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Post by Nicole Hatter on Jun 25, 2011 6:09:41 GMT
Humming softly to herself, Cole entered the empty sitting room. Upon arriving at the asylum, she was told that, for her own safety and the safety of others, she would be accompanied by chasers everywhere she went. But, the door to her cell had been left unlocked and the halls outside it empty. So she took it upon herself to wander and giggle to herself like the mad woman she was pretending to be.
Cole paced around the room a few steps as she began to whistle loudly, the same tune she had been humming before. Finally, she plopped down on one of the seats. Her whistling gave out to a sigh and her sigh gave out to a wheezing cough or two from the dust that shot from the sofa. She wrapped her ankle around one of the near-by chairs and pulled it closer to act as a foot stool. She rested her elbow on the arm of the sofa and propped her head up on her hand as her eyes gazed out at the falling snow through the window.
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Post by Genevieve Linton on Jun 25, 2011 7:00:57 GMT
Birdsong. Heard on a balcony, beneath the silvery glow of the moon.
The melodious glissando that rippled through the Asylum's corridors before reaching Genevieve Linton's sensitive ears sent memories of these flitting through her head - memories of leaning on a balustrade in the half-light, entranced by the heavenly trilling of a nightingale perched in a nearby tree. It had been ages since she last heard one sing; to detect what sounded like an avian songstress somewhere within the Asylum filled with a burning desire to seek it out. The laxity of her chasers' supervision, compounded by their fondness for alcohol, provided her with ample opportunity.
Down crooked flights of stairs and through musty hallways Genny ventured, her trek seemingly without end. In good time, however, she reached the music's point of origin - the spacious, airy sitting room, a deceptively cheery front concealing the Asylum's gloom and depravity from unwary outsiders and prospective inmates alike. Scanning the lofty ceiling, she spun around in surprise as the whistling gave way to a sigh and a cough, coming face to face not with her elusive songbird, but a pale, dark-haired young woman lounging on one of the settees.
A heartbeat passed before Genny put two and two together. Amusement evident in her eyes, she raised her hands and brought them together in polite applause.
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Post by Nicole Hatter on Jun 25, 2011 7:19:27 GMT
Cole was snapped out of her trance and glanced at the intruder with an aloof expression on her face. This was the first inmate she had encountered since coming to the asylum. "Huh," She raised one eyebrow as she examined the girl from head to toe. "It's about time."
Her face changed from a disinterested stare to a smile that wasn't a smile underneath and, suddenly, it were as if someone had let all the windows open and allowed the cold winter air to come in. "I was beginning to think I was the only insane person in England." Both her eyebrows raised in a look of mock-inquiry. "Unless, of course, you're one of those girls who claims not to be mad."
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Post by Genevieve Linton on Jun 25, 2011 11:07:18 GMT
Genny's clapping trailed off into silence with the conclusion of her new companion's remark, although the beguilement in her eyes remained. She returned the girl's smile with one of her own - a subtle curl of the lips, as enigmatic as its counterpart was frosty.
"You're never alone with madness," she responded, gaze lingering on the other as she eased herself into a high-backed armchair nearby, propping her bare feet on the low table that stood between them. "Literally and figuratively speaking."
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Post by Willow Liddell on Jun 25, 2011 13:51:24 GMT
Willow quietly entered the sitting room, seeing two other girls there. She chose to find a place in a corner, away from the others, and watch them.
Knit, knit, knit, purl, purl. Or was it knit purl purl purl?
The knitting in her hands had taken on something of a life of its own. She was happy for the fact she had something to occupy her hands.
She observed the other two girls for a moment, vaguely wondering if one would approach. Willow herself was naturally shy and retiring, and did not plan to make that first move.
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Post by Nicole Hatter on Jun 25, 2011 19:01:45 GMT
"Oh, would you look at that Drareg," Cole detected the other girl's secluded nature and always being one to make people more uncomfortable than necessary, spoke -loud enough for the girl to hear- to no one who was in the room. "Another maniac! Surely, at this rate, the room will be filled with them by sun down." A moment or two of silence passed before Cole giggled quietly to herself, as if the invisible person she were speaking to gave a funny retort.
"So," She snapped out of her trance, "What are your names, Girlies? Or do they give us numbers here?"
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Post by Willow Liddell on Jun 25, 2011 20:37:40 GMT
"Willow," replied the girl shortly, looking up from her knitting briefly to answer. Her hands trembled a little; she didn't know this girl yet.
But it was the other who drew her attention. She almost wondered if they shared the same sort of gifts.
"Do ravens fly at midnight?" she asked the other girl, Genevieve, though she did not know her name as yet.
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Post by Genevieve Linton on Jun 26, 2011 4:49:21 GMT
Genny's smile broadened, her statement vindicated by Cole's phantom conversation. "See what I mean?" she said. "Never alone." She wondered who this 'Drareg' might be, and if he was anything like her own special, invisible confidantes. Such knowledge felt more important to her than even finding out Cole's name.
"We might as well be mere numbers here; that's the extent to which they think of us," she said, sliding her feet off the table and leaning forward in her seat. "But my name's all yours to know... if you'll tell me about your friend. And as for the ravens," she went on, now turning to face Willow, "they own the night."
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Post by Nicole Hatter on Jun 26, 2011 5:23:19 GMT
"You want to know about Drareg?" She chuckled again. Her hand went to her locket. "A fine boy." Her face, again, changed. This time to an expression of mock-pity. "Shame you'll never get to met him. Or maybe it isn't." She looked now accusingly at Genevieve. "I'm sure you'd try to steal him away as well. Just like everyone else."
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Post by Willow Liddell on Jun 26, 2011 10:34:18 GMT
Willow's face lit up at Genevieve's response. It was the one she had been seeking.
"So you are like me," she said quietly, "you see things...feel things. Right?"
She turned to the other girl, blinking momentarily.
"One who is truly mad," she said very quietly.
Cast a side look at Genevieve, she returned to her knitting.
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Post by Genevieve Linton on Jun 26, 2011 14:38:12 GMT
"If I cannot meet him, so be it," said Genny, unfazed by Cole's defensiveness. "Some things are not meant to be shared. He must truly be a treasure, for so many to try and steal him from you - a treasure you clearly cherish."
"I've seen, heard and felt plenty," she then addressed Willow. "They call me delusional; they say I take heed of things that are not real." Her expression and tone grew icy, and she gave a dismissive sniff. "Genuine or not, what I experience is, on the whole, far more agreeable than most of what this world has to offer."
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Post by Willow Liddell on Jun 26, 2011 16:26:17 GMT
"And more real--some of the time. Yes?"
Willow spoke again to Genevieve. Quietly, through her knitting and purling.
"Do you feel them?" she asked, "the spirits of the girls who have come here before us? They're crying out. I can feel them."
She knew she sounded as mad as the other girl, but somehow she did not think that she needed to worry sounding like a mad girl. Not now.
"You're not delusional," she said, "you have the Sight."
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Drareg
Ghost
Cole's Dead Friend
Posts: 14
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Post by Drareg on Jun 28, 2011 20:54:55 GMT
Suddenly, there was a shift in the energy of the room. There was something or someone standing near Cole. It was a human shape shroud in shadow as if it were standing in a dark room separate from the one it appeared in.
From the silhouette, Genny could tell that it was looking toward her and from the cold feeling washing over her, she could tell it was looking at her.
A noise echoed throughout the room. It was words. Human words in a posh accent. From the reactions, or lack there-of, given by the other girls, they couldn't hear it. Not even Cole who sat so near to it. The words where distorted, but Genny could understand.
"You can see me?" It cried. Then a louder, "Don't tell her!"
This all happened in a fraction of a second. Then it was gone. Like it had never even been there.
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Post by Genevieve Linton on Jun 28, 2011 22:13:26 GMT
An abrupt chill swept over Genny; it was as if someone had opened one of the windows and admitted the frosty gale whipping through the bare garden outside. The sudden sound of a male voice sent her eyes flicking from Willow to Cole, making contact with the insubstantial, sickly-looking blond youth who briefly stood next to her before fading away, his plea to not acknowledge his presence ringing in her ears. With some difficulty, she tore her stare away from the spot he had occupied.
"Some of the time, yes," she replied, trying to maintain her composure. Although she could not visually confirm it, she knew that the blood had drained from her face. While Genny's encounters with the seemingly nonexistent were many in number, they had always taken place on her own terms, with her as their focus - never before had she met anything connected to someone else. She was utterly unsure as to what she should make of this present anomaly. "I don't know if what I feel is the same as what you do," she went on, her voice now little more than a whisper. "But even if it is different, I think that might soon change."
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Post by Nicole Hatter on Jun 28, 2011 22:26:23 GMT
Cole looked at Genny, suddenly confused by her change of poise. "You alright there, deary?" She asked. It was hard to tell if she was mocking her or was genuinely concered.
But, Cole was a tad bit worried that the girl was going to be sick or something. I don't want her spewing her last meal on the floor anywhere near me. She told herself.
"You look like you've seen the devil himself."
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