02-03-2021, 06:19 PM
"blood is like wine, unconscious all the time" ✭ ── Being a ghost was the worst.
It was cool when you weren't the ghost, that was for sure. Newkit thought she was pretty cool, and when she was much younger, Beck was the coolest kid she'd ever seen, due in part that she'd never even seen a ghost or anything similar until then. The black sludge was a little gross, but it's not like anyone denied that. There was always this sense of despair that hung over the fascinating undead exterior, and now she finally got it. While Beck had to deal with the glaring issue of having been, y'know, murdered, Arrow, on occasion, endured the painful replay of her violently ill ending.
And that didn't even begin to cover all the reasons being dead sucked major ass. This was her home, the only home she'd ever known, but it never felt the same, not like this. Everyone else was gone, save for Aurum and Moth, familiar faces to keep her feeling somewhat grounded here, but it wasn't the same. Aurum had become a dear friend since she'd returned, and she respected Moth greatly, but it didn't overturn or outweigh the weight on her shoulders. Her friends were dead, there was nothing left to remember them by and she'd been just fine resting six feet under before everyone was gone.
The initial taste of blood brought about a great deal of distress, thin tail bristled up as Arrow sat somewhat hunched over, coughing and spitting the metallic shit out like her insides had just decided to liquify. Metaphorical insides, of course. Naturally, she looked wrecked, like she was actually sick, but it was, to put it simply, fake. It wouldn't have any warmth to it, or leave a trace if anyone was brave or gross enough to touch it. it looked real enough, but it was ghost blood. It wasn't even real. Arrow groaned, a deep and agonized instinctual noise, because the pain was as real as it got.
She wished Tanglewood had a priest.
It was cool when you weren't the ghost, that was for sure. Newkit thought she was pretty cool, and when she was much younger, Beck was the coolest kid she'd ever seen, due in part that she'd never even seen a ghost or anything similar until then. The black sludge was a little gross, but it's not like anyone denied that. There was always this sense of despair that hung over the fascinating undead exterior, and now she finally got it. While Beck had to deal with the glaring issue of having been, y'know, murdered, Arrow, on occasion, endured the painful replay of her violently ill ending.
And that didn't even begin to cover all the reasons being dead sucked major ass. This was her home, the only home she'd ever known, but it never felt the same, not like this. Everyone else was gone, save for Aurum and Moth, familiar faces to keep her feeling somewhat grounded here, but it wasn't the same. Aurum had become a dear friend since she'd returned, and she respected Moth greatly, but it didn't overturn or outweigh the weight on her shoulders. Her friends were dead, there was nothing left to remember them by and she'd been just fine resting six feet under before everyone was gone.
The initial taste of blood brought about a great deal of distress, thin tail bristled up as Arrow sat somewhat hunched over, coughing and spitting the metallic shit out like her insides had just decided to liquify. Metaphorical insides, of course. Naturally, she looked wrecked, like she was actually sick, but it was, to put it simply, fake. It wouldn't have any warmth to it, or leave a trace if anyone was brave or gross enough to touch it. it looked real enough, but it was ghost blood. It wasn't even real. Arrow groaned, a deep and agonized instinctual noise, because the pain was as real as it got.
She wished Tanglewood had a priest.