𝕯𝖊𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖊 - [𝗘𝗹𝗶𝗷𝗮𝗵 𝗠𝗶𝗸𝗮𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗼𝗻] (DISCONTINUED)

𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐯. the tears and truth

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 — the tears and truth

━━━━━━━ 

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 down from the black sky that hung above them, grey clouds swirled and stirred as lashes of lightning parted them. The deep rumbles of the thunder continued on, its growls echoing through the dark sky.

Ophelia stared up at the sign of the cemetery, her clothes were soaked through and stuck to her skin uncomfortably, the harsh pelts of rain made red splotches erupt on her skin and yet the cold water that streamed down her face and onto the ground didn't make her shiver.

Marcel held Davina in his arms, the poor girl was too weak to even walk a few steps without stumbling. Her own dress clung to her; her sodden strands of brunette hair plastered over her face as they latched onto her skin. She was shivering, but not from the rain, she was shivering in fear. 

Davina was scared beyond belief that she would never see Ophelia or Marcel again. Terrified that the knife that was to slice her neck, would end her life and that would be it. No comeback. No revival.

Ophelia's jaw was tight as she looked to her side, Davina's arm suspended in the air; seeking the comfort that Ophelia could offer simply by holding her hand. So the siphon lifted her own, water falling from her like a gushing waterfall as she intertwined her fingers with Davina's.

The siphon swallowed, her head snapping forward with a barely concealed grimace as Marcel finally took a step forward.

Their steps splashed in puddles and sent splatters of water towards them, not that they noticed in their already soaked clothes. 

The final stage kicked in. A mighty fire erupted behind the three of them as they continued to trudge through the old cemetery. The fire bit at their heels, the heat that radiated from the flickering flames did little to warm or comfort them. It grew with each step until it could be seen over the tops of the large monuments that made the cemetery. 

Neither of them cared to even direct a single look back, they kept moving. The names that were carved into the graves were unintelligible until they passed; the roaring fire shedding some light in the dark night as billows of smoke crawled into the air in the hopes of encapsulating the stars.

Ophelia was chewing mercilessly on her blue-tinted lip. She could taste the metallic blood that dribbled from the wound she had made; it coated her mouth and all she could do was focus on the crimson that traveled down her throat, trying her best to avoid the inevitable darkness she was about to be plunged into.