》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚❦ In which Anthony 'Lockwood' Lockwood thinks he sees a girl from his past and passes it off as a hallucination.
Or in which Harlow Meadows returns to the city of her youth with her own budding business and gets swept up into mystery...
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╔═══━━━─── ❦ ───━━━═══╗ Confessions from Children Whispering Skull ╚═══━━━─── ❦ ───━━━═══╝
Blades of grass and blades of steel, both are distinctly different, yet they each have the word blade in front of them. Therefore, depending on who you asked, one might state there's more comfort in one over another. Agents are drilled to prefer the blade of silver against 'superficial items' placing all their trust and reassurance in that which protects them from visitors. Harlow found all rapiers to be too flashy in one way or another, a way of flaunting one's own status. Humility is usually lost along the way as ego (but not Freud's ego) gives rise, threatening to make one Icarus.
Those in which Harlow was with were not allowed to have blades of steel, not unless they furthered their training, and as they sat on the long gone dried dew grass twisting its blades and methodically plucking them from the earth Harlow didn't know if they ever would.
"Staying away from Mr. Saunders was easy. After returning from an agency that was nearby, he holed himself in his office, and was refusing to answer any questions or see anyone until dusk approached. Mr. Joplin always found it easy to slip into the shadows, a feat Harlow wished she could do, yet she didn't know all the hidden locations of the graveyard not like he did, and she had to be recording not hiding.
"If you ever want to take a breather let me know," she explained, examining Diane and Lou, noticing how their hands remained firmly together as their free hand twisted or pulled the grass.
They nodded as one; Harlow shook her head. "I need a verbal response." This began with their verbal consent and it will stay that way.
"Okay," they sighed at the same time, sending a quick glance of blue and brown at the other in shock.
"How did you feel as you approached Bickerstaff's grave?"
"It was dream-like," Diane began, then immediately swallowed. "But it wasn't a dream, it was like a nightmare. It felt so real, terror seemed just like a word, there was nothing and everything all at once." Her free hand was folding the grass back and forth between her fingers. They were starting to shake. "It was l-li-like. . . a whirlpool." Diane paused, Lou tightened her grip on Diane's hand, and Harlow waited. Blue eyes became distant, slipping back into the currents of time to that exact moment.
Diane whispered twelve seconds later, struggling against time's strong hold. "It kept drawing you deeper and deeper, that you didn't know where, how, or who you are." She shivered, "Distorted." Blue rapids hurriedly scanned the area, processing that area before shifting to a new location, turning over new rocks, checking out new sand and pebbles, running through algae to make sure everything was proper.
