[Play Things]

Such love these shadows hold. Dark fingers to wrap the body, a wraiths

embrace. And to flow through the grasp of darkness, to walk amoung the

demons sanctuary, to be here, and there, and forever in the shadows.

This was the apparitions haven. This was the ghostly household. Not

hell, not a haunted place, but a forgotten shelter. Tucked away,

safely distanced from human eyes. A place where no stones may be

thrown by wretched children. A castle standing against the ebb of

humanity. A box to forever hold all fables, fairy tales, and of

course, ghost stories.

[The Glass House]

The residents of the glass building did not leave to be dead, happily

ever after. The house wasn't destroyed, the evil, not abolished. The

family left, never to return to the holder of their nightmares,

shunned, happily leaving the hellish hole behind. But the wraiths

stayed, locked inside, eventually preferring this place of rest,

adopting it as 'home'. The castle of glass was large enough to

acomodate the quanitity of apparitions floating about, and with the

Eye of Hell no longer in opertating order, the walls no longer moved

the house into a maniacs maze. The commandments etched into the glass

wasn't something to loathe and hiss at, it simply made the rules, and

all was liveable, or..in their case, deadable.

Peace, quiet. Eternity seemed bareable in their little worlds. They

roamed, they rested, they lived out their sentences in the Glass

house. Each residing in their slice of hell, as they always had. No

one spoke to one another, yet none had anything to complain about. It

wasn't appealing to them to discuss their torture, their agony. A

sense of communial understanding had settled into the quiet halls of

the house, despite the daily agonizing screams or maniacal laughter.

All was well in the devils arms.

[Blue November]

Down the overgrown pathways. Through the trails of golden leaves.

Beneath the splindly fingers of frost-bitten trees. Follow the sharp

caress of the November breeze. This will lead you to the Devils Arms.

The path will take you to the House of Glass.

Down the well worn path to hell

In sure and true of spirit

Gentleman, Ladies, now listen well

I'm sure that you will hear it

You don't have to strain to catch the sound of the apparitions, the

screams and cries carry well upon the wind. Drifting closer, a girl,

unaware, or so, followed the path. Naive? Unknowing? Perhaps. She

wandered down the trail, down and down. The breeze had settled long

ago, the sounds of the ghosts were lost in the air. But even so, that

wouldn't have deterred her. She knew where she was heading. The

spiritual path led her into the shadowy embrace of the devil. His

house was something she had searched for for quite some time now.

White hair suddenly billowed into the wind, long and willowy, the

strong breeze caught it up, playing with it in the air. Tangling and

twisting, still undeterred, she followed the path. How long had she

been walking? Wandering? Deeper and deeper into the forest, longer and

longer on this rode. Darkness was beginning to arc overhead, closing

the sky in the night. It wouldn't be long, hopefully.

The chill was strong, pale hands gripped at her coat, gathering warmth

was difficult when the sun no longer lended the helping hand. But

perhaps the house would have something to offer when she arrived. Why?

Why was she searching out the infamous Glass House? Was it simply

spirits? Was it her past that lead her by the hand along this rode?

Long ago relatives were not important, and if she was asked, religion

was for the fools. Yet it wasn't her overpowering curiousity, she

wasn't that naive, nor stupid. She was a hunter. A student of the

devil, driven by the dead, as they say. She was not here to capture

and enslave, but to observe. Learn, study, take in the experience.

But she was not without a way to defend herself. As with all students

of the devil, she had her gifts. Dark gifts, deadly powers, and she

was quite apt to use them. But that will be revealed with time. As it

so happened, the Devils Arms had finally reached her, or the other way

around, as it was.

The shadows had a depth to them. They were live things, thick and

lovely as she walked towards the elborately built abode. Tales did the

sanctuary no justice. The inane scribblings upon the walls. An ancient

language. And with all things old, time only defines the beuty. Pale,

frigid fingers etched the symbols, falling the paths they made across

the panes of glass. The laws of the undead. The rules of the no longer

living. Would she one day be bound by this code? Would words she could

never hope to understand one day dictate her undead life?

A simple glance at the keyhole sent the door sliding upon. A gift. The

silence was broken as the glass slid across the floor. Once she had

entered, it returned to its formal place. The dust that had risen took

longer to settle, most of the grey dirt swirled about her feet as she

wandered into the bowls of the house. Thick, musty air proved that

nothing living had made resident for quite some time. No signs of

life, only death. She was an intruder here, an outsider that had

placed herself in the embrace of the devil. But where were those who

called this place home? The mental airwaves were quiet, nothing

disturbing the relative peace. Were they plotting? Have they

constructed their sick little plans?

A breath, a quick inhalation was all that reached Blue's ears when a

chill trickled down her spine. The first sign, they haven't left.

Clever little ghosts, aren't they? Perhaps these ghouls had

anticipated her arrivel. Was she really that clumsy? Had she

unknowingly projected her aura to them? All this time, after all the

mental and phsyical preparation, she might have just ruined it.

A foggy breath clouded before her face. They were closer. Much closer.

Running a clammy hand up her forearm, she steadied herself. The first

encounter, like impressions, would be important. The air shimmered,

another indication, and swirled about, twisting aura's into colors

before her eyes. Typical human vision would be unable to detect this,

but dark gifts were a welcome helping hand.

Round and round

the mulberry bush

The monkey chased the weasel

There, a glint of silver, a dash of blue. A wraiths senses had piqued

upon the girl. How sweet, delicious..Was this girl insane? How could

someone simply wander into this place, this haven for the dead, the

symbols of the zodiac. Did she deserve the shackles that he himself

was bound in? Perhaps she escaped, something that he could never do.

She was free... But his freedom was lost. He was the tragic disgrace

in this girls vision. That just wouldn't do. She should be punished,

this girl could not continue to be here, to be alive in his presence

when he had lost so much.

An ache, a longing in the very claws of his fingers urged him forward.

This was instinct, a finely toned drive that had been mastered. For

all the mobility that he had lost, the senses damaged, he had gained

so much more. His torture, though no more bareable, was what made him

what he was now. Insane? Murderous? Yes, that, but more. Some would

label it grotesque, but he had achieved an ancient sense. Primitive

instincts in this progressive world. He could do more than what others

could. He was better than them all. And now he would demostrate that

here, on this ignorant little girl.

Again her mental senses slammed into the wafting aura of the wraith.

It was easy to understand that he knew she was here. His movements

were quick, precise, and closing in on her. Perhaps she should be

frightened by this. She should leave, run, escape this hell hole. But

she didn't. Her body tensed, prepared. Expectant for the collision

that would evidently happen in the next second or so. He must have not

known..

Poor poor girl..No pity shall befall your soul when it is devoured..

Crash, bang, boom.

White light exploded in the entrance of the Glass House, punctuated by

a hellion scream. It sent the shadows back into their nooks and

crannies, to cower till the bright illumination receded. Confusion was

all that could be sensed. The wraiths were startled, but not

frightened. After all, they were the ones who sent the chills to creep

along your spine. They were the figures etched in nightmares or

children and adults alike. Fear was foriegn to them all. Their aura's

filled the halls, colliding with one another. Brisk fights insued, but

for the most part, their curiousity reigned over, sending them faster

to the main entrance.

Whispers, so beautiful. Reveries of twilit evenings, of the wind

dancing through the tree's arms. The leaves rustled, not forgotten.

Whispering, whispering, telling their secrets. Confused? Harsh arms

braced her cold bodice. This was not the same. The tree, the sunset!

The memory was fading, driven away by her regaining conscienceness.

The ceiling arced overhead in her vision. Darkness, yet still visible.

The shadows didn't often hide definitions in Blue's vision like so

many others were cursed with. The darkness had been friend, not foe,

for quite some time. Like usual, it did not fail her tonight. The

letters and symbols were glowing brightly suddenly. A ghost was

wafting above her, on the other side of the glass ceiling. It passed

without recognition. Perhaps the written laws rendered the wraith

unable to sense the fallen human below it.

Oh so slowly, her senses perked alive once again. Pain burst through

her limbs, jarring her memory of just what had created it. The

tingling that spiked in her appendages made rising difficult, but not

impossible. She inspected the room with only her mental aura,

searching out all of the darkest corners, scrutinizing the room that

she resided in. This wasn't the same place she was before. Something

had moved her after being knocked unconscience. Still, she should be

frightened, yet she refused. She wasn't dead yet. Air still escaped

her lips, twisting and twirling, fogging. Alerted by this, her senses

scoured the room till they alighted upon something that had entered.