𝐝𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦

615 24 25
                                    

Death rots the living more than it does the dead

Oups ! Cette image n'est pas conforme à nos directives de contenu. Afin de continuer la publication, veuillez la retirer ou télécharger une autre image.

Death rots the living more than it does the dead. 

It borrows its way into the hearts of the mourning and makes a home there, corrupting their blood and decaying their bones. It inflicts horror onto your brain through memories of those lost, replaying over and over until everything starts to shift and change, until you can't quite remember what they smelt like or the way their hair shined a little differently in changing lights. 

Death never gives you peace but with time, the only repeal it gives you is making you forget your favoured moments and little details about the person you lost. Time is said to be the only thing that heals you, but Draco didn't want to heal if it meant forgetting.

Any other second that could pass, might mean another thing that he's lost, and any thought of future seems impossible as he sat in the cold and empty room of the wooden study, Adeline's body placed carefully on the lounge. It had been an hour since they brought her home, blood coating their hands and tears scarring their cheeks. There was nothing left of Alexandre, even the dagger incinerated with him. All that was left to do was bring her body back somewhere safe so they could eventually bury her.

The sun was still out and shining, which felt wrong. Draco always thought when something bad happened it was always under the blanket of the night sky.

Dean had been locked away in the kitchen, drinking through Alexandre's liqueur supply as Draco sat beside Adeline's corpse, unmoving.

He wasn't sure what was supposed to happen now but the thought of doing anything but sitting there beside her caused pain unimaginable in his body.

So, Draco would sit, and Dean would drink, and Adeline would never return.

It's dark

Oups ! Cette image n'est pas conforme à nos directives de contenu. Afin de continuer la publication, veuillez la retirer ou télécharger une autre image.

It's dark.

That's the only thought in Adeline's head as she stands in the empty vastness of death. She knew she was dead, could feel it in her unbeating heart and the memories that replayed in her head. 

Alexandre was gone and so was she.

A woman is standing in front of her; she's aged with time and death, her face withered with history unknown and her body stiff with precision.

𝐃 𝐈 𝐕 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄, 𝐝.𝐦Où les histoires vivent. Découvrez maintenant