When the candle is lit, a purple mist begins to seep out of the pumpkin’s maw, almost as if a fog machine sits inside. It’s thick as it bleeds into the air, carrying with it the scent of lilacs and rosemary.
Any who breathe the mist in will feel hands around their throat, vision dimming for a moment before sharpening once more, able to see things that weren’t there before. Hazy shapes and figures, drifting through the park and heedless of the living. Spirits without faces, doomed to an eternal wandering.
I should note actually, that particular sensation will only occur while she’s near the pumpkin itself. The seeing ghosts thing, however, seems more or less permanent for the time being.
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Any who breathe the mist in will feel hands around their throat, vision dimming for a moment before sharpening once more, able to see things that weren’t there before. Hazy shapes and figures, drifting through the park and heedless of the living. Spirits without faces, doomed to an eternal wandering.
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no subject
I should note actually, that particular sensation will only occur while she’s near the pumpkin itself. The seeing ghosts thing, however, seems more or less permanent for the time being.