#godslained

She's smoking, NATURALLY, a Marlboro tight between glossed lips as manicured fingers beat words out of her obstinate typewriter. She’s alone in her hotel room, but just as poised as ever (she only allows herself to cry in the shower and she doesn’t take baths anymore --they remind her too much of the hydrotherapy room), ankles crossed under her desk. She isn’t sure what she’ll call the memoir yet, or even how it’ll sell, but she has to do something. She has to tell the world about Bloody Face (ABOUT WENDY) and about what she’d survived. Embers of that familiar ambition burn bright in her chest. MANIAC.

                  there are times he can’t help but think of rotting body, planted six feet under, in a graveyard hundreds of smiles away. barbara’s right along beside it. a thought that makes skin crawl and throat dry, something that bothers him just as much as the hotel’s darkness.   “ we’re dead. dark, and depressing is part of the job description isn’t it ? ”   glass is raised to his lips, a sip taken. adam winces at the taste, the burn he feels all the way down his throat, to nonexistent stomach.

                    the energy of the cortez is dark, it pulls at her, almost burns against her magic, hand shifts into coat pocket, delicate fingers grazing charms for protection. mismatched eyes flicker over hotel walls before they fall closed, she takes a breath and tries to focus on queenie. cordelia may appear as a beacon in the dark..   “ do you spend a lot of time observing others without offering them the same courtesy ? ” 

    𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐒    𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒    '𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓    𝐇𝐄𝐑    𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃,     brushing     stray       tassels       of       fiery       locks       from       her       line       of       sight.       finally,       after       hours       of       cooking,       cleaning       ﹠﹠.       decorating,       she       was       finished.       footsteps       echo       down       the       hallway       as       she       walks,       a       slight    𝓼𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰    𝓲𝓷    𝓱𝓮𝓻    𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹.

       digits       curl       into       a       fist,       hitting     ‘gainst       mahogany       wood       gently       to       signal       her       arrival       before       pushing       the       door       open       and       stepping       through       the       threshold.     “     𝐌𝐑.    𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇       ...       ?     “       her       voice       is       soft,       almost     tremulous.       “         the         preperations        for       tonight’s         shindig         have         been         compleated,         sir.       “