Post by myristan on Sept 24, 2014 12:00:28 GMT -6
The Diary is bound in a very fine leather, supple to the touch and light in tone. Flipping through the pages a musty, earthen smell arises from it – as if it had been buried or forgotten for some time. The reader stops on a random entry, marked only a few years prior. The handwriting is…neat, tilted slightly and jet black.
It has been, four months to the date since Willem left home. Left me and our sons. I can still smell him in the home, his clothes like candles, the wisp of his scent floating to my nose, drawing me to a place where he and I still reside together. Ben still asks for his Boppa every night, his eyes growing wet before closing – his final thoughts, his father. Bless the light that our youngest will be spared the pain of having lost him, his mind too young to hold the memory the man.
The stress has been…significant. I…
A line was drawn, but left unfinished as if the author had to abruptly leave mid-sentence. The reader may feel compelled to flip through the pages some more, the latter quarter or so of the diary left conspicuously blank – finally you fall upon the final entry.
The ink is a deep crimson, so dark it could be easily mistaken for black if light was scarce. It seems almost…wet. Upon touching it, the sensation may send chills up the spine. It reads only three words.
What is Evil?
An eerie chill fills the space, the reader decides against reading any further, setting the dusty manuscript back where they found it.
((This rather...cryptic piece is going to be the beginning of a 'darker' RP plot that I would like to begin, feel free to approach me IC or OOC to get involved.))
It has been, four months to the date since Willem left home. Left me and our sons. I can still smell him in the home, his clothes like candles, the wisp of his scent floating to my nose, drawing me to a place where he and I still reside together. Ben still asks for his Boppa every night, his eyes growing wet before closing – his final thoughts, his father. Bless the light that our youngest will be spared the pain of having lost him, his mind too young to hold the memory the man.
The stress has been…significant. I…
A line was drawn, but left unfinished as if the author had to abruptly leave mid-sentence. The reader may feel compelled to flip through the pages some more, the latter quarter or so of the diary left conspicuously blank – finally you fall upon the final entry.
The ink is a deep crimson, so dark it could be easily mistaken for black if light was scarce. It seems almost…wet. Upon touching it, the sensation may send chills up the spine. It reads only three words.
What is Evil?
An eerie chill fills the space, the reader decides against reading any further, setting the dusty manuscript back where they found it.
((This rather...cryptic piece is going to be the beginning of a 'darker' RP plot that I would like to begin, feel free to approach me IC or OOC to get involved.))