Bells & Burial

Boreas, a bizarre and alien name, one she had not heard of before. If this as expansive as they say, then what does lie outwith? Albeit, this world was not avernus nor purgatory, a rather forlorn turn of events; the curation of claret skies breathed a baleful blush, ears therein flicking at the confit-coloured canine. Expressions did not buckle, but rather oppress, “Not here.” Lebraid’s vocals dared to notch the air, psychologically estranged in ways she could not understand. Tundora, siam and greys alike jostled like infernos atop the graveyard’s jacket -- memories were a haze, cudgelled by the god’s upon renascence -- or, so she thought. “I do not like different,” It was an austere admittance, poisoned by a ghoulish grouse in the pit of her stomach as it mangled into a mephitic sneer.

How dare they take what was rightfully hers, and without so much as concurrence? Where, pray tell, had her only son gone? These were the questions that lie without answers, and it roused an unsettling ire; silence condemned, staring, waiting.

Action. | “Speech.” | Skill.
“Wrong me once, I’ll kill you twice.”