#goddless

PRIVACY: UNWARDED, public space

TAGGING: @goddless​

prosperina  thanked  the  vendor  and  offered  a  smile,  taking  the  pastry  in  her  hand.  she  turned  to  leave  the  stall  and  was  rather  dejected  to  see  the  too  familiar  form  of  euphemia  gibbon  only  a  few  feet  away.  typically,  prosperina  would  rather  walk  into  a  fire  than  willingly  enter  a  conversation  with  the  other  witch,  which  is  why  she  was  surprised  to  find  herself  falling  in step  beside  euphemia,  lips  slightly  pursed  -  as  if  she  was  disappointed  in  herself  for  this development.  “are  you  quite  enjoying  yourself?”  she asked,  and the  pursed  lips  quickly  shifted  into  slight  smirk  as  she  finally  caught  up  with  her own  instinct.  “big  day  for  you  -  i  imagine.  i  saw  you  at  the  potter’s.  did  you  visit  the  grieving  son  -  or  is grieving  wife  more  your  style?”

the estate, which had been sprawling and elegant before, felt too tight. she was too contained in it. this dress was far too constricting, she couldn’t breathe. none of this felt right, none of this was right. artemis had yet to see cecil norris and if the rumors were to be believed, she was walking around in a dead man’s house.   where was his wife?   she manages to keep herself in one piece as she crosses through the main hall, draws her focus to only the sound of her heels on the hard floor and the chatter of her peers pouring in from various rooms in the mansion. it was too close to the whispers that trailed behind her nowadays. all of it was too much to process, the panic, the fear bubbling in her chest causing her lip to tremor. 

with vision blurred by unshed tears, she steps into the first room she sees, her hand settling on the cool handle before trapping herself within though the door is not locked. she cannot have that suspicion following her too — she just needs to be able to breathe. she strides past the large desk, past the mess that sits atop it, and comes to the bay window. she presses the old lock up and swings the window out, allowing air to breeze through the already disturbed room. it’s then, as the cold air burns her already sensitive eyes, that the tears begin to fall in earnest.   mama, please.   a useless internal begging for someone to hold her, to tell her that she would survive. she was a wolf, a legacy, she had too.

Follow the dangerous and deceptive leader of the Burial Society!

Me: Atheists believe there are no gods.