MistressoftheRoses

          Jodie followed her sister towards the bus stop, still glancing back behind her at the house. 'It's just an old house..' She thought to herself. 'Old houses make noises.'          But she still had this nagging feeling.        Jodie shook her head and looked forward, trying to push the feeling from her mind. As they approached the stop, Jodie and Melody saw a large group surrounding a single person, and Melody, who had suddenly taken an interest in being a part of the 'in' crowd since moving, picked up her pack to join the group while Jodie merely lingered, never having felt comfortable in large groups, even as a child. She glanc

        Jodie Silvers stumbled out of bed, squinting into the darkness. An old TV sat in the corner of the room, it's screen flickering with static. Old music was emitted softly from the speakers, so low that Jodie had to stand there and listen for a few minutes just to figure out if it was real or not. A pang of nostalgia hit her chest, though she had no idea why. She couldn't recall having ever heard the music before. Then again, Jodie hadn't completely woken up yet, so what did she know.      The bedroom door slammed open, causing Jodie to jump slightly. Her older sister, Melody Silvers, stood in the doorway with a scowl on her face. "Go

The water was freezing, and Ophelia couldn't find the way up, no matter which way she swam. It was filling her lungs, and they were throbbing painfully, as though they were about to burst. Even though she should be panicking, Ophelia found herself thinking of something...only slightly on topic. Wasn't there some weird singer who wrote a song about drowning that she used to obsess over? It was based off of someone...a french girl...who was pulled out of a well, still smiling, who was never identified.. L'Inconnue de la Seine... The unidentified girl of Seine... Ophelia wondered if that would be her. The unidentified girl of...wherever she

Arsenic Lite her Clove Cigarette and took a puff, tapping her foot as Abyss rummaged through the kitchen pantry like she told him to, looking for a bag of salt. In her free hand was a hair clip, shaped like a butterfly that seemed to be made out of amethyst, like that rose Markus had found, only a lighter shade, and mixed with what looked like Apache tears. It was like a prep had tried to sit there and turn goth. Disgusting. And also magical. There was some sort of power in it, a bad one, and any Pagan would know what to do in a time like that. They had to cleanse it, so, once Abyss moved his slow ass and got the salt, Arsenic ripped the ba