LAID TO REST ;;

so, i’ve been on hiatus for a while. recently, i’ve been missing writing, so i’m going to try to move to low activity ! i’ve downsized things a lot, and i’m going to do things very slowly.

i have redone my muse list, and it’s a lot smaller now ( muse list is now located in my new pinned post, as are my updated rules ( no big changes, just rewriting ) ) . my blogs ( aside from this one ) that are also going to be active are listed in my new pinned.  ( you’re welcome to follow whichever you want to ! i don’t mind crossovers ! i just want to have fun ! )

i’m going to be starting fresh with threads, too, for the most part ( the exceptions being some threads that i’m probably going to post replies to soon ) . unprompted things are welcome, and i’ll reblog some p.rompts soon. 

my activity is going to be very slow, and my replies may not be as long as they have been before — but i’d like to do at least a little writing ! i’m going to just have fun, and try to not stress myself out with anything.

“ I may be capable of it, but that does not mean that they will want to talk to me. One cannot force a spirit to talk to them — unless one wants a rather angered spirit, which is never a good thing. ”

Something he’d learned the hard way.

Seventeenth - century… and this man’s brother ? How interesting.

… and the sort of description that caused Gracey the suspicion that this man didn’t have particularly free - from - harm intentions with the ghost he sought. Well, so long as he kept it out of the Manor.

"Oh...?"

The Emperor feigned surprise, and interest, leaning down with arched brows. He would not go as far as to outright insult this man— to start an argument with the one person who could get him what he wanted here would be an imbecilic way to go about it— but they both seemed to be challenging one-another under unspoken terms.

Respectable, almost, was this passive-aggression. Too bad Gracey was attempting to come in between the Emperor and his end goal.

"No need to worry," Belos said nonchalantly, trying to get a read on Gracey's face. "I expect him to be angered either way. But I can wait, if you would be ever so kind as to look into it for me. I'm afraid I have all the time in the world."

Gracey’s hands folded behind his back, meeting the taller’s eyes. This is my Manor.

It wasn’t much matter. Many the living visitor had been chased out and haunted, before… though this one seemed to have been haunted before, given how seemingly long he’d been waiting to find the spirit he was asking about.

Caleb ? Gracey paused. A quiet hum; as he’d said, there were a great many haunts in residence, and a number more who had passed through & nearby. To recall one face, and one he did not know personally, at that…

“ So you are looking for someone in particular, then ? ” Gracey inquired— never in more than slow, neutral tones. Did the man ever emote ? “ Friend, loved one ? Foe, perhaps ? Terribly sorry to inform you that there isn’t much you can do, given that he’s already dead. ”

"That's a shame," Belos lamented, stepping back from the fiery-eyed statue. Silly to think it was giving him the chills. "Caleb was a best friend and brother of mine... who turned foe, I suppose." He rolled his hand over the air casually, in the same spirit as giving a shrug. "You know how it is."

He lowered a brow at Gracey. Did he? Probably not.

"There might not be much I can do," continued the Emperor, advancing toward him. "But you? I have a feeling there is something about you you're not letting on. You can talk to them."

He put forth a crooked-toothed smile, and stood still.

“ I may be capable of it, but that does not mean that they will want to talk to me. One cannot force a spirit to talk to them — unless one wants a rather angered spirit, which is never a good thing. ”

Something he’d learned the hard way.

Seventeenth - century… and this man’s brother ? How interesting.

… and the sort of description that caused Gracey the suspicion that this man didn’t have particularly free - from - harm intentions with the ghost he sought. Well, so long as he kept it out of the Manor.

"I could say the same thing about yourself," said the old man airily, hazy eyes set upon the younger fellow who, too, seemed... slightly off, just like the rest of his house.

Emperor Belos supposed it made sense— like homeowner, like home! Any mansion that was rumored to be haunted had better have a resident who was a little unnatural himself.

"Have you heard of or seen a spirit named Caleb?" Belos asked, stopping to inspect a funny-looking stone bust, hands held behind his back. He could've sworn the thing was looking at him earlier.

Must have been a trick of the eye.

Caleb ? Gracey paused. A quiet hum; as he’d said, there were a great many haunts in residence, and a number more who had passed through & nearby. To recall one face, and one he did not know personally, at that…

“ So you are looking for someone in particular, then ? ” Gracey inquired— never in more than slow, neutral tones. Did the man ever emote ? “ Friend, loved one ? Foe, perhaps ? Terribly sorry to inform you that there isn’t much you can do, given that he’s already dead. ”

He’d been entranced by the sight — too lost in the nightmarish state of the manor, in the thralls of his grief, to question for a moment that the distant vision may not have been Elizabeth. Of course it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. The fright of the sudden breaking of the façade sent him stumbling back, lantern lowered and barely saved from crashing to the ground. The attic bride. “ Constance — ” He’d tried to avoid her ( as he did with many of the haunts ) but his own dreamlike ignorance had defied that. Stumbled steps back and away, back towards where he knew the hatch had to be — somewhere !

"The one and only."

Giggling wildly as she watched him fumble for the latch, she swung her axe at him and ended up hitting the rotting floorboards. She hadn't intended to strike anything but fear into the man's heart, of course, but she didn't particularly care if her beloved blade found its way towards it instead.

And it was his heart which had let him be tricked.

There was a reason he stayed far from the attic !

Gaze drifted away from the plot, back to Elizabeth ; then to her hand, where the beckoned him to sit. It took no consideration for him to join her. Without thought, he always knew he wanted to be with her. Even in small moments, such as the one before them. “ All Hallow’s Eve … ? ” Edward repeated in a mutter, looking back out over the plot. Rows of tombstones. The Gracey family and their relatives. Edward, in honesty, found it a bit morbid. A breath of a laugh. “ I doubt you’d really want to invite so many of my relatives, Elizabeth. ”

Reaching for her hand, he intertwined their fingers gently, bringing her hand to his lips so he may press a light kiss to the back of is. “ I would be married on whatever day you desire, though, my love. ”

Elizabeth gently began to entwine her fingers with Edward's as she felt their hearts were entwined, sharing vital lifelines. A quote from one of her favorite novels came to mind, whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. Their love was perhaps not as marred by raging storm clouds and chaos as Heathcliff and Catherine's, but was all the same a force to be reckoned with.

A sly, but sweet smile played upon the young woman's lips as her beloved kissed her hand. "Oh, but I would -- particularly, what was her name, Prudence Pock?" Hard to believe she died of writer's block; that book of hers she'd stumbled upon in the library almost put Elizabeth's own tenderly-woven words to shame.

A small laugh passed Gracey’s lips at the recollection of Miss Pock. “ Ah, right… I recall your curiosity in her works. You were able to find her works in the library, then ? ” A small chuckle. “ I’d simply be thankful if it wasn’t Miss Harriet — I’d rather not sit through one of her operatic performances. I’ve heard too much of her voice breaking glass… and not because it was particularly well - tuned. ”

There, in the garden, with Elizabeth… Edward felt more himself than he had in quite some time. No burdens, no impending to - do… simply enjoying the moment with his dear fiancée.

Constance loved this game best, a sort of hide-and-seek where it was the groom that would find himself locked in her hope chest. Had she the chance to court this one in life, she wouldn't have married him for fifty-thousand dollars (though five-hundred thousand would have been tempting)-- too young, too mopey, and dead-set on devoting his eternal life to some equally insipid little lost Lenore.

One she was masquerading as from the back as he stepped into her attic (hers now, nobody else's) like a fly to a spiderweb, her long veil shrouding her true monstrous features. As he drew closer, she slowly turned her head all the way around.

The attic bride. “ Constance — ” He’d tried to avoid her ( as he did with many of the haunts ) but his own dreamlike ignorance had defied that.

@liluminarium sent: “What’s going on here? Where am I? Who are you?“ // from @his-request ! ( hello ! )

                                                                      meme. / accepting.

              ❝ Ah... You were expecting to find your wife, weren't you? ❞ That was the game he had been playing the whole time. All to convince poor Gracey to be his next willing soul and bring him closer to freedom. A task that had been so e a s y to do. A grieving man longing to reconnect with his lost wife was just the perfect target.

Elizabeth sat on the cemetery bench, hands folded in her lap like a perfect lady and a serene smile on her face. She always prefered this weather to the sweltering heat of summers in New Orleans. There was a kind of magic in the air that came with the changing of the leaves, the dove-grey clouds and mist rolling across the tombstones.

Her smile deepened as her fiancée approached her, so beautiful in his morosity and all hers, and placed a beckoning, but gentle hand on the seat next to her.

“ All Hallow’s Eve … ? ” Edward repeated in a mutter, looking back out over the plot. Rows of tombstones. The Gracey family and their relatives. Edward, in honesty, found it a bit morbid.

A breath of a laugh. “ I doubt you’d really want to invite so many of my relatives, Elizabeth. ”