Lost grip

She throws these hands off her shoulders. She doesn't have to hide with someone so aware. She picked a chain that wrapped around them, as most undertakers carry a burden that prevents being converted to angels. She added the links of many realms she shoulders. She made these chains pull and strain. She can see the fear in his eyes. She stops at a broken link and lets the chain drop. She stood back and waited. This is turly a test of soul, willpower, and tenacity to hold on. A test of if an undertaker can turly burden her strife. She gives a raised brow for impressed by his their hold so far. Many fall instantly of they aren't strong. But they both know there is no way for this undertaker to carry more. She has plenty more.

"That's one way to do it." He is uncomfortable, had to loosen the collar and to shuffle uneased. He opened access to the tome and saw the sectors added. He skims many areas with a touch of their condition. He slowed and stopped, "How are you doing that?" He knocked on the page, "How is that possible?"

He closed the book for now, feeling the weight and unease. Brushed some dusting that formed from altered changes his body takes for that strain. She sits back down, and she picks up the drink from the shadow she perched it to. She goes back to glaring over all the rooms corners, back being on guard from the room of foes. No allies. Not even trustworthy. The undertaker staggered away, he looks back to say something but really had no words. Those who knew him smile in finally finding him and frowning in the clear distress written on his face. Quick to have him brought to a safer place.

"You are a curse upon us." Deep heavy steps in thin glass heels. Skin full of products makeup and money wasted surgery. Skinny thin brittle arms and unhealthy waistline. Stinks of high-priced perfume, bought because of price and not for it matching her. This lady is not a fallown but another masked leader in the Seer cult side. Seers have multiple leaders of mini pyramid systems competition of itself. Fallown is on a large unit of stretched family, the oldest counted being the wise ones. This distinction is important in making enemies and allies. Not all of them are hurtful demons. This rich lady is no Saint for sure, but she isn't the worst. Thanks to history, not there, knowing what this woman wants is easy.

"I don't have what you've want. I am no use to you. I don't have what those people want that you might have used in some scheme. I don't have any trust in anyone or anything of this universe. So go away. Go nag someone else closer to you." Straight to the point, and there isn't a mistake of what she said. But this lady gasps like a fish, waved about several times to comprehend the ordacity. As per always, now this rich lady had no welcome, she to shuffle to her own crowds.

Left alone again. Left staring bored and tired. I'm sitting pretty but not bothering to take part in making connections here. She just watched the Web of everyone else. Watched were eyes gazed and expressed impressions of opinions. She looked at her drink and twirled it as it was at the last drops. She sighed and fetched out a premixed cocktail she enjoys drinking the most. She drinks it straight out of the bottle. The glass would have just ruined it. The glass is just decoration for on lookers. She got down to the last pour by the next time anyone dares to approach. She sits, hugging the bottle in turn, hugging old scars.

"The party is ending... please make do exit soon." A servant relying on this message. Treated as the outsider she is. She gives the empty drinking glass to them.

"You!" The thunder of worse members of her families. The two clashing sides turn at her, the only one in the middle. The worst of it all is that they are armed to kill. They cared not for human law and held the riches to cover it up. There was plenty of geased hands with internal police to file her death quietly as others have. The screams of whatever is being argued over washed past her deafen ears. Not a single ounce of reaction. There isn't anything that meant inflected pain bumy thier words. It should have... it had in her past lives. Family used to be deal breaker for her need to live. She couldn't care less about these people, but she just wanted to use her. They want her position in the bloodline. So-called power that is inherited.

"Elizabeth." Her mother pushed all them back, and that at least she blinked responding to her mother's voice, "Are you OK?" It's the question that pushed her over the edge, inside she screams and cries in many thousands voices. Outside reflected as simply a pale face of blood tear. A single long blood contained tear that falls from her right eye. It is novel, but it felt empty to be hugging by her ghost mother. The warmth being alive is voided and it only just ached her more. She didn't push away the hug as it was better then having no shoe of care at all. Everyone is slightly taken back at not knowing why of all people was she the one crying. Offended by her emotional response, they assumed it was some ploy for long run. It only fueled this fire worse around her.

"Just leave her. She must be fine. Maybe had to much to drink." The aggressive taking of the bottle from her, "A whole sticking bottle. She just an alcoholic not handling the liquor." They go to smell the content and them vomited. The bottle thrown and smashed across a wall. The shards spray and any liquid remains fizzed and burnt soot marks. She holds her mom a soft lingering moment then walked through her mom. Given the living aren't among the dead. She walks away from these horrible people and doesn't even look back. She had time with them plenty. She accepted to never see them all again.

"Young miss..." The servant from before posed in trying to stop her. Yet she held a cold dead gaze of her own and this servant doesn't have voice left. She smears the blood and holds her front walking onwards. Stormed past the lingering undertakers. Bump shoulder with the gentleman of before but she doesn't linger. Moved onwards to the outside. Right out to the public area of the castle and to a bench. She sits down, legs up to the bench side. She wasn't going to share this spot. She shivered in sorting another cigarette, lighting it cautiously. She smoked the while thing fast and had about 4 more. At the fifth, she looked at the folks cleaning away the grounds and let her emotions ride through.

"Would you like a trade?" He cold demeanour cuts through her mind block. She wipes her face again and takes a sharp breath in.

"Just take a cigarette. I don't want anything for it." She offered with the box opened. The last four cigarettes. He takes a single one but it's not what he meant. But his learn human actions long enough. He sits down far enough at the other side, lit the cigarette himself and enjoys it. He pondered its flavour and why she had them. She puts the carton away. Her own in her shaking hand while still holding it. He tilts of watching her enough times with pulling together thoughts.

"Would you cross over with us?" He asked looking out towards the field as undertakers are taking a gate back home. It was like a painting hung in the air and they entered becoming the ink on it.

"Leave this all behind and loose connection to time?" She muttered, "Do you think I trust you lot?"

"Compared to your family members." She rolled eyes and leans back, "You still have a living shell to return. You are not going to die by us at least."

The gate wanes in existence for a hot moment. The image changed within the portrait flickered in a glitch manners. The inking ran to wet and dripped ruining the image. The monarch is still over this side and can't help but tell something very wrong happened. She seen this before, the way frames change if moved to a new area and not properly connected. She fixed these things before.

"I don't know how you do it. But at the town that Silverstone created for itself. The clock tower there was once a gods clock. I suspect you do know what I mean." He perked up with changing subject for now, "What exactly is wrong with it?"

"The clock itself is fine. The time it measures is that of the god of time itself. The god is a little... a lot in pieces at the moment. This universe is related of the god clocks instead of the god himself, creating a glitch fields of disorganised time fragments and outside dunes of sand boundaries." She take a smoke there and he didn't really take that answer. He had to write it down, taking a moment for a pen and script it down. She thought about another cigarette but held off. Putting out the stub at her side. The end fed into a older box she had full of stubs. Curiosity frozen in seeing the other carton, the older brand she use to smoke. He blinked about it for a moment in forgetting to keep writting. She puts it away and he back to writing.

"You should leave, Curiosity. There is nothing worth it here for undertakers. The realm creatures between veils will hunt you all eventually if time doesn't get you."

He finished that note and sighed. Stood with hat held. He looks back at her but always turns back to face the king as always. She staggered in standing, and coughed deeply for a long time. She wipes away the blood at her mouth. She doesn't get far without staring at a death god. She frowns at such a being.

"Don't bother trying." they say like she had somewhere to be.

"I could have just left this body at will." She shurgs, "I do however today have some living attachments. So you might as well do your job."

Gladly death was swift of such things. She drank poison at the party and then washed it with the scaled slayers delight. She looked back where she left her body at the bench, died smoking it seems. Death brought out the tome to transfer her name but the book dripped wet. Sizzling the floor in what does land. He couldn't find that page and had to put the book away. His hands burnt from the soggy books nature. He made a fourth attempt when she took the book for herself and telepathically altered her name in her touch. The book burns in every second she was in contact to it. This is just the properties of the liquid on this book, not the book itself. Finally put away, death moved on or actually came off duty to have someone check over his scythe and hands. He doesn't offer her a way to leave. She doesn't wish to enter death's domain.

"Excuse me miss." An old friend from another time but she has no reason to trust them this time around. The fancy suit and groomed skin. The fancy collared shirt and arrow tip tail that flicked. Yellow pupil eyes of voided black. Horns that hung of charms and wards. His status in the fancy ring on his right hand. She can trace the scars he had from enslavement to a clothus. She can see his tired and deeply done being here.

"Fancy Prince part school headmaster. Not of this university but a little spot in Florida where hell eclipsed over the Colombian culture." She flutters a quick greeting but its causal and lazy.

"Gah... you know me well. Who told you?" He snarls. She stares at the demon in wondering why her accent wasn't obvious enough. That she was born American and likely been to school there. The knows she had in younger years. There been a lot of discrepancy for what is remembered about her or not. This is the first time an acquaintances doesn't know her. She stares at the demon a long time with no answer. The demon snarls and left her. He went to join the undertakers and was the one that fixed the picture.

"I challenge you to a duel." Her ancestral great grandfather of archangel type. He boomed of volume. Weapon pointed.

"I deny grounds of duel. I have nothing to stake. I have nothing to offer. I have not even a soul." She waited of him being done laughing. She stood as he can't get himself under control of this laughter. So she strikes beheading him, kicked the torso to fall to hell. The head tossed to the nearest Seer that looked on mortified of the event to quick for even blinking.

"Grandmother will appreciate the offering." She muttered and moved away form all that.