#exposiition

“Sir, may I help you with your things?”

      her fingers worry a frayed edge of the sleeve of her cardigan, restless. listless. who knew surviving a fire would lead to such terrible conversations? one she doesn’t want to have, but it seems all the more pressing now that matters are beginning to turn for the worst around them. the world is going to hell, her children are caught up in a war they never should have been caught up in. and she can no longer keep all her secrets. 

      “i have something i need to give you.”

send ⛓️ to find my muse bloody, bruised and restrained

     beatrice is very careful in her line of work, but even she can only outrun villains for so long. it’s painful to know she’s gotten caught - she can’t decide if the emotional damage to her pride or the physical damage to her body is worse at this point. the woman with hair but no beard and the man with a beard but no hair have been unkind in their treatment of the baudelaire matriarch now that they have their hands on her. chained up like a common criminal in a cell barely large enough to hold her. her wrists are bound with lengths of chain she can’t quite unravel and quite honestly, she’s seen better days. many, in fact.

   shifting with a wince, she tries to find an escape. it’s what she’s been doing since she’d been dumped here and left to rot. there must be some escape - but for hours or days or however long it has been have yielded her nothing. no ideas with which to master a grand escape. her body is aching and she does what she can to keep wounds from opening up again. there’s dried blood along her face, beneath her nails – stars does it hurt. 

    it’s the noise that catches her attention, however. she leans forward against the bars to strain to hear. one set of footsteps. have they returned to finish her off? she thinks perhaps it might be preferable. but no - the stride isn’t right. and there’s only one. she holds her breath, waiting, staring, watching —

  —-she nearly collapses in tears of relief. 

@exposiition

“Life terrifies everyone”, Olaf scowls. He used to know exactly what to expect from life, he used to know the way he wanted it to be, hoping it would stay like that forever. But forever is an unrealistic expectation, for it, like a chance of winning a lottery, rarely occurs. Coming to believe that the world is unjust and cruel is the easiest way to follow – the way he’s chosen since that fateful night. 

soft angst starters.

      she ignores him, and she keeps her hands firmly in his. one of them, at least. the other moves to lift the delicate golden mask from her face.

   “lemony - it’s me, i swear it.” she’s knelt in front of him, the red and orange and gold of her dress a pool of figurative fire around her. another party. another bold attempt at finding him. and it’s paid off - if only he truly will see her. a phoenix, quite literally, rising from the ashes in front of him. her eyes burn and she tightens her hand in his. 

MITSKI’S “BURY ME AT MAKEOUT CREEK” STARTERS ( ACCEPTING )