Two Eyes Cenote Does he speak to you now?

a collection of bones, really, would ingram have possessed hands, he might've offered a flippant gesture of one, as if shooing away a bothersome thought. though, the truth was that he would've crawled through the jaws of hell itself for his threadbones. they have travelled with him since he'd begun the collection of them; as morbid as the collection of the very first and it's flesh and blood tie to him was.

one day, he would demand they be buried with him.

marked with my teeth, of varying sizes. they help to ...channel.

ingram is wary of showing just how deep his obsession with them runs, but there was a good chance she already thought he was unstable. unhinged.

and she wouldn't have been wrong, if that was the case.

she seems interested in his love life ... or rather, the failings of it; questioning how he drew that conclusion. a raised eyebrow, a twitch of the corner of his scarred lips.

the evidence rather speaks for itself, does it not? ingram inquires. one, perhaps it was just fate. the listener and i ... we were wondrous but our obsessions fed into each other. like gasoline and fire. destined to burn up. to burn out. to hate each other.

a wistful sigh; small. barely unnoticed by ingram.

and my second...well, sort of the same recipe, really. just a different order. but like an ouroboros, returned to it's original state: hatred.

perhaps neither personality had truly meshed with his, had never really tempered him. at least, not for long. or perhaps, being alone was his curse to bear. perhaps ingram didn't even have the ability to truly love anything but himself.