TORN / ASUNDER

  @ascission​​ sent a letter:   ❛ Now I want to live like everybody else. I want to have a life like everybody else.  /  phantom of the opera ♚ sentence meme   /  STARTERS.  still accepting.

“  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍  𝐃𝐎  𝐒𝐎.  ”   nightwalker swerved to study her, ice gaze lingering on timid nora’s face in the hallway mirror. it was pleasant. round and open like the face of an old clock.  his own remained still and utterly void of any reaction, even with regard to her sudden, splendid candor.  but here stood a pair so remarkably different…  his own physiognomy boasted a thin, curved nose that was quite short, and a cruel looking red mouth that was equally suited for spitting cruelty as it was giving soft kisses.  in short, while handsome, it had never been a good face.  

not that he could see it.  silver backing, deathly curse… if one could even call it that.  another furtive glance toward the mirror, this one more disinterested.           “  long have i studied death, and i have found…  no rhyme nor reason in the fear of fading away. yet, it persists, diligently so, when there are far worse things...  ”   the count moved to take the nearest window seat, browsing the spines on a stack of books that had yet to be put away.  none were titles he knew.   “  but why, then, do you stay?  ”

when nora smiles it is a wan and sickly looking thing, like a flower starved of light and slowly dying from the dim. SOMETHING MEANT TO BE LIVELY BUT ROBBED OF IT. eyes are locked on the mirror rather than the man before her ; there is something menacing crackling beneath the reflective surface, and it is not the fact there is only one reflection. something shifts where other shape should be, something sharp and staticky, and nora swallows against the dry feeling in her throat and wills the little hairs on her arms to lay flat once more.

tagged by :  @shinedied​ 

tagging  : YOU

her  eyes  wander  ,  and  she  lets  them.  there’s  no  detail  of  greene  home  that  goes  unnoticed  ,  and  it  all  feels  .  .  .  off.  she  feels  off.  the  clock  ticks  again  ,  and  she’s  unsure  if  there’s  such  an  object  in  the  living  room  ,  or  if  the  sound  plays  like  a  recording  inside  her  head.  it  does  not  make  a  difference.  

nora’s  voice  sounds  almost  relaxing  ,  as  if  lulling  her  to  go  with  the  flow  of  the  house.  xiomara  doesn’t  want  to  ,  though.  she’s  had  her  fill  of  getting  lost  in  places.  “    then  where  do  you  go?    ”    it  feels  weird  being  the  one  asking  questions  ,  she  has  not  felt  like  a  detective  in  years  ,  she  doesn’t  feel  like  one  now  ,  either  ,  but  it’s  .  .  .freeing?  the  spotlight  isn’t  on  her  anymore  ,  the  camera  lens  and  recorder  aren’t  directed  at  her  this  time  ,  and  this  is  not  an  interrogation  room.  it’s  just  a  regular  room  ,  in  a  regular  house  ,  and  these  two  are  just  regular  women .  .  .  no  ,  that  last  one  isn’t  true.  a  hunch  tells  her  nora  is  also  aware  of  it.    “    when  you  go  ,  i  mean.    ”    go  ,  disappear  ,  vanish  ,  cease  to  be.  it’s  all  the  same  ,  she  thinks.  even  if  you  do  come  back  ,  like  it  happened  with  her  ,  you  don’t  really  come  back  whole.

there is not a clock in the family room, where nora has taken to bringing her few guests. it is perhaps the singularly most COMFORTABLE option and even it is tenuous - the shutters closed over the windows outside and the curtains drawn within. too many coats in too many sizes for nora alone ; a family of memories in the memorials made of knitted blankets slung over the back of the sofa and the abundance of seating for one woman alone. it is a room meant to hold a FAMILY, after all, and nora cannot find hers, even in the cracks in the world.

     𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎,  𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚘  𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎  ;  𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎  𝚝𝚘  𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎.  he  didn’t  quantify  what  real  shine  was  –  had  met  enough  people  with  varying  degrees  that  he  just  …  ASSUMED  if  they  glimmered,  it  was  shine,  full  stop.  over  the  handful  of  meetings  however  there  is  a  different  sense  entirely  he  gets  from  the  woman,  as  if  she’s  behind  a  screen;  a  gaussian  blur  overtaking  her  FACE  at  times.  sometimes  all  he  sees  are  eights  hovering,  spinning  in  multitudes  as  if  it’s  a  skeleton  key  to  unlock  it  all.  

at  once,  he  knows  her  words  are  a  lie,  the  emptiness  in  them  ringing  out.  and  there’s  an  unnerving  sense  about  it,  her  house  –  a  place  he’s  never  been  but  can  already  FEEL;  like  it’s  been  working  its  way  inside  his  DREAMS.  he  wakes  with  no  memory,  only  that  feeling,  (  𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴  𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴  𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳  𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮,  𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴  𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘴,  𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴  𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘴.  )  a  feeling  that  he’s  felt  before.  never  again.  to  be  in  a  place  that  cedes  reality  is  something  he  never  wants  to  be  one  thousand  miles  within,  never  mind  one  footstep  away  from  the  threshold.  “ interesting,  that’s  a  …  good  word  for  it. ”  but   she  needs  help,  his  burden  to  know  to  relate  almost  like  a  curse.  dragging  him  from  places  that  house  empty  devils  regardless  of  how  much  he  might  want  to  run,  to  hide,  to  refuse.  “ a  part  of  me  feels  as  if  i’ve  already  been  there  in  a  way.  which  is  strange,  i  know.  but  it’s  not  the  first  time  it’s  happened  to  me. ”

it’s STRANGE, being seen. nora is used to eyes skipping over her like a scratch in a cd - a blip where sound ought to be. she thinks it might be uncomfortable to look at a vanishing thing for too long. people don’t like to watch something ENDING SLOWLY. the slightly sticky table beneath her palms is solid enough that nora doesn’t feel like she’s being slowly pulled from the earth as she sits here and it’s nice. being looked at for this long is nice. nora smiles her thin smile at dan and doesn’t bother looking at the plasticky menu before her.

“it’s not that strange.” nora’s barometer for STRANGE was never set properly. perhaps she isn’t the best judge. “it’s just a house.” she shrugs and leans forward just a bit, the motion sending a snarl of dark hair across her shoulder. “mostly.” there is the basement, which she has never liked, with its steep stairs and the sound of distant chatter in the corners of the damp air, and the study with it’s...everything. even nora knows the STUDY is strange ; the basement, though, might just be how basements are. “i feel like that sometimes. like i’ve been someplace before. or more like - i’ve SEEN it before. parts of it.” versions of it might be a better way to word it ; like she’s been in a room before only the sofa was a different shade of blue, or the windows were in slightly different places, or the fireplace had white stone instead of red brick. just little things.

𝙸𝙽𝚃.    𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙴𝙽𝙴    𝙷𝙾𝙼𝙴    —    𝙳𝙰𝚈    —    @ascission​

she    couldn’t    focus    ;    thoughts    as    sparse    as    the    morning    mist    ,    every    time    the    clock    ticked    ,    her    thoughts    would    simply    .    .    .    vanish.    hours    ,    minutes    ,    days    ,    years    —    time    itself    didn’t    feel    real.    though    ,    she    couldn’t    remember    the    last    time    she    had    been    absolutely    sure    of    own    sense    of    reality.    with    eyes    set    on    another’s    features    ,    xiomara    clung    to    facts    :    the    girl    didn’t    seem    older    than    when    she    first    opened    the    door.    it    hasn’t    passed    that    much    time    ,    she    figured.    a    smile    is    then    offered    .    .    .    or    a    gesture    that    should    resemble    one.        “        were    you    born    here?        ”        she    asks    ,    at    risk    of    sounding    out    of    context    ,    she    needs    the    story    to    start    from    the    beginning    (    granted    there    is    a    beginning    and    an    end    ,    and    it’s    not    all    an    amalgamation    of    events    happening    at    once    —    sometimes    it    does    feel    that    way    ).

it would be lovely to say she could understand such a thing ; nora LIKES understanding the things and people around her, even in the vague way she understands how this world is thin in places and peels at the edges. the fact of the matter is that nora has lived an extremely linear life. greenes are extremely linear people. they are born and they live in disparate increments of eight. they do not move from the place they were born. they live quite lives and they keep the mirrors covered and they go about their lives and smile vaguely and ignore certain things.

“Then she’ll have to be persuasive. I’m a stubborn man,” he mutters, listless as he turns his page. The creaky little book store drawls with its chugging ceiling fans, dusty with years or the buzzing crawl of decades, but it’s not so much the novels in these shelves that humor him–but her, more so, in that strange, peculiar air… And yet, ever encouraging thoughts. He cants his head, leant against ‘gardening’. “Do you think she’s listening today?” Well. “You speak oddly. Like 'kind’ always fills your mouth.”