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he stepped into the abandoned warehouse, searching for his prey. he walked a few more paces, his eyes scanning the area until ... he felt it ; sudden and sharp resistance, a barrier he hadn't noticed. his eyes dropped to the floor, and a slow, cold realization spread through him. devil's trap. / @silvrdeath
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@silvrdeath · / &· 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 · *
NATALIE A. MARTIN BELOVED MOTHER, FIERCE PROTECTOR
The words were CLEAN, SHARP, and far too STILL — like they had been carved into stone before her mother had even died. Lydia stared at them through lashes damp with wind, or memory, or something heavier she didn’t know how to name. IT NEVER GOT EASIER. The earth had settled, the grass grown back, but every time she stood here it felt like it had only just happened. That HORRIBLE WEEK in the hospital. The WHITE NOISE of machines. The SUDDEN STILLNESS of a woman who had once moved through life like she was holding it together with SHEER WILL-POWER ALONE. She had buried her without ceremony, without a eulogy, without the POLITE PARADE of mourners Beacon Hills specialized in. Lydia left the town before the dirt had even dried — no calls, no posts, no goodbyes. Just packed her things, turned off her phone, and DISAPPEARED like she’d never belonged there at all. A week later, her voicemail was full of voices PRETENDING TO CARE. DEMANDING ANSWERS. Wondering how she could vanish like that. But NONE OF THEM HAD KNOWN NATALIE LIKE SHE HAD. None of them had held her hand in that last hour or felt the exact moment the SILENCE BECAME PERMANENT.
She stood in the silence like it might give her something — relief, a sign, anything. The air didn’t move. Her fingertips hovered against the headstone, as if staying connected to the name would ANCHOR HER IN THE PRESENT. But then she felt it. That STRANGE SHIFT in atmosphere. A pull behind her ribs like a string had been tugged. Lydia turned her head slowly, expecting nothing, maybe a groundskeeper, maybe a deer, but there was SOMEONE ELSE. Just past the edge of the cleared path, down by the graves that TIME HAD ALMOST ERASED, stood a figure. STILL. ALONE. FAMILIAR. Familiar in a way that struck her too deep and too fast. Her breath faltered. The jacket was too much like one Allison used to wear. The stance — UPRIGHT BUT THOUGHTFUL, like she was trying to solve something impossible was so familiar it made Lydia feel sick. She squinted, pulse kicking up. THAT WASN’T—
She stepped forward before she could stop herself. Just a few feet. Then a few more. The grass WET beneath her shoes. Her mouth was dry, her stomach twisted. Logic screamed a dozen explanations, all of them useless. The girl turned. And Lydia’s heart DROPPED LIKE A STONE. The world around her WARPED, just slightly, like a sound too low to hear had pressed through her bones. ALLISON. It was Allison. But NOT — her eyes weren’t quite the same, her face held YEARS THAT SHOULDN’T BE THERE, and something in the way she looked at Lydia was WIDE-EYED AND LOST, like she didn’t know where she was either. Lydia STOPPED BREATHING. Time STALLED. IT COULDN’T BE. IT WASN’T. But her legs were shaking and her lungs hurt and her voice broke before she meant to speak, soft and terrified and full of GRIEF SHE HADN’T LET OUT IN YEARS. ❝ 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧? ❞
And for a moment — just this once — she let herself believe that the universe had finally made a MISTAKE IN HER FAVOR.
SHE'S BEEN SILENT THE WHOLE CAR RIDE TO ALLI'S, CHEEKS FLUSHED BRIGHT RED. they'd stopped at family values to get snacks for their movie night, and steve had fixed her with that brilliant smile that made her brain short circuit. so naturally, as soon as she steps through the door, she's grabbing a cushion, shoving her face into it, and screaming. at least she offers a soft clearing of her throat as she pulls away. ' anyway. i've decided crushes are fucking awful. ' and with that, she throws herself on the couch dramatically. / @silvrdeath
@silvrdeath
Stands there seductively.
5'10!
her forehead probably just reaches his nose & that is perfect forehead kiss height. thank you.
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𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦. and it doesn’t scare him one bit. if anything, it suits him, comforts him. he knows what real fear feels like, knows loss & grief like no other. but the thing is ... he doesn’t let it get to him. he’s stronger than that. he has his own sick & twisted ways of coping, of living, of surviving. he, ever so cold and distance. a certain wildness that rests upon him. and darkness, violence, death ... it’s all he’s ever known. his hands covered with blood / innocent & not. does that define him as a hideous monster? maybe. but the only way to get out, is to move up. he can’t help but half wonder ... is she a monster too? the girl who’s trapped into a cage. his cage now. that thought alone makes him smile just a little, kneeling down in front of her, dark hues inspecting her every feature. he reaches out for her, thumb lingering across delicate skin. ‘’ wake up, sleeping beauty. you passed out again. ‘’ he lets go of her, hues half closed, smile fades. ‘’ just a few more hours and then you’re free. that is, of course, if your family decides to do the right thing. ‘’ but little do they know, hours will be days.
so much for the plans he made (but never materialized outside his head). a plain goodnight sent him straight to his motel room to wind down and hopefully catch up on his sleep. half an hour later, he simply wasn't ready to sleep just yet — his mind was still daydreaming enough to keep him wide awake. / @silvrdeath
starter call / " — you mind tellin' me what the fuck happened back there? ... 'cause there was a plan we were supposed to follow ... " / @silvrdeath
