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FFM: Day 16Fortescue's passion for crime novels was coming in handy. It had been three days since Miss Emily was found murdered in the Library. Naturally all fingers had pointed his way.
But a Butler had a duty to perform, a sacred trust to protect the family he served, and so he didn't let it deter him.
Triumphant, Fortescue pocketed the letter he had found hidden in Emily's chambers. A secret love affair, betrayal and a thirst for blood. Quite tragic.
Turns out it wasn't the Butler who did it, but the Scullery Maid. Didn't have the same ring to it though.
FFM: Day 15 Challenge"Catherine, with all due respect, this childish rebellion of yours has to stop." He smiled and set his glass down on the table. Calm, too regretful to be smug. God she hated him.
"Now I don't want to threaten you. We're both grownups here and we both know such a brutish act is unnecessary. You are fully aware of my capacity for violence in this regard. But what purpose would it serve, and to what end? Far easier if you just cooperate. You know I'll win in the end, no matter how this plays out."
Catherine shifted nervously, fingertips sparking fitfully. She looked a mess, and felt worse. Her outfit was torn and covered in bloody smears, her
FFM: The Trouble with ImmigrantsJim eyed the ferryman dubiously. "Look, I don't think my car is going to fit on that thing. Don't you have something bigger?"
The ferryman grunted and scratched his nose. "It'll fit." He rasped, his accent a weird amalgamation of various cultures. "Got to pay the fee."
"Of course, right." He decided to ignore his logic, it hadn't been very useful since the veil came down and all the myths were integrated into modern society.
He pulled out a couple of notes and handed them over.
The ferryman eyed them dubiously and flapped them around a bit. He gnawed experimentally on the edge of one of them and the corner tore off. Jim grimaced at the th
FFM: GhostThe room was not a room, but altering perceptions, varying and confused, often contradicting, layered upon one another like the sediment of some archaeological dig. He focused in sections, cordoning off his senses, pinpoint aspects, actions, movements. He saw things that were not there. His face was broken. He tried to make contact, to touch one of the apparitions, they screamed and fell away before him, like dust, a pillar of salt dissolving in the light of the sun. Curtains fluttered. There were tubes.
He remembered waiting for the train with others, laughing, bland. The sky fell, folding inwards upon itself in successive layers of sound and vision and fiery death that swept through them like the invisible hand of some playful god, knocking them to the ground like discarded toys, unwanted now. The word Reth, Reth, Reth howling through his head like some unholy wind. Oh god, the Reth. It happened. The Reth happened, they did it. We were all wrong.
FFM: The Pickles!The pickles were everywhere. They had taken over the garden, choking the life out of the competing vegetation. The once orderly beds now looked like a battlefield, trenches littered with dead vegetables.
Technically they were cucumbers. But there was a distinctly pickled air to the things that set one's teeth on edge, not to mention the pervasive smell of vinegar.
The plants rustled with menace and started to advance. Henry ushered the children into the house and waited for the pickles on the porch, gripping his pitchfork.
He would root out these invaders, even if it cost him his life.
FFM: Day 11 ChallengeThe Time Machine had an expiry date. Eve decided to make it count.
Growing up, her mother had encouraged ballet, but Eve had always regretted giving up her dream of a career in pro-wrestling.
On the first day of college she signed up for the team.
Exchanging tutu's for tights was easier than she'd thought.
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