"october 30th. here we are." gwen tucked a gradient strand of hair behind a fluffy ear, surrounded by piles of fabric and party materials - streamers, tulle, confetti in every shade of orange. she'd raided the party shop a week before, ignoring the stares - for a few reasons. she knew the townsfolk knew about her parties, her unusual guests... and the fact that they knew was the reason that no living guests would attend.
in addition to her favourite hobby of designing costumes, gwen, though she tries to stay humble, is the master of themed parties. she throws one for every holiday, even the more obscure ones - but the one she looks forward to most is halloween. always has. she works day-in and day-out on her own costume months in advance. they're always absolutely beautiful, and she'd love to design for others, but she knows she'll never make a sale.
gwen sees the town recoil whenever she wanders from her countryside cottage, she hears the whisper of "witch" and "necromancer" every day - even though she lives in a modern society. she's seen them since she was very young: hollow-eyed, translucent kalons that seemed to hover a few inches over the ground. ghosts. she wouldn't hear this term until she was much older and her peers became afraid of her. but no matter, she thought, grasping a black streamer. it's time to decorate!, she loops the streamers along the rafters, winds fairy lights around each room - the works. she crafts paw-made candies to set out for any stray kits who may find their way to her cottage - some for herself, as well. she lets her door stay slightly ajar in case any of her friends are early.
gwen is social, she aches for friendship. as such, she's befriended every local specter. ghosts, as you can imagine, don't have much to do, and they come to every party she hosts. her town is rather small, so there aren't many, eight in total, but she's become quite close. she walks to the cemetary every weekend to listen to their stories.
she slips behind her bedroom door, unhooking the hanger that holds her costume - this year, a witch, ironically. steampunk elements are incorperated as well, intrinsic and complicated, but beautiful nonetheless. she pulls it on, glancing at herself in the mirror and smiling softly. she brushes her hair back a bit, taking a halloween-themed barette from her collection and pinning an unruly strand back. as gwen admires herself, she hears the soft creak of the door and a timid voice, and runs out to be a good hostess.
the party lasts four hours. cheesy halloween movies run in the background. gwen munches on homemade peppermint bark and talks about her week with the younger ghosts. the older spirits marvel at her decor and compliment her costume. the party is normal for a while, the same as every year. two a.m - gwen begins to usher her friends out, saying goodbyes and thank yous. as she leaves, a guest points out that a group of kalons are gathered outside, sneaking peeks at gwen's costume and the candy bowl sitting on the table. she shoos the last guest away, apologizing dearly, and opens the door a bit. "hey!" she greets them from afar. "did you maybe want to come inside? bit cold, isn't it?" a brave soul nods slowly, taking a large step towards the cottage. another follows. gwen beams, feeling warmth rush in as she welcomes the first living kalon into her house.
the thought swarms in her mind, laced with hope: maybe some things do change.
in addition to her favourite hobby of designing costumes, gwen, though she tries to stay humble, is the master of themed parties. she throws one for every holiday, even the more obscure ones - but the one she looks forward to most is halloween. always has. she works day-in and day-out on her own costume months in advance. they're always absolutely beautiful, and she'd love to design for others, but she knows she'll never make a sale.
gwen sees the town recoil whenever she wanders from her countryside cottage, she hears the whisper of "witch" and "necromancer" every day - even though she lives in a modern society. she's seen them since she was very young: hollow-eyed, translucent kalons that seemed to hover a few inches over the ground. ghosts. she wouldn't hear this term until she was much older and her peers became afraid of her. but no matter, she thought, grasping a black streamer. it's time to decorate!, she loops the streamers along the rafters, winds fairy lights around each room - the works. she crafts paw-made candies to set out for any stray kits who may find their way to her cottage - some for herself, as well. she lets her door stay slightly ajar in case any of her friends are early.
gwen is social, she aches for friendship. as such, she's befriended every local specter. ghosts, as you can imagine, don't have much to do, and they come to every party she hosts. her town is rather small, so there aren't many, eight in total, but she's become quite close. she walks to the cemetary every weekend to listen to their stories.
she slips behind her bedroom door, unhooking the hanger that holds her costume - this year, a witch, ironically. steampunk elements are incorperated as well, intrinsic and complicated, but beautiful nonetheless. she pulls it on, glancing at herself in the mirror and smiling softly. she brushes her hair back a bit, taking a halloween-themed barette from her collection and pinning an unruly strand back. as gwen admires herself, she hears the soft creak of the door and a timid voice, and runs out to be a good hostess.
the party lasts four hours. cheesy halloween movies run in the background. gwen munches on homemade peppermint bark and talks about her week with the younger ghosts. the older spirits marvel at her decor and compliment her costume. the party is normal for a while, the same as every year. two a.m - gwen begins to usher her friends out, saying goodbyes and thank yous. as she leaves, a guest points out that a group of kalons are gathered outside, sneaking peeks at gwen's costume and the candy bowl sitting on the table. she shoos the last guest away, apologizing dearly, and opens the door a bit. "hey!" she greets them from afar. "did you maybe want to come inside? bit cold, isn't it?" a brave soul nods slowly, taking a large step towards the cottage. another follows. gwen beams, feeling warmth rush in as she welcomes the first living kalon into her house.
the thought swarms in her mind, laced with hope: maybe some things do change.
