So, its that time in fandom again where I come up with a new cosplay I’m dying to do. This time its the lovely and brilliantly clever Irene Adler from the BBCs Sherlock.
Now, she has a variety of looks which will have to be picked from but there is something about her that is just delicious.
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I have a new costume idea. This would be so much fun to do.
Gem from Tron: Legacy
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Disclaimer: Images are not mine, just compiled by me. If you would like credit for any images (especially the photographs of the costumes) please tell me. I will happily credit.
I now have more concrete plans for Labyrinth costumes. I have a friend who wants me to help him make the Jareth ball outfit for a summer wedding. I think I’ve narrowed my interest for a costume down to the ball outfit, the red leather jacket or the classic throne room outfit. While I love the white costume the cape is going to be crazy. Finding places that sell synthetic bone is tough and don’t get me started on the feathers… That’s up there on my dream costume list.
Something about this place felt wrong. Becky could see the ground in front of her. It sparkled in the dim and hazy light. Helena stood in front of her. She had appeared in a silent, dark flash.
“Come with me,” Helena said without words. Another hand took Becky’s arm leading her forward. The path under her feet became rough. A rat passed in the darkness, nails clicking. Thick fog obscured and highlighted the world. The tightness in Becky’s chest didn’t pass.
Helena stopped. Becky felt the invisible hand leave her arm.
“We’re here,” Helena’s ghostly voice said. “Look.”
Becky leaned in close to the slender stone. Ivy had been growing on it for generations. The words were indistinct. A date appeared in her mind – 1959.
“He died in Dublin,” Helena whispered aloud.
“Who is he?” Becky turned to look at Helena. The older woman seemed to fade into the mist. Even as she disappeared Becky could hear her echoing voice.
“To die is an honor. To die elderly is the greatest honor. He never received it.”
“But who is he?” Becky shouted at the emptiness. The mist closed in; Helena had deterred it. Turning quickly Becky could feel her heart pound. She reached for the ivy covering the stone. Whoever this was, it was important.
The cold of the mist woke Becky. She closed her eyes again sliding under the comforter. Everything was cold; everything was damp. Becky laid in her bed breathing heavy. The room was silent. The distorted dream flashed behind her closed eyes. A silent grave. Whispered warnings. A ghostly figure.
As her breathing steadied Becky relaxed her grip. The comforter was badly wrinkled where her hands had been. Opening her eyes she looked around. In the darkness she could make out shapes. Through her open door she could see the funeral flowers. They were slowly wilting. Turning over in her bed, Becky grabbed the clock. It flashed 3:00 at her. 3:01. She flopped back throwing the clock down.
She hadn’t been sleeping since the funeral. The dream woke her at the same time every night. Her brother had said she looked awful. The bags under her eyes couldn’t be covered with makeup. He slept fine. No mysterious warnings seemed to plague him.
The dream stuck in her mind. This was the third time she had been woken up. This was the third time in three nights. The woman’s face was familiar. Her voice, while eerie, was comfortable. Becky remembered suddenly the smell of her grandmother’s cookies. That’s what the voice sounded like. It was the same memory of Christmas. Everyone gathered around the worn stone fireplace. Fresh cookies when they came in from caroling. Grandma always had cookies and hot chocolate.
She was warmer now, except for her sheets. Throwing them off Becky climbed out of bed. She found a fresh set of bed linens. After changing the wet for the dry she yawned. She wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. The memory was too fresh.
Becky made her way to the kitchen. The thought of cookies and cocoa was enticing. She put on water and got supplies from the cupboard. After making her snack Becky sat at the table. Thinking about grandma was odd, but not unusual. Mom had always told her family ghost stories. Dead loved ones always had a message. Becky had been identified as sensitive when she was five.
When she looked at the clock next it said 3:32. Her cocoa was gone and crumbs sat on the plate. Standing, she picked up the dishes heading for the sink. A chill made her pause. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Turning, the plate and mug slipped from her hands. They crashed to the floor. A misty white shape stood in front of Becky. As she watched the mist collected into a human shape. It had arms and legs but no face. When it spoke Becky trembled.
“Are you there?” The disembodied voice sounded in her head. “Is this thing working?”
Becky stared at the shape as it solidified. “Grandma?” Her jaw dropped. “You’re dead.”
The misty figure turned as its face could be seen. Becky tilted her head as she watched it. The curl of the misted hair was right. The voice was right too. Grandma however was dead.
“Don’t look so surprised girl. You knew this was coming.” The spirit put its hand on its hips. Shifting its weight it assumed a familiar stance. Becky closed her mouth and straightened up. She looked down at the floor where the dishes lay. Bending to gather them she looked up. It was Grandma for certain. The old woman watched her.
“Hurry up girl. I don’t have all night you know.”
Becky straightened and put the dishes in the sink. When she turned the spirit had come closer. She tried to pass a hand through it. A solid mass met her instead. The old woman grinned and pulled her into a hug. Grandma was solid but not warm.
They broke apart and the old woman smiled. “I missed you doll.”
“I missed you too Grandma,” Becky whispered. Her voice shook as she took the scene in. “You’re dead.”
“Yes Beck I know. It’s not so bad. The funeral was nice. You looked very beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Becky’s eyebrows furrowed. She knew Grandma was there. It was hard to believe though.
“This isn’t a social call sweetie. I have a message I need to deliver.” Grandma took Becky’s hand and led her to the table. “Please listen to me.”
Becky nodded.
“I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything Grandma. You know that.”
The old woman smiled. “That’s my girl.” She stood and paced the room. Becky turned in her chair to watch. After a few minutes the old woman spoke.
“Do you remember my keepsake chest?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Yes.”
“There is a box in it. It’s small and black. I need you to destroy it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It contains something I tried to forget about.”
Becky sat silent waiting for an explanation. The old woman looked at her and smiled.
“It’s from an old love. The box contains his soul.”
“Why do you want me to destroy it?” Becky stood and walked over to her grandmother. “If you loved him then –“
“I did love him. But he had an evil soul. Please Beck, don’t make me explain.” The old woman looked up suddenly. “I’m out of time anyway.” She turned and grasped Becky’s hands. “Promise me.”
“I promise. But what am I promising?” Becky felt the hands grasping hers grow thin. The definition of the spirits face faded. A voice rang out,
“You will see.” Becky thought she felt a caress as the whiteness passed. In an instant it had disappeared. Becky stood for a moment in the kitchen, immobile. Her legs collapsed under her. Sitting on the cool tile floor Becky felt hot tears. She sobbed until the sun rose.
After a shower Becky went to see her mom. The sun was climbing and the world was bright. Her mother answered the door with a smile and hug.
“Sweetie, you’re up early.” She pulled back looking Becky over. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Come in, I’ll make you breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry Mom.”
“Well, more for the rest of us. Come in, you’re freezing.”
Becky followed her mom into the house. The sunny yellow walls made her smile. They sat down to breakfast. Her brother joined them and grabbed a slice of toast. He left as quickly as he came. Relaxing, Becky managed a few bites before her mom spoke.
“What brings you over?”
“I had a dream last night.”
“Was it a bad one?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the weird part.” Becky’s mom looked at her with a raised brow. Becky sipped her juice then continued. “Grandma visited me.”
“Oh sweetie.”
“Mom, she really did.”
“I believe you. I just wished that she had passed on fully. What did she want? They always want something.”
Becky sighed. “Do you have her keepsake chest?”
“Yes, its upstairs.”
“I need it.”
“Let me get it for you.” Her mom put a hand on Becky’s arm. She collected her plate and placed in on the counter. Becky heard her mom climb the stairs. There were sounds of movement from above. Her mom soon came back with a small chest.
“Here it is.”
Becky reached for it and felt the cool wood. “It’s cold.”
Her mom raised a brow but said nothing. She cleared Becky’s dishes silently. Becky smiled at her then turned to the box. Opening it she found it exactly as the spirit said. Inside sat a small black box. Becky reached for it and the lid snapped shut. She jumped. Her mom turned from the sink at the sound.
“What was that?” she asked.
Becky looked up. “There is a small black box inside. Grandma told me to destroy it.”
Her mom dried her hands and came to the table. Sitting down across the way she took the box. “Did she tell you what’s inside?”
“An evil soul.”
Her mom’s face tightened. “Did you touch it?”
“No. It slammed shut.”
Her mom smiled bitterly and nodded. “You’re going to something powerful. We need to talk to Auntie Flo.”
Becky watched as her mom took the box. She left the room and Becky started to follow. She heard the fireplace roar to life. Her mom had disappeared when Becky entered the living room. The fireplace glowed with hot embers.
It was dark when her mom returned. The fireplace glowed to life waking Becky. Looking tired her mom entered the room through the mantle.
“Mom! What happened?” Becky sprang from the chair she had slept in.
“It’s done.” Her mom’s hands were empty. Becky wrapped her arms around her mother. She rested her head on her mom’s breast.
“Don’t do that to me again.”
“You weren’t ready sweetie. I had to.”
Becky held her mom close. Her mom rested her head against Becky’s. They stood there until the moon rose over the house. Becky’s walk home was warm despite it being November. She crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling. At 3:33 she woke suddenly. A soft glow lit the ceiling. She felt a gentle hand on her cheek. Closing her eyes she turned and went to sleep.
Modern Love - Matt Nathanson
Helen and all her relationships - platonic and otherwise.
