Ophilia is at a place she hasn't been in a very long time. The old boarding house looks homey. It's more like a grandmother's place should be. Not Ophilia's grandmother, of course. She is chilled to the bone. It's still November and in Berlin weather it's terribly harsh. Her coat whimped out a while ago. Still a smile is on her face, vaguely ( Read more... )

The phone rang with a shrill sound from a, perhaps, worn out bell in Fraulein Schnieder's boarding house. It was the sound a brass cup makes against the bars of a prison reverberating through the halls of the house. It was open for anyone to answer. A perfect stranger could answer and it wouldn't seem out of the ordinary in the least. Though an ( Read more... )

Dear Diary Journal Hypothetical Murder of my Father Diary ( Read more... )

As Ophilia enters the room with Leon where her father sits looking at his hand with a pained expression that Ophilia can only guess is from some sort of anticipation (and not that his foot still hurt from the fumbled rock), she feels her throat tighten. She tries not to look in his familiar face, his bone structure she'd seen so many times in the ( Read more... )

Ophilia had been looking at it for a while now. She'd looked at it so hard that it'd become blurred in her vision. She could hear, for a time, Leon's raised voice but she didn't focus on the words. Then they were murmering again. But all she could do was stair at the abomination in her hand ( Read more... )

Ophilia was better than she had been. She was getting back into what she had always known as herself. It helped that there was suddenly a good deal of cleaning to do. She hadn't realized how messy she could be when going through cocaine withdrawl. Slight oversight in the whole getting addicted to dangerous drug plan ( Read more... )

from: http://call-me-frankie.livejournal.com/44820.html

Ophilia sits heavily in a chair at the dining room table. She listens to Frankie and Leon banter a little. She eyes the set table. Stretching out a lengthy finger tipping the silver top of the glass container of salt. It falls ( Read more... )

Ophilia frowns as she comes into her house, which seemed larger every day. She makes no attempt to hide the racket of throwing her purse onto the chair and scooting about things as she hobbles her way to the kitchen on sore legs and a sizeable headache. She unwraps the silk scarf from her hand and looks down at the nasty scrape, but is too lazy to ( Read more... )

White ( Read more... )

Dear Diary,
It's so empty here without Auntie Francine to keep me company. It's bad when you can hear the echos of your own footsteps and charish them as company. I suppose this house is too damn big and too far away, even for a marvelously amazing lady, as myself. I've seen no head nor tail of Uncle Leon very recently.

On a positive note, my ( Read more... )