GeminiSolace

Sometimes he missed the sight of rain, a thing most people took for granted as they reveled in the sound of it. Though he had long ago gotten over the fact that he no longer had functional use of his eyes there were still days when Deagan missed being able to see. Days like this one where he could hear the patter of rain, soft but constant, and he knew that the world would be washed in a haze of gray. It was not that color ceased to exist like on an old television, but they became more muted. Not that the rain itself produced the effect, he knew it was the cloud cover that did it, but it was one of those things that correlated together in hi

If a man's home was his castle then Ganymede figured he ought to hire new help for the upkeep. Not that his grave had been marked, but while living he had always imagined he would gain enough fame to warrant a crypt or at least find a wealthy enough patron to earn him one. He always had been a dreamer. It was a moot point now, though, and to be completely honest what greater castle was there than the great pyramids in Egypt or the labyrinthine catacombs under Paris? Every crypt, every tomb, every burrow, mound, every grave whether marked or an unmarked lime pit was his castle, his domain. It was not as glamorous as he had imagined, though Ne

     Jasper could only sigh as he woke up to an empty bed which he promptly rolled out of to stretch his arms high. A sharp grunt followed the crack of his back as he bent himself backwards then he was padding out of the room and into the hall, the crackling and popping of his knees and feet giving him dead away to anyone else in the house.     Lucy was the first to hear him, of course, and her tongue lolled as she came bounding down the hall to greet him, her tail thump-thump-thumping against the wall as she went. It was morning which meant breakfast, but all she got was an absent scratch behind her ears as Jasper passed her by to head for

The sound of Vincent Price cackling wickedly drew Snipe's consciousness to the fore where it switched off his autopilot and actually made him aware of his surroundings. He was in the middle of a crosswalk that was seconds away from being a very dangerous place to be standing, but when the laugh sounded again he found himself unable to care about his possible impending doom. Instead he reached into his pocket to pull out his cellphone then swiped his password pattern on the touch screen while still walking. [Turn around -Received: 2:38PM] A cold sweat began to form on the back of his neck as soon as he read that message. There was no way Bog

Snipe was not the best at self care. To be honest, he never felt like he was the best at any sort of care that did not involve inanimate objects; like his guns, for example. That was why he was so thin and why he had so many scars, physical or otherwise. Fortunately Boguslaw was fairly good at it despite his profession which meant all he had needed to do was gain Snipe’s trust then work from there. "Did you get into an argument with a wall?" he asked with a smirk on his lips. "Yeah, his name was Ramone and he pissed me the fuck off," Snipe spat as he chewed the butt of his cigarette in irritation. It had burned out to ash a while ago,

It was always nice to return to his business after a long absence not because he particularly enjoyed the actual work involved with running it—that was why he hired other people to do it—but it was interesting to see just how many new faces were there after their predecessors had either committed suicide, been a victim of homicide, or merely found they did not have the stomach for the ruthlessness needed to work for his company. The latter was what often drove his secretaries away after a while, on top of the guilt and shame at having slept their way into their position, however when he stepped out of the elevator onto the spotles

The first thing he had noticed about the place after the peeling wallpaper that had apparently been placed there to cover the cracked plaster was how much it resembled a painting. It was as if an artist had envisioned the house, imperfections and all, then taken up a brush and palette of paints to make it. He could not say for certain if the eeriness of the place, the sense of something just not being quite right, was also part of that artistic vision or just a byproduct of the man currently living there, but then it could very well just be his interpretation of the whole picture; art was subjective after all. "Or it could be that this entir

     "Why were you named The Crows?"       The question was innocent enough, as innocent as Sylvie's own wide green eyes. Though perhaps that was not a proper comparison for no matter how child-like her eyes there was no mistaking her for a woman; a Lady, if she would ever allow such frivolities like social titles. Despite the question not coming from a child, however, he kept the smile on his face for the question was still very much like a youngster's in its nature as it lacked the threads of malice or hatred an adult's words were wont to include.       "A good q

Hospitals had never been on the list of her most favorite places to be. Too many memories of-then-unrequited love, terrible pain and that smug bastard's sadistic grin surfaced at the site of bright, white fluorescent lights and sterile hallways. Now she had yet another horrifying experience to make her hate hospitals and give her nightmares for the rest of her life which not even she knew how long that was. Carefully rolling onto her side Rain buried her face in her pillow, trying to drown out the beeping of the heart monitor and the slow, steady drip of the IV in her arm. She could have borne the pain of giving birth to her child, that litt