All the gods lost 2-1, and holes to heaven pointed out to us from light years away
Characters: Sally Sparrow, Daisy Adair, and John Druitt
Rating: T
Time Period: Modern
Location: Canary Village Cemetery
Relative Date: The night of the Masquerade
Status: Closed.
It wasn't long before Sally took her leave of the party. She knew precious few faces there to begin with, and like most situations involving crowded social events, it made her a bit anxious. She'd gathered her coat at the door, wrapping it tightly around her before slipping out the ballroom doors. If anyone saw her leave, they made no comment or any move to catch her before she slipped out the door. The Castle halls and entryway seemed strangely empty, more than usual, perhaps just in contrast to the crowds inside the ballroom. Seemed gray in comparison to the golden glow of lights inside.
Sally picked her path carefully, able to avoid most of the deeper patches of snow as she headed slowly back to her cottage. But even so, she stumbled a few times, stepping too deeply into the white powder. It was a beautiful night, full moon lighting the sky a strange shade of violet, offset by ghostly clouds that seemed to whisp and dance across its surface. It was a beautiful night, and the nearer Sally grew to her cottage, the less she felt like going straight to bed with a book. She changed her path, stepping lightly towards the village that lay just beyond a small grove of trees behind her cottage.
She thinks it odd that this is the first time the night here hasn't felt menacing, almost...welcoming, as she passes the village gates, then empty square, and finally out to the back of it all.
Sally's standing in the graveyard even before she knows it. The old stones and markers are dusted lightly with snow, and the ground between them, usually crass and ugly with fry weeds and thistles is now blanketed in white snow. She wonders if she's treading over empty graves, or whether what lies beneath possibly predates the Castle's more impossible properties. She stops and leans against a taller stone for a moment, before brushing the snow off it's adjacent stone bench, and sitting lightly.
You could never see stars like this in London.