Post by Caelie Ariane on Aug 2, 2017 1:39:29 GMT -5
❛come out, come out. I promise I won't bite. Life doesn't discriminate Between the sinners and the saints It takes and it takes and it takes And we keep living anyway We rise and we fall and we break And we make our mistakes And if there's a reason I'm still alive |
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Caelie wanted to cover all ground on the second floor. Keyword: wanted. It wasn’t like she could barge into everyone else’s room to see what’s up, right? But what she could do was investigate the second floor’s main area, and so there she was.
Murder had an odd way of bringing a mansion to life. What once were simply excessive, luxurious furnishings now bore a caveat of doubt. A coat, a cloak of distrust. Every unturned pebble potentially held vital evidence – of course, we weren’t talking about literal pebbles, but simply the gist of that message – and because of that, the lens in which Caelie looked through at the halls around her now filtered things in a different sort of light. Was it exciting? Certainly. Would she rather live without it? …Probably. As thrilling as living out a real murder mystery may be, all candles of excitement eventually flicker, eventually burn out. This candle particularly carried a real chance of death with a capital D.
To be melodramatic, Caelie would liken this here manor as a party for all things evil. Nightmarish ideas – death, murder, torture - embodied as invisible demons stalking these halls, whispering into the back of each teenager’s mind with a tone as soft, as intimate as a baby’s flesh, but courser than crushed diamonds and colder than space’s blackest void. Birthing worms squirming under skin. Puppeteer's string slowly inching its way towards each contestant, troubling serpent-like suggestions with hooks at the end thirsting for deep, pierced skin. And no matter how fast or how far they ran, it was only time before its tireless pursuit bore cackling fruits. Futilely reminiscent to attempts at cheating mortality.
But nowadays, who in the world had time for dramatics? Certainly not these kids, what with their generously allocated time of a single, desolate, lonesome hour.
[attr="class","box3"]Murder had an odd way of bringing a mansion to life. What once were simply excessive, luxurious furnishings now bore a caveat of doubt. A coat, a cloak of distrust. Every unturned pebble potentially held vital evidence – of course, we weren’t talking about literal pebbles, but simply the gist of that message – and because of that, the lens in which Caelie looked through at the halls around her now filtered things in a different sort of light. Was it exciting? Certainly. Would she rather live without it? …Probably. As thrilling as living out a real murder mystery may be, all candles of excitement eventually flicker, eventually burn out. This candle particularly carried a real chance of death with a capital D.
To be melodramatic, Caelie would liken this here manor as a party for all things evil. Nightmarish ideas – death, murder, torture - embodied as invisible demons stalking these halls, whispering into the back of each teenager’s mind with a tone as soft, as intimate as a baby’s flesh, but courser than crushed diamonds and colder than space’s blackest void. Birthing worms squirming under skin. Puppeteer's string slowly inching its way towards each contestant, troubling serpent-like suggestions with hooks at the end thirsting for deep, pierced skin. And no matter how fast or how far they ran, it was only time before its tireless pursuit bore cackling fruits. Futilely reminiscent to attempts at cheating mortality.
But nowadays, who in the world had time for dramatics? Certainly not these kids, what with their generously allocated time of a single, desolate, lonesome hour.
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