Post by Deleted on Aug 25, 2021 10:34:05 GMT -6
Lifeless eyes stared up at the towering structure of the estate, which occasionally let out an unnerving groan where the rotting wood and stone met. The nature gnawed desperately at the building, with vines that travelled from the earth to the awning; she had never exactly catered to that part. A sorrowful woman - kneeling at the base of the structure - watched as falling flowers landed in a stream, floating carelessly before piling up at the end of the creek.
The time had slipped from her grasp, though what use did time have in the hands of the Entity? Surely, it meant little. Rin had felt as though she had been here for centuries, much too long for any poor soul to live in, though the same open wounds were left, unscabbed and fresh. Her skin, though drained of life, was still as smooth as porcelain, and her body had never rotted even after years of limbo. Glass still remained broken in her shoulders - she had tried to pull them out, trust her, she had tried - stubbornly reappearing as if it were hair growing back even after being waxed.
A broken hearted moan left her lips, sounding long and drawn out - in pain. She rose to her feet, the creaking of dislocated joints and bone breaking the relaxing sound of travelling water. Long, billowing black hair which drew from her temples rose (it seemed after a long period of sitting, her hair would fall ever-so-slightly), following shortly after her as she began to walk up the stairs. Each step on the wood was eerily silent, as though she weren't walking at all. A part of her yearned for the feeling of being alive - to hear her own footsteps, or to hear her own voice, separated from the husk echoing her words.
'Stop thinking of the past,' Rin silently told herself, taking a sharp inhale before travelling further into the home.
It hardly felt like home, anyhow. Her memories were convoluted, foggy, and the Entity couldn't do anything about it. It did it's best to recreate the home, though Rin had wished it could have been more accurate to her early childhood. No, it was messy, with objects displaced and dust coating every surface. It made her angry, and she knows it shouldn't – it felt as though everything would set her off, that same fury she presented while attacking her bullies was out of control. The Spirit shook her head, as if to dismiss the thought, before she began to tidy up.
There weren't cleaning supplies at hand, so she dusted with dainty fingers and occasionally made trips to the stream, washing off her hands before repeating the process. It was therapeutic to her, even if it meant revisiting memories which she oh-so-desperately wished to forget. It was likely about a half-hour of doing this until she was satisfied.
The golden glow of the lights reflected pleasantly off the now (somewhat) clean floors, and for once, a content smile formed on her face. It made it feel... bearable, at least. There was a moment where she stilled of movement and noise, before jolting back, her face contorting into a deep frown and her katana now present in her hands.
There was someone there. Whether it was a killer or survivor was obsolete to her, and the ghost failed to let her guard fall back down after sensing a presence. Her brows were furrowed, her face hardened with both anger and nervousness. It was only until silence answered her when she spoke.
"Who is there?" Her voice was loud, full of an array of emotion, and projected itself furiously throughout the home.
The time had slipped from her grasp, though what use did time have in the hands of the Entity? Surely, it meant little. Rin had felt as though she had been here for centuries, much too long for any poor soul to live in, though the same open wounds were left, unscabbed and fresh. Her skin, though drained of life, was still as smooth as porcelain, and her body had never rotted even after years of limbo. Glass still remained broken in her shoulders - she had tried to pull them out, trust her, she had tried - stubbornly reappearing as if it were hair growing back even after being waxed.
A broken hearted moan left her lips, sounding long and drawn out - in pain. She rose to her feet, the creaking of dislocated joints and bone breaking the relaxing sound of travelling water. Long, billowing black hair which drew from her temples rose (it seemed after a long period of sitting, her hair would fall ever-so-slightly), following shortly after her as she began to walk up the stairs. Each step on the wood was eerily silent, as though she weren't walking at all. A part of her yearned for the feeling of being alive - to hear her own footsteps, or to hear her own voice, separated from the husk echoing her words.
'Stop thinking of the past,' Rin silently told herself, taking a sharp inhale before travelling further into the home.
It hardly felt like home, anyhow. Her memories were convoluted, foggy, and the Entity couldn't do anything about it. It did it's best to recreate the home, though Rin had wished it could have been more accurate to her early childhood. No, it was messy, with objects displaced and dust coating every surface. It made her angry, and she knows it shouldn't – it felt as though everything would set her off, that same fury she presented while attacking her bullies was out of control. The Spirit shook her head, as if to dismiss the thought, before she began to tidy up.
There weren't cleaning supplies at hand, so she dusted with dainty fingers and occasionally made trips to the stream, washing off her hands before repeating the process. It was therapeutic to her, even if it meant revisiting memories which she oh-so-desperately wished to forget. It was likely about a half-hour of doing this until she was satisfied.
The golden glow of the lights reflected pleasantly off the now (somewhat) clean floors, and for once, a content smile formed on her face. It made it feel... bearable, at least. There was a moment where she stilled of movement and noise, before jolting back, her face contorting into a deep frown and her katana now present in her hands.
There was someone there. Whether it was a killer or survivor was obsolete to her, and the ghost failed to let her guard fall back down after sensing a presence. Her brows were furrowed, her face hardened with both anger and nervousness. It was only until silence answered her when she spoke.
"Who is there?" Her voice was loud, full of an array of emotion, and projected itself furiously throughout the home.