#v; split

Continuation from {Flower} | @bol-su-eobsda

Send “🔔” to put a bell around my muse’s neck.

The biggest problem was that her double seemed to be immortal. Or, worse, her life was somehow still linked to Regina’s and it was only through her death that her dark side would perish. Of course, the only way to test that was with her actual death and Regina wasn’t willing to go that far. Not until there was no other way, at the very least. 

She groaned and massaged her temples, trying to fight the migraine that was threatening. All of this.... it was on her. She had done something stupid and impulsive and now she was paying for it. 

Had she made herself weak, she wondered, by taking out all that darkness? Her power, her magic... all of it was fueled with hate. The darkness had made her strong for so long and it was gone. Right? She had purged it all from her, carving it out with a jagged knife, leaving her raw and defenseless but free. 

Doubt began to creep into her mind as she tried not to think about what this meant. What if she was the weak one? What if she couldn’t keep Henry and the rest of her family safe? What if she had signed their lives away when she made an enemy of the dark part of her? The strong part of her? After all, before she had given in to the darkness, she had been weak. 

She felt sick as she pushed that thought from her mind, focusing instead on the next tome. There had to be something. She could feel her vision starting to go, the words blurring a little as she fought with her exhaustion. She knew that she should rest but she couldn’t sit around and do nothing. 

A passage caught her eye and she inhaled sharply, the cobwebs vanishing as she focused on what might be her first real clue. It discussed duality and severance and how no one could be split to two without dire consequences. It described a fading of both halves and, though the case in particular had been a witch who had copied herself to be more efficient, Regina feared that this was close enough to count. 

Two moons, it said. Two moons until they both started to fade and, by the third, they would both be dead. 

Send me ⚠ to find my muse at the end of a trail of blood.

He saw to it that this runaway pest was cornered after he had placed a few well placed blows. He didn’t need that shadow yongma Ho owns to help him on getting this guy.

@bol-su-eobsda

☽ -  he’s been - w a i t i n g.

it’s not like he doesn’t know. and it’s not like any of his kills have ever attracted this much -  a t t e n t i o n. because he’s not - sloppy.  messy.  careless. each and every one was spotless. no trace, no trail, no evidence.   and even if there was ( which really, there wasn’t ) it’s not like they could profile him -- nothing on record would compare.

but he’s been leaving -- b r e a d c r u m b s. dropping little tidbits.  a scrap here.  a glimmer there. one fingerprint that would raise tantamount questions - one hair for their forensics to pour over and then puzzle at the results. a glimpse - a witness - a flicker on cctv... enough of those tiny tempting puzzle pieces. purposefully set.  

enough to pose unanswerable questions.

and a trail that led -- h e r e.

                         ‘Will you walk into my parlour?’ said the Spider to the Fly,

there’s a smear of blood, splatter streaked.  delicate artistry in the work. something sure to catch a gleaming glow of flashlight.

                               Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;

set just so, with tokens and trinkets which spoke of madness and murder.  glorious in the macabre. it’s a welcome.

                                   The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,

not just for anyone, but this one in particular.  the strides that matched his own, the eyes which were mirror set reflections.

                            And I've many curious things to show when you are there.

it’s a reunion, long coming. a - family - reunion. ------------welcome home -- b r o t h e r.

but he stands in solitude and shadow, patient.  biding his time.  they’ve waited long enough - a little anticipation to sweeten the pot.

@pluviamirides

“So… many books,” Izzy muttered to himself, staring at the long aisles of shelves filled with variety of literatures. Slowly, he walked up to a shelf, looking over the titles then picked one off of the shelf. ... Complicated like Lang's.... Looks like computer stuff. With a sigh, he placed the book back. Better try the kiddie area. Izzy took a step back from the shelf before noticing an odd thing. Is that... a wheelchair?