Cassandra thinks that perhaps she’s gone mad. Or perhaps she always has been, since the Briarwoods slaughtered her family and tortured her. Kept her. And she’d just been in denial. Able to pretend that she could be something more. That she could find peace. Find people who care about her. Love her. That she was more that her past. More than what she’d done. What she’d become, in order to survive.
“No one will ever love you but us, dearest,” she hears Delilah Briarwood’s bloodied, poisonous whispers murmur in her ear as she moves through the Horizon. The afflictions are stronger here, but she’d come anyway. Hoping for… a reprieve. To find sanctuary. Something. She doesn’t know what.
She’s taken to avoiding reflective surfaces. Afraid of what they’ll show. Or rather, afraid of what they won’t. Her reflection is gone, now. As Sylas’ was. Had been since she’d… known him. And the last time she’d seen it… she’d had fangs. Her worst fear. To have become like him. Vampiric. Evil.
The Roadhouse is… a place of safety, of sorts. Of noise and distraction and camaraderie.
Or it was. She can smell it, the moment she steps inside, the metallic tang of blood. She’s smelled it before, the night that Whitestone fell, and she can scarcely breathe for the smell of it. The memories choking her. “Have you brought ruin here as well? Everything you touch turns to ashes,” Delilah croons.
But there’s someone else here. Someone she knows. Someone she calls friend, even.
no subject
“No one will ever love you but us, dearest,” she hears Delilah Briarwood’s bloodied, poisonous whispers murmur in her ear as she moves through the Horizon. The afflictions are stronger here, but she’d come anyway. Hoping for… a reprieve. To find sanctuary. Something. She doesn’t know what.
She’s taken to avoiding reflective surfaces. Afraid of what they’ll show. Or rather, afraid of what they won’t. Her reflection is gone, now. As Sylas’ was. Had been since she’d… known him. And the last time she’d seen it… she’d had fangs. Her worst fear. To have become like him. Vampiric. Evil.
The Roadhouse is… a place of safety, of sorts. Of noise and distraction and camaraderie.
Or it was. She can smell it, the moment she steps inside, the metallic tang of blood. She’s smelled it before, the night that Whitestone fell, and she can scarcely breathe for the smell of it. The memories choking her. “Have you brought ruin here as well? Everything you touch turns to ashes,” Delilah croons.
But there’s someone else here. Someone she knows. Someone she calls friend, even.
“Inej?”