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"I-I'm not..." The witch had begun to say as she was pulled from her task, her hands already covered in the dark substance. She wasn't pure, she wasn't kind and she wasn't gentle, not her, not Belladonna who pushed and prodded and always begged for more when she'd been given so much. But she allowed herself to be pulled from the dying figure, allowed herself to cease helping because it was dying and there was nothing she could do about that. Ofelia could try to help, and the witch almost laughed at the sight of the Hunter's bared mid-riff in her attempt to help. It was comical, the enemy trying their best to help. But it was a sort of dark humor that the witch found it best to do nothing about, only take a few steps backwards and watch. Quickly she bent down to scrape her palms against the floor in hope of ridding them of the blood. It came off in odd streaked palm marks and Belladonna stared down at it as she stood back up, but the sight of her friends, of her loved ones trying to help... It was touching enough to distract her.
Quietly, with fingertips barely brushed against her chin in case she needed to stifle any odd noises her throat might want to make, Belladonna watched them work. A tiny note of worry left her as Mort shouted angrily, which prompted her to trot back toward them and place a hand to the small of his back. Naturally she'd drawn close enough to see the stark white of the figure's coat and an odd feeling seeped in through her skin. That was... Her enemy, wasn't it? That had been a Hunter she'd tried to heal, tried to fix... Had extended the same kindness to them as well. But had it... Had it been the right thing to do? Or was there more she could have done? Another spell she could have used? Or perhaps... Perhaps maybe her magic had done the final blow?
Just as she was considering letting herself fall into despair over her actions a heavy hand grabbed her shoulder. It demanded of her and she found herself quickly complying, content to find her place against Mort. One hand quickly darted out to snatch up a piece of Ofelia's long coat, to tug it a bit in hopes she'd step closer. Ofelia was her friend, just as Before was too, and how Mort was her's as well. They belonged to the witch. They were her's.

Always content to follow Mort, even more so now that was allowed to toddle along right up against him, Belladonna moved forward with him. Almost as soon as the first step was taken a strange scent wafted forward, warm and inviting. It was like vanilla and sugar, but diluted to a point that it couldn't be real. Surely this too was an illusion, like everything thus far had been, however easily the witch had bought into a few of them. Yet this one was different, odd and seemingly kind as a smiling form appeared before them and a blacked out kitchen scene bloomed in their path.
"Again? We have not met before..." Belladonna mumbled as she attempted to hang back, one hand prepared to reach out toward Ofelia and pull her to safety should she dart forward. Sweet, but surely a little forward, a little quick for the witch's careful liking. Ofelia would be the type to dart into danger, while Belladonna already felt more than comfortable being the one to pull her back could she help it. A little impetuous of the witch, surely, but then again, Ofelia was her friend. Friends did that sort of thing for the other...
But the black creature was asking for help, and Belladonna knew she could not refuse, however much she wanted tp. A quick look at the counter only gave her a cursory understanding of what the thing wanted, but not enough to fully satisfy. Momentarily she opened her mouth to question, but quickly closed it. None of the figures they'd encountered thus far had been very forthcoming with answers, so why would this one be any different? Surely she would divert the subject and the sooner they complied with her, the better. Rather unwilling to be out from the little bit of shelter Mort provided, Belladonna stepped forward quickly and chose the strange, fish-like creature. It wasn't as though she were going to eat this, so choosing the more alive looking thing wasn't such a bad choice. It at least filled the area with a nice aroma, made everything feel... Comfortable. Homey.
The faint vanilla scent persisted, reminded the witch of herself, and the soft little musical noise was rather nice... Even the strange white that started to cloud her vision didn't bother her. It was rather welcome...

Ofelia was still screaming, her voice still carrying its unhappiness, when she felt the hands go against her in different places. One hand pressed her shoulder, then her hands against her face, and the teen let one lose so she could press Mort's fingers against her cheek. She loved the feel of another's skin against her own, it was calming, ad the shrieks in her throat was dying down as another hand grabbed her jacket and softly tugged, and another hand took the other hand she had and pulled themselves closer to her. It was easy now, they were with her and she wasn't alone and they weren't judging her even against the voices and they screaming. They were hers, all hers, and Ofelia got back to her feet as she released Mort's hand. Before, she stayed with him, once against interlocking their fingers as she looked out at the group. Her gray eye was wide, wild, and every now and then she'd twitch as they moved about as though she expected something to come at them at any time.

She was half correct as she approached the new area with everyone, a scent and laughter filling the air in an overly familiar way. Perhaps at the back of her skull, resting with the silence that was Rue (for the boo hag was watching, enjoying perhaps), she knew something was wrong and none of this was real. She knew that what Belladonna had said before had to be the truth, this was all illusions, but then a figure and a room appeared. Ofelia knew the place all too well, she knew the figure all too well. Because she was a hunter the figure with white eyes addressed her so casually, eagerly even, and when Before let go of her hand to grab something on the white-figure's request she clasped a free hand over her good eye and then just. . . waited.

And listened to the request, no - the command. It was strange, she just felt so compelled to do it by the voice that was asking. Ofelia had barely known her but the voice couldn't be mistaken. Everyone had watched her die, everyone had torn her apart with their weapons. "Julie, sure...Ah'll. . . " She said her name and reached for the closest thing on the counter. It didn't matter what it was, but it turned out to be a strange black fluffy creature that was staring at her with white eyes.

Into the bowl it went, into the oven it went, and when it came out Ofelia shrieked again and clamped her hands to the sides of her head There had been smoke, there had been "Julie's" reassurance, but nothing was right in Ofelia's head anymore. She kept the hand over her good eye before spreaging its fingers faintly, looking at all the others. "Why are ya lookin' at me like that? Ah didn' kill her, wasn' me. S'not mah fault, no no no, we all stabbed her an' tore her body 'part all'a us. Ah'm jus'...maybe Ah should."

A voice told her to try and go home. That sounded like a wonderful idea. She had heard the whispers before but now it was so clear, ever so clear.

" . . . Ah'm gonna maybe jus' go Home." There was an emphasis, and the teen slowly took a step back from the others. The voices telling her were all her own, not Rue's. She wanted to go, but where? Home, always home. "Clover, take me home."

Stats:

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Name: Ofelia "Ofie" Tanner
HP: 35
FEAR Strength: 95%
Insanity Strength: 60%
Items: Corrupted Runic Bandages
RP Blurb: One-eyed, red-headed hunter in flip flops. Currently backing away from her group

Mildly miffed that not only had Ofelia, but Clover as well, all gravitated to Mort's side, the witch was less inclined to speak. They were her's, her friends. She had befriended them first! Had been kind to them and offered them her trust when Mort had remained skeptical, had found them initially unworthy. Why had they all taken his side? Why was she left exposed on her other arm where the fog curled around her skin in a neutral, neither cold nor warm, manner?
Perhaps it was her initial sting at being snubbed in such a way that had her tight lipped and quiet regarding this Julie person. Obviously the pair were upset by her appearance, unnerved even, but what could she do? Already they had deemed her unworthy or their comforting touch, so why should she bother helping? After all, it wasn't as if they were her friends or... Or... Belladonna squeezed her eyes shut for a minute, trying to work something out. They'd just met, hadn't they? But they were... They were friends. They were... And... Everything was so confusing, so strange and startling and wrong.
There seemed little she could do to fix any of this, but Ofelia had begun to speak in a strange, stilted voice. She looked so scared, her hands over her eye. With a heave of a sigh the witch stepped from Mort toward the Hunter. A tentative hand reached up to brush aside some hair from Ofelia's forehead, though it more of a reach than she would have preferred.
"Sssh, don't worry. We'll go home soon, alright? Just stay strong, just a little longer... We'll get out of this in no time." Belladonna cooed to her in the same manner one might speak to a scareling. She offered the fellow ghoul a smile, a small warmth in the fog, along with the softest brush of fingertip against cheek. Then the witch had spun back around and was off clattering back to her zombie, where she caught the slight gray color splotched against his neck. Another absent hand reached up to brush it away, but nothing happened. It didn't vanish at her touch, refused to be frightened away. This was vastly disheartening, to the point that Belladonna pressed her face to his chest, yet unwilling to admit that if she was not careful, that the grey could find her once more too.

It was a harrowing thought, but only kept her occupied for a moment or more longer. For a bit longer she would have been mildly content to wallow over the fate of things, but something tugged on the back of her skirt. Thus distracted, the witch missed Mort tense up beneath her hand and instead she let go of him to turn around. Already having backed up from her, as though frightened of her reaction, stood a ghoul in front of a door. The door caught the witch's attention first, tall and ornate, rather pretty in all regards if lackluster in color.
"Don't go." The little voice from the little ghoul implored her, which made Belladonna finally look at her. She appeared to be perhaps ten, maybe younger, or possibly older, but young nonetheless. A head shorter than the witch, she looked up at her with a soft face criss-crossed with stitching. Belladonna tilted her head as she stared at the ghoul, a little blue zombie ghoul who looked oddly familiar. With a frown she looked back over her shoulder at Mort, found the same stitching on his face and returned her gaze to the ghoul. Her braided pigtails were a few shades lighter than his, but the little skulls that tied the ends off looked oddly familiar...
With a start the witch realized they were the earrings she had on, only changed to hair clips. Perhaps it was this realization that opened other similarities, for this little zombie-ghoul's blue hair curled at the ends, her face held a faintly familiar roundness and the large eyes that stared up to Belladonna's were pink enough that it felt like looking into a mirror.
"Oh."
"Please. There's still another way."
"Why, that's... That's my line."
"You don't have to do this! You don't have to go!"
The door stood behind the ghoul, a sentinel of unknown passage.
"Go through the door you mean?"

In a flash the little ghoul had rushed forward and thrown her arms around the witch's waist, buried her face in the swell of her chest. Her thin little shoulders shook as she made noises of pleading, little snippets of Please stay and Don't go managing to filter through.
Belladonna's arms folded around the creature, uncertain but willing to offer her some semblance of comfort.
"You should not exist... I do not... Understand?"
"Please stay here with me! Don't go, you don't have to!
And for whatever reason, it finally clicked then. Belladonna smiled down at the ghoul, at the little creature she had never even dared to hope for.
"But don't you see, darkling? I am going, for someone must."
Carefully she disentangled both her own arms and those of the ghoul from her, before she bent down and pressed a little kiss to her forehead. It was light enough to know that were she to press any further, this precious illusion would burst into fog. Careful to leave this last farce as it were, unwilling to destroy it, the witch stepped around her, sure to give her one last smile, before she reached out and swung open the door. A set of steps descended below, beckoning, waiting for her.
"Come along." Belladonna called over her shoulder to the others as she began the slow, careful descent down.

[Exiting!]

He didn’t hear anything, feel anything, notice anything – nothing more than the woman standing in front of him was given attention. The longer he stared, the more enclosed and cornered he felt, as if the fog had somehow solidified enough to enclose just him and this apparition, this pale imitation of a tanned reaper that nevertheless had her large, slanted cat’s eyes, the same bushy black hair, and full lips that were currently parted in a little sad smile.

She squeezed his shoulder again and there was no additional warmth for it. Shivers arm up his spine instead. She wasn’t supposed to be here -

”Don’t do it, lil’ man,” she implored him quietly. There was no need to tilt his head; they were the same height almost.

A wound that he had thought had long since healed tore open again in his chest, a dull ache throbbing harder and harder like a frantic heartbeat until he choked out the word, ”M-Momma?” This couldn’t be real. She had disappeared, not . . . not - !

But there Morticia Gruesdale was regardless. Tish, the woman who had first whisked him in from the grave-bed, who had been his namesake, had been his cheery caretaker, his patient story-reader and listener, his master sewer with soft hands that healed, his momma who lov—

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t in the end because – ” – Y-You left.” There was no hiding the betrayal in his voice, the evident pain plain on his face.

The figure didn’t answer him, only continued to give him a pleading look with those wide eyes he remembered. It was maddening for Mort; he knew this wasn’t the real her, but the tormenting image unearthed emotions and thoughts long since buried and that, much like himself, were rotted and patched together with a flimsy stitching of resignation. ”S’not fair, s’not,” he continued, his tone growing more and more exasperated. ”You left, dammit, left me alone, helpless, scared, guilty!Why?” His shoulders shook. “Why?! Y-You’ve no right to ask me a-anything, none. D’you know what ‘ve been through ‘cuz’ve that? Do you?!”

Of course she didn’t. ”Please.” She could only give mindless answers, and her large eyes held a silent sadness.

So he gave a loud, drawn-out shriek of rage and resentment before breaking down against her. He couldn’t take this anymore, not this ******** fog, not this ******** house, not ******** anything. The fog figure wrapped insubstantial arms around him and made soft hushing noises, and for a moment Mort felt like a scareling again. A lost, lonely little scareling who was tired and hurt and just wanted to go numb and forget everything. And the more he stayed in her arms and listened to her calming voice, the more he began to.

”You don’t have to do this, spookie,” she told him gently, stroking his hair. ”There’s still another way.”

There probably was. Always were multiple roads to the same destination. Always a crossroads. She didn’t elaborate, but she didn’t need to; he knew what she was getting at.

”Won’t go through door.”

The declaration seemed to please her, for her grip tightened protectively. ”So my little knight’ll stay with his queen?”

There were no beating hearts between them, but the thudding ache in his chest remained, a ticking timer that filled the silence as he contemplated her offer. He wanted to, he realize, wanted to see Tish again so badly that he was willing to consider staying in this hell. It was pitiful; years had passed, yet he was still willing to sacrifice himself for this woman. Wasn’t that what he was good at, sacrificing? Always giving and giving and expecting something in return for his so-called heroics . . . But he had nothing left to give here, not to this ghost of what had once been a good thing. Others needed him, living breathing people, a reaper with warm flushed skin and soft hands and large eyes –

He shook his head. ”M’sorry.” His voice was a little horse from all the yelling, as diminished as he felt. She would be disappointed in him as he was sure she had been the day she left, and his heart sank at the inevitability. "C-Can’t stay either. I-If really is another way –“

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by an unearthly hiss and fingers that dug into him. ”You can’t leave me,” the vision growled with sudden ferocity and twisted features that frightened him into a startled cry. ”You have to stay, I just found you! We will be together until the end of time!” The fog coiled and thickened and he felt something close a cold vicegrip over his core –

- and then it was over. The mists pulled away and the apparition was gone, leaving behind the same layer of chill upon him. But seconds after it happened Mort wasn’t sure it had been real. In fact as he stood there on shaking legs, shocked and bewildered and wracked with guilt, he began to realize that he just wasn’t sure of much of anything anymore.

All he knew was that his being’s every fiber ached, there was an inane whispering in his ear that he could not figure out, and that he had a group to find. To his left stairs descended, and without so much as a sound the zomboil shuffled towards them, a distant look in his eye as he rolled a sleeve down to hide the gray patches growing on his fleshy arm.

((Exit))

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