It's a Graves thing (soundofwings) wrote in doors, @ 2013-06-20 10:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | death, riddler |
[Eddie N]
Some things are not meant to be in a man's stash of red vines licorice. The unnamed card is old. Older than the photograph had been, and more worn, its edges flocked and fuzzed by centuries and fingers and mystic readings. It rests there, face-side up, but the entire card turned 180 degrees so that the figure stands on his head. Underneath the cloying scent of the red vines, it smells vaguely of sage and lavender, of wine and a sharp bite of copper blood. Everything about it is magic and age. It's one of the old decks, French, from the 17th or 18th century, stolen from a nobleman by a girl too young to know what it was (but old enough to know what a nobleman shouldn't do to a young girl), and given over to her much wiser grandmother when it was discovered. There is a long history to the deck, not all of it happy, and the other 50-odd cards sit on a small table, next to a comfortable chair, under a canvas tent, in a realm that no one ever sees.
Under the card, keeping it from touching the licorice itself, is a note. And this time, the handwriting is familiar. If maybe a little weak.
Eddie,
I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry.
-Muerte