book-reaper - Tumblr blog

book-reaper · 7 months

Text

Closer

Please note that this is my first time posting on Tumblr so please be kind since I don't really know what I'm doing.

TW?: Smut, and biting kink (giving and receiving), ft. Will Graham at the end. Read at your own risk. No minors pls.

Also no use of Y/N, I sort of made up a character but if you guys like her I have a couple ideas for a story with the three of them. But buckle up this is longer than I intended it to be.

Amara was fast asleep beside Hannibal as something inside him woke him. Something deep and primal was demanding more and more attention, remaining unsatisfied and unrelenting until it got what it wanted. Opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling he took a moment to assess this new feeling. Soon enough he realized this feeling was directed towards the woman still sound asleep next to him, unaware of the new urge that plagued him. Taunted him.

As he placed together the pieces of what he was feeling he looked over at her. The woman that was so much like him and yet so different. He can still remember the day he met her for the first time with clarity that he hoped would never go away.

Hannibal was standing next to Will and Alana as they observed the girls. The Butterflies as they had referred to themselves several times. There were twelve sitting in the room hidden mostly by their hospital beds that they had pushed to the center of the room and placed in a circle. Each bed coming into place made them just a tad safer, a tad more hidden, as they sat in the center of the circle quietly talking to one another and seeking comfort in those that could truly understand what they had gone through.

“The other one, Amara, is upstairs. She was pretty seriously injured in the escape.” Jack’s voice came up from behind them.

“How bad is it?” Alana asked, always the first to worry.

“Gunshot wound to the leg, stab wound in the abdomen, a fairly serious amount of blood loss, some trauma to the head but it looks like she’ll be fine.” Jack reassured.

“I don’t think any of them will be fine for a long time.” Alana had remembered the pictures of the place they had been. Over two hundred other Butterflies had been chemically preserved and mounted into glass cases lining the walls of their hell.

Hannibal was intrigued by the wings. Each girl had a different pair of wings tattooed onto her back. A different type of butterfly. Each one was unique and crafted with care. The shapes were distinct and shading meticulously perfect. Each pair was a work of art.

“They are keeping her separate from the others?” Will asked, unsure if it is the best move to keep her separated from the only support network she had.

“The extent of her wound means they would need to keep a closer eye on her, change her bandages, and check on her far more frequently than the others; however anytime someone enters the room the butterflies get stressed out. They are most likely separating her so they can treat her without making what the others are going through worse for them.” Hannibal explained briefly.

“While the majority aren’t willing to speak to anyone much less talk about what exactly happened, she is apparently an open book.” Jack reiterated what the charge nurse had told him.

“She’s talking about what happened?” Alana asked, surprised.

When Hannibal had entered the room he remembers feeling an unexplainable sense of possessiveness at seeing her standing by the window rather than laying in bed. Two nurses were stood on either side of her asking her to go back to bed.

“Bailey, Dezeray, I understand that you’re trying to do what’s best for me, and I appreciate that, but if I have to lie around for another minute I think my mind will break here more than it ever did in The Garden.” She told them calmly. Something about her oozed a sense of serenity and calm. Whatever it was made the nurses feel comfortable to let her stand and move around with the promise she won’t over do it, despite that being the only things she shouldn’t be doing with her injuries.

Maybe it was that very feeling of serenity she gave him that made him fall for her in the end. Maybe it was how easily she got the two nurses charged with her care to let her do things she shouldn’t be doing. Maybe it was her wings. They were the wings of his favorite butterfly after all. Greta Oto, The Glass Butterfly. Maybe it was her small frame that came in at a mighty 5’3. Maybe it was the look in her eye that he nearly missed as she recounted the events that took place in The Garden and her escape.

The subtle darkness that shifted over her eyes as she recounted how she killed each of the three men keeping her and the others captive before returning to her enclosure to free them. A predator disguised as prey protecting her kaleidoscope. Maybe it was a combination of her beauty with her cleverness, her logic, her level of emotional control and regulation, her persuasiveness that seemed to come as easily to her as breathing, her sharp instincts as he recognised her clocking what he was within a few moments of meeting him, her sense of hearing which complimented his sense of scent wonderfully.

Maybe it was all of those things. Maybe it was none of them. Regardless he found himself awake before the sun and the side of him that he had only ever heard telling him to kill, to consume, now telling him to hold her. To get closer to her. And so he did. He was careful not to wake her as he pressed his body against her back and locked her in place with his arm.

Closer. It urged. He pressed his body flush against her and slid his other arm under where her head rested on the pillow, allowing him to gently place his nose into her hair and flood his senses with her. She stirred gently at the movement but remained asleep.

Closer. It voiced. He tenses slightly, the arm around her unconsciously pulling her tighter against him. He would have to wake her to get even closer.

Closer. It demanded. Hannibal knew that when that side of him started demanding things it would get what it wanted in the end. There was no denying it but he could hold it off for a little while. Hopefully long enough. Hannibal gently brushed the hair away from his beloved's neck, exposing the soft sensitive flesh to the beast of a man. He gently placed feather light kisses all along the column, gradually getting firmer. Trying to slowly and gently wake her from slumber.

Amara was a light sleeper, always had been, so she was awoken by the faint kisses being placed on her neck by rather familiar lips. Enjoying the unprompted affection she laid still and fought to keep the smile off her lips. A battle she lost as he got more firm. If she hadn’t known any better she would say that Hannibal was acting needy. Hannibal, not seeing the lazy smile on her lips, only pulled his lips back from their spot just behind her ear and paused briefly as she let out a content hum.

Now knowing she was now awake he kissed his way up from her shoulder to her jaw. As he got closer she shifted onto her back so she could look up at him. As he locked eyes with him she gently brought her hand up to run her fingertips along his cheekbone. Hannibal's eyes fluttered shut as his body relaxed slightly when it was satisfied for a meer moment before demanding more. Amara noted that Hannibal needed something although she wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he needed.

But her touch seemed to soothe the fire coursing through his body but as he opened his eyes again she found a certain type of hunger within them that she had satiated less than 12 hours ago before they had cleaned up and gone to sleep. Hannibal knew she knew what he needed even if he hadn’t figured it out yet himself. He could see it in her eyes and soul that read him with an ease that no one else had.

She gently smiled at him and grabbed his shoulder, softly pulling and insisting he lay atop her. He did so without resistance and placed his forehead on hers, simply taking a moment to breathe in her presence and the passive effect it seemed to have on every part of him. Almost shyly, she reached up and kissed him. Short and quickly at first, hoping to get him to understand what it was he needed as she pulled back and gave him a moment to sort through his mind.

Soon enough he seemed to understand and as he settled a small bit of his body weight on her he kissed her with all of what he recognized as desire to be burning in his body like a blaze. The kiss was firm, urgent, and demanding as it got louder.

Closer.

He pressed his tongue gently against the seal of her lips. She let him in.

Closer.

He slid his hand under her (his) shirt and dragged it up to her back, up her wings to easily press her chest against his.

Closer.

He tilted his head to be able to better explore her mouth with his tongue as he took in the feel of her breast pressed against his chest. And as if she heard its plea she locked her legs around his waist and pulled his hips flush with hers. A groan slipped past his lips at the feeling of his cock pressed against her, separated only by his silk pajama pants and the cotton of her underwear.

Closer. It got louder. Instinctively his lips left hers and instead went searching for that one spot on her neck he knew brought her pleasure. While she ran her hands over the muscles of his back the hand not still pressing her to him slipped from its place in fisting the pillow beside her head to between the two and began unbuttoning the shirt she wore.

He needed to feel her skin against his. He craved to feel every inch of her. To mark every inch of her. To hear her moan and scream and wither beneath him. He needed these things as much as he needed to breathe. He needed to be closer.

Her hands wandered up to his hair and pulled gently. He felt the tremor that ran down her spine as he found that special spot on her neck. He attacked it with teeth, and tongue, and harsh sucking. The moans that slipped past her lips vibrated through him and granted his very soul pleasure. He needed more.

And more he got as his hand finally undid the last button. His hand came to support her lower back to help keep her hips against his as he sat up with her in his lap. The shifting from a horizontal position to a vertical one grinded her hips against his in the most delicious way. He could feel his patience waning as he pulled the shift off her as if it had offended him.

Closer. Feeling her slipping from his lap his hands quickly pulled her hips back against his. Although it was no use. The silk of his pants just kept forcing her to slide.

“It will just be for a moment.” She whispered the reassurance to him before pulling away from him entirely. He didn’t like it. Faster than he had ever done before he stood and removed his pants before climbing back atop her. While he removed his only barrier she removed her last and threw her panties on top of his discarded pants.

Closer. It wasn’t as loud as Hannibal grinded his cock against her slick opening. He nipped at her collar bone and chest relentlessly. She knew what he needed. He knew what he needed, but he needed permission first. Permission she did not hesitate to provide.

“Bite me, Hannibal.” Those three words opened a floodgate in his mind. He bit down on her breast. Her head pushed back against the pillow as her back arched her breast into his mouth. Helplessly, her hips bucked up to grind against his cock. She had no control over it. A fact Hannibal knew and used to his advantage. With each bite and bruise he left on her she bucked against him, coating him more and more with her slick.

By the time Hannibal pulled back to breathe she had thoroughly soaked his cock and her slick had begun dripping down onto the sheets. With one final closer reverberating through his mind he pushed inside her. Hannibal wished he could say he was gentle with it, even with the very generous coating of her arousal Hannibal was simply too big to enter her as roughly and as quickly as he did without causing discomfort to her. Discomfort that was voiced through the sharp sound of a hiss as she sucked in a quick breath and tensed.

He shushed her gently and rested more of his body weight on her knowing that it would often help ground her. Delicately he cupped her face and placed kisses along her jawline and up to her lips. Despite wanting nothing more than to thrust and grind wildly against her he controlled himself. It was the least he could do after his demonstration of his lack of control. He held himself buried to the hilt, hips pushed flush against hers as he waited for permission from her once again.

After a deep breath or two she ran her nails along his back, gently up either side of his spine exactly how she knew drove him crazy. A test. She did this over and over again testing his patience when he did not want to use it. Once she deemed him in control, she clenched around him. Hard.

That clench had been what he was waiting for as Hannibal pulled nearly completely out and slammed back in with a force that moved her up the bed. He couldn’t have that. Sliding his arm under her back, across her wings, he gripped her shoulder and held her to him as he thrust again and again. Each moan and soft gasp from her lips was like a melody, weaving its way through the room, enticing and captivating Hannibal, a symphony just for his ears.

As Hannibal was thrusting wildly but slowly, taking the time to gauge her reaction to each new spot he touched as he desperately searched for something. Amara had her neck bared for him. A temptation he could not resist. On the side he had been so gentle with previously, leaving a trail of gentle kisses earlier before the sun had begun to rise, he bit down. His teeth sinking into the flesh giving him a pleasure he believed to be unmatchable. That was until he found the spot he had been searching for.

As soon as he had found his target her nails dug into his back. Marking his flesh in return as she very nearly screamed his name. Nearly screaming isn’t enough. He couldn’t stop the growl that rumbled from deep within his chest as his jaw tightened on her neck and his hips began moving faster than what she could keep up with. Now that he knew where his target was he would be damned if he missed it even once.

Amara was aware that she was simply along for the ride at this point. She clawed at him helplessly in an attempt to ground herself as he held her so tightly to him she had difficulty breathing. He held her so closely that she could feel every sound in his chest that he would kill as it attempted to make its way up his throat. He had always preferred to listen to her sounds rather than his own. He had once told her that her sounds of pleasure were more pleasing to him than any sound any instrument could produce.

Amara, in a desperate attempt to hold off her orgasm decided to cling to Hannibal. Her legs raised and locked around his hips. She made the wrong decision. The new position of her hips allowed Hannibal to not only thrust against that spot inside her with more force but now it allowed the head of his cock to kiss her cervix. After the mere second thrust she came with a scream of Hannibal’s name, her back unable to arch into him any more than she already was yet trying anyway.

He slowed, showing her momentary mercy. He could feel the sting on his back of her marks. Wearing her marks gave him pleasure. He needed more. Regardless of whether or not she was ready for more, his thrusts picked up speed again. She withered and squirmed beneath him as he quickly overwhelmed and overstimulated her.

“Just one more.” The words quietly tumbled from his lips. She knew he wasn’t just talking about one more orgasm. He wanted another mark on his body. A sign to show everyone he was not theirs. Just as his marks showed the world that she was not theirs either.

Amara just managed to scrounge up enough composure to latch her lips onto his neck. Her teeth scraping against his pulse allowed a moan to slip past his lips as he quickly became putty in her hands. He needed this. He needed to bear her marks. He needed the constant connection and sense of closeness to her that her marks brought him no matter how far apart they may physically be that day.

Amara, seizing the opportunity to drive Hannibal mad, took great pleasure in sucking multiple marks onto his neck and teasingly grazing her teeth over him yet never biting down. She could feel Hannibal’s control slipping. Each brush of her blunt teeth and of her sharp canines coming so close to sinking in, brought him closer to his end.

Hannibal knew he wouldn’t last much longer while she was having her fun so he brought his hand down and played with her clit. The attention to her clit was the last little push she needed to fall into that blissful abyss once again. Her mouth being so close to Hannibal’s flesh, so tantalizing. In her haze of pleasure she hadn’t realized that she finally bit down in the junction between Hannibal’s neck and shoulder until her mouth was flooded with the rich taste of blood.

For Hannibal, the pain, the erotic act of your lover sinking their teeth into you, was what finally pushed him over the edge. As if he was only close enough to satisfy the darkness within him when she had her jaws fastened around him. His hips slowed to a grind as he emptied the last bit of his cum into her. Despite the sweat and heat Hannibal did not dare more from her. Even as she removed her teeth from his flesh and allowed her head to fall back onto the pillow, she didn’t dare move to push him away.

It took longer than if there were more space between the two but eventually they caught their breaths. A quick glance to the clock sitting on the nightstand showed it to be nearly 7 o’clock. He didn’t have to be in the office today until 10 so he was happy that he had plenty of time for aftercare. It took him a while to find the willpower to pull himself out of her and even longer to find the strength to pull away from her and finally allow her to breath unobstructed.

With a quick kiss to her forehead he got up and made his way to the bathroom, allowing her a few minutes to herself as he started the shower and made sure it was the right temperature. He was about to return to the bedroom to collect you when Will entered with you in his arms.

“Will, I was not aware you were up.” Hannibal addressed his other partner.

“I wasn’t until you woke me.” Will grumbled, not happy about being woken up this early nor being excluded from the fun, as he carefully placed Amara down on her feet but not letting go of her since her legs were still shaky.

“Sorry. I would have gotten you but Hannibal was being needy.” Amara was quick to throw Hannibal to the metaphorical wolves all with a playful smile. Not amused by her words but always by her, Hannibal merely raised an eyebrow at her with a fond smile on his face. She got a chuckle from Will, albeit a still groggy one, but getting anything besides a complaint from him this early is a success in her books.

“Next time I will make more of an effort to pull myself away from her to get you Will.” Hannibal apologized before inviting them both into the shower with him.

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book-reaper · 7 months

Text

Closer

Please note that this is my first time posting on Tumblr so please be kind since I don't really know what I'm doing.

TW?: Smut, and biting kink (giving and receiving), ft. Will Graham at the end. Read at your own risk. No minors pls.

Also no use of Y/N, I sort of made up a character but if you guys like her I have a couple ideas for a story with the three of them. But buckle up this is longer than I intended it to be.

“The other one, Amara, is upstairs. She was pretty seriously injured in the escape.” Jack’s voice came up from behind them.

“How bad is it?” Alana asked, always the first to worry.

“Gunshot wound to the leg, stab wound in the abdomen, a fairly serious amount of blood loss, some trauma to the head but it looks like she’ll be fine.” Jack reassured.

“They are keeping her separate from the others?” Will asked, unsure if it is the best move to keep her separated from the only support network she had.

“While the majority aren’t willing to speak to anyone much less talk about what exactly happened, she is apparently an open book.” Jack reiterated what the charge nurse had told him.

“She’s talking about what happened?” Alana asked, surprised.

Closer. It voiced. He tenses slightly, the arm around her unconsciously pulling her tighter against him. He would have to wake her to get even closer.

Closer.

He pressed his tongue gently against the seal of her lips. She let him in.

Closer.

He slid his hand under her (his) shirt and dragged it up to her back, up her wings to easily press her chest against his.

Closer.

Closer. Feeling her slipping from his lap his hands quickly pulled her hips back against his. Although it was no use. The silk of his pants just kept forcing her to slide.

“Will, I was not aware you were up.” Hannibal addressed his other partner.

“Next time I will make more of an effort to pull myself away from her to get you Will.” Hannibal apologized before inviting them both into the shower with him.

#smut #hannibal #will graham #oc? maybe #oc?? yeah i think #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #murder husbands #i think that's it #im not sure what else to put #biting kink #future story?#if you want #I don't even know if anyone will see this

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book-reaper · 2 years

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My Thoughts on Hogwarts Legacy

This is something that has been on my mind recently as more discourse about the topic is coming to the forefrunt of the internet. Hogwarts Legacy and, honestly, the Harry Potter franchise as a whole.

As I see things, there are 5 groups of people when it comes to "THAT wizard game."

"Hey, I don't want to play it because of my own personal reasons. But if you want to play it, I hope you have fun."

"Hey, I do want to play this game because of my own, personal reasons, but I understand that you're not interested. That's cool."

"This game gives money to a transphobe?! Awesome! I just bought two copies."

"You want to play this game for your own reasons? You're a transphobe piece of shit. I won't stop until you know you're a piece of shit."

"Harry Potter? Hogwarts Legacy? I haven't played video games since I lost 2 weeks of my life to Banjo Kazooie in 1998."

If you fall into either category 1, 2, or 5, then right on. You're doing the right thing. Keep it up.

However, if you fall into either category 3 or 4, you are a fucking problem and you need to cut the shit and grow up.

Personally, I fall into category 1. I feel I have made my views on the game and franchise fairly clear. But also, I have a good friend who learned to read because of Harry Potter. I grew up with the franchise and it was a huge part of my childhood, and recognizing that I no longer want to engage in the franchise felt like a huge loss to me, and took some time to reconcile with myself. But, again, I have made that decision based on the larger franchise and not simply this one game. And, also again, these are my OWN PERSONAL REASONS. If you're interested, I will gladly share my thoughts in a civil manner, and only ask that you understand my thinking, not that you agree with me, or try to convince me to change my mind.

Now, to address category 3. Deep breath, here.

If you are doing anything at all because you know it will make the lives of people worse, then fuck you right to hell. Yes, this group of people also generally goes hand in hand with a specific red hat and an orange demagogue. If you find yourself in this category, get help. Go to therapy and ask about this concept called "empathy."

Category 4.

I will repeat: if you are doing anything at all because you know it will make the lives of people worse, then fuck you right to hell. Setting up websites to track Twitch streamers to see who is playing Hogwarts Legacy? Going to channels and harrassing the streamers for wanting to play the game? I would argue that people in this category or worse than those in category 3 because while those in 3 as assholes, they are blowing money on something they don't actually care about to try triggering someone while people in this group are going out and actively attacking people for engaging something that they want to experience for, and repeat after me, THEIR OWN PERSONAL REASONS. I saw in one chat that someone mentioned they wished executions were legal because people were doing something they didn't like. Sounds an awful lot like some people who built some gallows outside of a notable large building in the US back in the beginning of January 2021, doesn't it?

Here's where things really boil down on Hogwarts Legacy. The game is made. It's done. Rowling has been paid or will be getting paid. You attacking people for enjoying the game isn't going to stop that. But there's a lot more people than just her in the mix, here. Think about all the hundreds of people who have spent YEARS working on making this game, and trying to make it the best game possible. They have also been paid and are continuing to get paid. Controversy has surrounded Hogwarts Legacy pretty much since it was announced. And it wasn't cancelled.

Here's where I see things going with the game: it is the outrage of the day. Somewhat surprisingly, the outrage of Hogwarts Legacy's release is overshadowing the much more recent information about Justin Roiland. People will continue to be upset by this game for a while, and eventually that will fade, as all outrage does.

But you know what won't pass? The hurt caused by people to other people over this game. Your friend, who you disagree with about the game, sitting in their home, playing the game, is not going to hurt you. Streamer playing the game and you don't want to watch it? THEN FUCKING DON'T. Full stop. For fuck's sake, people were buying subs to a twitch stream just so they could continue harrassing the streamers after they made the chat sub-only. Fuck you. Grow up. And like I told the people in group 3, get therapy.

Actually, everyone should go to therapy, but that isn't the point of this.

Here's what my point of view boils down to: let people enjoy what they enjoy and stop shitting on things just because people enjoy them. Yes, the situation here is more complex and nuanced than that, but every situation is. And if any part of this rambling has made you angry or upset for any reason, I'd like you to think about why that is. I am not advocating for people to play the game or not play the game. Honestly, I just couldn't give a fuck what you want to play in the privacy of your own home. I just want people to be better. Treat people better. Be better people. Recognize that everyone on this planet is, at the very least, deserving of being treated like a person and deserving of love. And if you can't understand that fact, did you really understand Harry Potter at all?

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book-reaper · 2 years

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I don’t know about anyone else but I need a part 2 to this. Stat.

Not Red Riding Hood

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You’re not little Red Riding Hood, so why are the wolves after you?

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Dark!Bucky x Reader, Dark!Steve x Reader

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 3.5

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: A/B/O dynamics, primal, smut 18+, dark content

𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝐵𝑒𝓉𝒶’𝒹, 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑜𝓌𝓃

A/N: From an old abandoned challenge, def. not my best work. posting in response to an ask.

Do not copy, rewrite, translate or post my work anywhere. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work.

The cracked bell dings as you push open the heavy door to the costume shop. The breeze stirs the musty air, dust floating up catching rays of the afternoon sun.The dull chandelier lights casting a low white glow across the displays. Your shoes squeak as you walk across the uneven hardwood floors.

Walking around the rows of candles and books, you spot the racks of outfits on the wall. Tilting your head back, you scrutinize the different costumes. Your eyes settle on a pale blue Cinderella dress and as you reach out to take it, a gravelly voice shatters the quiet air.

“You girls are always so cliché,”

Startled, you spring back, turning towards the voice. Laughing sharply, nervously as you rub your neck.

An dazzling older woman stands leaning on a curved oak cane, purple robes dwarfing her small frame, her long grey braid pulled over her shoulder.

“Um, cliché”, you ask, catching your breath.

“Yes, you girls always pick the weak ones, the sweet ones” she walks over tapping her cane before you. A hint of jasmine reaches your nose as she leans towards your face, “you’re no weak one”. Her warm smile pushing her wrinkled cheeks out, “you’ll make them earn you”.

“Huh” your brows furrowed as you stare.

She chortles, waving her hands around “ the boys, you’ll drive them crazy”. She reaches behind you and takes a costume off the wall “and you’ll do it in this”

The costume is stunning, you trace the intricate details sewn in the wide skirt, she holds the black lace mask up, the delicate material lining up with your face.The hood tapers off into pointed ears.

“I don’t know” you trail off as you notice how low-cut the bodice is made.The Cinderella is more your style, this is bold, daring.

“Put the mask on” she insists as she pushes the thick, yet delicate material into your hands.

Glancing at her then your hands, you slip over your face securing it behind your ears, the mask settles over the lower half of your face, curving over your nose and up the sides of your cheeks.. The material shimmers as you turn your face, your eyes glow in the mirror. A trick of the lighting, you tell yourself.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur gently, touching the snout.

“It’s yours” she states, taking the costume to the front of the shop. Her firm words leave no room for arguments, not that you were one to argue, anyway.

You slip the mask off as you follow her. As she rounds the counter, you place the mask on top of the costume.As she opens the small cash register, your eyes drawn to a small clear Mason jar filled with pink candies.

“That will be forty dollars,”

“Wow, that’s not bad,” Looking at the detail in the bodice, you were expecting it to be out of your budget. You pull the cash out of your purse and hand it to her.

“Halloweens tomorrow, so everything’s discounted”. As she gives you the change, her soft, wrinkled hands place a candy in yours. “take one dear, these are special”

You unwrap it, the candy dissolving on your tongue as a sweet cotton candy flavor floods your mouth. “Thank you”, you murmur, unaware you’re swaying as the flavor fades.

She merely nods, neatly packing your costume into a thin black bag. She writes out your receipt in a small worn pad, ripping out your copy. Giving you the paper and the bag with a knowing smile.

You make your way to the door, blinking at the blinding light filtering through the stained glass door. Part of you wonders when it got so bright out, you lean against the door waiting for your eyes to adjust. After a minute, you steady yourself, waving goodbye.

When the door closes, she takes your photo from her pocket and dials the number written in black ink above your smiling face. As the phone rings, she places your picture above a lit candle, smiling as your face crackles and burns.

“She’s ready,”

Keep reading

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