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GY ENDGAME POST
GRAVEYARD - END GAME
It's been a long stay.
Seven weeks have elapsed since the gates to Aira Niluc were opened to guests of various worlds, and for seven weeks a game of trust and betrayal have whittled the living's numbers down until only a mere third remained on that side. And in exchange, the population of the dead grew as they continued their story on this side.
But the story is coming to a close, almost as if the world itself demands it.
Because sometime Friday morning, oddities start to become apparent within the fabric of this space: buildings starting to deteriorate as their colors start to fade, foods beginning to molder and rot, trees and mountains far in the background flickering briefly show sketch-like outlines before reverting back to normal. While most of the main locations remain fairly intact, there is no area on this side that lays untouched by the sense that this place is starting to unravel, bit-by-bit.
Still, the walls that separate you all from the living hold fast even now, not allowing any of the dead to cross through into the other side.
Perhaps that's not the point here, though. After all, you all still have your own ending to write, here and now.
[Welcome to the Graveyard's Endgame post! The previous posts for Weeks 2-5 and Weeks 6-7 have been linked above.]
no subject
Truthfully, nobles very rarely like each other, either.
[Maybe there's a certain irony in that, especially once this comes into the picture, so to speak; Jack goes quiet and spends moments examining it carefully, the expressions and the atmosphere and all of the individuals in it. Somehow it's easy to recognize them all -- he's never, ever been in a family portrait of any sort but he sort of recognizes how these things go, just from observation, strange approximations and not-quite-connections, golden afternoons under the trees and between the garden hedges and atop a tower.
(Early mornings and late evenings in a veil of wine and murder, slowly pulling them back and introducing an oddly fuzzy purple blanket instead atop the most haphazardly acquired couch in existence. Everyone there was of a ruling class, the same as it has always been, and everyone was there only to use each other, just the same.
He recognizes everything except the ending, as always.)]
... It's a wonder any of it works at all, but work it does.
no subject
From a point of view, I suppose.
[ No matter the group, they always seem to crumble down after a while. ]