Poltergeist Tombstone;

Whispers and rumors spun amidst nearby towns and villages that crossed paths between the wilds. A ghost or a witch that haunted these woods. Distorted, twisted words spill to spook a curious child’s heart to steer them away from wandering too far. She knew these tales, hearing them beneath the shrub whilst slaving away to her botanical labors. Should wandering eyes catch a glimpse of her she merely turned a blind eye and made sure to disappear further into the foliage –  as if never to have acknowledged passing travelers, their calls falling upon deaf ears. Let them believe what they want.

The little hut was nothing to boast about. Moss and ivy hung and crawled form the sidings as if consumed by the very nature around it. Inside, a small wood-burning stove burned giving off enough warmth to keep the cold at bay. The hut was cluttered, plants in every crevice and corner, books stacked atop each other on some countertop or shelf, opened to some page while papers lay scattered about. Recently, feathers were added to the mix, long and vibrant with color malted from the curious phoenix that had since taken its perch within the small home. Clutter and disorganization was its best description yet she knew where what was amidst the chaos.

The first knock at her door was unexpected. Busily grinding a common herb in her pedestal and mortar when the sound thumped against the wood nearly caused her to jump from her skin. The mythical feathered creature simply perked up from preening its feathers, uttering a gentle coo before shaking away any remaining dust or debris that may have sullied it. It took a moment for the healer to gather her bearings, her heart skipping a beat from the unexpected sound. After leaving the note for Avarice before her departure, Poltergeist had ensured to keep herself secluded, a recluse to the rest of society. It was safer that way.

Perhaps it wasn’t real. That perhaps she was merely hearing things that did not truly exist. Such demons were often cruel and came on their own accord. Another knock came, following a third. The large bird looked to her expectantly, clicking its beak once as if to ensure it too had heard the sounds.  Poltergeist was quiet then, unable to help the millions of questions spurring in her head. What lie on the other side of that door? Why? Wasn’t the hour late? Though – she’d often lose track of time with such ease, missing a night or three without rest. 

Finally, she moved from her workspace and made her way to the door. The knob turned slowly, the door opening as she took a step to the side in its slow swing. Tired lavender gaze slowly lifting, a soft gasp inhaling sharply with disbelief and words unable to form. It felt as though everything came to a complete stand-still.
"Speech"

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Poltergeist Tombstone;

Actions happened so suddenly she couldn’t recall slamming the door in his face. Limbs shook as anxiety and panic quickly took hold of her. That couldn’t have been him— she would try to convince herself. That individual standing outside was not Asmodeus. No, no. He was dead. He’d died. At least that was what she was thought to have believed at the time. Such events were still a vibrant memory of the fires set ablaze and the horrific screams that echoed in the distance. There were still fragments that happened within a blur, unrecognizable and illegible until finding safety briefly in the Sanctuary.

A growling hiss etched into her ears, whispers that the man that stood behind that door was not truly there. A mere pigment of her twisted and plagued imagination. How cumbersome it was having to discern what was real and what was a fallacy. Part of her truly wanted to believe that behind that door stood the man she married. It just seemed so… unrealistic. There was another softer tapping knock, yet it sounded as though read a sense of aggression. Wicked laughter hissed in a bitter echo within her ears.

A quiet coo fell from the phoenix, adjusting its wings. Lavender gaze turned briefly, glancing back at her new feathered roommate, biting in the inside of her cheek. She stood by the door, daring not to open it yet, placing the palm of her hand against it, following her temple. The stench of alcohol was there, but never acknowledged. Perhaps it was just a lost drunk, that just happened stumble upon her hut. Perhaps her actions were too quick, and she placed a false accusation? The door clicked once more, opening just enough to peer through the crevice made.

Knots formed in her throat, and her heart fluttered in a rampant pace. “This is cruel,” she whispers, retreating back further into her little home. “My husband is dead, why torment me with a disguise?” She spoke as if she were speaking to someone else – to an entity that did not exist.

"Speech"

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Poltergeist Tombstone;

What little light that shone within the hut came from the dying embers of the stove. Slivers of sun peered through the dense foliage in the stretching morning. A tiny reminder that the night had gone again – another day lost in the throes her labors. It was an escape – to run away from the grievances of a reality she was not so willing to face. It was why she was here tucked away in this little hut, uncharted; hidden.  The Sanctuary was not a place to thrive as time etched on, pretending like nothing ever happened.  It was why she left the estate in the care of her child and the caretaker that so loyally clung to her side with promise to eventually return.

Yet she was reminded so cruelly of those moments. She could have done something. Anything to prevent that horrific moment – those wicked little unseen demons convinced her that she was at fault. Her husband was dead because of her misgivings and now they go so far as to wear his face at her doorstep?  Funny.  Air sucked into her lungs, unable to keep the trembling at bay, anxiety gripping a firm hold of her bearings. Her feet felt as if they had been nailed to the floorboards, frozen and unmoving. 

I thought the same of my wife.  Yet... you're here.  Alive, I think. Her lips pressed tautly together as a stray raven curl escaped its bindings and swept against her face. The door groaned as its weight shifted in force used to swing open. “You reek of ale.” Was all that managed to sputter from her lips. Hands gripped the skirt of her attire, fist clenching as knuckles whitened as if to hold on for dear life. “No-no this isn’t—this isn’t real.” Salt stung her lilac eyes in the overwhelm of uncertainty. This wasn’t fair.  How dare they torment her—and for what?

“Why do you taunt me, demon?” The dam had since broken and the tears began to roll down her face. She’d hoped distancing herself from the world, to drown herself in whatever it was she did, would have helped her move on—to be that distraction she desperately sought for a man that once upon a time tried so desperately not to fall in love with. “Asmodeus,” she whimpered, her head hung between her shoulders,

“I miss you.”


"Speech"

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Poltergeist Tombstone;

The nights had blurred together at some point – perhaps this was a dream she could not escape? She never was one to find the time to care for herself and would rather indulge herself in her practices. Yes, that had to be it. She did not hear him mention the ache that sullied his temples: the aftermath of night filled of spirits, the consequence of a horrific hangover. It was not with ill intent or purpose: easy to be consumed within the inner turmoil that plagued her. A habit she never fully grasped to know she had or would merely reject such suspicions.

It wasn’t until the space between them was bridged and the advantage taken when a tear was smeared away from her lips by the brush of his touch. A soft gasp escaped her lips, disbelief and confusion quickly claimed the furrow of her raven brows as lilac caught the gems of sapphire that made his eyes. I am here, little dove. Flesh and blood as you are. Her hand was claimed by his, ushered to the center of his chest where she was met with the drumming beat of his heart pulsed. Her ghastly gaze would widen then in the slow, ebbing rise of realization starting to sink in.

I looked all over the country for you. His words came though sounding some what diluted as if submerged beneath ocean white caps. Attention remained planted upon the stretch of her palm against his chest as if claimed by shock. As if such a reality seemed impossible to believe. For months, even, hopping form town to town. I thought you'd been taken, or worse. I couldn't find any trace of you... nor could Avarice. Her gaze lifted at the mention of their daughters name. Her lips forming as if the speak of her little cherry blossom dispite the contempt he had of her birth.

Finally, her freed hand lifted then reaching the gently touch his unshaven cheek, the bend of his jawline. A breath escaped her in a shudder; “Asmodeus,” Oh if this truly were a dream then she dare not wish to wake from it. Fingertips barely swept across his lips then, “My raven,” A ghost of a smile managed to peek through her worn features. Such a moment was incredibly short lived as uncertainty slowly sought to crawl back; “But—… they told me you were dead,” Her gaze fell as she placed her hand over his that held the other with a gentle placement. “That you died and it—…” her bottom lip curled inward, hesitating for a biting moment. “… and that it was my fault.”

"Speech"

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"Speech"

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