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The Goddess, Eris.

est. March, 2015.

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The walls were CLOSING in, pressing against his bones, c r u s h i n g  and tearing at muscles. He couldn’t sense his sister anywhere in the house, and how he FEARED for her safety. This wouldn’t be the FIRST they experienced such phenomena, and while he thought he had become numb to the experience, he was wrong. 

Flames would leap and dance merrily in the fireplace, but the VOICES would continue. He even thought he saw someone standing in the shadows, but brushed it off as nothing more than another spectre

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                   Quiet. She was quiet amidst the flames and bookcases and pretty, little bobbles. She’d let herself in with a few telepathic twists and turns of the mind, a mere sihlouette among the ghosts. Part of her felt at home in the things that were DEAD, with the things that went ‘bump’ in the night. But she looked for something more, looked for something  r e a l. The sound of a beating heart was that very real thing. A caretaker, a patron, a host. Who knew?

                   ❛ Your home is beautiful. ❜ Her lips were pursed into a fine line, eyes sunken and tired. ❛ And you play host to many things, it seems. Surely you have room for one more? ❜

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