Seth Briars x Reader

Warm Bones

The fear you feel rapidly scattering through your veins is surprisingly overpowered by the wretched whiff of death and feces floating through the thin air. You keep asking yourself why you decided to take this grave robbing job. Finding a decent income is scarce around these parts; unfortunately, quick, illegal methods of income are what you impulsively turned to.

After a moment of shifting your head back and forth to check it anyone is watching, you enter the graveyard. You silently lift yourself over the eroded barrier surrounding the lonesome cemetery. "David Jones," you repeated silently to yourself as you pulled out your lantern and struggled to light it in the dim light of the crescent moon lingering over your head. The quick search begins. There are few gravestones to skim over, so you walked past them with your head down, scanning for the name David on one of these withered stones. You eventually locate the place of this man's burial. Swiftly, you shuffle over so you can get a better view of the stone.

As you lower the lantern, you quickly understand that somebody had to have completed this job long before you even started. The corpse you were scavenging for, the corpse of Mr. Jones was lying in an open, rotting coffin. All of the fine belongings you were ordered to retrieve are no where to be seen, his hands and arms are bare with no valuable jewels in site.

As you start to panic, you feel bones clasping onto your left shoulder, not intending to let you go anywhere. You jump at the touch, but keep your head locked forward in shock of what might be hovering behind yourself. "You looking for something? You won't find much, partner. I've been scrambling around these parts for days. I've had some long talks with these boys, they only let me near em, yes they do!"

You then let yourself gain the courage to turn your head, because the fact that this man has a voice calms you slightly he doesn't sound like a murderer, not too much. You immediately make eye contact with the stranger, as he stares you down with multiple expressions on his face. His eyes have so many stories to tell. His under eyes are blood red and puffed like a winter coat. His lips are asymmetrical and sliced up, with old and new blood collected in the crevices of his mouth. His hands are pitch black, and the grey v neck is stained with the unknown elements of this intimidating landscape. You're frozen in place, trying to gather the scrambled pieces of thoughts in your brain, planning how to get away from him.
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