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God doesn’t want you to be happy, he wants you to be strong.

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You won’t get away with it you know?

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Move the fuck away bitch.

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                  Wait, Peter thought, that all of this was his fault. No. It wasn't. It was hers. If she hadn't been so engrossed with Peter, the gypsies and werewolves. She wouldn't have killed anyone and they wouldn't be here today.

                   It was her fault. He had to know that and she was sure that Roman knew it was, as well. 

                   Everything that happened; transpired, was her fault. If she hadn't been so curious and stuck her nose in what, she shouldn't have, none of this would have happened. 

                   None of it and everyone she had killed; murdered, would still be alive and she'd still be -- normal? Alone. Alone and normal. The girl rose her head, the stench of dead; decay, a dying substance, stained her very being, her gaze was empty, hallow and as she sat, glass digging into the bottoms of her feet - her body numb from the pain, she watched Roman, from afar, he could not look at her. That look, was a look of disguise. 

                   Did she smell that bad to him? Silently, she shifted downward, raising an arm and took a sniff. She couldn't smell anything, but she must smell. After all, she had been dead. 

                   /What next? What next? What next? What next?/

                   Those words played through-out her head, she didn't know. But, he wasn't asking her, he was asking Peter. Peter would know what to do. He'd know and even if he didn't, he'd still know what to do. They couldn't just let her go, could they? Didn't they have -- No. Shouldn't they stick together? After all, they were damaged, just the same; in different ways. 

                   They should stick together. They should. They should. They should, but the young brunette's head remained down, her gaze upon the bloody prints, she had made and waited for either Peter to answer him, or Roman to say something else.

“The more I try to understand the world, the more of a stranger it makes me feel.”

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That’s the thing with whispers. You know, you put a thousand of them together…you get a howl.

Christina Wendall (From the series “Hemlock Grove”)

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                   They both should be dead - or, well, Christina should be, she did not know what happened to Letha after she had been shot by Shelley. In fact, she didn't know what happened to anyone after she had been killed or why she was even back, but she was.

                    And, for some time, Christina, had been wandering. Just simply wandering and in her time, of being back, she had ran into both Peter and Roman. It wasn't a good experience, but at least, she had ran into them and not someone else, someone who might take her away and do some type of experiment on her.

                    As she walked, onward, her brunette hair, blowing in the breeze, she felt something; someone bump into her, she rose her head, her gaze falling onto ---

                     "Letha..." The name had left her lips, before she was even aware it had happened and she couldn't take it back now.

3 have been visited

       The blonde is keeping her head down, blue eyes glued to the concrete under her shoes. For some reason, she feels like she’s being watched, and it’s making her weary. All she wants to do is get home safely, and be assured that nothing is out to get her.

       Lost in her own thoughts, she accidentally bumps into an unknown figure, and yelps in response, surprised even though it was her that hadn’t watched where she was going. “S—sorry, I didn’t see you there.” 

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I’m going nowhere

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