Rose Red (Ghost Quartet) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notme_anymore) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
castle_perrault2018-10-01 08:50 pm
notme_anymore) wrote in castle_perrault2018-10-01 08:50 pm
Entry tags:
the dead can sing [halloween]
Rose is normally seen wandering outside. Whether it's the forest or the Edge or the garden in the courtyard, in any case, she's usually somewhere visible from a window. She's vanished for the last four days since the first transformations started.
Rose has died.
And now she's back. Sort of. In the graveyard, there's a thump, a whistle, and the grinding of stone as the heavy lid of a tomb is pushed aside, and Rose lurches out from the grave. Frankly, she looks worse than awful. Her lips are thin; her skin is pale, practically blue; her eyes are sunken and shadowed, pale and glassy; her hair has lost its deep red color and sticks out in a spiderwebbish mess over her face. She's beyond gaunt. Rose's skin has pulled back so far that all her bones cast shadows. Her ribcage is definitely visible across her chest.
She feels as bad as she looks, but she's not hungry or thirsty, just brittle and sick and weak. Her strength has pretty much vanished. She staggers across the graveyard, leaning on the tombstones, her bare feet snapping the scattered bones. Her tongue is thick in her mouth, and when she tries to call out something, all that comes out is a fragile and quiet screech, a song.
Lovely. Lovely. This is so definitely what she needed.
Seeing her slowly staggering around the island in this moonlight is bound to be a sight.
Rose has died.
And now she's back. Sort of. In the graveyard, there's a thump, a whistle, and the grinding of stone as the heavy lid of a tomb is pushed aside, and Rose lurches out from the grave. Frankly, she looks worse than awful. Her lips are thin; her skin is pale, practically blue; her eyes are sunken and shadowed, pale and glassy; her hair has lost its deep red color and sticks out in a spiderwebbish mess over her face. She's beyond gaunt. Rose's skin has pulled back so far that all her bones cast shadows. Her ribcage is definitely visible across her chest.
She feels as bad as she looks, but she's not hungry or thirsty, just brittle and sick and weak. Her strength has pretty much vanished. She staggers across the graveyard, leaning on the tombstones, her bare feet snapping the scattered bones. Her tongue is thick in her mouth, and when she tries to call out something, all that comes out is a fragile and quiet screech, a song.
Lovely. Lovely. This is so definitely what she needed.
Seeing her slowly staggering around the island in this moonlight is bound to be a sight.