2020-02-28 2:12:37 ¶ ● ⬈

## The Journal

ataleofaxes:

> (Some of you may have already seen these. I’m just gonna post them here too, for safekeeping <3)

> —————————————————————————————

> “Wooby… Wooby, we can’ go in thew! Gwamma wiw be mad! Come back!”

> The creak of a floorboard under careless foot, ancient and unkempt. The rattle of shutters in a galing wind, the whistle of a coming storm through a cracked window pane. The deathly stillness of dust, boxes and crates filled with the unknown, shadowy silhouettes of either furniture or monsters in the darkest corners… a flash of brightest red, blood on snow on the chillest winter’s morn.

> And the shuddering, quick breaths of a frightened child, eyes wide in the unknowing and uncaring fall of night.

> The child lingering in the dim doorway, peeking through a crack in the door, couldn’t have been more than five years of age, though it was difficult to say, as she looked smaller and more frail than any child her age should be; her dark, choppy hair was held back in a messy, dirty ponytail that looked as though it had never seen a brush, her clothes ratty, old, too large, and far too threadbare for the frost nipping at the single, moonlit window high above the maze of odds and ends filling the attic space.

> Everything about the girl was thin and weak, but for her almost too large, widened eyes. Her irises held a strangeness to them, catching the moon’s light in a shade that looked almost golden, and sparked with odd magic; as she looked about the boxes and dusty coverlets with clear anxiety, clutching at the doorknob under hand, the darkness seemed to be no burden to her, and despite the impossibility… the path of her gaze seemed almost to glow.

> The little girl’s name was Aliza, and she was not supposed to be there, in more ways than one.

> She pulled at the frayed ends of her baggy sweater’s sleeves, lips parted as she panted out tiny, foggy breaths and jumped at every sound, every gust of wind and creak of the old, decrepit house around her; she seemed to be searching for something, though was completely disinterested in the crates and furniture before her as she, at last, pushed past the door and crept one, shuffling footstep forwards at a time.

> There were many places in the house she wasn’t allowed to go, gramma’s room, the basement, the porch, the yard, the kitchen, the living room during the evening, sometimes the bathroom… but she had been told, many, many times, to never, ever go into the attic. It was dangerous, gramma had said, and none of her business.

> And Aliza had always been okay with that. It looked boring and dirty anyways. She’d never been curious enough to venture inside, to open the door, or to even peek inside for more than a moment when gramma was getting something. She’d been perfectly happy to ignore it.

> But Ruby never had been.

> Keep reading

You can also read this chapter, and others I have already posted, on AO3.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857010/chapters/49577675