jessica moonan davies
in a world of my own🐇
obsessed with alice in wonderland, remus lupin, space, and anything mythical or gothic
The Ball of Batt Mansion- Caged Bird
20 The Ball of Batt Mansion Dove followed Clara through the gaping doorway. She would’ve preferred the mouth to hell by a mile. This was close, though. The sound of talking, clinking glasses, violins, and crackling fires disoriented Dove for a moment. There were people everywhere. Some women in plated corsets, others in eccentric crinolines. Dove had to admit, the whole place was something out of a gothic portrait. She could picture herself behind a huge canvas, invisible to the flurry of peacocks and flamingos in front of her. Nothing but her colours. Unfortunately, Dove was shortly pulled out from the depths of her imagination when a certain raven-haired man appeared in front of her. He was the spitting image of a classic vampire. Old Mr. Castor Batt. She thanked Circe she could hide her disgust well, even disguising it as a polite smile.
Please Bite Me
Would it be wrong if I couldn’t ever be happy here? Would it be wrong if I never wanted to stay? Would it be wrong to always be alone? Would it be wrong to never feel a thing? Would it be wrong to say I am always thinking of more? Would it be wrong if I wanted to feel hunted? Wanted.* Would it be wrong if I said I was fucking jealous? Would it be wrong to want to feel held? Would it be wrong to be held like that? Would it be wrong if I said I didn’t want it to be right? Would it still be okay if I didn’t fight? Would it be wrong to find comfort in the shade of a beast? In the shadow of a monster?I want to be hunted for my blood. Would it be wrong to want their teeth? Would it be wrong to blink and be covered up in the dark? Would it be wrong to lie down for hours? Would it be wrong to be carried to bed by something I should fear? Would it be wrong to be held by a darkness that lingers? Would it be wrong to befriend the thing that haunts me? Would it be wrong to say I don’t want it to leave me? Would it be wrong If I wanted him to know nothing but my name? To keep me warm and put clawed paws around me? Would it even make it go away? Would it even make the record play? Would it even help the way I thought it might? Would it even happen, would I even know? Would it? Would it? Would it bite me hard enough I never think again?
Conversations about Love
“I don’t know if I’m a good person,” I whispered. “You’re gonna want to speak up.” I still don’t know why I chose this moment to speak my thoughts to the open air. As if the sky itself was listening, holding its breath. It was frustrating, keeping everything inside; threatening to boil my insides until I am nothing but a husk remaining. Then, I realised there were angry tears burning in the back of my eyelids. Angry, of course. To be angry was easier than to be sad. Punish yourself, bully yourself. It was easier to shut things up, easier than to sit with the deepness of whatever sadness is. To fall into that chasm was something I could not and would not do. Something I am not sure I could climb out from. Or notice I was already in there. Perhaps that’s what the anger was truly about. Why my insides raged. Get me out of here, I want to come back out. I wonder whose voice that really was. The little yellow-haired girl who shared my name and my face.