#or how it clinks quietly and shimmers whenever he’s moving

[cobaincreates]

as it is

warnings: saddy sad sad, secretly hope i hurt you with this

count: 3k+

pinterest for the pic let me know what ya thinkin

i made a playlist for this!

— — —

every part of you despised the country club. you hated the food, you hated the people, you hated the money. you refused to partake in anything the members organized. like hell you’d show up for cocktails and meaningless conversations with people you didn’t care to know. you hated the snobs, the businessmen with sticks up their asses, the housewives with no names other than their husbands’. and you most certainly hated, loathed, despised midsummers. the one time you had actually enjoyed yourself was with someone who seemed so far away now.

your father was practically forcing you to go tonight just so he’d have a date. you knew how much it meant to him, to show up in support of his recent divorce from your step-mother, a woman who was a nightmare walking. after moaning and groaning about not wanting to go the night prior, you finally realized that you had to for him. your dad was your best friend and someone you always leaned on and went to for anything. growing up without a mom, or that motherly figure, was difficult in its own but your father had done a great job. you came home every night, ate dinner with him, had conversations that either had you crying of laughter or even more love for him. he really was your best friend.

the past few months had been hard. not even because of your dad, you felt for him, but you had your own dramas to deal with. on top of being a full-time student off the island and working part-time in a small boutique, you had been fighting an internal battle. it came along with a heavy dark cloud and one that constantly followed you around. now, being back home for the summer, it felt even heavier and seemed even darker than before.

your dad’s breakup had gone fairly smooth, and without a lawsuit thankfully. yours on the other hand felt as though it were still happening. each day you could feel your heart breaking more and more, like the dying organ was spreading rot throughout your body, making your limbs numb and cold. sometimes you had to close your eyes to find the faint beating.

you knew something was going on between you and rafe only a few weeks prior to the initial decision. your gut was telling you something was wrong whenever you spoke with him, either on the phone or in person. his college was close to yours, but still so far. you knew he had a life without you in it and you fully understood that and respected it. but one day it felt as though he had put you way farther down on his list of priorities than he ever had before and it didn’t sit right. you tried to ignore the growing mass in your gut the more you saw him, noticing small things like his eyes flicking away or how his hand felt limp in yours. usually he held it so tight like he was afraid to let go. but then it turned into you not wanting to let go. you still didn’t want to.

you still didn’t understand why he did it or what you had done wrong. he never said that he wasn’t in love with you anymore. the only thing close to an answer you got was that he’d still be your friend. you would’ve understood completely if he had said that he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, you would’ve totally let him figure it out himself– given him some time to think.

before you started to date rafe, he had a habit of keeping himself closed off. you understood it the best you could with being a young adult and navigating your mind. it took a while for you to finally get his trust, to get a good look at the inside of his brain. now it felt as if you were back at square one, like you were trying to knock down the hard exterior all over again.

as you got ready for the night you couldn’t help reminiscing on last year’s midsummers. rafe had worn a new tux and slicked back his hair, his face adorned with a gleeful smile. you didn’t let him get too into his head at the small conversations with his father nor did you let him lose himself in the free booze. you made sure to hold him up as best you could and to sway him from anything that might trigger his inner demons. it was a beautiful night and you remembered how he looked at you, so adoringly like he was the luckiest guy in the world, when it had been you all along with the luck.

you looked between a golden necklace, a thin chain with the northern star attached, and a silver one your father had gifted you for a birthday one year. running your thumb over the golden star, you couldn’t help leaning toward wearing it.

“what’s this?” turning around, you held the white box in the palm of your hand. your curious eyes met rafe’s as he looked up at you from a book he was reading. his arm slowly moved from behind his head as he sat up.

“i wasn’t supposed to be around when you found that.” he said, closing the book, and smiling sheepishly.

you blushed and broke out into a grin as you moved to sit by him with the box. “you weren’t going to propose in person?”

“i’m not proposing,” he rolled his eyes.

you hummed with a teasing grin and pulled the top off the box. rafe moved his legs over the side of his bed, brushing against you. he clasped his hands together between his knees as he watched you open the second box. your shoulders relaxed as a breath came out of your mouth, seeing a golden necklace perfectly placed, shimmering.

“rafe, it’s so pretty.”

he smiled at your reaction. reaching over, he maneuvered the necklace out of the box and unclasped it. you discarded the box in your lap and moved your hair out of the way as rafe brought it around your neck, letting it rest delicately. his hand rubbed down your back once it was secure, pressing a soft kiss into the hollow between your shoulder and neck. you looked up into his handsome face, breathing in the air and filling up with all of the love for him.

you clasped the silver necklace and moved from the mirror without looking over yourself. your father was waiting for you by the door, he had been ready to go for ten minutes, but he didn’t bother shouting up the stairs to get you to hurry up. you thanked him silently for your coat and walked out the door.

it sort of made you queasy to know that some of your father’s money was contributing to the event. the awning covered in vines and vines of ivy made you grimace. you quickly dropped it as your dad put a hand on your upper back, posing next to you with a bright smile. you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d meet a new wife tonight. maybe he’d finally give ms. conelly the time of day after years of her pining over him. it was so disgustingly obvious when she came over, offering his favorite dessert of lemon bars as some sort of flirtation device. it worked since she was invited into the house every time and you spent at least an hour and a half rolling your eyes in your room at their laughter floating up the stairs. you used to imagine your stepmother diving across the kitchen island and yanking ms. conelly’s extensions out. there was also a fight when the overly friendly neighbor left.

it wasn’t long before you were stationed at the hor d'oeuvres table, watching your father laugh with some of his friends. they each wore the same boring suit, just in difference colors or slightly different styles. you held in a yawn. you wondered if you looked ridiculous in your dress. subconsciously, you looked down to assess if anything was out of place or if the fabric was too ruffled somewhere. you tugged at it a little then your hand fell easily to the necklace. you turned the pendant over and over between your fingers, watching as a waiter carried a tray toward a group of blonde, identical housewives. you analyzed their diamond necklaces with their matching diamond rings and diamond bracelets. did they ever get tired of it?

you felt a pinprick at the back of your neck once you saw him. the whir of chatter and clinking glasses muffled as you watched him come through the doors onto the porch. the pinprick sent a ripple of tremors up your neck, to the back of your skull. your hands fell to the table behind you, leaning against it to remind you that you were here. you were solid matter.

this year he wore a light gray suit. you liked it much better than the god-awful baby blue one. you kept it to yourself how much you despised it. he looked very handsome and it made you want to tear your heart from your chest and plant it at his feet.

he molded quietly into a group where his father was, joined by his sisters and stepmother. you let out a breath the best you could and yearned for him to look at you. he was facing in your direction but preoccupied with a family friend. all it would take was for him to just lift his eyes, to see you there in your dress, one he hadn’t seen ever. you wondered if you looked as good as he did. would he think so? would it change his mind?

this was ridiculous, you were just going to go over there. you had known his family for years, they loved you, they loved your dad. would your father bring you over with him when he greeted them? he was too busy now talking to a former client, holding a shiny glass of scotch. you didn’t want to wait for him to stop his conversation. it wouldn’t hurt to just go over to rafe and his family.

you stepped forward but your movements faltered pathetically. you stepped back to the table and turned around, staring down at a plate of speared shrimp with tiny parsley leaves over them like blankets. other people moved around you, probably giving you odd looks for blocking the way to the food. your eyes blurred, the waterworks coming fast. you pushed from the table, slightly jostling it, and walked quickly to the restroom.

once inside the safety of the empty bathroom, you curled into a ball with your forehead on your knees. you didn’t care about the dress or if you would crease it. all you could think about was rafe and how he wouldn’t even look at you.

your sniffles stopped once you heard the door open. you sat up and breathed, wiping your eyes and hoping you didn’t look as bad as you felt.

sarah was standing outside of the stall when you unlatched it. your shoulders dropped and you welcomed her tight embrace, wondering when the last time you hugged her was. she pulled you to sit down on the puffy ottoman in the middle of the restroom.

“crying over crab cakes, huh?” sarah nudged your side. you laughed at the inside joke as you stared down at your lap. “you look great. i love your dress.”

“i’m sure i do.” you snorted and reached up to wipe under your eyes. you brushed off the mascara flecks from your fingertips. “happy midsummer’s.”

sarah smiled sympathetically and you couldn’t help your eyes watering again at her face. “i’m sorry,” she said, grabbing ahold of your hand in your lap.

“it’s fine.” you waved her off, knowing she meant about the person she shared the same blood with. “i guess i just wasn’t ready to see him yet. is that stupid?”

“no.” sarah shook her head as she looked intently at you.

“does he even miss me?” you asked. “he won’t even look at me. he probably doesn’t care that i’m here right now.”

sarah reached up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. she had always felt like a sister to you and you hoped she didn’t feel any differently now that you weren’t dating her brother.

“he said he wanted to be friends. he hasn’t even talked to me since we broke up.” you weren’t sure if sarah was just keeping quiet to let you talk or because she knew the answers to your questions. “i can’t stop thinking about him. god, it would be easier to be angry at him. i wish he came with someone else.”

“i’m sorry you broke up.” she said. you sniffed and gave her a sad smile.

sighing deeply, you sat up straight a second later. you partially felt better for getting a few things out to someone. you hadn’t really talked that much about the break up to anyone. your father was already dealing with enough and your friends were back in their own homes, miles and miles away. you felt like you sounded pathetic over the phone so you didn’t even bother.

sarah excused herself to use the bathroom and you waited for her. you washed your hands and wiped at your eyes, cleaning up the mascara that ran a little. nothing too major to give away that you had been crying. once sarah was out and had clean hands, she put her arm through yours and walked with you through the club then back outside.

sarah groaned once you got to the porch. “i have to go drag wheezie from the table. she’s always on her phone and if i don’t do it, my dad will be pissed. i’ll see you around?”

you smiled genuinely at her minuscule drama and nodded. she gave your arm a squeeze before bounding down the steps, her dress flowing behind her. you watched as she nudged wheezie, who ignored her, then as sarah snatched the phone from her sister’s hands and tossed it onto the table. wheezie quickly turned to her older sister and started to shout until she remembered where she was. you knew that the cameron sisters knew that if they caused a scene, all hell would break lose with ward, their father. he was all about his family’s image.

you stepped over to the railing, leaning against one of the pillars with your arms across your chest. looking over the crowding dance area, you saw your father dancing with ms. conelly. you had to stop the bile from reaching your throat. maybe she was nicer than your stepmother—ex stepmother.

you found rafe with a group of his friends closer to the tables. it was nauseating that they all had at least one hand in their pocket each. they could’ve been a boy band for crying out loud. rafe was laughing and you couldn’t hear him over the mass amount of chatter, but you knew which laugh it was. he was enjoying himself. at least he was happy. beside him, topper was sipping from a green beer bottle. a humorous hum erupted from your chest, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

you couldn’t stop giggling. it bubbled from your chest like champagne and disappeared into the fast moving air around you as you jogged onto the porch. you held an arm over your chest, stopping your boobs from bouncing too much, while your hand was clasped tightly in rafe’s. he stopped along the railing, propping himself against the pillar to breathe. you peered over at topper who was trying to contain his coughing fit.

rafe laughed, squinting his eyes shut. you two had escaped just in time from the boy who was trying so hard to flirt with cassie o’brien. from the sound of it, it wasn’t going well at all so you took it upon yourself to help topper out. you whispered to rafe for his hidden flask and snuck a bit into topper’s drink that he was holding. it was difficult at first since he talked a lot with his hands, but eventually you poured some of the liquor in and hid it as you went back over to rafe. it didn’t take long for topper to know what happened, his eyes finding you and your boyfriend before you ran like school children.

“he’s going to give us so much shit.” you said, shaking your head with a grin.

rafe settled, wiping the corner of his eyes. he pulled the flask from his pocket and held it up in cheers to topper, who was still shooting daggers your way. rafe took a swig then passed it to you. you took a sip, grimacing and shivering as the liquor passed into your system.

“i don’t even know how much i put in his drink.” you said as you handed the flask back. rafe laughed again, leaning toward you to put his head on your shoulder. his arms went around you, pulling you flush against him in a hug.

“god, i love you.” he said, bright eyes as he looked down at you.

you smiled before he kissed you sweetly, holding your face against his for a moment.

you hadn’t realized you’d caught topper’s attention until he disappeared from your sight. you reached for the railing with shaky hands, willing them to stop trembling.

“you look pathetic over here.” topper said from behind you. you looked over your shoulder as he walked over.

“thanks so much, topper.” you said in a feigned enthusiastic tone. he sighed deeply and glanced in the direction of where he previously was, where rafe still was. you didn’t bother looking over there. you found the chipped paint much more interesting than your ex.

“you don’t have to be over here.” you said. the last thing you wanted was rafe’s best friend pitying you. did rafe ask him to come over?

topper turned in your peripheral, leaning his hip against the railing, his hands on his pockets. “you’re my friend too.” he said. you picked off a piece of paint. it crumbled easily under your nail. “you’re not answering my texts.”

now you looked up at him. maybe he’d see why you hadn’t answered. he’d have to be an idiot not to know. topper was smart though and you knew that. he gave you a sympathetic look, much like sarah.

“why don’t you find a rebound or something?” topper suggested, hoping to lighten the mood. “there’s a whole lot of fresh meat here.”

you didn’t want fresh meat. you wanted old meat. you wanted the meat you had for the last two years. it was familiar. it was safe. you knew the taste. you knew what to expect when you took a bite.

“i wouldn’t do that to him.” you shook your head softly.

topper’s mouth twitched into a partial smile. his hand appeared on your shoulder before he pulled you into a hug. you hadn’t hugged topper that many times throughout your life. but this was nice. you wrapped your hands around his back, planting them flat on his shoulder blades. resting your head against his chest, you closed your eyes for a moment and just let it be.

“will you dance with me?” he asked after a long moment. you remembered where you were then, hearing the clinking glasses and loud voices.

you pulled away to look toward the party again. you spotted your father across the dance floor, no longer dancing with a pining middle aged woman. he caught your eye, a slightly raise of his eyebrows in question.

“maybe later, top.” you said and slid your arms away from him. you sent him a thankful smile as you went down the stairs to your dad.

“hey, kiddo.” your soft-spoken father said, reaching a hand toward you. you took it and let him pull you onto the dance floor for a slower song. “what’s going on?”

you looked up at his aged eyes from his plaid tie and smiled weakly. “it’s nothing, dad.”

“what’s wrong?” he prodded as your feet moved together. your father was always one to get you to talk things out, to let your feelings out. he always reminded you to just feel them, to let them come and go.

your eyes pricked with more tears and you quickly lay your head on his chest. he brushed your hair on the back of your head as you squeezed your eyes shut and begged the tears to go away. you needed to stop crying.

“i want to break up.”

“it’s okay to miss him.” you father said only for you to hear. you didn’t want to open your eyes because you knew that if you did, you’d see everyone else around you. keeping them closed and focusing on his voice kept you safe.

“i just don’t want this anymore.”

“it’s part of healing to miss him.” he continued. you tightened your arms around his shoulders, clasping your hands together.

“i still want to be friends.”

“do you miss her?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

“sometimes.” he answered. “but we were different than you and rafe.” he hadn’t said his name since you told him the day you got home. you felt a tear slip down your cheek. “listen, i can’t tell you how long it’s going to take, but there’s going to be a day where you won’t feel sad about it anymore. i promise you won’t feel like this forever.” he pressed a kiss to your hair. “just keep doing what you’re doing, focus on school, focus on your friends, have fun, go out and meet someone new for the night.”

if you hadn’t been crying or in your feelings you would’ve rolled your eyes and felt a little uncomfortable at your dad encouraging you to have a one-night stand. but it felt good to hear the affirmations.

“it’s okay.” he said. “it’s going to be okay.”

[cyberneticlagomorph]

The Hunter King

Its getting worse. Strips and stripes of blue crystal breaking the smooth brown sea of your synthetic skin and the semiflexible plating beneath, glowing with your biolume, that still runs through visible veins in the rigid facets marring your body. For now.

What started out as an oddity has become an affliction. The crystal forming the pulsating phylactery was that once your heart has begun to spread and consume your other systems, yesterday it was just your organs and bones. Now its your skin. You can see the patches visibly growing before your eyes and yet you cannot summon the fear appropriate for this situation. Only calm as you disentangle yourself from your wives, shower, get dressed, and leave the Warren before the sun has a chance to rise. No one stops you, and you aren't surprised. With the new babies everyone's understandably worn out, you are too, but with your issue progressing like it is you can't afford what paltry moments of sleep you can manage to scrape together.

You make your way to the Main Street Library, in the dark snowy silence. Nights like these remind you of gunfire and red stains on white, the scar on your chest burns with traumas still fresh in your mind. Distantly you taste butterscotch, but make no motion to stop. Your progress towards the library is wholly uneventful, the streets deserted and cold, buried in ankle deep snow with only the automated snow plows to play sentry to the sleeping city. You watch one rumble past, amber and black in the streetlights, leaving a trail of exhaust as ghostly as your breath. It beats you to the crosswalk and sits there, the blade of its plow hovering almost uncertainly over the barely visible lines. It beeps at you, softly, encouraging you to cross. It waits for you quietly, politely, and you wave at it the moment you get to the other curb. It lifts its ice-encrusted plow and waves back as best it can, beeping at you again before resuming its intended function, rumbling off into the fading night.

The Spark's Crossing Main Street Library looms behind you like some ancient petrified godbeast that still deserves the worship of lowly mortals like you. You've long since lost track of all the hours devoured by the library and all the wondrous knowledge it contains, you're certain it remembers you and your days as a librarian within its walls. Sometimes you miss those days, but only sometimes. Its closed right now, it being as early as it is, but that doesn't diminish its grand stature in the slightest. You walk up to one of the two massive stone snakes that coil protectively around the Greco-Roman-esque columns that decorate the front of the building. It’s recycled glass scales shimmer iridescent in the gathering dawn, you stick a hand into it’s gaping mouth and ignore the subtle warmth of it’s breath against your fingers. You find a button behind one of it’s fangs and press it, watching as it’s milky, glass globe eyes flicker with life for less than a heartbeat. You ascend the library’s grand stairs without a word, skin prickling as a barrier of ancient magic flickers to life around the building, casting a glamour around it with the echoes of a thousand whispers. You keep walking, ignoring the locked front doors in favor of the vividly glowing portal that yawns intimidatingly on the landing, hidden from mundane eyes by the whispering wall of magic. You step into the portal and continue down the slowly spiraling stairs into the smoky murk beyond.

A simple wooden door, green with cracked and peeling paint that shows the weathered grain beneath it, stands at the bottom of the stairs, embedded in a wall that just might not exist exactly in the way you think it really ought to. It swings wide as you approach bathing the stairwell in shifting light, the room beyond is improbably huge, an impossible sprawling maze of shelves and books illuminated by winged lanterns lit with the souls of Library patrons long dead. The floor beneath your paws is made of earth, covered in a thick blanket of moss and grass, the shelves and furniture are living things, the trunks of trees grown into fantastic shapes to serve a simple purpose. The ceiling above you is a moving map of the cosmos, studded with planets and constellations you do not recognize. Automatically you pause and breathe in the smell of old books, raw magic, and churned earth. The scent of Fairytales and wild adventures.

No matter how many times you visit the Grand Library, it never ceases to amaze you. You can remember your first visit clearly, but you aren't here to fall victim to nostalgia. Not now, not today. You wander through the forest of shelves, pursued by a very helpful Soul-Lantern that seems intent on lighting your path. It flutters after you on batlike wings, roosting on shelves whenever you pause, giving off a stubborn hot pink glow that goes much farther than you thought it would given how small the Lantern is.

Librarians stalk the shelves, towering inhuman things with legs like birds and feathers like ink stained paper. They watch you with calm black eyes, shelving books and pushing carts, attended by swarms of Lanterns and scuttling groups of hobgoblins. Despite their wicked claws and snapping teeth they seem docile, it'd be hard to guess that the feral, screeching things in Night Vale and these gentle giantesses were the same species. Night Vale librarians are stunted in their growth, gone mad with captivity and proximity to iron. You weep for them whenever you visit. You aren't here to weep for their forgotten sisters today, you need help and you need it now. The growing crystal claims your right eye and everything becomes a glorious fractal, time is off the essence.

You flag down a librarian with the help of the Lantern and ask her to take you to the Bookwyrm. You trail after the long spindly legs of the creature as she leads you to the heart of the labyrinth, Special Collections. There in a nest made from the pages of books that could not be saved, lives the Bookwyrm, a magnificent dragoness with scales covered in mile after mile of shifting black text in a thousand languages near lost to time. She has lived here as long as there has been a Grand Library to live in and as such had made herself the Grand Librarian, married to the Library itself. Paige, the Spirit of the Grand Library, lays curled around her wife's neck like an odd scarf, eyes shut in contentment even as you approach. You tell the Bookwyrm of your problem, show her the crystal in your skin and feel her flinch. You ask her for the whereabouts of the Hunter King and watch even Paige frown, you beg, you offer your soul, your kingdom, every book in your library but they refuse them all. Literal sapphire tears roll down your face and clatter to the mossy floor beneath you. The Bookwyrm tilts your head up with a claw and hushes you.

The Bookwyrm regards you with eyes the color of well thumbed pages, lowering her great snout to speak in a whisper only meant for you. She gives you an address in the outskirts of the city, where the Ruins just barely begin and the crows speak in tongues not heard for a thousand years. There you find the shell of a once magnificent mansion, gray and covered in snow. The weeds grip your ankles and the crows shriek curses, you ignore them all and ring the doorbell. It echoes through the house like a solemn banshee's cry, heralding nothing but suffering. But you don't flee, you stay on the front stair, shivering in the cold, and you wait. The moments tick by, your paws grow numb, the front door creaks open and two red eyes glare from the gloom beyond.

"I've never known a rabbit to deliver itself so readily into the jaws of a hungry wolf, nor have I ever seen a witch so eager to meet her death," said a voice as old as old could be, one that rumbles like a smoker's but purrs like a fine gentlemen's. It holds several accents blended into something pleasant but unnerving that makes the fur along your spine lift. "Do you know who I am young one?" the stranger inquires

"Vlad Dracula Tepes, the Hunter King," you whisper, flinching as he snarls

"The Hunter King, you say it as if that's a thing to be proud of. The King of bastards, murderers and thieves, the King of Witch killers." he growls, sharp teeth glinting in what milky sunlight manages to filter its way through the persistent clouds. He sneers at you, seeming to grow in the darkness,  but not yet daring to take a step into the light, "Why have you come, Witch?"

You tremble, dropping the tentative glamour around you, and tip your head back to let the crystal catch the light. You watch Dracula's eyes widen in surprise and feel his claws close around your forearm, dragging you into his home. Inside, the mansion is warm and ornate, well kept and clean. The door slams behind the both of you and for the first time today you feel afraid.

"What have you done to yourself?" he asks, demeanor changing entirely as if you were no longer an arrogant, strange Witch on his doorstep, but his child with a skinned knee. You remove your coat and watch him recoil as more patches of crystal come into view, he sweeps you into the den as you try to explain the situation. Try to explain the Red Queen, the quest for the Looking Glass, her return, the phylactery and everything in as few words as possible. He listens intently, lighting a fire in the hearth with a single word. You watch him retreat into another room but don't dare follow,

"Sit," he tells you, gesturing at a great highbacked arm chair in front of the fireplace. You do as you're told and sink into the massive seat. "Your heart isn't made of crystal, its a soulstone."

He calls from the other room over the clinking of metal on glass, "You,  being half fae, produce more magic than it is capable of containing and as such it is trying to compensate by growing." he swishes out of the other room, through the den to another room from which he retrieves a book, "if this isn't taken care of immediately the stone will continue to grow and grow until it consumes you entirely." he snaps the book shut, "you'll be nothing but an expensive lawn ornament."

You open your mouth to speak but Mr. Tepes has already returned to the other room and resumed his clinking and clattering. You sit there for awhile, slowly warming up in front of the fire, unaware of how heavy your eyelids are getting until you've already fallen asleep. You wake up sometime later, wrapped in a thick brown fur with a steaming cup of tea perched precariously on the arm of the chair. You sip it politely until Mr. Tepes shows himself again, armed with an eye dropper full of dark liquid. You let him put two of the bitter drops on your tongue and feel your stomach turn immediately. He's there with a bin before you can be sick on his pristine floors. All that comes out of you is crystal shards and raw magic that sparkles like something out of a cartoon. "you need to purge the crystal and excess magic from your system as quickly as possible so that I may properly quarantine your heart. This emetic will do just that, I apologize for the inevitable discomfort."

He leaves you be after that, returning to what's probably his lab to resume his clinking and clattering once again.

Every so often he leans into the den, red eyes glowing in the dimness as you quietly sip your tea and sink further beneath the blanket, listening to the fire crackle in front of you. Exhaustion tugs at your eyelids, dragging you back under as you remember your promise to sleep. You don't fight the dreams that threaten to take you and burrow beneath the fur throw as if you were back home. Mr. Tepes wakes you sometime later, offering another cup of tea and some chocolate cookies, he tells you that the medicine is almost complete and that puts your fitful mind at ease. You send a selfie to your favorite group chat and hope it calms whatever panic you might have left in your wake. Ada, your mother, insists on thanking him for his kindness, something you'll do before you leave. Dracula suddenly looms behind the great arm chair, a paper bag rustling in his grip. He wordlessly reads the chat over your shoulder before handing you the bag,

"I am not grumpy." he says, a hint of a pout leaking into his voice as you rise from the chair and stretch. You snort, but don't say anything, stowing the bag in your chest for safe keeping. Dracula sweeps you towards the door to his mansion, "Two drops on the tongue every morning before breakfast, do not flush or discard any shards you expel, see me again the moment that the bottle is empty," he stoops a bit so that you're both eye to eye, his teeth flash in his mouth like daggers sliding from hidden sheaths, "Understand?"

You nod, you thank him, you put on your coat and you leave, feeling the air behind you fold in on itself as the grand estate once again becomes dilapidated and overgrown in the gathering night. When you get home and get settled, tangled in the arms of two worried witches, you open the bag and find your medicine, a tin of spiced tea, and a box of chocolate cookies.