Skeletons Warming Themselves, by Belgian painter James Ensor (1889). Kimbell Art Museum.

Lancashire, England © The Jack O’Lantern

‘𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 ℝ𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕤 𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝔸𝕝𝕝’ - 𝕓𝕪 𝕄𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕪

"Evening." A soft smile as she offers him a chalice of blood. "Drink with me?"

A giddy bounce in her step as she comes to sit beside him, a chalice of her own in tow. "You're looking brighter tonight," she says as she takes a sip.

Her smile remains, and she gestures at his own. "Like that. Glowing."

‘𝔽𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕄𝕖 𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨’ - 𝕓𝕪 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕚𝕟

Shadows shrouding. Sharp and shrieking silence. She wants more. She wants everything. She wants nothing. You still have something left. Take it between your teeth.

The things you don't want are. So you come to be rid of them, aye?

That was still too cryptic? But you answered the question...

Looks confused at first. but can't keep from giggling. "Hello there." She slides an arm around his shoulders so he can sit more comfortably.

Many things about me are long dead. But words are different. I see and hear and feel things, and then words don't fit, unless they're shaped like this. Or they just come shaped like that.

Lots of people don't like that. But the words just want someone to hear them. I'm the same way. I wonder if these shadows are like that. There's something, smothered by nothing. Sound, strangled by silence. [She gasps and looks down.] Solid ground. I'm on solid ground.

She nods, a bit hastily. "Aye, I'm fine, I think." She gently taps the ground for good measure. "Thought I was falling." "I see and hear things," she explained hesitantly, expecting him to frown upon it. "Visions and voices. I'm mad, they say."

Do I put so much of myself into caring for the dead because the loneliness of my own existence is too painful? Is it really Fate, or just self-fulfilling prophecies?