chapter one ━ slipped from death's grasp.

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❛ glissé de la mort saisir ❜
❪ slipped from death's grasp. ❫

                     DEATH WAS NOT A MYSETRY TO THE COVENS, in fact, it was an old friend of the family notorious for many things

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                     DEATH WAS NOT A MYSETRY TO THE COVENS, in fact, it was an old friend of the family notorious for many things. Death was something Effie didn't mind that much before; death was inevitable, too fast and too far away before it'll catch up with her, not worth to waste any amount of time she had left on this cruel, ill-fated world on with worrisome laced intentions. It was one of those things that are easily forgotten and slipped out from your mind that would appear once again, in your mind like many other miscellaneous insignificant never-ending string of thoughts that would disperse into oblivion to ashes but like a phoenix, rise from it's ashes before repeating the cycle again. Her family members were another thought, she couldn't really change their fate and even if she does have the obscure supernatural abilities to, she'll most likely pass and won't ruin the plans set out for them, because soon enough she'll die as well, just like everybody else and she'll embrace it proudly like an old friend.

      But it was not the case when her very own eyes witnessed the murder of Sewlyn Fawley.

      Sewlyn, was whom she considered unlike anyone she has crossed pathes with; vile, foul, vicious ― but she, she was all sunshine and rainbows. The only light that could penetrate her darkness ― her soulmate, as she was to Sewlyn. Being soulmates with someone doesn't automatically mean that the both of you are romantically involved someway ― no, being soulmates with someone platonically was the same as being soulmates with romantically, the loving and uncondition care and adoration ― devotion to that person is something one could not explain logically as it defied many things imprinted in books and standards set out for them. To do anything for that person in best of your abilities to make that person feel loved because that person deserved nothing but kindness for that was all was that person gave the world despite the world not receprocating it in the same manner.

      But no, Sewlyn gave the world everything that it did not give to her.

      Spilled ink, wood and the odd but satisfying smell of parchment paper was what transported Effie back to when she first met her soulmate.

      The foreign feeling of being genuinely wanted and liked not because of the fixed status she had, permanently crowned ontop of her head like a dead ring of roses with thorns stabbing and corrupting her head. When the splatters of ink poured onto the wonderfully sketched art that was now only an image of overlapped lines poisoned by the black void of the liquid ink, a train of apologies escaping as that was when the hues of silky, satin blue hues entagled itself with the warm amber that in the future she found solace in times of despair.

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