#handtame

Did they not deserve this?  A fleeting moment to exist deliciously, dangerously, after so much misery? 

It was an indulgence that could invite disaster.  Anri imagined them split open like pomegranates, jewelled viscera scattered and picked over by crabs the size of boulders.  There was something almost poetic in it – blood mingling with blood, bodies encased in the same silt, the same mud, their bones entwined for an eternity.  If only their kind were permitted to rest.  

Set back from the water’s edge, the campfire crackled in its makeshift stone cradle, muttering as it chewed on damp kindling.  In a place as sodden as this flooded stretch of woodland, even a small fire felt like a triumph.  

Anri perched on a smooth stone, helm and gauntlets set aside, her fingertips trailing idly across the water’s surface.  Minnows darted around her touch – a shoal of silver arrows, soaring above a bed of peat-mulch and feathery moss.  The world here felt alive, electric, far removed from the decay that cloaked so much of Lothric.   

Above the canopy, the sun sank lower, sending shafts of gold through the trees to catch in the water like liquid fire.  Anri’s gaze drifted to Miriam and found her standing in one such patch of sunlight, motionless, as though suspended in some divine tableau.  Eyes half-closed, her face tilted towards the radiance, she soaked in the meagre warmth.  Ethereal, the maiden looked ethereal – a doe-eyed vision of serenity, bare of armour.  It was a wonder she had survived this long alone, although Anri supposed the same could be said of her.

A pale shadow swamped by the heavy surge of his cloak, haunted eyes fixed on nothing, her voice ringing hollow. Farkas could see the girl in his mind’s eye, even with his back turned. The silver of his gaze was fixed on some unimportant patch of earth, in the hope she might be able to cling to a singular, fraying thread of dignity.

Although he kept his attention respectfully averted, his ears caught every gasp, every choked sob. Those brittle, fluttering cries settled thickly between them, as tangible as the days-old blood that festered and darkened. He knew too well that creeping horror which gnawed at the edges – the sort that no stiff-bristled scouring brush, no fervent prayer, could ever purge. The sickly scent of death and panic clung to her, under the layer of old fur, persistent as the curse they shared.

It was the painful shedding of innocence, the forced embrace of monstrous truth. She scrubbed herself raw against the cold water, as if she could claw away the horror stitched into her bones. The first shift was always a fever, violent and unforgiving in the young and inexperienced. Maybe it was a kindness to let her remain in that half-ignorance, to save her from the knowledge scratching at her door of her mind, the beast whining to be let in. Perhaps it was cruel to delay what was surely inevitable. Either way, Farkas did not have it in him to gut her with the truth. Not here, not now.

Her words floated to him, voice frayed but steadying. A fire for them, not for herself, despite her being the one to stand here, bones naked under the bruised sky. Shivering girl, bleeding to death on the inside.

“They’ll have warmth,” he assured her, his voice a low rumble against the unnatural quiet. Even the birdsong had died. “It will burn clean.”

As the girl wrapped herself once more in his cloak, Farkas stared at the bow-backed house, at the corpse of a former life. Now, she would shoulder the same burden of blood and moonlight as he.

In silence, he gathered what little kindling he could find around the home and brought it inside, careful to avoid the sticky, tar-like remnants on the floor. The air was thick with blood and loss, so heavy it clung to his skin even through the coarse fabric of his clothes, the thick plating of his armour. He felt the beast within him stirring, restless at the cloying scent. He pushed it back, forcing his hands to remain steady as he worked.

As he finished, he spotted a dresser, its wooden body split open like a conker shell. From the garments that spilled from its mortal wound, he seized a crumpled shift dress. Close to the door, he grabbed a pair of scuffed, mismatched boots from the chaos of the overturned shoe rack. Outside, these offerings were dropped at the girl’s feet with all the ceremony of a dog retrieving a black-eyed waterfowl.

Farkas moved immediately to his next task. Striking a flint he fed thatch to the sparks, his breath low as the first flame caught and curled upward, licking along the roof, feasting on the dry wood. Then he did the same again, and again, setting several points of ignition. Hungry, the fire swept over the straw, flaming stalks falling, the porch slowly catching.

@handtame sent: “Sorry for acting so strange and irregular; It will happen again.”

Meme: unhinged comedic relief starters

“…That might be the most relatable thing I’ve heard all week.”

Cold hands shoved under his shirt caused the nephil to gasp in surprise. Turning to face the laughing culprit, they grabbed Miriam and tossed her on the bed. A pillow went soaring at their head that they easily batted away. ❝ Now look at what you've done. The bed I just made is a mess, ❞ he chuckled before climbing on the bed. She was rewarded with a shower of kisses to her cheeks and neck for her misbehavior.

@handtame asked: ❝ do you think stuff really happens on halloween? like... supernatural stuff. ❞

halloween/fall starters ! 🎃

 𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐧’𝐬  𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬  𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭  𝐮𝐩  𝐚𝐭  𝐡𝐞𝐫  𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧;  she  adores  halloween,  and  anything  spooky.  she  always  has.  she’s  also  always  been  a  big  believer  in  the  paranormal.  ❝honestly,   i  think  supernatural  things  happen  all  the  time,   we’re  just  not  always  aware  of  it.❞  she  says,  shrugging  her  shoulders.  ❝it’s  a  cool  thought  that  halloween  would  cause  more  to  happen  though,  right?  i  know  i’ve  personally  experienced  some  freaky  shit  happen  on  the  holiday.❞