[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: georgia; color: #664b4a; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px; letter-spacing: 1px; font-size: 12px;"]NEVER GETS ANY BETTER, ONLY GETS WORSE

Few the days passed within the company of those who found suitable the jutting ridge of crowning peaks, further minimised those spent in the confinement of cavernous space carved from unyielding stone. He alone bore the reasoning for such, a burden among many though lesser the weight it held, reasoning a mere droplet among the sea of concerns that time had steadily accumulated. To share it to break, reveal that which plagued, thus only choice was to swallow the festering worry that plagued, gently tugged at the edge of his thoughts as though their unravelling may bring his own.

Easy the ascent, smooth and warm the stone ledge upon which he perched, few those visible through the veil of shadow that lay heavy across the cavern. Notion almost abandoned, other pursuits prove more appealing, his turn halted before it may be completed. Distance stole some volume from the continuous hum, reverberations further marred the tune until it became only a disjointed noise. Little interest did he hold where concern such arts, his own voice never pleasing and those of singers well practiced grating in a manner that ignited only annoyance and not awe. Different this, though that may be attributed to how it pulled at memories awash in the lingering notes of a funeral dirge.

Languid his pace as once more motion began, numerous the wrong turns made, the melody more apparent yet still the rock took it and further its reach, warped those notes that echoed with a second voice. Too soon it died, fell away into a silence that left him disoriented. A trick of the mind, cruel as it was expected, his disappointment bitter in the back of his throat. For only a moment it lingered, dispersed as voices arose, a poor replacement though an adequate guide. Hesitation brief met the notion of continuing his search, labelled now as futile, brushed aside for wished an end with some level of satisfaction for his curiosity.

The scene into which he was an intruder unexpected, his first desire to protect, decree the sacrilege as he deemed it. His timing was rather fortunate and the idea was surpressed, the explanation Lorelei put forth for her strange behaviour good enough though still unsightly this practice. It was her mention, a remark and gesture, wide as it was empty, that curbed any further thoughts. Too well did Vincent know of hauntings, bore the weight of his own that cared not for tally, always too many those tied to him for their demise had been his doing.

The words were there, as was the desire, yet his tongue was caught to the roof of his mouth. Different the words he put forth, those he did not wish to speak but seemed only capable of formulating, rough tone laced with something rather akin to distaste. "I hope this does not mean you took a body from its grave." The sight of the vixen seemed to pair well with the idea, though she seemed an escapee from her own burial, the clotted flesh and earth speaking of things he found disfavourable, insubstantial his hope that she would prove it wrong.

© MADI

[W]isker

[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: georgia; color: #664b4a; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px; letter-spacing: 1px; font-size: 12px;"]NEVER GETS ANY BETTER, ONLY GETS WORSE

The hast of his judgement proven to have no basis. Known that he should bear a sense of relief, the manner within which she reacted enough to deem the words she spoke as truth. Why was it he could not accept it, scrutinised her words, the tone with which they were put forth. Some flaw sought, artificial or otherwise, anything to give due cause for his poor impression. There was none he may find, nor create, still lacking the satisfaction he wished to garner.

Fault lay only with him, expectations placed in such a way she may never ascend to them, clung to this false idea of correctness.

A light hum bypassed his pursed lips as he disregarded the answer, best it be left rather than he continue a pursuit that would bring about only disfavourable results no matter his findings. "I apologise for being so… forward. It was wrong of me to think you would do such." How may he not when too many times he had seen such desecration performed, caught within the act hands grown claws to which dark soil clung. So, too, had he bore witness to the aftermath, a destruction that turned his stomach. Different the laws that governed this place, the rites of the dead different than that which prevailed over that from which he came.

© MADI