❝ When a ghost falls in love with the living, he'll start believing his heart has awoken. ❞
❝ When a medium wants to close her eyes to the dead, she'll realize being normal is harder than it seems. ❞
än ämerican horror story fan fi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
"Has it gotten easier to breathe?"
Antoinette kept her eyes on the torn skin around her nails, teeth grinding together as the melancholic sound of the birds outside threatened her peace and quiet.
"No."
"Have you even tried what I requested?"
"Do you really think breathing exercises will help with a mentally fucked up mind?"
Dr. Reynolds let out an amused chuckle, leaning back in her leather chair that creaked under her petite frame. "I don't believe it is a cure, but it can help with hyperventilating and calming one's emotions. With your situation, we need to staunch the memories from bleeding out into your everyday life. They won't ever fully go away, Antoinette, but being able to take control of them so they don't torture you every waking second is primary. Can you try that for me?"
Antoinette looked down the steep path of the basement as her sister and Tate took the lead. She controlled her breathing, felt her heart lurch in her throat as the darkness began to swallow up the blonde boy. How could it be so dark during the middle of the day?
There were cobwebs spiraling against the corners, a smell of musk and rainwater perfuming the air, but that was the least of her concerns. It was the whispers that ran through the wooden beams, caressing the shadows with profanities and temptation. She grabbed the beads at her throat as she descended one step, the creak beneath her scarier than any wail of wind but she continued, letting the heavy burden of energy fall across her shoulders like a weighted shawl.
She could hear her sister laughing at something Tate must have said, heard the young man's voice low. At this point, Antoinette was shaking, her thumb and finger rolling a bead between as she reached the concrete floor of the basement. It was cold, depressing and basking in a darkness that she had never experienced before. It was like stepping into a pool of jelly, legs stiffening and body slowing down as she walked through.
