✓ DYING MOURNINGS, original

eleven : the messenger & the secrets kept

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𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓

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Images were the first thing I saw when everything loaded. I surely didn't expect to find a bunch of random images of men when I opened Cage's computer.

But these were no ordinary men.

I recognized one easily, identifying him against the rest.

Victor Macabre was easy to spot amongst the group of men, graying hair and narrowed eyes and well, of course, his signature smirk. He was older than the other men pictured, the others looking as if they were in their late twenties, early thirties. Macabre was older, late forties at the youngest.

There were multiple pictures of the same men, all from different angles as if someone had taken them from a hiding spot. I paused on one of the photos, running the mouse of the computer over handsome features that I recognized.

This was the man in the photo I had found at the church, the one who had his arm around Cage like they were brothers. He was in multiple shots, some alone and some with the others. He was a different force, something about him was so hard to pinpoint, less like family but more like a friend. Yet, even then, less like a friend and more like a stranger, someone I had seen only in passing.

He had to be late twenties at the most, but he had aged eyes that resembled the sun reflecting through whiskey. The hazel in his eyes was remarkable. He was handsome, in an evil way, of course. It was the first time I'd really focused on him and it seemed like he was the only one I was truly interested in.

He was pictured in mostly suits, a businessman potentially. It wasn't hard to believe he could've been a killer because you could see it in his face, his eyes, his body, everything. He was hardened, cold, but smiling.

"He's handsome, isn't he?" a voice said from behind me and I yelped, spinning on my heel as my world shifted into colorless gray.

I half-expected to find Beatrice beaming behind me but instead, I found a surly looking woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun, her lips pursed. She wasn't happy.

"Who are you?" I breathed, my heart hammering up into my throat. I hadn't expected her to be right behind me, looming over my shoulder.

She was an older woman, shorter than me but her presence seemed taller, grander. Her nose was crooked and she had long eyelashes and even longer fingers, bony and white. She wore an old suit, not modern but potentially from a few decades back. She didn't look happy to be speaking to me, much less be in the same room with me because when she spoke, her tone was laced with contempt.

"I'm the messenger."

"The what?"

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Are you really that dumb? I'm the messenger, I'm bringing you a message."

I swallowed, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. "Uh-what's the message, exactly?"

She walked around me and the desk and I was surprised to hear the click of her heels on the ground. "I'm assuming you're the necromancer, correct?"