metades: (everybody's sick for something)
adora — ᴢᴏᴍʙɪᴇ-ɢɪʀʟ » ([personal profile] metades) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet 2017-03-21 12:28 am (UTC)

"Are damned souls meant to tread endlessly?" She almost lauged, but the sound was drier than intended, lacking in practise and confidence. "Perhaps it is one of my dreams - perhaps my mind is a projection of the afterlife itself. Or perhaps that's a bit too much." She pauses. "It's the first time I'm not alone. And the first time I remember coming here of my own volition."

Every other time was a blur, as dreams would have it. If this were another one, it would be too meticulous for comfort.

His words, too, were too heavy for comfort. There was another cold chill in the back of her neck, like a phantom tongue lapping at the skin in an effort to terrorize her.

"Something all-consuming," she whispered back, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. "More than a demon or a witch or a creature going bump in the night. Fear itself is far greater - I would assume. I'm not tempted to look just yet."

"But what do you think it is?"

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