Cirque Nocturne (cirquenocturne) wrote in cirque_rp, |
The energy rippled out at them in a frantic pace, a counter pulse to Catherine's heart. Somewhere deep within the house. It splashes over them, makes their tread a rough one as if trying to briskly wade into a violent shoreline. Something doesn't want them there.
Just as the more powerful, malevolent force pushes a resistance; simple, lost souls start to fill the grounds. Swirling, desperate energy and all wanting to talk. They are a whispering chorus desperate for Catherine. Hear me. Hear me. Listen! Listen! Catherine and Caleb would be able to see them all, clear as day. He, taste and smell the darker pulse having nothing to do with these desperate, clamoring soul. She, see them as if they were whole persons. People lost over the years to this plantation turned hotel. Callum, the beast inside of them rolling, hackles rose; they should run.
The resistance is still there, the undertow to the wave of spirits trying to communicate to Catherine. Bombarding. Too much. Then the rush of something more cutting through them all. The scent of sulfur spiking to the scent of a fresh corpse rotting under a hot southern, summer sun.
It goes for the Seer. GET OUT! Cold heat at the upper arms and a flood of flickering images. Blue uniform. Hate. Fear. Hate. The smell of gunpowder. Festering in the gut. Cold. Then a flash of fresher memories. The first warmth in so long touching a woman freshly hung herself. IT WILL TAKE HER TOO.