in their ancestral home, by now a couple hundred years old. why yes it is on top of a hill, however did you guess? why yes there is decay below the opulence, wood rotted by seaspray, a view of the cliffs...

CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS :

catherine earnshaw, wuthering heights. scarlett o'hara, gone with the wind. daisy buchanan, the great gatsby. katrina van tassel, sleepy hollow. victoria everglot, corpse bride. bluebeard's bride, bluebeard. charlotte la bouff, the princess and the frog. the whispering muse by laura purcell. jamaica inn by daphne du maurier. every gothic heroine whose ever run from a dark estate at midnight in a flowing white gown.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

HAUNT ME THEN . 24-30 masc. the heathcliff to her cathy... a deep unbreakable bond established in childhood that no one else can ever fully understand or touch, and a thing that quietly grew to its own strange kind of love. they either haven't or no longer speak of these emotions, particularly because he is not of the same ilk as the sahin-van ness family. my god please give me this

I AM NO BIRD . tourist or out of towner. an individual who has come from outside of kilmer cove, and bonded with vedia. perhaps they're still dazzled, but they witness her without the mirage of fog that is applied by those steeped in the kilmer cove lore: and they can see clearly that the bog of this place and this mythology is not mystic, but it is dooming her all the same. she should leave and start anew elsewhere, and they don't understand why she won't do just that — so they intend to convince her of as much, or perhaps take her with them when they leave.

WE CAN NEVER GO BACK AGAIN . an longterm crush of vedia's that's likely unattainable, be it because of age or relationship status or some other quality. they have to her over the years evolved beyond a person and become more of an idea or ideal, and she's never been able to let this affection go. / ALTERNATIVELY, this can be done the opposite, with someone harbouring this sort of crush on her.

I WALK ENCHANTED . an individual who become particularly stunned by her performances at the playhouse, and has since been sure to attend every one. they have the desire to get to know her, but her status has kept them shyly afar. pls come give her a rose at the stage door she'll promptly fall in love (for at least a week)

MISCELLANEOUS . friends that go all the way back to childhood, please !!! a group of rich kids whose bond is tangled and weird and (call that the gothic non judgemental breakfast club). cameron/bianca 10 things i hate about you energy ("are you asking me out? that's so cute! what's your name again?" vs "have you always been this selfish?" "... yes."). mom- and dad-friends who look after her and her whimsies. someone whose found her sleepwalking in town (princess anne and joe, anyone?)

[kilmerhq]

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄. we hope your journey went smoothly. take some time to settle in, SOLOMON, OSCAR, VEDIA, and MARUKA. remember to send your account within the next 48hrs and follow this checklist, otherwise your role(s) will be reopened.

faceclaim(s) now taken: idris elba, benjamin bratt, rabia soyturk, amanda obdam.

occupation(s) now taken: fisherman + market fishmonger, forensic psychologist, playhouse actor, museum researcher (oceanography).

skeleton(s) now taken: muse 6, muse 12.

idris elba, fourty-nine, they + he ⟡ — is that SOLOMON BARRIE i just saw walking around kilmer’s cove? i heard they’re a RESIDENT who’s been here for THEIR WHOLE LIFE. it slipped my mind, since they just tend to hang out at THE CLIFFS. at face value, they’re said to be ACTION-ORIENTED and SELF-SUFFICIENT, but i don’t know… some people have said they can be quite SCEPTICAL and BRUSQUE. just don’t get on their bad side, i guess! don’t tell them i told you this, but i’ve heard they DO NOT believe in all the ghost stories around town. who knows what the future holds for them! / kau, 31, est, none.

benjamin bratt, fifty-three, he/him ⟡ — is that OSCAR RIVERA i just saw walking around kilmer’s cove? i heard they’re a RESIDENT who’s been here for FORTY-EIGHT YEARS. it slipped my mind, since they just tend to hang out at BOULDER BEACH. at face value, they’re said to be RESILIENT and HELPFUL, but i don’t know… some people have said they can be quite BLUNT and TEMPERAMENTAL. just don’t get on their bad side, i guess! don’t tell them i told you this, but i’ve heard they DO NOT believe in all the ghost stories around town. who knows what the future holds for them! / sky, she/her, gmt, no triggers.

rabia soyturk, 25, she/her ⟡ — is that VEDIA SAHIN-VAN NESS i just saw walking around kilmer’s cove? i heard they’re a RESIDENT who’s been here for HER WHOLE LIFE. it slipped my mind, since they just tend to hang out at THE TOWN. at face value, they’re said to be CAPTIVATING and PERSUASIVE, but i don’t know… some people have said they can be quite VAIN and SENSITIVE. just don’t get on their bad side, i guess! don’t tell them i told you this, but i’ve heard they DO NOT believe in all the ghost stories around town. who knows what the future holds for them! / tea, she/her, pst, no triggers.

amanda obdam, thirty - two, she & her ⟡ — is that MARUKA MELVILLE i just saw walking around kilmer’s cove? i heard they’re a RESIDENT who’s been here for THREE MONTHS (RECENTLY RETURNED). it slipped my mind, since they just tend to hang out at BOULDER BEACH. at face value, they’re said to be INTUITIVE and MAGNETIC, but i don’t know… some people have said they can be quite ENIGMATIC and FICKLE. just don’t get on their bad side, i guess! don’t tell them i told you this, but i’ve heard they DO believe in all the ghost stories around town. who knows what the future holds for them! / tea, she/her, pst, no triggers.

[scpsis]

on a few occasions had he observed his ex-girlfriend behave in this way before.

though the first instance had been brief, the memory still illustrated in the male's mind effortlessly. during a night much like this, when god himself seemed to shake with tears, wymon had found himself blessed by the plush warmth of vedia's bed. this was a rarity in and of itself, only feasible when the rest of the sahin-van ness family left town, and he basked in the experience accordingly. so when he awoke to find that his love had suddenly vacated his arms, an alarm sounded off. it took only a moment for him to locate her — he remembered how her slight figure seemed to hover off the ground through his sleep-laden eyes, as she blankly stared out one of the ornate oriel windows. how he guided her, wordlessly, back to her bedroom, folding her between the blankets and his own frame.

tonight, he had to retain her presence with much more tact.

" i'll take you home but you need to warm up first, " he pressed, tone soft but strict in his demand. oaken eyes grew wide as he noticed the muddy earth collected around her ankles, the sand and soil embedded in the bottom of her feet. " your family will worry if you come home like this. please, at least let me help you wash up, m— " a fond epithet nearly tacks itself onto the end of his sentence. my dear. he had to remind himself that she wasn't his anything. vedia could march right out of his home without another word if she chose to.

still, he remained hopeful that she wouldn't. " come. " unassuming fingers brushed briefly against hers before leading the brunette towards the parsonage's inelaborate bathroom. the room was small, consisting of only a toilet, an old, yellowing wall sink, and a standalone clawfoot tub that'd been a fixture in the original church. it'd since been updated with a detached showerhead, inconvenient as it still was. there wasn't even a mirror hung on the wall. haughty eyes lent to vanity, as his uncle would say.

kneeling down, wymon plugged the bathtub and began filling the basin with just enough water to cover the worn bottom. " please, vedia. "

if it is a sense of relief that takes wymon as they pass into the parsonage, then it's the impression of trespass which grasps vedia. a gust of warmth hit her first after entering, then the flurry of discomfort. wymon had known her home intimately enough to reach into its innards without thinking, knowledge glimpsed in stolen moments until he could have set the table for a dinner she'd inevitably burn. when he strides across the room and opens a cabinet door, she does not know whether he will retrieve a blanket or a teacup, a hot water bottle or the shotgun he used to take her out back and put her out of her misery. it's over, vedia. i'm sorry. i'm sorry, but i can't.

under the stone archway of the foyer she drips onto the floor, rainwater and foreignness staining the floors. mud tracked in from the town, a transgression all over the carpet. she pulls arms around herself for warmth; for protection against the voice that thumbs through his head and hers. you're nothing more than a hussy. a conduit of evil. you have no more place here than next to my nephew, jezebel.

vedia shifts her weight, one hip to the next. she's frightened and frozen, but when wymon untucks wet hair from under the makeshift shawl of the towel and ensures no drop of wetness touches her more than necessary, it's the consideration that hurts most. that she should been seen in this state has run like a paring knife down her skin, leaving vedia feeling open and exposed. that tender offer of kindness is like touching bone: too much to bare.

"no." bone-white fingers tremor but fists successfully at the towel, drawing it tighter. "y-you said home." it takes more of vedia than she has readily available to speak, and it shows in her speech. but the skinned statement still has its effect, accusatory and brittle: you tricked me. i did not know it meant your home. her gaze skitters along the ground, lifting only at the last moment, hoping against the fawn of her heart that she shows some strength. "i don't ne⸺" the word cracks here, cleaved down its tender middle by the terrible shudder of something harmful trying to possess her body. perhaps something other than herself is stopping her from finishing that sentence: i don't need you."i'm f⸺fine. just take me home."

[tidelure]

if anybody had asked vedia sahin-van ness what occurred in the dreams which drove her to movement, she might have told them that they were infinitely sweeter than the rest. that as a whole they were soft and coaxing, a velvet glove under her chin, propelling her forward by way of a redolence that bordered on tears. perhaps this is not unexpected: a moth moves towards the light, after all. it does not burn itself for a taste of darkness.

but as it is, nobody asked vedia about these dreams, so she could tell them none of this. it would be too far to say that no one cared about the dreams, because the truth is closer to the notion that they cared too much ⸺ each individual concerned with the idea of imbuing it with weight by way of their concern, as if speaking on it was like stuffing straw in a scarecrow: one day it would be full enough to get up and walk away. to question vedia on these episodes, they thought, would be to build them up into something that could no longer be ignored. if only they kept their eyes averted and their worry flat against the ground, the curse might not take notice and instead pass overhead, white and clean as a sheet.

rosalind wilde had known better. rosalind, of her own strange dreams and dark turns, pen perched perpetually on the edge of paper the way a raven sits atop omen. but it had been two long years since they had spoken. if had cleaved vedia at the centre and felled her little body like a young tree, you might have been able to identify those two years: rings of sentiment ⸺ so close to that other word, sediment ⸺ left like whitewash on her bones. a calcification of all the things left unsaid.

maybe that is why vedia wakes up in the moment that she does: her bones sing. they vibrate with the impact of a third rung stopping in its tracks, being erased with vigour.

things are not always quite so fanciful. but sometimes ⸺ rarely, occasionally, when the moon is full and the cicadas all remember the same song ⸺ they are.

vedia wakes, full of the sudden knowledge that something is calling for her. one foot hovers above an open hole, some gaping wound left in the earth. the sole returns to the dirt, saved by something. mist has poured over the town, the run-off from some god's pipe. for all that she can see she is alone, yet her gaze scans the dark yard.

"⸺ hello?"

dream starts pulling away from recollection, a strip of paper set to fire, curling away into darkness. still, this sense of something ⸺ of someone ⸺ vedia strides forward, the arching steps of a fawn. fingers curled in the edge of her nightgown, she pulls the hem upward, feeling the dew-wet tongue against midcalf. "hello?"

fear is too late to the party. the table is full, the seats all occupied, a guest-list of emotions sat with their hand folded politely at their waists. when she sees a mirage across the way, vedia is not fearful. she is frightened, perhaps. frightened, and tired and cold and confused and hungry, curious and unsettled, and in some way vague pained ⸺ but she is not fearful. she thinks at first it is herself that she witnesses, a refraction caused by some miracle of nature. across the dew-licked glass she starts, then runs, pauses. realizes she is both right and wrong.

"⸺ rosalind ? ⸺ ros, is that you ?"

location: sahin-van ness manor vedia & rosalind @tidelure

dreams  are  delicate  fabergé  eggs.  they  are  fine  artistry  orchestrated  and  plucked  from  the  subconscious,  untold  symbolism  presented  to  a  sleeping  mind.  just  as  easily  they  fall  to  disturbance.  rosalind  knows  she  is  in  a  dream  because  she  should  be  cold,  but  is  not.  sahin-van  ness  manor  looms  a  proverbial  black  hole  over  the  landscape.  its  man  made  terrors  built  with  brick  and  mortar  and  stone  same  as  any  other  home,  but  infused  with  a  blackness  of  spirit.  its  mad  face  she  has  not  been  witness  to  in  two  long  years  and  it  stands  waiting  for  her,  beckoning.  

you’re  like  alice  and  i’m  the  white  rabbit.  a  child’s  voice  echoes  from  eons  ago.  or  perhaps  she  has  been  alice  all  along.  carpet  pulled  from  beneath  her  feet,  upending  her  and  sending  her  tumbling  down  the  rabbit  hole.  this  is  true  in  a  sense,  because  she  is  so  lost  –  always  lost  –  and  hopelessly  abandoned,  adrift  in  life.  please,  someone  notice  me,  she  wants  to  cry.  don’t  leave  me  here  on  my  lonesome.  

the  howl  of  dogs  at  a  distance  and  she  is  the  rabbit  again,  racing  wildly  along  the  lawn.  a  heart  encaged  behind  ribs  flutters  to  be  sent  free,  released  before  the  gnashing  teeth  of  hounds  are  upon  it.  from  lawn  to  forest  she  flies  with  abandon.  branches  whip  against  her  tender  cheeks,  slicing  into  her  soft  skin,  but  she  barely  registers  the  pain.  gnarled  trees  are  replaced  with  the  open  grounds  of  the  sahin-van  ness  family  cemetery.  gravestones  poke  out  from  beneath  the  dirt  in  varying  shades  of  white  and  gray  like  finger  bones  stripped  of  their  skin.  how  fitting  then,  for  the  ghost  of  vedia  sahin-van  ness  herself  to  be  wandering  amongst  them,  just  as  pale  and  gangling;  princess  of  moss  and  decay  and  secrets.

the  world  is  a  mockery  of  me,  rosalind  thinks  bitterly.  the  mirror  of  a  girl  stands  poised  before  an  open  grave,  one  foot  dangled  over  the  precipice  of  the  other  world.  but  her  own  pace  doesn’t  slow  until  something  catches  at  her  ankle,  forcing  her  to  her  knees.  she  looks  back  just  in  time  to  see  the  tendril  of  kudzu  vine  looped  around  her  before  she  is  being  dragged  across  the  earth  against  her  will.  fingernails  scraping  into  the  dirt,  she  screams,  “vedia!  vedia!  help  me!  you  have  to  help  me!”