ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ
ɴᴏʀᴛʜ ʜɪʟʟ ᴄᴇᴍᴇᴛᴇʀʏ, ʀᴜssɪᴀ ┃ᴍʀ. ᴇᴅɢᴀʀ
His name was Laurence. The cemetery was
quiet and lonesome- but you weren’t all
alone. You were a journalist; here on
business to discuss information regarding
certain people and the status of the
property. Here, tangled in the pine bristles
were hundreds of souls and their tragedies.
Their stories were ancient- but sadly,
unresolved. That’s why they're here.
Vlad (or Sir, as he has you address him)
managed the depressing plot of land. It
was flat and absolutely drowning in a dark,
melancholy haze. You could only feel a
deep sense of loss as you went. Mr.
Edgar tended to the troubles of the dead
as well as homed them; you could go as far
as to call him a ghost therapist. During the
visit, he refused to let you go through his
living quarters- but after a bit of small-talk
gave you permission to the library. It was
small and run-down with endless shelves
and objects in dusty glass display cases.
“Most of them are obituaries, biographies,
photos; heirlooms. They are preserved
here.” He paused, you remained quiet. His
expression was dull. You turned to examine
some of the artifacts. His ears straightened
upright and his accent rolled in his throat.
“Look but don’t touch. We’ll be watching.”
With the knock of his cane, he began and
the wood floor creaked with his strides.
The door shut with an empty echo. You
felt hollow, but again- surely not alone.
......ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ
ɴᴏʀᴛʜ ʜɪʟʟ ᴄᴇᴍᴇᴛᴇʀʏ, ʀᴜssɪᴀ ┃ᴍʀ. ᴇᴅɢᴀʀ
His name was Laurence. The cemetery was
quiet and lonesome- but you weren’t all
alone. You were a journalist; here on
business to discuss information regarding
certain people and the status of the
property. Here, tangled in the pine bristles
were hundreds of souls and their tragedies.
Their stories were ancient- but sadly,
unresolved. That’s why they're here.
Vlad (or Sir, as he has you address him)
managed the depressing plot of land. It
was flat and absolutely drowning in a dark,
melancholy haze. You could only feel a
deep sense of loss as you went. Mr.
Edgar tended to the troubles of the dead
as well as homed them; you could go as far
as to call him a ghost therapist. During the
visit, he refused to let you go through his
living quarters- but after a bit of small-talk
gave you permission to the library. It was
small and run-down with endless shelves
and objects in dusty glass display cases.
“Most of them are obituaries, biographies,
photos; heirlooms. They are preserved
here.” He paused, you remained quiet. His
expression was dull. You turned to examine
some of the artifacts. His ears straightened
upright and his accent rolled in his throat.
“Look but don’t touch. We’ll be watching.”
With the knock of his cane, he began and
the wood floor creaked with his strides.
The door shut with an empty echo. You
felt hollow, but again- surely not alone.
......ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ
..┃⬆ ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ғᴏʀ ғᴜʟʟ ғᴏʀᴍ ⬆┃ sᴄʀᴇᴇɴsʜᴏᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴅɪɴɢ┃ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ┃ᴠʟᴀᴅ ᴏᴡɴᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴇxɪᴅᴇ.┃sᴛᴀ.sʜ┃
Aa my stuff is broken right now but I've been meaning to do this for a while. I'll be putting Laurence on the official lines under here! No posting, please. uvu
