Strange house we must keep and fill. House that eats, and pleads, and kills.
▍ AN ORIGINAL STORY ╱ romantic melodrama!
❪ m!oc & m!oc ❫
❪ f!oc & m!oc ❫
written...
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CHAPTER TWO.The Sojourner
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There's nothing quite as exhilarating as standing in the midst of talent. Josette was rendered speechless upon stepping into the foyer, greeted by a warm smile in the form of a studious man. She tamed herself as best as she could, though her heart was thundering against her ribcage like a jackhammer, begging to leap from beneath her skin and fall to the tips of his shiny, vanilla loafers.
She admired him in a way unlike she admired Mr. Shepherd and her once beloved, Teddy Lowry. His soul rests now. The thought of him sends a chill straight through each of her brittled bones. If she could rip her spine from her back, she'd free herself from the weight of it all. Such torment, it was.
Teddy will not ruin this, she just wouldn't let him. So she tucks him away, somewhere that he remains muted. His essence forgotten. For now, of course.
She admired Killian Alcott as an artist. As a gift in the form of well-thought words.
When he pressed his lips to her knuckles, she did not flush. She remained the same shade of ivory as always.
Maybe he would have had more of an effect on her if she hadn't heard the hushed chatter. People love to talk, it's all there is to do. His lovers aren't said to be of the feminine variety. Josette never quite understood why it mattered, who you shared intimate relations with, but it did nonetheless.
People said he'd rot for it. Josette believed he wouldn't. It just wouldn't be right.
They'd spoken briefly before the man disappeared up the broad staircase. When he was no longer in sight, Charles turned an awful shade of red and took off toward the back terrace. Delilah gripped the staircase railing and Josette gripped her mother.
Josette would see to her mother, as always.
And Charles would see to his son.
He found him by the docks, just as Josette tucked her mother beneath the silk duvets of her parent's California King. It was the same shade of pink as her rouge. The rouge was the same shade of pink as Cassidy's neck after his father was finished punishing him.
He was rubbing it now as he climbed that same dreaded staircase. His shoes squeaked against decorated linoleum, having gotten damp from swaying them against the soft waves before the moment of tranquillity was stolen from him. He hoped his father's fingers weren't shadowed against his skin. If they were, he hoped that it could be mistaken as his own. A silly, little habit of his. He popped a piece of gum into his mouth and began to gnaw his way through it until he was safe within his sister's arms.
