Encounterlogs
Cailyns Odd Encounter Sr Jack
Cailyn, bearing angelborn blood, wrestles with the inexplicable urge to pick up a silver locket, filled with an old photograph of a woman, that she had been given in an antique store. When she finally gives in to the compulsion to open the locket, she finds herself being subtly possessed by a ghost named Charity Wilson, trapped within the locket and yearning to return to the sea where her fiancé, Jeremiah Salte, never returned from. As the lines between their memories mingle, creating an amalgam of both their desires, Charity implores Cailyn to take her to the sea to find peace.
Upon reaching the shore, Cailyn, now a vessel to Charity's spirit, is overcome with the ghost's emotions and calls upon Jeremiah. The figure of a man approaches from the waves, but in a cruel twist, it is a much older Jeremiah who has moved on from Charity, his life lived fully without her. Amidst this revelation, Charity within Cailyn attempts to walk deeper into the ocean, consumed with despair and guided by the desire to drown all over again. In desperation, Cailyn burns the locket, severing Charity from her and finally allowing both spirits, Charity and the specter of Jeremiah, to dissipate and find their rest, leaving Cailyn alone, scorched but alive, to process the harrowing encounter and the shared sorrow.
(Cailyn's odd encounter(SRJack):SRJack)
[Thu Jan 4 2024]
In the Master Bedroom of an eerie colonial building
The lavish master bedroom offers a large, queen sized bed on a frame of thick wood. Each side of the bed features an antique night stand, making it quite comfortable and classy all-in-all. A corner couch with a coffee table - paired with a modern coffee machine offering a touch display and a wide selection of teas - make for a comfortable place to sit, right in-front of the windows that show the vistas of the north side of Haven and the harbor. Across the windows an antique desk offers a laptop computer, completed with a massive, plush leather desk chair.
A strange collection of ropes hangs from various points of the ceiling.
It is morning, about 19F(-7C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target and their allies encounter a ghost who has attached herself to a pendant at a local antique shop. The ghost is not malicious, but she is causing disturbances and frightening the townspeople. The characters must figure out who the ghost is and help her pass on to the other side.)
Cailyn is scrolling through her phone upon her bed, dressed in her casual- Or rather her /usual/ outfit. Full lips purse a moment as she watches a cute little dog video.
On the dresser near Cailyn is a locket. She bought it, rather was given it, yesterday: it's a small thing, silver, with an old, 1800s photo of a woman on the inside, the outside of it full of ornate filigree. There's nothing especially special about the locket, but the man in the antique store who pressed it into her hands was particularly insistent, and for Cailyn, with angelborn blood, it can be hard to say no. It's been in the dresser drawer since then... until this morning.
This morning, as Cailyn scrolls her phone, she feels some desire. That's not uncommon: often she wants to help others. Right now, with that same feeling, she wants to pick up the locket, as it intrudes on her thoughts in the bed.
Cailyn thins her lips as she sets her phone down atop her chest. It buzzes. She ignores it for now. She rolls over to eye the dresser and with a grunt, she sits up and leaves the bed to rifle through its contents. "Hm hm..." She hums a small tune before finding the locket and turning it over in her hand. "Maybe could put a different picture in here? Maybe it'd be a nice gift for Sarah..." The redhead says aloud in thought as she moves to the rooms desk- Slumping upon the chair. "Guy /was/ pretty insistent I take it."
There: in Cailyn's hands, the locket, and then desire more strongly felt: Cailyn wants to open the locket. When she's got the silver in her hand, it seems unusually, especially cold, as if touching it is rimed with frost. It's not, but all the same it gives her that feeling of chill, like touching a metal lamp post in the winter. Despite the locket's cold, the room seems warm, comfy, as if the dimensions of it are settling into some low focus, all pointed at the little glimmer of silver in Cailyn's hand.
Cailyn licks her lips idly, dainty fingers tracing the locket for a moment. Then she gives in and opens it. "Wonder who this woman even was. It's a really old photo. Honestly should probably post about it on MyHaven."
It may be impossible for Cailyn to notice right now, but there is an eerie sense of focus in the room, as if the glimpses outside the windows are seen through molasses. If she were to glance at her phone, it's silent and dead.
Inside, the locket has an old, 19th-century black-and-white photo of a woman. She seems young, in her late teens or early twenties, sitting up straight in a dark dress, her waist pinched in by a corset. She stares out at Cailyn from the locket, and then, when it opens, it seems almost for a moment as if the young woman in the photo seems to smile. Is that possible? Surely, that's a trick of the light.
Cailyn tilts her head to the side, keeping her gaze upon the small photo. "I want a dress like that," she murmurs before moving to pluck the photo out of the locket.
In Cailyn's head, a voice: 'I can get you a dress like that,' a woman says. She's young, from her voice, her tone full of that upper-class New England accent of decades past. Cailyn's mind floods with desire. 'I just need help. Please help me,' the voice says. The locket goes colder still, and then there is a sudden chill that passes down Cailyn's body, making her skin prickle.
The colors seem suddenly faded in the room, as the world seems to shrink down to a single point: Cailyn's body, her nerves alight, and the locket in her hand. It seems as if in the corners of the space, mist is rising, swirling with strange, opaque shapes, but the mist is a distant thought, perhaps, with all of the focus drawn here and now.
Cailyn blinks, freezing in her movements as she looks around the room. Her first thought is of her fiance- Who often speaks to her in such ways. But no- That's not how her voice sounds. This is someone else, and Cailyn has a feeling she knows the culprit.
With a shiver that runs down her body, Cailyn returns her emerald gaze back upon the locket and photo both. "Who are you?" She asks. Typical.
"My name is Charity Wilson," the voice in Cailyn's head says. "And I am trapped." There's something plaintive in her tone; it seems to echo inside Cailyn, even as she can feel herself move. It's weird: it is as if there is something inside her, not seeking to control her but still giving her a double sensation of having unconscious movements her body didn't initiate. "I'm bound to this locket, and I need your help."
Cailyn reaches a hand to her chest, eyes closing as she tries to feel out the ghost inside of her. "Wilson? Like... Founding family Wilson?" She wonders before shaking her head- That's not important. Helping this poor bound woman is- And Cailyn is far too trusting. "I don't have much experience with this stuff- What do I do?"
Being subtly possessed feels like a slow, creeping fog infiltrating the mind and body, subtly altering perceptions and movements in ways that are almost imperceptible at first. It's like an uninvited guest in the recesses of your consciousness, gently nudging your thoughts and actions without overt force. You might find your hands moving with a purpose that doesn't feel entirely your own, or words slipping from your lips that seem foreign yet strangely familiar. There's a constant, nagging sensation of being slightly out of step with yourself, as if you're watching your life unfold from a distance. The control over your actions remains, but it's tinged with a sense of guidance, or influence, from a source you can't quite identify. Moments of clarity, where you feel entirely yourself, are interspersed with instances where your intentions seem to blend with another will, creating a disconcerting duality within. This subtle possession doesn't wrest control violently; instead, it coaxes and persuades, leading you down paths that feel simultaneously your own and dictated by another. The distinction between your desires and the impulses instilled by this presence blurs, leaving you in a state of uncertain autonomy, where every decision feels both self-driven and gently orchestrated by an unseen hand.
Inside Cailyn's head, that voice: "I gave this locket to my fiancee, but he left it behind when he went to sea." It's got a sadness to it. "And the sea took him, like the sea takes so many men." There's an urgency inside Cailyn's body, a desire to get up and go, to head to the shore. "I miss him," she says. "I want to go back to him. Bring me back to the sea, so I can have some peace."
"The sea? Yea- I can.. Take you there," Cailyn murmurs as she stands, head shaking as she tries to get that... Feeling out of her. The redhead dons the locket and grabs her keys from a nightstand before making her way to her car. "I'm sorry thar happened to you. How long did you live after?"
With this presence inside you, a profound sense of longing begins to permeate your being, a yearning not entirely your own yet deeply felt. It's accompanied by vivid, haunting visions of a young man -- a sailor, his hair tousled brown, wearing duck cloth and standing on the railing of a steamship. It is as if the entity within is sharing fragments of a distant, sorrowful past. In these visions, you feel the vastness of the ocean, its endless horizons and the taste of salt in the air. The sensation of being adrift, with only the stars for guidance and the relentless waves as companions, becomes a poignant echo in your heart. This sailor's longing for home, for a the woman he left behind, intertwines with your own emotions, blurring the lines between your life and theirs.
The ghost, for it is a ghost inside Cailyn, seems to breathe in her mind: 'Two years, I waited. Then consumption took me.' As Cailyn is rising, getting her things, she can feel a sense of joy from the being inside her, a pleasure that at last she has found a person willing to help her find some peace.
A small tear runs down Cailyn's cheek without the woman realizing it, but when it falls upon her jacket, she blinks and runs the back of her hand along her eyes. "He was a wonderful man, wasn't he?" She finds herself asking- Putting herself in the woman's shoes.
Inside Cailyn's thoughts, wistful sadness. "He cared about me, Jermiah Salte did." It echoes in her mind. "He went to see, and promised to return, and then he never came back." If something lingers, though, some doubt, it is that the ghost wonders even now, nearly two centuries later, why the locket stayed at home. It's a pause, a discordant note to a story the ghost has told herself year after year, decade after decade.
It isn't long until Cailyn arrives at the shore, leaving her car up near the road. She gently walks to the water, lips thinning as she gazes out a across the ocean. "He never did, did he? Unless... Maybe he came back after we- You passed?" The redhead wonders, removing the locket from around her neck.
This lonely Atlantic seashore whispers tales of a bygone era in Cailyn's mind, buoyed by the memory of the girl inside her. Each wave seems to carry echoes of tall ships that once graced its horizon as it laps against the shore, with the expansive stretch of sand shrouded in a mist that blurs the line between sea and sky. In her mind, Cailyn can almost hear the creak of wood and the flap of sails in the wind, conjuring images of majestic ships embarking on voyages to and from Haven harbor in the distant past. Even today, the air seems thick with the scent of salt and nostalgia, as if the ocean itself yearns for the days when its surface teemed with the bustle of sailors and the promise of adventure. The shoreline, now tranquil and desolate, seems to hold within its grains of sand the stories of those who traversed the vast Atlantic, their hopes and fears, their triumphs and tragedies. Down the bluff is the Lighthouse, standing sentinel at the edge of the shore, some poignant reminder of the seafarers it once guided safely home. As Cailyn approaches the beach, the rhythmic sound of the surf seems to be some drumbeat in time with her own breathing, harmonized perhaps by the ghost inside her.
Cailyn draws in a breath, eyes closing. She's never felt so relaxed by the shore- Never felt this in tune with the waves. "How are you feeling, Charity?" She asks aloud, holding the locket up. "Does it please you to look out upon the ocean one final time?"
Inside Cailyn, the young woman riding along as a passenger stares out at the ocean. It's a little misty-eyed -- Cailyn is a little misty-eyed, as memories well up. "Thank you," she says to Cailyn, breathless and happy. Then there's a pause: in the distance, a dark shape, as if walking towards Cailyn across the water.
As the shape approaches, Cailyn, with her acute eyes, may be able to pick out its general form, even quite at a distance: it is the figure of a man, limned by the morning light, walking across the waves as if they were land.
Cailyn blinks, lifting a hand to hide her mouth- Stifling a gasp. "Jermiah?" She wonders, taking a step into the water, soaking her shoes. "Charity- Is that him?"
The memory of Jeremiah swells in Cailyn's mind for a moment, and it is as if she is transported: Jeremiah Salte was a young man, in his mid-20s, with brown hair, a laughing smile. Cailyn relives memories: stolen kisses under the wharf, Jeramiah and Charity walking hand in hand. Promises, earnest, that they would marry when he returns from his trip at sea. His face -- dozens upon dozens of iterations of his face, frozen in time in the weeks and days before he disappeared at sea.
Tears start to flow down Cailyn's cheeks as she makes her way over towards the man, splashing through the waves. She doesn't fight against the ghost's feelings- Letting them entangle with her own. "God- It is him..." She trails off, holding the locket out towqrds the approaching man.
It is him: sort of. As the figure on the waves resolves himself, Cailyn can recognize him as Jeremiah, even as she starts to feel rising panic in her breast as Charity fails to fully recognize him. The Jeremiah walking across the waves is a man in his late 40s, dressed in Levi's and suspenders and a work shirt, a little grubby, with a miner's floppy hat on his head. He crosses the waves and then he stands there at the threshold, where the waves lap the shore. "Who summoned me?" he asks, looking at Cailyn clearly not recognizing Charity, riding inside her.
Cailyn furrows her brow at the man before her. "I... I've brought Charity for you," she murmurs, still holding the locket out. "We've waited so long to see you again."
"Charity?" the spirit asks, and there's a moment where it doesn't seem to recognize the name at all. Inside Cailyn, there is a sense of crushing disappointment at seeing Jeremiah not remember her. "Charity..." He looks around. "Oh, this is Haven, is it not? I recognize the Lighthouse." He gestures to it, before turning to step again towards Cailyn. "How's the old girl?" he asks. "I'd almost forgotten about her. Did she find someone, in the end, after we parted ways?"
Cailyn can feel the crushing disappointment as the ghost inside her's emotional memory starts to crumble, the pain of a breakup rushing in like a flood.
Cailyn swallows audily, and she frowns. She doesn't want to admit it- But she knows that feeling all too well. "Oh... You two- You broke up with her," she murmurs, a hand clutching to her chest. "You left in that sense... She missed you every day for two years."
Inside Cailyn, feelings -- desires -- begin to swell, and they are met hand-in-hand with memory. Charity stood here, staring at the sea, at the distant tall ships, and then she began to walk into the water. She did not die of consumption: she drowned, a suicide, unshriven, and now the spirit inside Cailyn is possessing her to take the same oceanward step.
"I told her that I needed to see the world," Jeremiah says. "She took it bad," he admits. "And I did. You ever seen Shanghai?" he asks. "London? And then, in the end, San Francisco -- gold!" he tells Cailyn. "I found me a woman and we staked a claim." Every description of his full life seems to create more despair inside Charity, radiated the woman she inhabits.
Cailyn takes a step towards the ocean, her breath catching. "She... She drowned herself- She was heartbroken. You couldn't take us-" She cuts herself off, head shaking. Now is the time to fight against the desires. "You couldn't take /her/?"
Jeremiah lingers on the edge of the waves, now. "No room for a woman on a sailing ship," he says. "And this was her town, her father's town, her family's town." His words are even. "I'm sorry that happened to her," he says. "But it's not my fault." Inside Cailyn, Charity is now raging: it is his fault. It's Jeremiah's fault she died. "I wasn't a cad. I let her down and I followed my heart."
Memories flit across Cailyn's mind in Charity's sorrow and rage: promises as children to be together forever, to live in Haven, and then Jeremiah, drifting apart as wanderlust catches his heart. Scenes: a great row on Main Street, Charity screaming at him about how he is cruel to sail so far and so long when he has a girl at home whose family can find him employment on land.
"It /was/ your fault!" Cailyn yells at Jeremiah, her own memories of a breakup mingling with the ghost's inside of her. "We could have sailed together- I could have learned. You have ancestors these days that were in the Navy. Can't you just apologize?"
Cailyn's steps have her in the waves, now. She didn't even realize that the water was lapping around her knees until she looked down.
"I told her sorry then," Jeremiah says. "I'm sorry now, that she couldn't let me lead the life I wanted." His voice is tired. "But this was a long time ago," he tells Cailyn. "I loved her, but it wasn't the right thing, so I moved on. And she..." He gestures. "She hasn't." Inside Cailyn, Charity is weeping, confronted with this awful truth.
Cailyn swallows nervously as she realizes how far out she's gone. "You don't understand- You gave me a new life- You promised me yourself and then you just took it all away, Har-" She catches herself, some of her own experiences brought up. She shakes her head before turning in towards her passenger. "He didn't deserve you, Charity... So let's just- Go back to shore?"
Charity has no desire to go back to shore. The locket is stil clutched in Cailyn's hand, and it -- and Charity -- are making Cailyn take slow, deliberate steps into the water. It's up to the tops of her thighs, now: she wouldn't even notice if it wasn't for the cold splash of water bringing her attention there between her legs for a moment. The desire to keep walking, to give herself to the sea... it's terrifying.
Jeremiah tells Cailyn with some concern, "You're getting deep, miss. This isn't wise." He still can't see Charity, and he walks over with worry on his face, his knees now level with Cailyn's face as he stands atop the waves. He reaches down, as if to give her a hand, but his hand just passes through her.
The intensity of the surf is growing, each successive wave crashing with more vigor. The once serene whispers of water brushing against the shore is rapidly transforming into a powerful chorus of roiling sounds. Each wave, swelling with the energy of the deep sea, surges forward with renewed strength, sending frothy water rushing up the beach, eroding the boundary between land and ocean. The crescendo of this aquatic symphony fills the air, a relentless, pulsating rhythm that echoes the untamed heart of the sea. The water, reflecting the moon's silvery light, churns with white-capped waves that race towards the shore, only to retreat and gather force for another assault.
Cailyn shakes, shivering as she looks towards Jeremiah- Her panic growing as the hand passes through her. She blinks, holding the locket in both hands before saying: "Charity- Stop. Stop before this gets worse for both of us."
As Jermiah's hand passes through Cailyn, the woman can feel the waves batter her. It's over her waist, now, and she's still moving deeper, choppy water rising to lap now almost at her breasts. Inside her mind, all she can feel is the desire to end this: Charity's overwhelming sorrow, trying to block out one more time the loss of a love she never really had at all.
Cailyn closes her eyes, her emotions overwhelmed. "Fuck- This better work," She huffs out before raising the locket above her head. She clasps it between both hands and does what she does best- Lighting fire to things. Damn the consequences of burning her hands. Her life is worth more.
The pain is intense as Cailyn begins to hold the locket in her hands: it heats up, the silver absorbing the magic, starting to grow, and grow, and grow. It gets more and more powerful: radiating heat until it gets too hot to hold. Inside, the little picture is a crisp, and then, her hands burned, the picture is gone. She can't hold the locket anymore: it drops into the sea, but as it does she feels a sudden wind as Charity leaves her. Jeremiah lingers for one last moment, and then he, too, turns to fade away.
Cailyn grits her teeth, keeping her hands above the water- Salt would only make it worse. Despite her face betraying her pain- She still lets tears flow from her eyes, and she linger like that in the water for some time.
As Jeremiah fades away, the waves settle to some stillness. Absence: hurt and loss, they linger still in Cailyn's heart.
Upon reaching the shore, Cailyn, now a vessel to Charity's spirit, is overcome with the ghost's emotions and calls upon Jeremiah. The figure of a man approaches from the waves, but in a cruel twist, it is a much older Jeremiah who has moved on from Charity, his life lived fully without her. Amidst this revelation, Charity within Cailyn attempts to walk deeper into the ocean, consumed with despair and guided by the desire to drown all over again. In desperation, Cailyn burns the locket, severing Charity from her and finally allowing both spirits, Charity and the specter of Jeremiah, to dissipate and find their rest, leaving Cailyn alone, scorched but alive, to process the harrowing encounter and the shared sorrow.
(Cailyn's odd encounter(SRJack):SRJack)
[Thu Jan 4 2024]
In the Master Bedroom of an eerie colonial building
The lavish master bedroom offers a large, queen sized bed on a frame of thick wood. Each side of the bed features an antique night stand, making it quite comfortable and classy all-in-all. A corner couch with a coffee table - paired with a modern coffee machine offering a touch display and a wide selection of teas - make for a comfortable place to sit, right in-front of the windows that show the vistas of the north side of Haven and the harbor. Across the windows an antique desk offers a laptop computer, completed with a massive, plush leather desk chair.
A strange collection of ropes hangs from various points of the ceiling.
It is morning, about 19F(-7C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target and their allies encounter a ghost who has attached herself to a pendant at a local antique shop. The ghost is not malicious, but she is causing disturbances and frightening the townspeople. The characters must figure out who the ghost is and help her pass on to the other side.)
Cailyn is scrolling through her phone upon her bed, dressed in her casual- Or rather her /usual/ outfit. Full lips purse a moment as she watches a cute little dog video.
On the dresser near Cailyn is a locket. She bought it, rather was given it, yesterday: it's a small thing, silver, with an old, 1800s photo of a woman on the inside, the outside of it full of ornate filigree. There's nothing especially special about the locket, but the man in the antique store who pressed it into her hands was particularly insistent, and for Cailyn, with angelborn blood, it can be hard to say no. It's been in the dresser drawer since then... until this morning.
This morning, as Cailyn scrolls her phone, she feels some desire. That's not uncommon: often she wants to help others. Right now, with that same feeling, she wants to pick up the locket, as it intrudes on her thoughts in the bed.
Cailyn thins her lips as she sets her phone down atop her chest. It buzzes. She ignores it for now. She rolls over to eye the dresser and with a grunt, she sits up and leaves the bed to rifle through its contents. "Hm hm..." She hums a small tune before finding the locket and turning it over in her hand. "Maybe could put a different picture in here? Maybe it'd be a nice gift for Sarah..." The redhead says aloud in thought as she moves to the rooms desk- Slumping upon the chair. "Guy /was/ pretty insistent I take it."
There: in Cailyn's hands, the locket, and then desire more strongly felt: Cailyn wants to open the locket. When she's got the silver in her hand, it seems unusually, especially cold, as if touching it is rimed with frost. It's not, but all the same it gives her that feeling of chill, like touching a metal lamp post in the winter. Despite the locket's cold, the room seems warm, comfy, as if the dimensions of it are settling into some low focus, all pointed at the little glimmer of silver in Cailyn's hand.
Cailyn licks her lips idly, dainty fingers tracing the locket for a moment. Then she gives in and opens it. "Wonder who this woman even was. It's a really old photo. Honestly should probably post about it on MyHaven."
It may be impossible for Cailyn to notice right now, but there is an eerie sense of focus in the room, as if the glimpses outside the windows are seen through molasses. If she were to glance at her phone, it's silent and dead.
Inside, the locket has an old, 19th-century black-and-white photo of a woman. She seems young, in her late teens or early twenties, sitting up straight in a dark dress, her waist pinched in by a corset. She stares out at Cailyn from the locket, and then, when it opens, it seems almost for a moment as if the young woman in the photo seems to smile. Is that possible? Surely, that's a trick of the light.
Cailyn tilts her head to the side, keeping her gaze upon the small photo. "I want a dress like that," she murmurs before moving to pluck the photo out of the locket.
In Cailyn's head, a voice: 'I can get you a dress like that,' a woman says. She's young, from her voice, her tone full of that upper-class New England accent of decades past. Cailyn's mind floods with desire. 'I just need help. Please help me,' the voice says. The locket goes colder still, and then there is a sudden chill that passes down Cailyn's body, making her skin prickle.
The colors seem suddenly faded in the room, as the world seems to shrink down to a single point: Cailyn's body, her nerves alight, and the locket in her hand. It seems as if in the corners of the space, mist is rising, swirling with strange, opaque shapes, but the mist is a distant thought, perhaps, with all of the focus drawn here and now.
Cailyn blinks, freezing in her movements as she looks around the room. Her first thought is of her fiance- Who often speaks to her in such ways. But no- That's not how her voice sounds. This is someone else, and Cailyn has a feeling she knows the culprit.
With a shiver that runs down her body, Cailyn returns her emerald gaze back upon the locket and photo both. "Who are you?" She asks. Typical.
"My name is Charity Wilson," the voice in Cailyn's head says. "And I am trapped." There's something plaintive in her tone; it seems to echo inside Cailyn, even as she can feel herself move. It's weird: it is as if there is something inside her, not seeking to control her but still giving her a double sensation of having unconscious movements her body didn't initiate. "I'm bound to this locket, and I need your help."
Cailyn reaches a hand to her chest, eyes closing as she tries to feel out the ghost inside of her. "Wilson? Like... Founding family Wilson?" She wonders before shaking her head- That's not important. Helping this poor bound woman is- And Cailyn is far too trusting. "I don't have much experience with this stuff- What do I do?"
Being subtly possessed feels like a slow, creeping fog infiltrating the mind and body, subtly altering perceptions and movements in ways that are almost imperceptible at first. It's like an uninvited guest in the recesses of your consciousness, gently nudging your thoughts and actions without overt force. You might find your hands moving with a purpose that doesn't feel entirely your own, or words slipping from your lips that seem foreign yet strangely familiar. There's a constant, nagging sensation of being slightly out of step with yourself, as if you're watching your life unfold from a distance. The control over your actions remains, but it's tinged with a sense of guidance, or influence, from a source you can't quite identify. Moments of clarity, where you feel entirely yourself, are interspersed with instances where your intentions seem to blend with another will, creating a disconcerting duality within. This subtle possession doesn't wrest control violently; instead, it coaxes and persuades, leading you down paths that feel simultaneously your own and dictated by another. The distinction between your desires and the impulses instilled by this presence blurs, leaving you in a state of uncertain autonomy, where every decision feels both self-driven and gently orchestrated by an unseen hand.
Inside Cailyn's head, that voice: "I gave this locket to my fiancee, but he left it behind when he went to sea." It's got a sadness to it. "And the sea took him, like the sea takes so many men." There's an urgency inside Cailyn's body, a desire to get up and go, to head to the shore. "I miss him," she says. "I want to go back to him. Bring me back to the sea, so I can have some peace."
"The sea? Yea- I can.. Take you there," Cailyn murmurs as she stands, head shaking as she tries to get that... Feeling out of her. The redhead dons the locket and grabs her keys from a nightstand before making her way to her car. "I'm sorry thar happened to you. How long did you live after?"
With this presence inside you, a profound sense of longing begins to permeate your being, a yearning not entirely your own yet deeply felt. It's accompanied by vivid, haunting visions of a young man -- a sailor, his hair tousled brown, wearing duck cloth and standing on the railing of a steamship. It is as if the entity within is sharing fragments of a distant, sorrowful past. In these visions, you feel the vastness of the ocean, its endless horizons and the taste of salt in the air. The sensation of being adrift, with only the stars for guidance and the relentless waves as companions, becomes a poignant echo in your heart. This sailor's longing for home, for a the woman he left behind, intertwines with your own emotions, blurring the lines between your life and theirs.
The ghost, for it is a ghost inside Cailyn, seems to breathe in her mind: 'Two years, I waited. Then consumption took me.' As Cailyn is rising, getting her things, she can feel a sense of joy from the being inside her, a pleasure that at last she has found a person willing to help her find some peace.
A small tear runs down Cailyn's cheek without the woman realizing it, but when it falls upon her jacket, she blinks and runs the back of her hand along her eyes. "He was a wonderful man, wasn't he?" She finds herself asking- Putting herself in the woman's shoes.
Inside Cailyn's thoughts, wistful sadness. "He cared about me, Jermiah Salte did." It echoes in her mind. "He went to see, and promised to return, and then he never came back." If something lingers, though, some doubt, it is that the ghost wonders even now, nearly two centuries later, why the locket stayed at home. It's a pause, a discordant note to a story the ghost has told herself year after year, decade after decade.
It isn't long until Cailyn arrives at the shore, leaving her car up near the road. She gently walks to the water, lips thinning as she gazes out a across the ocean. "He never did, did he? Unless... Maybe he came back after we- You passed?" The redhead wonders, removing the locket from around her neck.
This lonely Atlantic seashore whispers tales of a bygone era in Cailyn's mind, buoyed by the memory of the girl inside her. Each wave seems to carry echoes of tall ships that once graced its horizon as it laps against the shore, with the expansive stretch of sand shrouded in a mist that blurs the line between sea and sky. In her mind, Cailyn can almost hear the creak of wood and the flap of sails in the wind, conjuring images of majestic ships embarking on voyages to and from Haven harbor in the distant past. Even today, the air seems thick with the scent of salt and nostalgia, as if the ocean itself yearns for the days when its surface teemed with the bustle of sailors and the promise of adventure. The shoreline, now tranquil and desolate, seems to hold within its grains of sand the stories of those who traversed the vast Atlantic, their hopes and fears, their triumphs and tragedies. Down the bluff is the Lighthouse, standing sentinel at the edge of the shore, some poignant reminder of the seafarers it once guided safely home. As Cailyn approaches the beach, the rhythmic sound of the surf seems to be some drumbeat in time with her own breathing, harmonized perhaps by the ghost inside her.
Cailyn draws in a breath, eyes closing. She's never felt so relaxed by the shore- Never felt this in tune with the waves. "How are you feeling, Charity?" She asks aloud, holding the locket up. "Does it please you to look out upon the ocean one final time?"
Inside Cailyn, the young woman riding along as a passenger stares out at the ocean. It's a little misty-eyed -- Cailyn is a little misty-eyed, as memories well up. "Thank you," she says to Cailyn, breathless and happy. Then there's a pause: in the distance, a dark shape, as if walking towards Cailyn across the water.
As the shape approaches, Cailyn, with her acute eyes, may be able to pick out its general form, even quite at a distance: it is the figure of a man, limned by the morning light, walking across the waves as if they were land.
Cailyn blinks, lifting a hand to hide her mouth- Stifling a gasp. "Jermiah?" She wonders, taking a step into the water, soaking her shoes. "Charity- Is that him?"
The memory of Jeremiah swells in Cailyn's mind for a moment, and it is as if she is transported: Jeremiah Salte was a young man, in his mid-20s, with brown hair, a laughing smile. Cailyn relives memories: stolen kisses under the wharf, Jeramiah and Charity walking hand in hand. Promises, earnest, that they would marry when he returns from his trip at sea. His face -- dozens upon dozens of iterations of his face, frozen in time in the weeks and days before he disappeared at sea.
Tears start to flow down Cailyn's cheeks as she makes her way over towards the man, splashing through the waves. She doesn't fight against the ghost's feelings- Letting them entangle with her own. "God- It is him..." She trails off, holding the locket out towqrds the approaching man.
It is him: sort of. As the figure on the waves resolves himself, Cailyn can recognize him as Jeremiah, even as she starts to feel rising panic in her breast as Charity fails to fully recognize him. The Jeremiah walking across the waves is a man in his late 40s, dressed in Levi's and suspenders and a work shirt, a little grubby, with a miner's floppy hat on his head. He crosses the waves and then he stands there at the threshold, where the waves lap the shore. "Who summoned me?" he asks, looking at Cailyn clearly not recognizing Charity, riding inside her.
Cailyn furrows her brow at the man before her. "I... I've brought Charity for you," she murmurs, still holding the locket out. "We've waited so long to see you again."
"Charity?" the spirit asks, and there's a moment where it doesn't seem to recognize the name at all. Inside Cailyn, there is a sense of crushing disappointment at seeing Jeremiah not remember her. "Charity..." He looks around. "Oh, this is Haven, is it not? I recognize the Lighthouse." He gestures to it, before turning to step again towards Cailyn. "How's the old girl?" he asks. "I'd almost forgotten about her. Did she find someone, in the end, after we parted ways?"
Cailyn can feel the crushing disappointment as the ghost inside her's emotional memory starts to crumble, the pain of a breakup rushing in like a flood.
Cailyn swallows audily, and she frowns. She doesn't want to admit it- But she knows that feeling all too well. "Oh... You two- You broke up with her," she murmurs, a hand clutching to her chest. "You left in that sense... She missed you every day for two years."
Inside Cailyn, feelings -- desires -- begin to swell, and they are met hand-in-hand with memory. Charity stood here, staring at the sea, at the distant tall ships, and then she began to walk into the water. She did not die of consumption: she drowned, a suicide, unshriven, and now the spirit inside Cailyn is possessing her to take the same oceanward step.
"I told her that I needed to see the world," Jeremiah says. "She took it bad," he admits. "And I did. You ever seen Shanghai?" he asks. "London? And then, in the end, San Francisco -- gold!" he tells Cailyn. "I found me a woman and we staked a claim." Every description of his full life seems to create more despair inside Charity, radiated the woman she inhabits.
Cailyn takes a step towards the ocean, her breath catching. "She... She drowned herself- She was heartbroken. You couldn't take us-" She cuts herself off, head shaking. Now is the time to fight against the desires. "You couldn't take /her/?"
Jeremiah lingers on the edge of the waves, now. "No room for a woman on a sailing ship," he says. "And this was her town, her father's town, her family's town." His words are even. "I'm sorry that happened to her," he says. "But it's not my fault." Inside Cailyn, Charity is now raging: it is his fault. It's Jeremiah's fault she died. "I wasn't a cad. I let her down and I followed my heart."
Memories flit across Cailyn's mind in Charity's sorrow and rage: promises as children to be together forever, to live in Haven, and then Jeremiah, drifting apart as wanderlust catches his heart. Scenes: a great row on Main Street, Charity screaming at him about how he is cruel to sail so far and so long when he has a girl at home whose family can find him employment on land.
"It /was/ your fault!" Cailyn yells at Jeremiah, her own memories of a breakup mingling with the ghost's inside of her. "We could have sailed together- I could have learned. You have ancestors these days that were in the Navy. Can't you just apologize?"
Cailyn's steps have her in the waves, now. She didn't even realize that the water was lapping around her knees until she looked down.
"I told her sorry then," Jeremiah says. "I'm sorry now, that she couldn't let me lead the life I wanted." His voice is tired. "But this was a long time ago," he tells Cailyn. "I loved her, but it wasn't the right thing, so I moved on. And she..." He gestures. "She hasn't." Inside Cailyn, Charity is weeping, confronted with this awful truth.
Cailyn swallows nervously as she realizes how far out she's gone. "You don't understand- You gave me a new life- You promised me yourself and then you just took it all away, Har-" She catches herself, some of her own experiences brought up. She shakes her head before turning in towards her passenger. "He didn't deserve you, Charity... So let's just- Go back to shore?"
Charity has no desire to go back to shore. The locket is stil clutched in Cailyn's hand, and it -- and Charity -- are making Cailyn take slow, deliberate steps into the water. It's up to the tops of her thighs, now: she wouldn't even notice if it wasn't for the cold splash of water bringing her attention there between her legs for a moment. The desire to keep walking, to give herself to the sea... it's terrifying.
Jeremiah tells Cailyn with some concern, "You're getting deep, miss. This isn't wise." He still can't see Charity, and he walks over with worry on his face, his knees now level with Cailyn's face as he stands atop the waves. He reaches down, as if to give her a hand, but his hand just passes through her.
The intensity of the surf is growing, each successive wave crashing with more vigor. The once serene whispers of water brushing against the shore is rapidly transforming into a powerful chorus of roiling sounds. Each wave, swelling with the energy of the deep sea, surges forward with renewed strength, sending frothy water rushing up the beach, eroding the boundary between land and ocean. The crescendo of this aquatic symphony fills the air, a relentless, pulsating rhythm that echoes the untamed heart of the sea. The water, reflecting the moon's silvery light, churns with white-capped waves that race towards the shore, only to retreat and gather force for another assault.
Cailyn shakes, shivering as she looks towards Jeremiah- Her panic growing as the hand passes through her. She blinks, holding the locket in both hands before saying: "Charity- Stop. Stop before this gets worse for both of us."
As Jermiah's hand passes through Cailyn, the woman can feel the waves batter her. It's over her waist, now, and she's still moving deeper, choppy water rising to lap now almost at her breasts. Inside her mind, all she can feel is the desire to end this: Charity's overwhelming sorrow, trying to block out one more time the loss of a love she never really had at all.
Cailyn closes her eyes, her emotions overwhelmed. "Fuck- This better work," She huffs out before raising the locket above her head. She clasps it between both hands and does what she does best- Lighting fire to things. Damn the consequences of burning her hands. Her life is worth more.
The pain is intense as Cailyn begins to hold the locket in her hands: it heats up, the silver absorbing the magic, starting to grow, and grow, and grow. It gets more and more powerful: radiating heat until it gets too hot to hold. Inside, the little picture is a crisp, and then, her hands burned, the picture is gone. She can't hold the locket anymore: it drops into the sea, but as it does she feels a sudden wind as Charity leaves her. Jeremiah lingers for one last moment, and then he, too, turns to fade away.
Cailyn grits her teeth, keeping her hands above the water- Salt would only make it worse. Despite her face betraying her pain- She still lets tears flow from her eyes, and she linger like that in the water for some time.
As Jeremiah fades away, the waves settle to some stillness. Absence: hurt and loss, they linger still in Cailyn's heart.