shallow tides → QUIL ATEARA ✓

𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑
— 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒸𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 —

     𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐖, 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐘 Torine continues to wait each sleepless night for her mother's silhouette to appear at the fireside, if only for one last goodbye before she, like the lanterns at the town memorial did so many months ago, fades into the dark. Despite the assuring words of her brother's ghost, her stare towards the industrial brick fireplace never wavers. Perhaps she was waiting for the perfect moment to find her daughter, so when that very instance arrived, Oakley would be patiently awaiting her mother's careful, warm embrace. Only then would the seams of her own stitching become permanent again . . . when her family was reunited, and the rest of the world fell away. Somehow, despite the unsettlement in the spacious room that tears at the exposed skin of her arms, she knows that she could easily forget the night that stole her family away. Because even though she and her father remain living, they, too are ghosts that haunt the Torine home.

"I can't seem to sleep," Oakley murmurs under her breath, staring at the brick that trap a bundle of flames inside of it. She wonders if the dwindling fire feels as she does in this moment — desperate for freedom, but fearful of what awaits when embracing it. "Could you lay with me?"

Though her eyes, alight with a fluorescence that expands from the fireplace, are unwavering, she can feel the presence of her brother when he settles on the knitted rug beside her bed. Graham's fingers mindlessly tug at the loose tendrils of fabric, as if memorizing the textures. "You're attached to a ghost, Oakley," he shakes his head, barely visible in the overbearing darkness: but still, his sister notices. "You can't keep depending on me. You can't wish someone back to life."

"Just hold me," her voice is a whisper now, pleading as though she might break without the comfort of her twin. "I—I promise this is the last time, Graham. I just need you here with me."

Graham Torine has always been stronger than his sister; during the times in which her heart was broken (even over the smallest of inconveniences), he knew how to fix her. Their mother claimed that from a young age, the two shared a bond that no other could understand — and even now, amidst his own death, Graham believes that her words were true.

He doesn't sigh when he rises from the floor and gently sinks into the mattress, nor does he question the despair of his broken sister. Graham wraps her within his arms, allowing the girl to close her eyes as the flames continue to flicker. "Think calming thoughts," his voice is fragile, though he's unsure why. Perhaps he doesn't want to admit that he, too, can hardly bear the lonely nights in the empty house. Each room is haunted with memories that would make his throat burn if he could feel pain. If he could feel anything, really, he would be grateful. But all that remains is numbness. "Think about all the fun you had today. And that boy that you've taken a liking to."