(no subject)

[The camera is on Eden as she is kneading dough, although she looks at the camera, so it's not accidental]

What is it with this place and bad fuckin' poetry? Someone compared me to rose thorn today. I mean all right, yeah, shut the fuck up, I know it's a curse, but really?

I would just say that-

[There's a pause here and she goes still and silent. It lasts almost a full minute before dark blood trickles out of her nose, and then out of her right ear, and her eyes turn black. She cocks her head and opens her mouth, and a stream of sing-song Gaelic pours out.]

Blood changed and wound weary,
Mourning losses not his choice to make,
Through doors of glass turned to air,
Brother's blood calls to brother's blood.

[She manages not to scream, but she does collapse, knocking the camera off the counter and onto the ground, where it shuts off.]




[ooc: Action for the apartment, voice for everyone else. If your character speaks Irish Gaelic, they're welcome to understand her prophecy]