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If she's not a heavy drinker by the end of this, I swear she's a tough cookie.Within the bowels of the castle, there was nothing except for the sound of her own heartbeat. Not even the conversation of the scullery maids drifted this far down, nor did the scolding of the butcher about the pork to be served the following night. Elizabeth stood in the gaping maw of the crypt and fell into its dreadful silence. There was a peace to it, in a place like this. A certain finality reverberated in the emptiness and Elizabeth felt it echoing the loudest within the dark tomb.
Carefully so as not to pour wax from her candle stub, she tilted her tiny flame forward to the unlit wicks resting on each slab. She expected her hands to shake, or her jaw to quiver but she encountered neither of those things. The shadows flickered to life to match the slow dance of the tiny flame she carried, and Elizabeth stepped back to fully regard the pair before her. There had been fanfare about Alison's passing and the messengers moved quickly to announce her Mother's passing. Her Father grew lifeless with grief in the days after, and Elizabeth hated seeing him so fallen from valor. She expected as much from him though, because he had forgotten how to live without her near him. What she had not expected, however, was a stranger delivering the body back home in a wooden box.
Elizabeth felt the grief threaten to choke her once more, but clenched jaw held it back, along with the familiar rage at discovering the manner of his murder. There were no messengers sent out that day. No word spreading by way of fanfare. Only a chasm of silent hatred for the one that had brought this tragedy to her, and years of unspoken words for the parents taken from her. A sense of blindness mingled as to what future awaited the remnants of her family. Even as she gazed on the resting places of both Alison Kane and Brennard Westmay, it felt an unreal dream.
Elizabeth inhaled and closed her eyes before the thoughts could carried her too far. A moment of composure passed into another steadying breath, and so the young woman turned to leave the candles burning in the hollow crypts of the castle. As Elizabeth abandoned the flickering shadows, she quietly whispered to the spirits, "A merry nameday indeed..."
~*~
Sixteen was a rough year. Here's to hoping for a better seventeenth.
Hit me up!Need to rp with yah for sure.
Such weakness is for lesser blood. She must be strong for mother.If she's not a heavy drinker by the end of this, I swear she's a tough cookie.
Best surprise
Where my relation fuuu!