The Devil in the Form of Those That Follow: Lethiferous

CHAPTER ONE

TW: Harassment

"We will live our normal lives."

"AHH!" came a violent screech from the TV. "I mean, it's her fault she should've not worn heels to a camping trip," Lana shrugged.

    "Yeah it's kinda dumb, but give her a break," Beatrix replied. They had been watching a new horror movie that had just been released since October was about to start. They were trying to get into the "Halloween Spirit" by watching it. Even though Followed, the movie, wasn't their type of horror movie, their friend Kai suggested it.

    "Would you wear heels on a camping trip?" Lana asked.

    "No, but..." Her sentence fell off. She couldn't really think of any reasonable thing to say back to Lana.

    "Well I'm gonna go get popcorn," Beatrix added, slightly agitated she couldn't think of a comeback. She got up and went to their tiny kitchen, which wasn't far from them.

"Exactly," Lana added as Beatrix went into the kitchen, proud of herself for duping her.

The two had known each other for a while. They became friends around when they were eight because they had been placed in the same classes. They moved to New York to get out of their toxic town in Ohio and find better things to do. Beatrix dreamed of becoming a well-known painter and Lana wanted to write novels. While Beatrix longed for recognition as a painter, Lana didn't really fancy the idea of being famous. They were currently living in a medium-sized apartment after Lana sold a best-selling novel under her pseudonym, L.C. Michael. While it wasn't completely what they had fantasized over, they were happily making it work.

Beatrix almost resembled a painting, more so a beautiful portrait of a divine lady. Her round baby blue eyes were almost like a pearl earring with their shimmering wonder. Her lips were naturally blended with her skin, only being a slightly different shade. Her hair was her own, specially made golden frame, but one that seemed to have been worn down a tad. Her sweaters and turtlenecks wrapped around her figure like paint covered a canvas, effortlessly.

Lana seemed like what someone would imagine when they thought of a writer. She was sort of like a book or poem of her own. Her brown doll eyes were the writing, telling of every emotion she was feeling and always conveying a message, but luckily she learned to hide her writing and make it get lost in the pages. Her mouth was the author itself, telling beautiful stories and poems that would stick in your heart forever. Her face was, of course, the cover. It made everyone judge her with one look. Her natural frown and blonde hair always being in a loose bun didn't sit well with the social and eccentric people of New York. Her dark cardigans and trench coats didn't help.

Beatrix placed a flat popcorn bag into the small white microwave. She tapped the popcorn button as it began to spin around. She grabbed all her hair from the back into a low ponytail. She held the bunch and grabbed her hair tie that was on her wrist. She looped it around once and then twirled it into a bun. She looked to her left to see her favorite painting on the wall, which was the replica of her most famous painting. It was a crying clown. It had a cone-shaped hat slightly tilted to the right and a huge collar of layers of fabric. His face was painted white with over layered red lipstick. A black tear ran down his face as his eyebrows were painted black. It looked very realistic, and it freaked Lana out at times. Beatrix called it Anhedonia.

Sometimes, she just wanted to escape in the painting. Other times, she felt like she was already in it. Not everyone liked clowns. In fact, she couldn't think of one person who liked them, not even a kid. All clowns do is perform and put on their makeup for an act that doesn't give them anything but sorrow. Maybe she could be friends with the clowns. She could perform her act and they could perform theirs'. Side by side in harmony, if she could even bring any harmony.