Alekto Thanatos (spoiledflesh) wrote in deceptpercep, @ 2010-08-06 22:15:00 |
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Current music: | The Police - Wrapped Around Your Finger |
Entry tags: | ✏ 1: sunday |
Who: Alekto Thanatos. Closed.
NPCs: The skull of Achlys Thanatos and spirits.
When: Sunday night.
Where: Nex's manor.
What: A glance at Alekto's magical ways.
Rating & Warnings: Not a clue. Blood, dark magic and ghosts?
It was calm and peaceful, where she was. Warm, like the womb she'd been pulled from once, long ago. The lingering smell of heavy, fragrant spices and burning incense was all around her as candles scattered throughout the room cast everything in an orange glow. Aside from the altar placed against the wall there was no furniture in the room. Unlike the others gathered in this mansion, she cared little for the comforts of life and this tremendous change in her life hadn't changed her sentiments. The bed had been the first thing to go, all the rest had followed. She cared not for the dresses Nex had bought her and instead, found herself comfortable enough in the leather garments she'd eventually bought. The altar she sat in front of, easily could have drawn the most timid and curious closer; candles of various sizes, lengths and color dripped onto a bowl of filled with coins while the aroma of a burning cigar added to the already heady air in the room. Entangled gold and bead necklaces calmly hung from a silver cross erected behind the altar. An old pocket watch that still ticked lay on top of spread out tarot cards, while rune stones made out of bone and doused in rum, shone in the candle light. And it weren't only the figurines of saints that stared at her, ever silent and wise. Those were the stares from those who who usually, weren't quite so silent. In stark contrast they stood next to her plaster saints, her ancestors recreated out of bone. Some of them even had hair. The one who would have represented Saint Peter in one religion and Papa Legba in another, was easily the tallest and most elaborate of them all, quietly and patiently watching them all, for he was the gatekeeper to the spirit world. And he guarded the bowl that held her blood, which was accompanied by a knife crafted out of bone. The blood was still fresh. There was more, far too much to name, taking up every inch of the tall altar but everything had a place, everything a purpose, if only known to herself. Some of it was stolen, some of it bought. It didn't matter, in the end. But the most exciting of them all weren't the plaster saints or the blood. It was the female skull that sat on the altar, perfectly aligned with the cross. There was an imperfection to its frontal bone. Even the hole the bullet had made, right between where there once had been eyebrows, was perfectly aligned with that silver cross. Alekto slowly licked the self inflicted deep wound on her arm, and could taste her blood on her tongue. But it was with steady hands that she picked up the female skull that she'd dug up from a cemetery in Silver City, all at the persistence of the spirits that would hound her. But where there usually was a constant murmur, now there was blissful silence. I must be doing something right, she thought as she stared at the skull, right where eyes once had been. They still surprised her from time to time, her spirits. One finger was dipped into the bowl filled with blood, and then brought up to the skull, where she slowly drew a straight line. Her finger would make the distance from the skull and into the blood and back again, every single movement calm and calculated, every single line straight. There were no other voices telling her what to do, only a voice deep down in her soul singing. Before too long, Alekto softly sang along too, with a voice too hoarse to truly match that she could feel in her bones. Do you remember the paths where we met? Long, long ago, long, long ago. Ah, yes, you told me you'd never forget, long, long ago, long ago. Then to all others, my smile you preferred, Love, when you spoke, gave a charm to each word. Still my heart treasures the phrases I heard ... The singing only stopped when Alekto gazed down at the work she'd done, but there was no time for reflection on what she'd done. She reached for the knife and and finally cut. The blood showed her where to cut, where to scrape away and in her concentration, the tip of her tongue peeked out from through her lips. Her natural affiliation to everything bone made it all easier, she hadn't a doubt about that. Under her fingers, bone could be manipulated, molded like clay. Finally, Alekto put the knife back down to the altar, the skull followed and Alekto finally looked up at the ceiling. "Is it good?" Only then did the spirits stir, showering her with words of praise. "I thought so." |