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[Center ][color=A1A1A1]I knew desire
the moment I came into the world.
My half-lit desire, my love for shadows.
I seek them with a lust for I know
Death cannot harm me--
it is life which is full of risk and malignity.[/color][/center]
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[right][color=A1A1A1]Interactions > [@Ghost Note] [@penny] [@JunkMail]
Place >[/color] [color=4487B3]Her home | The abandoned church[/color][/right]

[Color=A1A1A1]The chimes of an old grandfather clock echoed throughout the empty house, creating an eerie tone to those not used to it. Both hands pointed straight up, signaling the start of a new day, 12 A.M exactly, the pendulum swaying back and forth in a hypnotizing way, a small click sounded with each swing. Unlit, ivory colored, half melted candles sat lifelessly around the entire house, their wax having gone cold many hours before the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. Open books lay across the couch, the floor, the bed, their tender pages exposed and yellowed from age, their spines wrinkled from use. The inked words underlined and scribbled out in an almost frantic way, sticky notes hanging from seemingly random pages filled with small but messy handwriting. Black and white photos hung in the hallways in neatly aligned frames, both sides parallel with each other, all of which have been recently dusted.

A soft but faint orange glow emitted from the kitchen door frame, the light flickering, only strong enough to barely reach the bookshelf outside in the room. Inside, a woman sits hunched over pieces of paper, dipping her crow's feather into ink before scribbling words onto a sheet of a piece titled [i]Midnight's Call[/i]. She hadn't meant to stay up, but the moment she closed her eyes, the words came to her in a flurry, so here she was, in the middle of the night with only a single candle to help her see. Of course, she could turn on the light, she did have electricity, but she oddly preferred the company of a flame no matter how small. It was relaxing in a way. 

So as she sat there, the scent of incense burning that mixed the smell of used matches and cinnamon, she reached over and grabbed the small porcelain cup in front of her that contained herbal tea and took a sip. She couldn't help but remember her strange encounter with the shadowy hound. The way its eyes bore into hers right before it walked away, looking back as if to say, "Come on now, I won't wait for you." The woman had tried to follow it, but lost sight as the sky grew darker. She could still hear the echoing pawsteps ring in her ears as they faded away, its swift movements causing the distance between them to quickly lengthen. She still wandered about that evening. Where it was leading her. She remembered Tod screaming at her, trying to say something, but she was too intrigued to listen.

Realizing she had paused, staring down into her empty cup, watching the tea leaves settle at the bottom, the woman gently set it down and picked her pen back up. The words that came next no longer had any meaning to her.
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Astraea rarely received text messages, and when she did, she hardly paid attention to them. It's not like she had many friends to send her anything, not that she desperately wanted any, she definitely enjoyed her isolation, but this one certainly struck her as peculiar. Not once had she ever gotten something like this, nor something so...invasive. She had assumed, rightfully so, that she was the only one who had laid eyes upon the black hound, but apparently not. According to the text, anyways. She questioned the legitimacy of the electronic words, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense.

But how?

She wasn't afraid of being a ghost, she had been like that most of her life up until pretty recently. And by recently, she meant a few years ago when she began publishing her works. But for someone to forcefully tell her to keep quiet? Now that wasn't a deal she could make. A writer has a story to tell. A poet: Many secrets were spilled if you were careful enough to read beneath the flowy words and broken sentences. It was their craft. It was [i]her[/i] craft. 

But even as she walked up the path to the little church house, she couldn't help but believe the words. She couldn't care less about anyone calling her crazy, but if this weren't some made up thing, if there was something a lot more dangerous happening behind the scenes, she wasn't planning on meeting death anytime soon. That was for another place, at another time.

She walked up to the place slowly, her eyes peering for anything out of the ordinary. She could hear muffled voices not too far away, those of which she could only assume were the "others" the text had mentioned. She froze, deciding on whether or not she wished to show herself just yet. Was she ready? Did she want to meet them? What was going to happen? Was this really just a cult meeting she had found herself in? Were all questions that were running through Astraea's mind. Glancing up, she could see her raven a distance away, watching her. [i]Tod[/i], she had named him. The german word for "death". Closing her eyes and taking a short breath, she moved forward to join the group.

Slowly making her way toward them, she tightened her black cloak around herself, the cool breeze getting to her. 
[Color=4487B3]"I assume we're all here for the same reason?...[/color] she asked calmly, walking up to them, none of which she recognized. [i]Good[/i]. [/color]
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