"Can you see the dead? The restless spirits?" she asked, her brown eyes wide, as if the answer might bring relief for something Marรญa had carried with her since the Embraceโand perhaps even before, though she remembered nothing of her mortal life prior to that moment.
@DeaconBryson "Where else should I be, Mr Bryson? I am exactly where I am destined. The better question is, what do you hope to find in this garden of ghosts?"
@TheFrench_Fiend The veiled figure turns, her visage haunting, sorrowful melancholy etched deep into her eyes and the skin beneath, stained from all the blood tears she she's over her existence.
When her eyes meet his through the thin wisp of black material it as though the world holds its -
Her sanctuary promises no succor, as tonight an intruder dwells within. She senses a presence lying in wait, watching as she walks within the mausoleum.
"Step out of the shadows. Make yourself known to me..."
@DeaconBryson "Yes. I see it in your aura. Secrets laid bare, your shame, your anger and your pain. What sorrowful suffering. It tastes cruelly bittersweet...."
Her hand drifts over the rough hewn stone of a nearby grave marker, bearing a dedication to a loving husband and father.
"Their pain is mine. A shared burden we bear...my shoulders can weather it. I am the lighthouse to guide them from the torrid waters that may otherwise drown -
//I haven't abandoned this account
Just not doing good, insomnia is kicking my ass and nothing kills my muse faster than being sleep deprived for several days
@DeaconBryson "Deacon the bloody...Deacon the mad...he was betrayed...that's why Deacon turned bad." she whispers as they find a lone bench in the cemetery, her eyes glazed over.