oceanhunters:

T E E N A G E  G I R L S  +  M Y T H O L O G Y: Nephthys

Where do dead things go, she asks as a child, later to be answered with the chilling reply of: to you. Tears run from her lashes, their cause uncertain, a sombre ache to the way words fall from trembling lips. She lays awake all night, goes for walks that have no destination. No purpose. People stare when she wanders into school, clothes wet from wading through the river. Nobody questions it properly until girls start going missing, turning up on mossy banks, water lilies entangled in their hair.