#greykindle

        She wants to understand this holiday, honestly she does. But she can barely hold onto cheer as is. A descendant to a long line of Santaria, mystic runs through her veins, some of the darkest bits of ‘magic’ belong to her. And, she’s spent a great deal running from it. Even if she had succumb to the virus of the Hotel and hardly utilized her talents for whatever people consider ‘good’.  She’s always been consumed more with bloodlust than that of actual joy. So as they begin decorating this tree, she cannot help but take a step back, scowling in contemplation. 

          “Isn’t this a -- Pagan thing?” she dryly criticises. 

❝   IT SEEMS WE’VE STOOD   &   talked like this before. we looked at each other in the same way then   ,   but I can't remember where or when.   ❞   /   where or when by frank sinatra

“i    don’t    want            to    be    here.”  

it    wasn’t    often              that    morticia    graced    the    robichaux’s    academy.                having    ultimately    chosen    a    different    path    for    her    craft    than   this    institution    would    allow...               though    she    was    happy    to    indulge    cordelia    in    her    request.               “well    hello    there.”             pale    fingers    extend   outward.                 “you    must    be    mallory.”

        PET SEMATARY PROMPTS | @greykindle