Heads Up! RARELY, I am down to write male characters or double. Just not right now, BUT I can be swayed.
Hi there! Just call me May. A few little notes before we get to it. (Which is sad that I even have to list these fucking things, but oh well.)
- I refuse to write with men. No offence, but I'm done with men. They make me uncomfortable and quite frankly, I am finished getting creeped out and men being inappropriate with me for no goddamn reason other than my fucking gender.
- Don't spam me, or ask for my fucking socials outside of this site.
- Don't make stuff weird. I'm only here to rp and make friends.
- Don't oversexualize stuff. It makes me uncomfortable.
- I'm begging. Don't. Make. Stuff. Weird.
And finally, - Please read my post carefully.
- I only write characters that are 20+ and I'd prefer to write with partners who are themselves 22+
I've been roleplaying ever since I got access to the family computer haha. I'm a bit of a nerd, I adore video games and lately, I've gotten back into reading again. I don't have a specific hyperfixation at the moment, I just want to write something fun. I'm pretty much hurting for a new RP, so here I am, giving this site a try, finally, since signing up.
If you're interested, message me and SEND ME A WRITING SAMPLE. Then we can talk about writing and discuss plots and whatnot.
So this list will be full of stuff I like and would be willing to build off of but have nothing regarding them (Might Add More Stuff Later)
- Trailer Park Romance
- Faeries and stuff
- Norse Mythology
- Greek Mythology
- Arranged Marriages
- Enemies to Lovers
- Baldur's Gate 3
- Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora
- Delicious in Dungeon
Cravings
"The Child of Blood Comes Forth" [ FxM/FxF/MxFxM | Romance, Fantasy, Romance, Greek Myths ] *** Major Craving
I'm lowkey obsessed with Epic The Musical and it reignited my love for greek myths so... Ya lol. We could do anything from ancient Greece with fantasy when it comes to the setting, or we could pull something like Lore Olympus (Even tho I don't rely enjoy that webcomic anymore). OR a just a plain modern setting with heavy fantasy elements.Idea A: MC is a minor goddess that is on the brink of starting a war. YC could be whoever!
Idea B: MC is just a simple young woman who had been turning down suitors left and right, refusing to marry despite her father constantly pleading her to settle down. But maybe that will change when she meets YC?
"Wind's Howling" [ FxM | Medieval Fantasy / Witcher | Scoia'tael Elf x Half-Elf/ Witcher x Half-Elf / Witcher x Witcher ] (Not Willing to Double. Mostly Craving Soita'tael Related Story)
I absolutely adore the series (Not the TV show. If you like the TV show, don't bother messaging) and since I'm replaying the third game, I've got the craving.
Idea A: YC, a Scoia'tael elf warrior notices MC, a strange young woman from a village that meddles in the woods.
Idea B: YC, a Witcher comes to town and decides to rent a room at a lovely little inn. The owner's daughter, MC, is surprisingly happy to see him and eager to hear about his life, etc. Just something cute.
Idea C: MC's a witcher, YC's a witcher, and they run into one another during a contract that doesn't go quite as planned (Shenanigans ensue).
LIGHT CRAVINGS
- Hogwarts Legacy Rotted My Brain [FxM | Semi-Modern or Victorian | Harry Potter Universe, Doesn't have to be lore accurate, Frenemies? idk, Hogwarts University]
Don't really have a proper, fully cooked plot for this one, I just wanna do an rp in the universe lol - "What the fuck is a puck bunny?" [FxM | Modern, College/University, Comedy, Romance, "enemies" to frenemies to lovers?]
YC is a hockey player, the star of the UNI's team and a future NHL player. Cocky, smug with a big head and an even bigger ego- but why wouldn't he be all those things? He was just that good. Except when he laid eyes on MC and from there on everything just kinda went downhill... Because she had no fucking clue who he is, nor about why hockey was such a big deal. - "Save a bike, ride a biker, or whatever." [FxM | Modern, Comedy, Romance, Fluff, Maybe comedy.]
MC is a struggling, young single mom who is basically treated like a leper by the other moms, but she really is trying her best. YC is this big bad biker who looks much scarier than he has any right to. YC could be a fellow single parent or just someone who is tickled by the poor gal's struggles. - The vampire's maid [ FxM | Fantasy Romance, Comedy, Not 100% accurate Victorian Era(?) ]
MC was a smart cookie. She was a well-read, literate young woman. It was just a shame that she had a death wish. Or at least that's what the people in her hometown would say when she took off to look for a job at that cursed old castle that loomed over the town, nestled between mountains. Nobody expected that she would dazzle the bloodsucking lord (YC) of the castle enough to keep her head. - "Roll for initiative!" [ FxM | Slice of Life, Comedy, Romance, Nerdy Stuff ]
YC's been a DM for his friend group for what feels like forever and he finally managed to get a lady to sit at his table to join his childhood friends. And who knows? Maybe he can dazzle her with his epic DM'ing skills.
Mags always found it funny how families were sometimes.
Some people stuck with the one they had blood ties to.
Some found new ones.
Hers always felt just a little… odd. Not in the sense that it wasn't entirely traditional. She was sure that once upon a time it was the picture-perfect, American nuclear family. A mother, father, a dog, a kid.
Up until tragedy struck.
See, Margaret Davies was a bit of a magnet for bad luck. She always had this sort of dead-fish attitude, especially after she turned 12 and punched Gavin Reynolds, the neighbour's little shithead. But maybe she'd always been like this. Maybe punching that pudgy little ginger fuck on the playground was just a drop in the bucket. Or it always could've been the straw that broke the camel's back.
Realistically though, her parents likely got sick and tired of living with granny Henrietta, something little Maggie Davis could barely comprehend. How could anyone get sick of her gamgam? She was such a cool– no, she was the coolest person Maggie knew! And hest best friend as well! Alright, okay, maybe that was part of why fucking Gavin "ginger fuck" Reynolds thought it was okay to push the much smaller girl around.
He was a much bigger kid compared to others their age and he was bulky with a flush that lingered in his fleshy cheeks covered in a myriad of freckles. It was like someone took a paintbrush and flicked it at him. And there was that mop of chunky ginger hair atop his potato-shaped head. The fact that he was her very first kiss when they were 5 a mere five feet away from the sight of the punching. Right under the damn slide into which she wanted to ram his head into when he pushed her and called her pigtails stupid.
She could vividly recall how much her little fist hurt, how hot her face felt how her eyes stung from the tears and how raw her throat ached because of how loudly she screamed at him. Her skin prickled and gooseflesh rose all over her body when she heard an adult approaching to diffuse the situation.
That… was the problem with small towns such as Fogmore. Everyone knew everyone and everything. You couldn't drop a pin in town without people knowing. So word quickly spread of little Maggie's vicious attack. The girl could still recall how much she cried, running into the arms of her grandmother in fear of her mother's wrath.
"This was the last thing we needed, more attention," her mother grumbled before she put on her most apologetic face and began to grovel before the neighbours, assuring that this was merely an instance of kids playing too rough. A garbled mess of apologies poured from her mouth while her grandmother stroked her hair. Back then, she didn't understand why it was so bad if people paid attention to her family despite all the whispers about them being cursed. That was why she didn't have friends and why she was such an easy target for big bullies like damn Gavin Reynolds.
Maybe they were cursed.
Maybe she was cursed.
For starters, Margaret's life began with a tragedy. Born on Friday the 13th in May, nearly suffocated and came out a little blue. She was a small baby. The smallest she'd ever been and ever would be. She was almost taken by the wrong family and when she was finally handed over to her parents, on the drive home they were stuck in a ridiculous storm.
Maggie's mother figured they could sit it out, but huge branches would soon block the road. Her father, a stranger in her eyes, was impatient. He simply got out of the car, saying that he would clear the road so they could get back home. They had a newborn, after all…
But what the man didn't account for was the lightning and how dangerous it was to wave around branches in a storm.
That wasn't the end of the road for the girl when it came to the dramedy that was her life. Because even after the worst, she still found it all to be something like an elaborate joke that was played on her by god.
She truly was god's dog and he had left her in the car on a hot summer day. Or that was just how she felt.
The real curse must've been on her mother though, because the people of Fogmore began to call her a black widow. An old maiden. A cursed slag... The last one Mags wasn't exactly allowed to say and she would always get a smack on her mouth if she dared utter that certain s-word.
Anyone who her mother dared to date and actually brought home suffered misfortunes. Either their car got towed, their ex-wives sued them and took their house as well, or maybe they broke their leg, or got fired… The list just went on and on.
Ana, Mags' mother, on the other hand, believed that it was that bloody town and that creepy house. Those were at fault.
All because curses did not exist.
So after the whole playground debacle, it was no secret that Maggie's mother was eager to get out of town. Especially once she landed a new man.
Mags didn't really think much of that man. Hugh had a large frame, a bit of a gut, and a scary face with a scar… but he had kind eyes. His hair was already thinning and he always faintly smelled of cigarettes and he always shook Mags' hand, knowing that she didn't like to be touched. Her most vivid memory of the man was the time he had brought her a box of trinkets. sea glass, candy, animal teeth and even a hag stone!
So as far as she was concerned, he was the closest any man was to being her father. Her mother's relationship with the man was calm and he was the lucky one she chose to ditch this town with.
Only for him to disappear one night after they moved into their new home.
He was just gone. Vanished without a trace and even when Mags' mother desperately tried to find out if he had gone back to Fogmore, nobody knew of anyone named Hugh matching the description she gave.
It was like he never existed. The only proof Mags had was the old, beaten-up cigar box with the chipping paint that hid the treasures the big man Hugh had given her.
She couldn't recall if her mother dated much after that. All she knew was that they were struggling for a good while… at least up until Mags' mother finally bit the bullet and asked someone for help. Allegedly, that was Mags' uncle, from her dad's side, which didn't say much at all to her.
Day in, day out, the girl found herself getting used to the whiffs of formaldehyde, white flowers and musk as she'd loitered around the Greggorson's funeral home. Not the ideal place for a kid, but it was cheaper than a babysitter even if her clothes smelled weird sometimes and she saw more dead bodies than any kid on her block which most likely didn't do anything good for her development.
By the time she was 17, Mags had gone through a growth spurt. She was no longer the awkward, tiny girl with the messily chopped bangs who got angry whenever someone spoke badly about fairies… Instead, she was a nihilistic and sarcastic teenager who was a permanent fixture in detention. She was antisocial and rumour had it that she was a biter.
Despite her behavioural issues though, she got into college. Right as her mother decided to marry some weird single dad she met at some sort of school event. That was mainly what motivated her to get her ass in gear and make sure that she could get as far away from her house and new annoying step-brother as fast as possible.
There must have been some sort of rule that nothing could ever be easy.
The first few weeks, hell, even the first year of college were good. Until it just… wasn't. One day Mags just woke up in her shitty dorm room that reeked of five-day-old cup noodles, puke, sweat and alcohol with the mountain of assignments and homework that just loomed over her and she just couldn't do it anymore.
She couldn't.
However, this time she had a place to run and hide.
Her life melted away into the night. Cigarette smoke, alcohol, acid, flashing lights and a broken bedframe with a lumpy mattress. But at least she spent her nights safely in the arms of a man who she thought she loved.
Until she didn't.
Until she had to run away, like always.
Life was funny like that though, because when she needed it most, it was like the stars had finally aligned for her.
Even if the call was about her grandmother, her best friend, passing away.
— — —
She didn't have many things to take along. Everything she had, plus the clothes on her back could fit into a hefty duffle bag covered in scribbles and iron-on patches. Mags just ran and didn't stop running until she reached the bus station.
From there on, it was a tense four-hour drive before she got off the bus and got picked up by her mother who she didn't see in what felt like forever. To say that things felt awkward would've been an understatement.
While others hugged and happily shrieked as they reunited with their relatives, Mags Davies and Ana Davies-Reid stood before one another. The silence was tense, both women appeared anxious as they eyed the other with clear doubt in their eyes.
"You've lost weight," was all her mother said after she cleared her throat. A few grey hairs already shining in between her dark brown locks. Faint smile lines and crows feet were already showing on her pale skin. "Let me take care of your bag," she'd mutter, grabbing Mags' bag before the girl could've protested.
So she just sighed, letting her mother have this as she crawled into the car.
Returning to the house she barely spent any time in, save for when she was asleep, felt strange. Her stomach was in knots as she got out of the car and just waddled up the her old room which was converted into a very tasteful guest room. It felt like her mother was desperate to wipe any sign of Mags' existence from this house.
She couldn't even see any family pictures with her in it.
She's got her perfect family now, she sighed, throwing her bag down before she just collapsed on top of the springy bed.
At least the bed was comfortable.
Small victories.
Part of her hoped that the funeral would be less awkward. She hoped it would be light-hearted with plenty of booze and food and that just the overall energy would be less…
This.
The Greggorson's funeral home was just like she remembered. Beige, white, oppressive lights that made everyone look like a corpse and heavy scents.
And the worst part was that her mother made her wear a black dress. Her. Mags. In a dress.
Like putting lipstick on a pig, she grimaced as she tugged at her skirts. Her stockings already had holes in them and the only shoes she could find were her younger step-brother's boots.
Thank god I'm basically big foot.
"So yeah, that's basically the story of my life, actually," she traced the rim of her glass, leaning against the bar, making the bartender visibly uncomfortable. At least judging by the wide-eyed look he was giving her.
Mags just stared in silence, before she raised her cup with a grunt.
"Another round?"
To that, the bartender huffed and slowly put the bottle of scotch away. Not pleased with this, Mags had half a mind to snatch the bottle from him, but the shrill voice of her mother stopped her.
"Margaret!" She hissed, grabbing onto her arm, her nails digging into her flesh. Mags didn't even react, she merely rolled her eyes and set her glass down. "Stop making a scene. Not everything is about you," the woman huffed, shaking her head in disapproval as she proceeded to drag her daughter along.
Deep down, all she wanted to say was that this was what gamgam would've wanted, but that would've just made things worse.
The service itself was… Fine. It was a funeral, there wasn't much to it. Plus Mags felt awkward whenever people weeped and said that it was a beautiful service.
She was more curious about the will, wondering what the old lady left behind for her.
With her luck, it was probably old recipes or a brooch, or something.
Once seated in a more private area, only granny Henrietta's closest relatives. And single friend. Only Mags, her mother and her family, some old lady who was apparently granny's best friend and granny Henrietta's sister who Mags had never met before.
Mags didn't want to be there. it was the last place she wanted to be and yet, it only took her mother nudging her with a huff to bring her back to reality. She blinked rapidly, her dead eyes flicking toward the frustrated lawyer with his big ol' fucking glasses and messy hair. The man just sighed deeply, slowly repeating it all.
From that moment, it felt like she'd been yoinked into an episode of Punked.
"She left me what?"
— — —
Margaret Davies always thought that she was at least a little cursed. Or maybe just unlucky, but her luck appeared to be turning around now.
After all, she scored a goddamn house!
It was hard to believe truly and as much as she felt like her mother was irked about this, she seemed almost a little…grateful, that Mags would be in a palace where she knew was safe.
Not that the woman would ever admit that. And maybe Mags' stepdad wasn't as much of a douche as she thought he was at first.
He helped her haul some of his packed-up shit down from the attic, loaded up his truck and hell, he even let her take his old motorcycle away.
That was more or less to please Mags' mother since she claimed the man was far too old to ride around that thing. So this was a win-win for them.
Mags had stolen that bike multiple times during her high school days, riding that thing to school countless times.
Only for her to officially get it now… Along with her very own house in the town that she once adored.
Fogmore.
The drive itself was a little awkward. Mags and Mr.Stepdaddy didn't have much to talk about, but the man was trying.
He asked her about school, a job, her love life, but the more questions Mags answered, the less enthusiastic the man became.
It was a tough situation, that was for sure… But at least Mags scored some free food and a free ride.
Passing by the town signs, the old stores with all that chipping paint, the decrepit statue in the center of town… It was truly like returning home. A strange feeling settled in her gut, or maybe it was the beef jerky that didn't agree with her.
Or it could've been her nerves acting up. Returning to her childhood home felt daunting. Would it be exactly as she remembered it? Maybe it would be cold and unwelcoming, treating her as though she betrayed her roots, or something.
That was a bit dramatic.
As they passed by familiar houses and that dreadful playground, they slowly came to a stop once they reached the end of the street.
The tall, butter-yellow house still stood tall. Some ivy had begun to grow on its side, but the garden seemed well maintained, despite granny's absence. Was it the neighbours' doing? Granny wasn't the most social, but it wouldn't surprise her if the neighbours felt sorry for the old girl. The truck door slammed shut behind her loudly, she rubbed the back of her neck absentmindedly while she dipped her hand into her pocket. The key to the house was still buried deep within it, between wrappers of candy and old receipts, not to mention the bits of lint.
The house felt oppressive, but it was just a house in the end. The lock clicked open with a soft sound. Its interior was surprisingly neat, reminiscent of the home she had long left behind.
Some things just didn't change.
Lucky for her, her stepdad was quick to ditch, leaving behind the old bike they had hauled over on the truck, along with the boxes of her old things.
She just lingered in the middle of the now cramped livingroom, taking in the dated floral wallpaper with the pinstripes, the little notches on the kitchen's doorway.
"No way… She kept this?" a smile tugged at her lips as she carefully approached, dragging her fingers along the coloured indents. Her gaze curiously scanned it. Granny had marked down Mags' height there, jotting down what age she was and exactly how tall. But it stopped when she was 12. Now, that made her frown.
"Damn. I was literally a little shit," her hand drifted and she felt something. "Hmm?" blinking slowly, she stepped aside slightly, noticing more indents. That was new. They carried on for what felt like forever.
"Who the hell–" she tried to blink away her surprise and make out the name scribbled on the poorly painted wooden frame, but a knock brought her back to reality.
Jumping a little, she huffed and shook her head, hurrying off to open the door.
What awaited her was not something she actually expected, but it was something she definitely dreaded.
The neighbours.
She cringed her way through the awkward niceties and the mountains of food that were forced on her. The most notable one was Mrs Debbie Reynolds and her absolutely disgusting-looking jello and marshmallow "salad". She fussed about how tall and skinny Mags had gotten and reminisced about how she was "good friends" with her little boy Gavin. The semi-delusional woman even suggested that she should hang out with her son.
She wouldn't be getting her tupperware back.
Not after that stupid suggestion.
"Where am I going to put all this shit?" Mags shuddered, trying her best to cramp everything into the fridge to the best of her abilities. Lucky for her, granny clearly had been living off of TV dinners and pickles. Woman after my own heart. At the very least there weren't any disgusting spoiled foods to throw out. Deep cleaning the fridge was the last thing she wanted to deal with.
And so, her first day in her old-new home was rather ordinary. She did her best at unpacking and slightly debated where she would spend her first night.
Sleeping in her grandmother's bed felt weird, and intrusive. Her childhood bedroom didn't feel as musty as she thought it would though. Had granny been refreshing the room? Did she have overnight guests?
Shuddering, she winced as she got a much darker thought in her head.
Maybe there's a squatter, she made a face at the thought. That was most likely the worst thing to think of while in the shower. The possibility of someone watching her every move creeped her out. It didn't slip from her mind even as she was drying off, or when she crawled into her old bed.
Although, the moment she set her eyes on the ceiling, her worries melted away. Her lips parted as she sighed, staring at the old glow-in-the-dark stars still dazzling as they "shone" down on her with their dim light.
Life would be easier now that she was here, right? She could find a job, live off the money granny left her and live here more or less for free.
Sleep took her rather quickly. She drifted off, snoring softly and sprawled out like a starfish.
She was none the wiser to the mysteries that lurked beneath the floorboards and in between the cracks of the wall.
Who? Who? Who?
Is? Is? Is
That? That?... That?
Quiet whispers flooded the house, claws scraped against the windows, shaky breaths escaped, eerie eyes peered through the windows and finally, they found her.
It took a second, but the lock on the window snapped and it creaked open. A strong gust of wind blew through the room, making Mags stir in her sleep slightly with a grumble. She pulled her blanket over her head and rolled onto her stomach. Her face was buried in her pillows.
"Two…two minutes…" she grumbled, her voice muffled. But whatever was intruding didn't have the patience. It tugged and tugged until the blanket was yanked off of her. Her body stiffened and she grunted in annoyance, looking up to only see the flash of the eye of a predator.
What–
Sleep was instantly knocked out of her eyes as an unseen force grabbed her ankle. Yelping then shrieking, she tried to hold on to something, anything, clawing at the mattress and probably breaking a nail or two in the process as she got dragged out.
"WhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhattheFUCK–"
Was she supposed to start praying or something? Was this some paranormal activity bullshit?
What the actual living or not living fuck was this?! Her lungs ached, her vocal cords felt strained and she was pretty sure she got rug burn on her ass.
Tonight out of all nights wasn't the best one to sleep in boy shorts and an old shirt. The front door was wide open, and she was yanked down the stairs and already had her head spinning. She'd taken many hits in the head as a kid, but this was on another level. No matter how much she flailed, kicked and screamed, the grip on her ankle was too strong and she could've sworn that it was getting stronger, threatening to crush her bones.
Was it reacting to her trying to escape? Maybe she should stop struggling. Maybe this was one of those weird lucid dreams. That sort of made sense… Was the TV dinner she ate off? Was this some sort of hallucination? It felt too real for it to be that.
Is this the end? Is granny haunting me?
Mags just whimpered and whined as instead of the front door, it swiftly turned and dragged her through the back door. Clearly the entity was a picky little bitch, but not picky enough to spare her from the possible splinters that'll end up lodged into her poor ass.
Somehow screaming felt futile at this point even though she'd completely lost track of what her body was doing. Her screams felt empty, silent. Cold mud clung to her skin, dirt got into her mouth and even in the pitch-black darkness, she was well aware that it was pulling her into the forest.
The wind picked up, branches and thorns slashed at her exposed limbs, and she could barely shield her face. She felt dizzy, her leg was throbbing and she didn't notice how the air shifted. Her stomach felt like she was on a rollercoaster ride, her insides jostled around. The sounds of the forest were dull, the only thing she could make out was the whooshing of wind, her ears stung from the cold and the draft.
And before she knew it, she was flung. With one last shriek, she rolled across the ground. When she finally stopped, all she could do was cough and roll slightly to her side, wheezing and greedily gasping for air. Tears welled up in her eyes, her poor ankle bruised and just a little swollen.
What was this? Where was she?
Rubbing her eyes, her whole body began to ache. It took her a moment, but she was beginning to realise that wherever she was was… bright. With slow, deep breaths she swallowed awkwardly once she had gotten enough dirt out of her mouth and braved to take a look.
The lights were almost blinding, the floral, earthy smell was overwhelming and damn near nauseating and worst of all— there were monsters surrounding her.
Sharp teeth that were too large for their mouths, too many eyes, too many limbs, too many–
Okay, there were naked people around too, that was great–
She was speechless, wide-eyed and definitely a little nauseated. Her vision blurred for a moment before she smacked her hand on her mouth. There would be nothing more embarrassing if she threw up now. And the possibility that this was a dream still hung in the back of her mind. Would she be throwing up all over herself, or choking on her own vomit in bed? She tried her best to shake off the thought and focus on her surroundings instead.
Her body trembled, her eyes were slowly refocusing.
Alright, Mags, calm down, this is probably just a really fucking bad dream, right?
The taste of sweet earth and clay was overwhelming. There were horns, hooves, tails, paws, claws, vines and moss. A melody was playing, a melody so distant and yet so close. So foreign yet familiar. So cold and yet so warm.
Her cold gaze was slowly drawn toward the center of everyone's attention though. Her breath hitched, her blood ran cold. How could something look so wicked yet beautiful? So welcoming and yet so harsh?
Golden eyes, golden locks and antlers adorned with gilded chains and petals.
It was like a prince, no– a villain from a fairy tale.
Just what was going on? She felt petrified, frozen in place. Her treacherous heart beat loudly in her chest, her ears were ringing and the moment the figure raised that terrifying hand of his. Those long nails of his looked like they could go through her skin like knife through butter.
Her mouth felt dry, terror gripped her heart, squeezing so hard she feared she could die any moment now. A sharp pain went through her head, her whole body shook and she couldn't look away from him no matter how much she wanted. Her mouth was agape, her vision was blurring.
The taste of the earth mixed with the taste of copper.
It spoke.
Bring him. Bring him back to me. Bring back—
And then, darkness.
Darkness until her eyes finally snapped open and she sat up, startled. She coughed, gasping for air. Her body was slick with sweat, she was trembling, her hair stuck to her face and her mouth felt disgusting. Mags' eyes frantically bounced around the room. She seemed to be back "home" now.
Was it all a dream? She just sat in shock, gripping at her chest, but when she looked down, she was greeted with something disturbing.
Leaves and dirt covered the bed, her arms and legs were caked in it as though she had just crawled out of a grave.
No fucking way—
A shower and some laundry later, she would be found in the living room again in some clean clothes, sitting on the floor right beside the coffee table while she had multiple tabs open on her laptop.
She made a face, not satisfied with any of the information she'd gotten from the sites. Who knew that sometimes even google couldn't serve up the proper answers? With a sigh, she leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Things didn't really make too much sense at all. There were too many strange things in the house. Things she'd never even noticed. And some things that she could've sworn she would've noticed before. Like the strange measurements etched into the kitchen doorframe.
Those made a little more sense after Mags had stumbled upon the strange, hidden photo album hidden behind a few books. From those photos though, the only thing Mags had learned was that there was some kid that granny had been spending an awful lot of time with.
Maybe a neighbour's kid? She decided to shake off that thought for now.
The afternoon sunshine was pouring in through the window, the fan on the ceiling spun lazily and the rattling of the old washing machine in the washroom made the entire house shake.
Her poor bedroom wasn't the only thing that had far too much dirt thrown around. She'd spent the entire morning sweeping and scrubbing the floors.
Her ankle still ached, a bruise blooming on her skin, but other than a few bruises she didn't find anything else wrong. It couldn't have been a dream though. At first, she thought she went crazy and dug up the garden, but nothing seemed amiss.
A plate of half-eaten, slightly burnt lasagne was still on the table, along with two empty cans of soda. She dreaded going out, running into the neighbours, trying to engage in small talk.
But then, something else popped into her mind.
Along with the keys and papers for the house, there was also a sealed letter with the simple label;
.
With some newly found energy, Mags scrambled to her feet and ripped open yet another box of her stuff. It took a bit of rummaging, but finally, she found it. The letter may have been light as a feather, but it felt like it weighed a tonne for her. Trembling, she ripped it open.
"Huh," she just stared at it blankly. It was just… a list. Her brows furrowed as she glared down at it.
Who are they?
On any other day, Mags would've been reconsidering her grandmother's sanity, but after last night?
"I can't believe I'm considering this," a sigh seeped out of her as she made a face, her green eyes flicking back to her boxes.
Maybe it was time to break out the red paints and do… whatever else these "instructions" said.
So with that, Mags got to unpacking and painting the thresholds red just for now. Where would she get iron horseshoes though? In town? She bit the inside of her cheek just as she was watching the doorframe of the backdoor drying.
But then, a knock came from the front door. Arching a brow, she turned back and just stared at it for a long moment.
Yet another knock. With a frustrated huff, she ran her fingers through her hair and snatched up her glasses from the counter.
"Alright, alright! Keep your hair on, I'm coming!" she grumbled, dramatically stomping over and flinging the door open. "What is it now– eh?" Her irritated expression disappeared and she just stared down at the stranger in stunned silence.
There was something familiar about him.
Who was this?
Some people stuck with the one they had blood ties to.
Some found new ones.
Hers always felt just a little… odd. Not in the sense that it wasn't entirely traditional. She was sure that once upon a time it was the picture-perfect, American nuclear family. A mother, father, a dog, a kid.
Up until tragedy struck.
See, Margaret Davies was a bit of a magnet for bad luck. She always had this sort of dead-fish attitude, especially after she turned 12 and punched Gavin Reynolds, the neighbour's little shithead. But maybe she'd always been like this. Maybe punching that pudgy little ginger fuck on the playground was just a drop in the bucket. Or it always could've been the straw that broke the camel's back.
Realistically though, her parents likely got sick and tired of living with granny Henrietta, something little Maggie Davis could barely comprehend. How could anyone get sick of her gamgam? She was such a cool– no, she was the coolest person Maggie knew! And hest best friend as well! Alright, okay, maybe that was part of why fucking Gavin "ginger fuck" Reynolds thought it was okay to push the much smaller girl around.
He was a much bigger kid compared to others their age and he was bulky with a flush that lingered in his fleshy cheeks covered in a myriad of freckles. It was like someone took a paintbrush and flicked it at him. And there was that mop of chunky ginger hair atop his potato-shaped head. The fact that he was her very first kiss when they were 5 a mere five feet away from the sight of the punching. Right under the damn slide into which she wanted to ram his head into when he pushed her and called her pigtails stupid.
She could vividly recall how much her little fist hurt, how hot her face felt how her eyes stung from the tears and how raw her throat ached because of how loudly she screamed at him. Her skin prickled and gooseflesh rose all over her body when she heard an adult approaching to diffuse the situation.
That… was the problem with small towns such as Fogmore. Everyone knew everyone and everything. You couldn't drop a pin in town without people knowing. So word quickly spread of little Maggie's vicious attack. The girl could still recall how much she cried, running into the arms of her grandmother in fear of her mother's wrath.
"This was the last thing we needed, more attention," her mother grumbled before she put on her most apologetic face and began to grovel before the neighbours, assuring that this was merely an instance of kids playing too rough. A garbled mess of apologies poured from her mouth while her grandmother stroked her hair. Back then, she didn't understand why it was so bad if people paid attention to her family despite all the whispers about them being cursed. That was why she didn't have friends and why she was such an easy target for big bullies like damn Gavin Reynolds.
Maybe they were cursed.
Maybe she was cursed.
For starters, Margaret's life began with a tragedy. Born on Friday the 13th in May, nearly suffocated and came out a little blue. She was a small baby. The smallest she'd ever been and ever would be. She was almost taken by the wrong family and when she was finally handed over to her parents, on the drive home they were stuck in a ridiculous storm.
Maggie's mother figured they could sit it out, but huge branches would soon block the road. Her father, a stranger in her eyes, was impatient. He simply got out of the car, saying that he would clear the road so they could get back home. They had a newborn, after all…
But what the man didn't account for was the lightning and how dangerous it was to wave around branches in a storm.
That wasn't the end of the road for the girl when it came to the dramedy that was her life. Because even after the worst, she still found it all to be something like an elaborate joke that was played on her by god.
She truly was god's dog and he had left her in the car on a hot summer day. Or that was just how she felt.
The real curse must've been on her mother though, because the people of Fogmore began to call her a black widow. An old maiden. A cursed slag... The last one Mags wasn't exactly allowed to say and she would always get a smack on her mouth if she dared utter that certain s-word.
Anyone who her mother dared to date and actually brought home suffered misfortunes. Either their car got towed, their ex-wives sued them and took their house as well, or maybe they broke their leg, or got fired… The list just went on and on.
Ana, Mags' mother, on the other hand, believed that it was that bloody town and that creepy house. Those were at fault.
All because curses did not exist.
So after the whole playground debacle, it was no secret that Maggie's mother was eager to get out of town. Especially once she landed a new man.
Mags didn't really think much of that man. Hugh had a large frame, a bit of a gut, and a scary face with a scar… but he had kind eyes. His hair was already thinning and he always faintly smelled of cigarettes and he always shook Mags' hand, knowing that she didn't like to be touched. Her most vivid memory of the man was the time he had brought her a box of trinkets. sea glass, candy, animal teeth and even a hag stone!
So as far as she was concerned, he was the closest any man was to being her father. Her mother's relationship with the man was calm and he was the lucky one she chose to ditch this town with.
Only for him to disappear one night after they moved into their new home.
He was just gone. Vanished without a trace and even when Mags' mother desperately tried to find out if he had gone back to Fogmore, nobody knew of anyone named Hugh matching the description she gave.
It was like he never existed. The only proof Mags had was the old, beaten-up cigar box with the chipping paint that hid the treasures the big man Hugh had given her.
She couldn't recall if her mother dated much after that. All she knew was that they were struggling for a good while… at least up until Mags' mother finally bit the bullet and asked someone for help. Allegedly, that was Mags' uncle, from her dad's side, which didn't say much at all to her.
Day in, day out, the girl found herself getting used to the whiffs of formaldehyde, white flowers and musk as she'd loitered around the Greggorson's funeral home. Not the ideal place for a kid, but it was cheaper than a babysitter even if her clothes smelled weird sometimes and she saw more dead bodies than any kid on her block which most likely didn't do anything good for her development.
By the time she was 17, Mags had gone through a growth spurt. She was no longer the awkward, tiny girl with the messily chopped bangs who got angry whenever someone spoke badly about fairies… Instead, she was a nihilistic and sarcastic teenager who was a permanent fixture in detention. She was antisocial and rumour had it that she was a biter.
Despite her behavioural issues though, she got into college. Right as her mother decided to marry some weird single dad she met at some sort of school event. That was mainly what motivated her to get her ass in gear and make sure that she could get as far away from her house and new annoying step-brother as fast as possible.
There must have been some sort of rule that nothing could ever be easy.
The first few weeks, hell, even the first year of college were good. Until it just… wasn't. One day Mags just woke up in her shitty dorm room that reeked of five-day-old cup noodles, puke, sweat and alcohol with the mountain of assignments and homework that just loomed over her and she just couldn't do it anymore.
She couldn't.
However, this time she had a place to run and hide.
Her life melted away into the night. Cigarette smoke, alcohol, acid, flashing lights and a broken bedframe with a lumpy mattress. But at least she spent her nights safely in the arms of a man who she thought she loved.
Until she didn't.
Until she had to run away, like always.
Life was funny like that though, because when she needed it most, it was like the stars had finally aligned for her.
Even if the call was about her grandmother, her best friend, passing away.
— — —
She didn't have many things to take along. Everything she had, plus the clothes on her back could fit into a hefty duffle bag covered in scribbles and iron-on patches. Mags just ran and didn't stop running until she reached the bus station.
From there on, it was a tense four-hour drive before she got off the bus and got picked up by her mother who she didn't see in what felt like forever. To say that things felt awkward would've been an understatement.
While others hugged and happily shrieked as they reunited with their relatives, Mags Davies and Ana Davies-Reid stood before one another. The silence was tense, both women appeared anxious as they eyed the other with clear doubt in their eyes.
"You've lost weight," was all her mother said after she cleared her throat. A few grey hairs already shining in between her dark brown locks. Faint smile lines and crows feet were already showing on her pale skin. "Let me take care of your bag," she'd mutter, grabbing Mags' bag before the girl could've protested.
So she just sighed, letting her mother have this as she crawled into the car.
Returning to the house she barely spent any time in, save for when she was asleep, felt strange. Her stomach was in knots as she got out of the car and just waddled up the her old room which was converted into a very tasteful guest room. It felt like her mother was desperate to wipe any sign of Mags' existence from this house.
She couldn't even see any family pictures with her in it.
She's got her perfect family now, she sighed, throwing her bag down before she just collapsed on top of the springy bed.
At least the bed was comfortable.
Small victories.
Part of her hoped that the funeral would be less awkward. She hoped it would be light-hearted with plenty of booze and food and that just the overall energy would be less…
This.
The Greggorson's funeral home was just like she remembered. Beige, white, oppressive lights that made everyone look like a corpse and heavy scents.
And the worst part was that her mother made her wear a black dress. Her. Mags. In a dress.
Like putting lipstick on a pig, she grimaced as she tugged at her skirts. Her stockings already had holes in them and the only shoes she could find were her younger step-brother's boots.
Thank god I'm basically big foot.
"So yeah, that's basically the story of my life, actually," she traced the rim of her glass, leaning against the bar, making the bartender visibly uncomfortable. At least judging by the wide-eyed look he was giving her.
Mags just stared in silence, before she raised her cup with a grunt.
"Another round?"
To that, the bartender huffed and slowly put the bottle of scotch away. Not pleased with this, Mags had half a mind to snatch the bottle from him, but the shrill voice of her mother stopped her.
"Margaret!" She hissed, grabbing onto her arm, her nails digging into her flesh. Mags didn't even react, she merely rolled her eyes and set her glass down. "Stop making a scene. Not everything is about you," the woman huffed, shaking her head in disapproval as she proceeded to drag her daughter along.
Deep down, all she wanted to say was that this was what gamgam would've wanted, but that would've just made things worse.
The service itself was… Fine. It was a funeral, there wasn't much to it. Plus Mags felt awkward whenever people weeped and said that it was a beautiful service.
She was more curious about the will, wondering what the old lady left behind for her.
With her luck, it was probably old recipes or a brooch, or something.
Once seated in a more private area, only granny Henrietta's closest relatives. And single friend. Only Mags, her mother and her family, some old lady who was apparently granny's best friend and granny Henrietta's sister who Mags had never met before.
Mags didn't want to be there. it was the last place she wanted to be and yet, it only took her mother nudging her with a huff to bring her back to reality. She blinked rapidly, her dead eyes flicking toward the frustrated lawyer with his big ol' fucking glasses and messy hair. The man just sighed deeply, slowly repeating it all.
From that moment, it felt like she'd been yoinked into an episode of Punked.
"She left me what?"
— — —
Margaret Davies always thought that she was at least a little cursed. Or maybe just unlucky, but her luck appeared to be turning around now.
After all, she scored a goddamn house!
It was hard to believe truly and as much as she felt like her mother was irked about this, she seemed almost a little…grateful, that Mags would be in a palace where she knew was safe.
Not that the woman would ever admit that. And maybe Mags' stepdad wasn't as much of a douche as she thought he was at first.
He helped her haul some of his packed-up shit down from the attic, loaded up his truck and hell, he even let her take his old motorcycle away.
That was more or less to please Mags' mother since she claimed the man was far too old to ride around that thing. So this was a win-win for them.
Mags had stolen that bike multiple times during her high school days, riding that thing to school countless times.
Only for her to officially get it now… Along with her very own house in the town that she once adored.
Fogmore.
The drive itself was a little awkward. Mags and Mr.Stepdaddy didn't have much to talk about, but the man was trying.
He asked her about school, a job, her love life, but the more questions Mags answered, the less enthusiastic the man became.
It was a tough situation, that was for sure… But at least Mags scored some free food and a free ride.
Passing by the town signs, the old stores with all that chipping paint, the decrepit statue in the center of town… It was truly like returning home. A strange feeling settled in her gut, or maybe it was the beef jerky that didn't agree with her.
Or it could've been her nerves acting up. Returning to her childhood home felt daunting. Would it be exactly as she remembered it? Maybe it would be cold and unwelcoming, treating her as though she betrayed her roots, or something.
That was a bit dramatic.
As they passed by familiar houses and that dreadful playground, they slowly came to a stop once they reached the end of the street.
The tall, butter-yellow house still stood tall. Some ivy had begun to grow on its side, but the garden seemed well maintained, despite granny's absence. Was it the neighbours' doing? Granny wasn't the most social, but it wouldn't surprise her if the neighbours felt sorry for the old girl. The truck door slammed shut behind her loudly, she rubbed the back of her neck absentmindedly while she dipped her hand into her pocket. The key to the house was still buried deep within it, between wrappers of candy and old receipts, not to mention the bits of lint.
The house felt oppressive, but it was just a house in the end. The lock clicked open with a soft sound. Its interior was surprisingly neat, reminiscent of the home she had long left behind.
Some things just didn't change.
Lucky for her, her stepdad was quick to ditch, leaving behind the old bike they had hauled over on the truck, along with the boxes of her old things.
She just lingered in the middle of the now cramped livingroom, taking in the dated floral wallpaper with the pinstripes, the little notches on the kitchen's doorway.
"No way… She kept this?" a smile tugged at her lips as she carefully approached, dragging her fingers along the coloured indents. Her gaze curiously scanned it. Granny had marked down Mags' height there, jotting down what age she was and exactly how tall. But it stopped when she was 12. Now, that made her frown.
"Damn. I was literally a little shit," her hand drifted and she felt something. "Hmm?" blinking slowly, she stepped aside slightly, noticing more indents. That was new. They carried on for what felt like forever.
"Who the hell–" she tried to blink away her surprise and make out the name scribbled on the poorly painted wooden frame, but a knock brought her back to reality.
Jumping a little, she huffed and shook her head, hurrying off to open the door.
What awaited her was not something she actually expected, but it was something she definitely dreaded.
The neighbours.
She cringed her way through the awkward niceties and the mountains of food that were forced on her. The most notable one was Mrs Debbie Reynolds and her absolutely disgusting-looking jello and marshmallow "salad". She fussed about how tall and skinny Mags had gotten and reminisced about how she was "good friends" with her little boy Gavin. The semi-delusional woman even suggested that she should hang out with her son.
She wouldn't be getting her tupperware back.
Not after that stupid suggestion.
"Where am I going to put all this shit?" Mags shuddered, trying her best to cramp everything into the fridge to the best of her abilities. Lucky for her, granny clearly had been living off of TV dinners and pickles. Woman after my own heart. At the very least there weren't any disgusting spoiled foods to throw out. Deep cleaning the fridge was the last thing she wanted to deal with.
And so, her first day in her old-new home was rather ordinary. She did her best at unpacking and slightly debated where she would spend her first night.
Sleeping in her grandmother's bed felt weird, and intrusive. Her childhood bedroom didn't feel as musty as she thought it would though. Had granny been refreshing the room? Did she have overnight guests?
Shuddering, she winced as she got a much darker thought in her head.
Maybe there's a squatter, she made a face at the thought. That was most likely the worst thing to think of while in the shower. The possibility of someone watching her every move creeped her out. It didn't slip from her mind even as she was drying off, or when she crawled into her old bed.
Although, the moment she set her eyes on the ceiling, her worries melted away. Her lips parted as she sighed, staring at the old glow-in-the-dark stars still dazzling as they "shone" down on her with their dim light.
Life would be easier now that she was here, right? She could find a job, live off the money granny left her and live here more or less for free.
Sleep took her rather quickly. She drifted off, snoring softly and sprawled out like a starfish.
She was none the wiser to the mysteries that lurked beneath the floorboards and in between the cracks of the wall.
Who? Who? Who?
Is? Is? Is
That? That?... That?
Quiet whispers flooded the house, claws scraped against the windows, shaky breaths escaped, eerie eyes peered through the windows and finally, they found her.
It took a second, but the lock on the window snapped and it creaked open. A strong gust of wind blew through the room, making Mags stir in her sleep slightly with a grumble. She pulled her blanket over her head and rolled onto her stomach. Her face was buried in her pillows.
"Two…two minutes…" she grumbled, her voice muffled. But whatever was intruding didn't have the patience. It tugged and tugged until the blanket was yanked off of her. Her body stiffened and she grunted in annoyance, looking up to only see the flash of the eye of a predator.
What–
Sleep was instantly knocked out of her eyes as an unseen force grabbed her ankle. Yelping then shrieking, she tried to hold on to something, anything, clawing at the mattress and probably breaking a nail or two in the process as she got dragged out.
"WhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhattheFUCK–"
Was she supposed to start praying or something? Was this some paranormal activity bullshit?
What the actual living or not living fuck was this?! Her lungs ached, her vocal cords felt strained and she was pretty sure she got rug burn on her ass.
Tonight out of all nights wasn't the best one to sleep in boy shorts and an old shirt. The front door was wide open, and she was yanked down the stairs and already had her head spinning. She'd taken many hits in the head as a kid, but this was on another level. No matter how much she flailed, kicked and screamed, the grip on her ankle was too strong and she could've sworn that it was getting stronger, threatening to crush her bones.
Was it reacting to her trying to escape? Maybe she should stop struggling. Maybe this was one of those weird lucid dreams. That sort of made sense… Was the TV dinner she ate off? Was this some sort of hallucination? It felt too real for it to be that.
Is this the end? Is granny haunting me?
Mags just whimpered and whined as instead of the front door, it swiftly turned and dragged her through the back door. Clearly the entity was a picky little bitch, but not picky enough to spare her from the possible splinters that'll end up lodged into her poor ass.
Somehow screaming felt futile at this point even though she'd completely lost track of what her body was doing. Her screams felt empty, silent. Cold mud clung to her skin, dirt got into her mouth and even in the pitch-black darkness, she was well aware that it was pulling her into the forest.
The wind picked up, branches and thorns slashed at her exposed limbs, and she could barely shield her face. She felt dizzy, her leg was throbbing and she didn't notice how the air shifted. Her stomach felt like she was on a rollercoaster ride, her insides jostled around. The sounds of the forest were dull, the only thing she could make out was the whooshing of wind, her ears stung from the cold and the draft.
And before she knew it, she was flung. With one last shriek, she rolled across the ground. When she finally stopped, all she could do was cough and roll slightly to her side, wheezing and greedily gasping for air. Tears welled up in her eyes, her poor ankle bruised and just a little swollen.
What was this? Where was she?
Rubbing her eyes, her whole body began to ache. It took her a moment, but she was beginning to realise that wherever she was was… bright. With slow, deep breaths she swallowed awkwardly once she had gotten enough dirt out of her mouth and braved to take a look.
The lights were almost blinding, the floral, earthy smell was overwhelming and damn near nauseating and worst of all— there were monsters surrounding her.
Sharp teeth that were too large for their mouths, too many eyes, too many limbs, too many–
Okay, there were naked people around too, that was great–
She was speechless, wide-eyed and definitely a little nauseated. Her vision blurred for a moment before she smacked her hand on her mouth. There would be nothing more embarrassing if she threw up now. And the possibility that this was a dream still hung in the back of her mind. Would she be throwing up all over herself, or choking on her own vomit in bed? She tried her best to shake off the thought and focus on her surroundings instead.
Her body trembled, her eyes were slowly refocusing.
Alright, Mags, calm down, this is probably just a really fucking bad dream, right?
The taste of sweet earth and clay was overwhelming. There were horns, hooves, tails, paws, claws, vines and moss. A melody was playing, a melody so distant and yet so close. So foreign yet familiar. So cold and yet so warm.
Her cold gaze was slowly drawn toward the center of everyone's attention though. Her breath hitched, her blood ran cold. How could something look so wicked yet beautiful? So welcoming and yet so harsh?
Golden eyes, golden locks and antlers adorned with gilded chains and petals.
It was like a prince, no– a villain from a fairy tale.
Just what was going on? She felt petrified, frozen in place. Her treacherous heart beat loudly in her chest, her ears were ringing and the moment the figure raised that terrifying hand of his. Those long nails of his looked like they could go through her skin like knife through butter.
Her mouth felt dry, terror gripped her heart, squeezing so hard she feared she could die any moment now. A sharp pain went through her head, her whole body shook and she couldn't look away from him no matter how much she wanted. Her mouth was agape, her vision was blurring.
The taste of the earth mixed with the taste of copper.
It spoke.
Bring him. Bring him back to me. Bring back—
And then, darkness.
Darkness until her eyes finally snapped open and she sat up, startled. She coughed, gasping for air. Her body was slick with sweat, she was trembling, her hair stuck to her face and her mouth felt disgusting. Mags' eyes frantically bounced around the room. She seemed to be back "home" now.
Was it all a dream? She just sat in shock, gripping at her chest, but when she looked down, she was greeted with something disturbing.
Leaves and dirt covered the bed, her arms and legs were caked in it as though she had just crawled out of a grave.
No fucking way—
A shower and some laundry later, she would be found in the living room again in some clean clothes, sitting on the floor right beside the coffee table while she had multiple tabs open on her laptop.
10 signs you're going through a psychotic breakam i hallucinating?SLEEPWALKING REMEDIESam i a werewolf?She made a face, not satisfied with any of the information she'd gotten from the sites. Who knew that sometimes even google couldn't serve up the proper answers? With a sigh, she leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Things didn't really make too much sense at all. There were too many strange things in the house. Things she'd never even noticed. And some things that she could've sworn she would've noticed before. Like the strange measurements etched into the kitchen doorframe.
Those made a little more sense after Mags had stumbled upon the strange, hidden photo album hidden behind a few books. From those photos though, the only thing Mags had learned was that there was some kid that granny had been spending an awful lot of time with.
Maybe a neighbour's kid? She decided to shake off that thought for now.
The afternoon sunshine was pouring in through the window, the fan on the ceiling spun lazily and the rattling of the old washing machine in the washroom made the entire house shake.
Her poor bedroom wasn't the only thing that had far too much dirt thrown around. She'd spent the entire morning sweeping and scrubbing the floors.
Her ankle still ached, a bruise blooming on her skin, but other than a few bruises she didn't find anything else wrong. It couldn't have been a dream though. At first, she thought she went crazy and dug up the garden, but nothing seemed amiss.
A plate of half-eaten, slightly burnt lasagne was still on the table, along with two empty cans of soda. She dreaded going out, running into the neighbours, trying to engage in small talk.
But then, something else popped into her mind.
Along with the keys and papers for the house, there was also a sealed letter with the simple label;
instructions.
With some newly found energy, Mags scrambled to her feet and ripped open yet another box of her stuff. It took a bit of rummaging, but finally, she found it. The letter may have been light as a feather, but it felt like it weighed a tonne for her. Trembling, she ripped it open.
"Huh," she just stared at it blankly. It was just… a list. Her brows furrowed as she glared down at it.
- salt the thresholds of the exists
- keep a bowl of cream or beer by the back door
- keep a jar of mineral water on the windowsill during full moon
- replace the rusted horseshoe above the doors with new ones (cold iron keeps them away)
- paint the doors red if you must or the thresholds (the more red the better)
- never let them know you see them
- put sprigs of rowan around the house
- they hate yarrow
- never say thank you
- never tell the truth
- never make a deal with them
Who are they?
On any other day, Mags would've been reconsidering her grandmother's sanity, but after last night?
"I can't believe I'm considering this," a sigh seeped out of her as she made a face, her green eyes flicking back to her boxes.
Maybe it was time to break out the red paints and do… whatever else these "instructions" said.
So with that, Mags got to unpacking and painting the thresholds red just for now. Where would she get iron horseshoes though? In town? She bit the inside of her cheek just as she was watching the doorframe of the backdoor drying.
But then, a knock came from the front door. Arching a brow, she turned back and just stared at it for a long moment.
Yet another knock. With a frustrated huff, she ran her fingers through her hair and snatched up her glasses from the counter.
"Alright, alright! Keep your hair on, I'm coming!" she grumbled, dramatically stomping over and flinging the door open. "What is it now– eh?" Her irritated expression disappeared and she just stared down at the stranger in stunned silence.
There was something familiar about him.
Who was this?
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