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PrologueStrings of Fate
By Vylot Hart
"Magic is an individual action, undertaken because the cosmos is
not believed to be benevolent by nature, or, at least, not benevolent
enough to that person"
-Maya Deren, Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti, London, 1953
Salem, Massachusetts, U.S.A.
September 20th, 1692
A tall woman, young but prematurely aged by grief, pain a
Bone MongerEva was dying. Her parents spent all their time, all their money on the search for a solution; for a way out. Eva didn't mind if she died, she'd been in pain for so long that she wasn't scared any more. But, more than anything, her parents wanted her to live, they were desperate to the point of being obsessed. So she went along with them, she drank the foul-tasting medicines, she took the vitamins, she travelled far and wide with her parents, going from doctor to doctor. The problem, though, was that no one knew why she was dying, and no one knew how to make her stop. Eventually, of course, her parents ran out of options and they had no one left to turn, no hope of life-saving advice. But one of the doctors, of the faceless multitude of beings clad in white coats, suggested her parents take her to a man called Cain Mayhew. While rather unscrupulous, the man had a history of saving those who had long been hailed as lost causes. It took a lot of asking on her father's b
Ever since Lira was a little girl, for as long as she could remember there had been a box in her attic. It was a large wooden crate, perfectly square and dark blue in colour. Painted designs interrupted the smooth dark blue that lazily spread across the wooden surface. Golden swirls curled across the top, and silver vines trailed along the sides. It was rather like a jack in the box, except that it was taller than her, and there were no seams. No gaps that might indicate the presence of a lid. Even painted. She should've been able to find those lines. It was almost as if the box had always been one single part, with no opening.
But that was silly. Her father called it a box, and all boxes opened. So there must be a way inside.
Lira had always wondered what was inside the box. Spending many hours sitting beside the box, tracing the shape of the swirls and the vines with one finger. Sometimes her mothe
BryonyMany years ago, before humans had overrun the Earth, and when the Fey and the Old Gods ruled, there lived a woman called Bryony.
Dancers in their dozens, clad in velvet and lace stamped patterns across a marble floor. Four walls wrought from silver and finely carved ebony and spaced far apart surrounded them. Musicians, armed with fiddles, drums, harps and a litany of other instruments, enchanted their listeners, enticing them, forcing them to sway and glide.
The musicians were led by a tall woman in a black silk gown, batwing sleeves on full display as she sang, arms raised but held close to her chest. Long dark hair draped over her shoulders, carelessly arranged. The greatest of all Chantresses, her voice sweeter than birdsong, warm and slow as dripping honey; more skilled than any opera singer.
Her name was Bryony and she was a Pied Piper.
At her command violins wailed and drums pounded, the dancers' movements mirroring each other perfectly, moving exactly how she wanted
Words: A Study in SynesthaesiaSynaesthesia: A Study in Words
Tastes and colours race across the page, Words flash, brilliant and made flesh. Become what they describe, embody who they name; those who are, those who have been, and those who never were. Words, tampered with by Human minds and voices, become afraid, vulnerable. Diminished by the time their Human captors were done with them. Awesome was no longer to be feared, his personality changed accordingly, to correspond to the new meaning Humans had attributed to him.
By changing the meaning of a Word, you change the shape of it.
Then new words, poorly formed, over-casual and sometimes offensive muscled their way in, demanding equal attention and love.
Some Word-Slaves, like poor dear Aerodrome and Shenanigan, were taken out to the woods and shot by decree of the Humans. No longer wanted, no longer needed.
The Words became angry.
They started to fight among themselves.
Pain and Joy fought a mighty battle; and would have fought to the Death, but he was busy that
Creepypasta: A Rotting PrisonJessie had suffered an unusually bad dream. It had seemed so real. He was on his deathbed and detected the cold of the Reaper’s grasp tightening around his bones, his veins, his mind. It had seemed so, so real, more real than anything before. The voices of his family, though nearby in the literal sense, had seemed very distant. And he remembered closing his eyes in the dream and…
…and waking up just now. But it had all been a dream. So why couldn’t he move his arms or legs? Or anything else? Why couldn’t he open his mouth to call for help? Some form of sleep paralysis? Or a stroke? Or-
It was then that Jessie detected it, a whiff of that pungent aroma, the rotting putrefaction of a human corpse. His own body, decaying with his mind trapped inside. He tried to scream, but his wasted shell of a body wouldn’t respond. Not like anyone would hear him in his coffin under six solid feet of earth.
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wanted anywhere near it. But here’s the thing: it wanders, at night.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. All bitter, broken tangles, and rusted sharp angles, it is the embodim
My chest rises and falls in a constant rhythm. I dare not open my eyes, dare not look at the room around me. The muffled sounds are enough to disquiet my mind, I don't need the images to go along with it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I lie as still as I can, my arms stretched straight on either side of me. I've lost all feeling in my body, and now it's as if I'm just floating in nothingness. If I were to concentrate hard enough, I could feel the surface below me.
Soft, comfortable. A bed beneath me with a pillow under my head. Blankets cradle me, holding me as if to say that nothing will hurt me. The sounds around me do not reassure me of that fact.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I slowly lift my eyelids to see the hazy red dark around me. The muffled sound of a beating heart echos through this room. The walls move in and out with the movement. Please, make it stop, make the noise stop.
I want silence.
I glance around the room slowly and notice an openi
Sad Face Info DumpSad Face info dump
Name: Sad Face
Relationship status: Taken By JTK
Looks: Messy redish-brown hair, green eyes, a permanent carved frown into her face. Clothing: Red tank top, black cargo shorts, white converses.
Real Name: Laura Miller
Backstory: She was a generous person, but people tended to stay away from her. She got ignored, more an more, each day being more sad than the rest, her parents forced her to smile, and at least act like she was having fun, even though she wasn't. They didn't really care though. One day she couldn't take the constant smiling, despite what she felt inside, anymore, and carved a permanent frown into her face, letting everyone see what she had done, and how she really felt inside. Once her parents saw what she did, they rushed her to a hospital, trying to fix her face. She fought back though. She accidentally ended up killing the doctor, as well as her parents. Now she finds joy in killing others who are happy.
Killing Style: She comes in th
a tale of red love.Skongenga
Der skoret es der hom um vulxer. Vulxer, wick ett vitt fur, es møther um en.
Ett daig, herr sié hunden ond luxen bäkre får ett baunett. Amratt, herr höps loms øf der två ond gråus.
"Ond vens sin?" hiess her. "Ond kvälsh dack sin?"
"Es Hyl," håls luxer.
"Nams Hunt," bärks hunder.
"Ond kvälsh dack sin?" snärs herr.
"Bäkren får luko." Gråus luxer, volken um her. "Men get sems det nu nids je natt.."
Men hunder höps i främ øf hem. "Nu, nu.. Vie nids natt vauss.. Kåhapa vie kan shranda," star hie.
Vitt vulxer shäcks hurs head. "Nie! Je woll nie shrain! Det hårs min barlie.."
Gläss hunder ond luxer.
An jorner ljus der baunett, graim, hurs fur bröttie.
DarknessOnly darkness surrounds you
Sickening blackness that churns your stomach and chills you to the core
No light penetrates the ever growing darkness
Cold metal surrounds you
Foul stenches fill your nose as you walk blindly through the dark
There is only you
Only you and the darkness
Your hands find the wall and you flip the switch
The lights flicker on
Draw Your DoubleDoppelgangers are a part of the hidden history natures mixes with the supernatural. It is said that meeting your own doppelganger is an omen for misfortune or death. Abraham Lincoln is one of the few famous enough to note such an account. It is said that while he was running for his second term, he rested uneasily one night; he saw his own double from the mirror, standing at the other side of the room, watching with a sickly expression. His wife knew what this meant. As we all know, he never finished his second term in office.
Unique and disturbing examples of historical doubles followed in the young lady’s presentation. However, Janet was surprised when the other girl finished her PowerPoint with a sheet being passed out to the rest of the class. It was a simple white piece of paper with the words “Draw Your Double” written on the front with a blank template in the middle. It was a simple form with absolutely no features, giving Janet the impression of
Betrayed / Ending (ft. Titanium)You shout it out,
But I can't hear a word you say
Anna opened her eyes. She was chained to a wall in a crucifix position. She weakly turned her head, towards the other dead bodies of teenagers. They had their eyes gouged out, stomachs cut, ribs removed, bones broken, while they were alive. She had to listen to those screams, but she knew no one could hear her.
She glanced at her feet. The black all-stars she wore for the last few months were torn, since her entire foot morphed during the most painful night of her life.
Her bones shifted, making her stand on her toes for the rest of her life. The all-star was somehow still on her foot, while the toes shredded through the material. She shifted her tail, since it was uncomfortably digging inside her spine.
I'm talking loud not saying much
A glimpse of yesterdays night appeared in her mind. She was screaming nonsense, as the tail was sewn on and more and more wolf DNA and s
Restless Dreams It was a feeling that he couldn't shake, or express in a way that felt less than ridiculous. Staring into a mirror, its edges framed by months of grime and neglect, and failing to know his own face.
Had it changed so much in a few short years? Deep in its lines and plentiful in its shadows, looking back at him without a soul. Limp hair and darkness beneath unfocused eyes. Slowly his hand was raised, and that of the mirror figure moved to follow, trailing down as though to wipe away the unseen shroud that blurred his vision and restricted his breathing.
But it had felt that way ever since Mary's death, hadn't it? Like smothering. Like drowning in a sea of people who didn't recognize the signs, who couldn't hear his gasps or understand his futile struggle to find the surface again.
Everyone said that it would pass, that sooner or later, he'd wake in the morning and realize that the ache had lessened. Behind their stubborn encouragement, he could hear the impatienc
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