leto
she, her
twenty-nine
january 13
demisexual
bookstore owner?
i used to dream in the dark of palisades park.
TAG WITH @alecto
alecto rowe
spaces between the stars [sw]
POSTED ON Nov 4, 2020 16:03:11 GMT
"It's not the waking, it's the rising." When the scent of tea reaches her, Alecto thinks she must be hallucinating. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the woman follows the smell to a moonlit clearing. There is, much to her befuddlement, a whole picnic arrangement set out on the grass. Even from this distance, Alecto can see the cheerful red basket and several plates of food atop a blanket. Everything is deathly quiet and still except for the light plume of steam coming from a beautiful, if cracked, porcelain cup. Saint hisses threateningly at it and comprehension dawns on Alecto, a faint shadow of a smile curling her lips. When she draws closer to the picnic, she sees that the food has rotted to some sort of weird brown mush. It smells like something died in here, which Alecto honestly wouldn't be too surprised about. The only thing that seems fresh is the tea - she can recognize the scent as black tea, the only thing that - in her expert opinion - can ever compare to coffee."I think you won't find a victim tonight, little ghost." Her words are gentle and tender, the kind that she would never use on another human. "You'll be coming with me."Saint, as ever, is swift and efficient with his victims. A bit of spilled ectoplasm, a small 'thump' as porcelain hits the ground - and finally a flash engulfs the small clearing from Alecto's attempt to catch the ghost. notes: catching sinistea MADE BY VEL OF GS
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