Autumn Written in Blood

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The gentle sensation of an autumn chill stroked against her cheeks, but Evangeline kept her eyes closed, and threw the duvet over her face. She tried to force herself to go back to sleep. She was sure that if she chose to rise from the comfort of her linens, she would see the mid-fall and winter frost dancing across her window pane. She could very well imagine herself settling for a warm cup of coffee at her usual cafe and take in the scenery for inspiration.

However, a cloak of numbness had wrapped itself around her soul, managed to keep her sullen, and not wanting to move. A vicious case of writer’s block had taken wake in her spirit, and was haunting her body like a disease.

“I need to check my phone…”

Evangeline let a sigh escape as she agonizingly roll beneath the covers onto her stomach and reached for her phone. These last few months had proven to be a struggle. Sleepless nights, trashed character concepts, and story board papers strewn about on the usually well kept floor. The life of a writer was shining at it’s darkest upon her. Sliding her fingers on the screen of her work phone, she saw multiple newsletters and amass of emails from her editor.

She groaned, knowing full well that her editor was going to hunt her down if she didn’t get back to him today, “I’ve gotta get up.”

With the vigor of an old decrepit 90 year old body, Evangeline’s feet touched the hard floors as she practically dragged herself towards the shower. The familiar hiss of hot water raining down from her shower head, her pajamas sluiced down to the floor. Her thoughts of hope also falling along with it.

Slipping into the spray of liquid heat, she washed, and scrubbed the grime of her sleepless escapade. Lately, Evangeline had been dreaming random oddities, she was seeing visions of unknown origins, while this should of been something to use as inspiration for her writing. The dreams made no linear sense nor did it strike passion, what it did do, plant a seed of wariness and perhaps… fear.

Evangeline shook her head, maybe being an author had finally taken a toll on her sanity. Causing her to frequently hallucinate more than live properly in the real conforms of reality.

“And that’s why I’m a writer…”

He Will Light Your Fire. Literally….

Meet the co-owner of the bar downstairs from the LIAARS office, Aki Aodhan!
A Celtic Fire demon who doesn’t realize his own strength at times….

Check out “The Case of the Lovely Dolls Part 1” from L.I.A.A.R.S.
on Tapas https://tapas.io/series/LIAARS/ep2

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Blossom

The summer comes to its end

Last of its ashes going cold

Upon the doorstep of autumn

And I lay here

Under the dying leaves

Golds, orange, reds, and browns looming above

Listening to the cackling of witches

The howls of wolves

Feral yowls and hisses from black cats

Summer has died

And autumn blooms.

Little Lies (Old Drabbles)

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Iron bars painted against a lavender night sky, protectively guarding what lay within its embrace. A manor with windows dressed in stark darkness loomed from behind, neither candle, shadow, or ghostly soul stirred from behind the glass. It’s only visitor, was the moon that dared to dance against the panes, trying to coax the sleeping sins that lay within its domain.

For anyone who managed to find the estate, they would see a mansion that was past it’s prime, a beaten relic of something that belonged in the late 1700s. However, that was if, you were a normal human who couldn’t see past the magic protective veil that made the Ten’no Dormitory look like some horrific haunted house. Kyori Ten’no looked at the large Victorian style home, to her  it stood proudly in the night, harboring many secrets within it’s hold.

Lots and lots of deadly secrets at that. Loose strands of raspberry chocolate tendrils tickled her cheeks as she tucked the loose strands back over her ears. It had been a decade since she last stepped foot onto the grounds, albeit, she never thought she would ever do so again. Not after the …

“Don’t think about it,” she ordered herself. There was no point in rehashing old memories, especially from this place. She pulled the lapels of her rain coat, autumn had come faster and was nipping at her flesh. Teasing her skin with lascivious intent to come undone, like hell she would allow that though.

The heels of her boots clicked against the cement pavement as she carefully made her way to the front door and pulled the skeleton key from her pocket. Kyori looked at the key in her hand, the golden piece of metal glowed under the moon, the crest of her family branded into the key wards. Such a powerful family she came from, and also a quite dangerous one, she thought to herself as she pushed the key into the door.

Kyori narrowed her eyes as a panel opened to the right of her, the mouth of a familiar gargoyle peering up to her as it’s white fangs eagerly awaited her blood. Lifting her right hand over the mouth of the beast, she pressed her index finger against the lowest canine and felt blood begin to seep from the tip. Red slid down the creatures throat, and a low humming noise began to resonate all around her as the house slowly flickered to life.

The giant door that held the key in it’s grasp began to clank and whir as Kyori reached for the key and twisted it to the right, three times until a click sounded.

“So time consuming,” she muttered as she turned the key only a quarter backwards and shoved it further into the lock. Chains grated and a moaning emitted from the door, lowering itself down into the bottom of the floor and allowing her entrance.

“Show time.”

#notestomad

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#notestomad

I love the way you terrorize me,
To the point that I’m unable to move.
I love the way you cruelly take me,
And mark me as yours.
A dark love that keeps me captive,
Drowning me in both pleasure and pain.

Why do I love the way this love hurts?
It’s unimaginable and yet,
I don’t want to get away from this passion.
I don’t want to survive this heat,
I rather be kept in this hell.
Then to embrace the kiss of winter,
Without your embrace.

This love hurts me so,
But I love the way it’s cuts me baby.

 

Duality

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apple

I miss eating apples… Seeing this gif always makes me miss their sweet tartness and juicy flesh that always makes that nice crisp sound when you puncture the neck of it.

I have a confession, I think my mind likes to toy with me a lot when I write. I hear many voices but no one seems to be around. I’m a haunted house of my own, with many secrets hidden inside.

You’ll probably get lost in the labyrinth of my mind, there’s only a one way ticket in but no exit out. Someone once said that when you go into a writer’s head, that you’ll find a lot of messed up and strange things. I’m the grand library of strange and foreign, toiling away at my desk and writing things that don’t make sense.

But there’s this obsession, that I need to keep writing or I won’t be able to breathe. It’s a crazy thing, where the lines of sanity blur with insanity. It’s a habit, it’s a type of drug, if I am not able to type or write, I feel the withdrawal deep in my bones.

Shaken not stirred, the fine threads of reality are blurred. For the voices in my head demand to speak, if they stay unspoken, they will fill me up to the brim for weeks.

Write.Speak.Type.Talk.Imagine.

Wreak havoc.