chapter three

[ season 2 | episode 2 ]
[ shape shifted ]

DEREK SHIFTED IN THE SMALL SUBWAY, his beady eyes staring her down. Marlowe stared back, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. They were like fire and ice, one of them near spontaneous combusted and the other cold and collect.

          He lunged, claws digging into the bare flesh of her arm. It took her a moment to realize what was happening, to define the reason for her stinging limb, but when she did, she was pissed. With fangs bared and claws ready for blood, she fought him off of her, knowing it wouldn't actually hurt him in any way. He'd been a werewolf all his life, training and learning how to fight properly, while she was new. She didn't know how to do half the stuff he did.

          Her claws cut into his bicep, crimson red seeping through his torn flesh. He let out a growl, his Adam's apple bobbing, before grabbing her arm and twisting it until an animalistic yell came from her lips. She felt tears spring to her eyes, white hot pain traveling through her veins and into the broken bone. It wasn't long until it subsided, black veins moving from her to Derek. Grimacing, he gripped her limp arm tighter and kept holding on until the darkness went away.

          Her arm already healed itself. "I win."

          She held it to her chest, the feeling in it a reminder of what just happened. "Fine. I'll follow him." Rolling her eyes, she turned to face him completely. "Y'know, that was dirty. Breaking my arm."

Narrowing his eyes and making sure all of his wounds were gone, he chuckled. "Yeah, I know. You're gonna need to be prepared for that stuff against the Argents, Mar. People like Gerard don't care if they play dirty." His words held more meaning, sending the sassy look from Marlowe's face.

She nodded, done with the conversation. Holding her phone up briefly, she waited for Derek to send her the address of the Lahey house. When Isaac showed up asking for the bite, she just expected him to bite the boy and let him go, not demand that she follow and babysit him. After all, she'd only been a beta for however many days. She wasn't exactly an expert on the whole werewolf thing.

Her phone buzzed in her hand and she made her way out of the abandoned station. The night sky floated above, illuminating the dark parking lot and making the trek to his house a helluva lot easier, and Marley spent most of the walk staring up at it. During the thirty minute walk, her mind took her back to when she was five, staring up at the stars with her father and little brother. He'd always tell her that the dead sat up in those stars, watching down on the living. She liked to think he was smiling down on here right now.

          Once she turned left at the small intersection, she locked onto his scent. It fueled her, sending her down a small hill and stopping in front of a house. The poor kid lived across from Shittemore.

          Her ears tuned in and she managed to stop at a window, her head barely catching sight of Isaac and his father. His nerves were pungent as they wafted through the cracked glass.

          "Um, so far it's an A in French and a B minus in Econ." Isaac's words shook, the smallest tremble hanging onto each word. To any normal person, they probably sounded usual, but she was a werewolf with werewolf hearing and the tremble was unmistakable.

          Mr. Lahey took another mouthful of his dinner, fumbling around with his knife and fork. "Oh. What about chemistry?"

          Feeling the muscle in her thigh tense, she sunk her teeth into her lip. The boys anxiety was making her own act up, a prevalent downside to being empathetic. "I'm not sure. But, uh, midterms are in a few days so it could go up." They received a progress report last Friday.

          She itched to intervene, her mind racing and heart speeding up. His eyes flitted very briefly to where she was standing, a silent plea to just walk away and ignore the situation. But she wouldn't because she knew what was about to happen. Hell, she lived it for five years.

          "Well, what's it at now?"

          Isaac looked back up at his father. "The grade?"

          "Uh, yeah." It was a scoff, arrogance dripping from the older man's voice. She didn't have a single doubt that he knew his son was lying.

          His heart sped up, jaw clenching and eyes back down to what he was fiddling with in his hands. "Um, I'm not sure."

          "But you just said it could go up." The man knew what he was doing, riling Isaac up and making him even more flustered, and he seemed to bask in it; not even realizing that his son was absolutely terrified of uttering the answer.

          "I just— uh, I meant generally." Isaac ran a hand through his curls, trying his hardest to ignore the third heartbeat and look as nonchalant as possible.

          "You wouldn't be lying to me, would you, Isaac?" He looked up and watched his father cut his food.

          His head shook, fear clinging to his sweater and dripping from his words. "No."

          "Then tell me your grade." She felt sick, her stomach turning and mind overflowing with the fear she used to feel every day. When she was in Isaac's position, she tried to use every lie possible to get out of it. They just always knew.

          "I just told you, I don't know." He fiddled with his napkin, ripping the thin sheet into smaller pieces.

          "You wanna take this little conversation downstairs?" Isaac shook his head. "No? Then tell me the grade son." His words were a facade. A mask of a loving father asking his kid for their chemistry grade with no ill intent or false assurances. Marlowe hated that facade.

          "Dad, the semester's only half over." It was rushed, words tumbling out before he could reel them back in.

          "Isaac?" Low and cautionary, like a lion's initial growl to it's prey.

          "There's plenty of time—"

          "Isaac." Mr. Lahey's one word was a command, his hands outward and glasses pointed towards the fidgeting teenager.

          "It's— it's a D."

          She cringed at the silence that came over them.

          "All right. It's a D." A clatter sounded, his fork and knife sitting on the plate and arms crossed on top of the wooden dining table. "I'm not angry. You know I'm gonna have to find a way to punish you though. You know, I have my responsibility as a parent." The newest member of her pack shrunk back, green eyes watching his father's every move. "So we'll start with something simple, like, uh - Tell you what, you do the dishes and you clean up the kitchen, okay?"

           She let out a breath of air, relief flooding her bones. Isaac did, too. "Yeah," he nodded.

          "Good. Because I- I'd really like to see this place spotless." His cup rolled from his hand, crashing against the floor and shattering. He had a sadistic smile, not even flinching at the sound. "Know what I'm sayin'? You know? I mean this entire kitchen." He slammed his hands down, sending all the other utensils and glassware to the ground, some staying in one piece while the others shattered.

          She jumped, eyes wide and searching for the boy who ran to the wall, cowering beneath his arms. "Yeah! Yeah, absolutely—" a glass pot flew towards Isaac, barely missing the spot where his head was. "Spotless."

          Isaac lifted his head, a shard of glass sticking out from his cheekbone, a trail of blood leaking from the flesh. It missed his eye by a hair. Her stomach clenched, memories of her own personal hell playing behind her eyelids, each one haunting her whenever she'd blink.

          He grabbed it, pulling the shard out with a grimace. He was going to heal.

          "Well, that was your fault." His father shrugged it off, not even caring this his son was cowering away from him.

          He stood to his full six feet, brows furrowed and cheek stained from the blood. "You could have blinded me," he snarled, his lips curling and teeth bared.

          She could sense his anger rising, the emotion seeping from every pore.

          "Shut up! It's a scratch! It's hardly even..." She broke her gaze, looking to the boy. His blood was withdrawing, going back into his cut like nothing even happened. Eventually, there wasn't even a single mark, just smooth skin. Isaac and his father realized it, too.

          So he ran, disregarding the broken glass and crooked painting, with his father yelling his name behind him. Marley followed, watching him get on his bike and his father climb into his car. She debated running back to Derek, relaying everything that happened tonight, but something in her made her run after them. Thunder rumbled overhead, her shoulders tensing and eyes squeezed shut at the sound.

          Not long after, rain began to pour from the clouds above, pelting down on her like a million little needles. She followed close behind the silver car, her feet slowing as it pulled to a stop in front of an alleyway. Catching Isaac's scent, she snuck in. Her hair was sopping wet, the curls threatening to frizz, and she could barely see through all the raindrops. So, she relied on her nose.

          His bike was abandoned in the middle, no doubt discarded after he'd tripped over something in the storm. It wasn't hard to follow him from there, though.

          He was knelt down in a corner, fists clenched and eyes squeezed shut. At the sound of her footsteps, Isaac looked up and began to ramble. "Marlowe? Please- um, please don't say anything about what you saw tonight. He, uh-"

          "Isaac, sh, it's okay. I won't say anything. I promise." She crouched beside him, her wet jacket touching his.

          His father's yell interrupted their silence. "Isaac!" The two winced against the loud shout, eyes closing and lungs gulping down air. She didn't mean to but somehow found herself connecting their hands. Almost as if they were trying to assure each other, they both squeezed once. The action made her aware of the touch and her skin felt like she'd been burned, the flesh sizzling at his mere hand on hers. Pulling away, she fought off the urge to cradle her limb.

          A car door slamming shut made them both flinch. His father had no doubt seen the abandoned bike with its wheels still spinning, and he was about to make his way down to them. The boy beside her tensed and sucked in a breath. She could smell his anxiety like it was a burning candle. He began to stand, legs shaking and jaw tensed, but she quickly shoved him back down and clamped a hand on his mouth.

          "What the actual hell do you think you're doing, huh? He's seen you heal, Isaac. You can't go back." A part of her wanted to pull him into a hug but the other part, the bigger part, knew she'd condemn herself for the small action later. So she didn't, and instead just pulled him back down to a sitting position.

          Footsteps came closer, shoes pounding on the puddles that littered the alleyway. "Isaac! Isaac." His father kept walking before coming to the bike. "Isaac?"

          Trying her best not to get caught, Marley peered out from the corner, eyes landing on the abusive dick and a figure standing across from him. Who the ever loving shit was that? She squinted, leaning forward to get a better view, but a cloud of mist and fog covered the shadow's true appearance. How convenient.

          "Isaac?" The word was more tentative, a hesitant question instead of the booming command. She watched as he put his glasses back on to look closer at the figure. But it was gone. "Okay, that's enough." He began to clap as her heart jumped into her throat, he didn't know that his son was silently weeping just around the corner. That his son wasn't the figure that teased him. "Let's go!" Silence. "Isaac, grab your bike and let's go!" Her hand tightened around her jacket, eyes squeezed shut. "Isaac?"

          Not wanting to watch him possibly get murdered, she whipped her head back around and leaned it against the brick. There was a long stretch of nothing that taunted her, making every nerve tingle with anticipation and anxiety, before she heard a shout. "Holy!"

          Mr. Lahey started to run, his hands reaching out towards his car and head quickly turning to look back at the thing that followed him. She tried her hardest to block out his cries and pleas for mercy as the thing ripped his door off. A metallic scent made its way into her nose as the screams intensified. Isaac's hand found her again, knuckles whitening and fingers nearly breaking hers, when he let out an audible gasp. It was either a gasp or a sob, she couldn't tell.

          Finally, everything stopped and time seemed to pause for the two traumatized werewolves. Almost like it gave them the moment of peace that they begged for. The only thing interrupting their silence was the pelting rain and ragged breathing; two sounds that harmonized and played like a record against the dark night. It would've been a beautiful symphony if the memory of a man's death wasn't fresh on their minds. An orchestra of nature.

          Isaac interrupted the noises, his hand still tight around hers as he pulled her to a stand. "We- um- we need to get to Derek." His hand ran through his hair. "We have to tell him about what happened." From the tightness and strain from his voice, she knew he held back a sob.

Marley didn't do anything except nod and gently pull her hand away, her vocal chords wavering too much to even force a simple word out. Tears stung her eyes and she nearly slapped herself. Now wasn't the time to break, Marlowe. Get yourself together, Marlowe. The words were harsh in her brain, a demand to tie the strings of her torn facade back together. She'd be home within hours. She could break down then.

If he noticed the sadness that pulled at her chest or the pain that rooted itself into her gut, he didn't mention it. And she did the same for him — keeping the knowledge of his grief to herself. Not only because of her absent voice but because that's what she would want. Someone to just be there instead of someone who would whisper false condolences.

The two trudged against the storm, walking side beside with their minds still lingering on the murder of Mr. Lahey, and made their way to the old subway station. As much as she hated the dusty old place, it started to feel like a second home, the smell comforting her instead of making her nose crinkle away in disgust. Soon, Isaac would also have that feeling. Even though she knew nothing of the boy, she already felt the bond that Derek said she would feel. The bond of two betas in a pack.

When they got closer to the station, panic rose in his stomach, sending a similar one into hers. He dropped her hand and picked up his pace. "Derek!"

Her legs were a lot smaller than his so she strained to keep up with him as he ran. His curls barely even bounced in the wind and he didn't register her voice yelling his name out. To him, all that mattered was his alpha. It was the same feeling she felt the night before with Lydia.

"Isaac, wait!" They descended the staircase, both wolves making a ruckus against the sharp silence. Derek no doubt heard them minutes ago, his senses picking up on the two terrified and solemn teenagers.

She didn't stop him, though, because he yelled out, "Derek?"

His feet hit the floor and he ran quicker, even more panic taking over his tall frame. It felt hot and sticky, the type of panic to overwhelm you and threaten to bring you down to your knees. It was the type of panic she felt daily. "Derek!" Following him into the actual subway train, they both stopped at their alpha's looming figure.

"What's wrong?" His eyes flitted between the two, red glowing against the pitch black and piercing the kids.

Their breathing was labored and Isaac stumbled over the words, each one daring to chip away at his thin wall of composure. "My dad. I think he's dead."

They were like a knife, sharp and quick, making their way into her gut and shredding apart her insides. Vomit traveled up her stomach and, if it weren't for the friendship she had with death, she would've stained the ground beneath them with her dinner. God, it was almost physically painful to be forced through another death. She apparently didn't show her struggle though, because neither of the boys even spared her a glance.

"What did you two do?" The alpha stepped into the night, red disintegrating into hazel, and finally set his eyes on her. His sheer disappointment and concern made her want to bawl her eyes out. She never did well with either of those things.

As she whispered threats to her vocal chords in her head, she stepped closer to them. "It wasn't us, I swear." Her lungs were like elastic as they tightened around every inch of oxygen she needed to get the words crawling up her throat. She'd been betrayed by her own organs.

Isaac looked between her and his alpha, eyes wide. "That's the thing. We had nothing to do with it."

He scoffed and leaned against a pole, hazel meeting brown with narrowed eyes. "Then what did it, huh? The boogeyman?" The air tightened and squeezed, a living thing that taunted the three supernatural people while it danced against the cold air. Marley felt herself crying out for it, begging for a mere inch of oxygen to free her lungs of the emptiness that rang through them both.

Both looked to her, Isaac knowing she was the only one to see it and Derek simply following his movement. "I- it looked reptilian. Like a snake or lizard. Um, it had a tail and was definitely not human or werewolf." Distrust still radiated from the older man, sending both annoyance and desperation through her. "Derek, I promise you. We didn't kill him."

          And that's what it took for his disapproving stare to do dissipate, leaving one of worry and questioning. His back stiffened and he stood up straighter. "Isaac, did you see anything?" He stepped towards the dirty blond and squinted his, arms crossed and everything.

          When the boy just gave him a shake of his head, he turned to his first beta. She shrunk further into the shadows, basking in the false safety of their darkness. In the shadows, it seemed like nothing could touch or harm her. She was free from the constant worry of pain. With her eyes cast downwards and the lump in her throat returning, she tried to blink away the tears of grief and frustration, each one adding to the lump.

          "Marley, was that all you saw?" Derek no doubt knew she was trying her hardest to hide the internal battle she'd been having — his voice softening and arm tentatively reaching out for her. All he got was a nod.

          Sighing, he went back to leaning on the pole. "Okay. Why don't you two get some rest? Mar, go back home. I'll keep you updated. And Isaac, you can stay here in the subway for now." As badly as she wanted to stay and figure out what thing murdered Mr. Lahey, her eyelids grew heavy with every movement. She needed to sleep.

It took her near thirty minutes to get back to her house, every single second taking a toll on her. She heard his cries in every droplet of rain that pelted down from the sky, the lizard-like figure looming in every dark corner. After the first four scares, she'd just began to laugh at the fear that would strike through her. During her first year with her grandmother, the elderly woman would just tell her to laugh at the nightmares that plagued her sleep. She said they couldn't hurt her and the effort with which they tried was humorous. It was the memory of her words that usually calmed Marley down.

The nightmare's can't hurt me.

          But they can tear her mind apart like it's a puzzle, ripping each piece from its matching one and scrambling it all together.

          Taking in a deep breath, she opened up the front door. Gran's car was sitting in the driveway so she was home, and hopefully already asleep. Marley didn't need a full blown interrogation after the night she had. In fact, all she wanted to do was sleep.

The front door gave a loud creak as she opened it, the rusted hinges betraying her silent efforts. Holding in every bit of oxygen sitting in her lungs, she squinted against the dark room. All of the lights were off, the moonlight being the only thing illuminating the darkness, so she sighed. Gran must've been in bed already.

           Her feet were sluggish as she walked through the long, dark hallway. She tried her best to shake away the tire that tore through her bones, every step feeling like a strike of lightning zapping all of the energy from her. Not even bothering to tear her jeans from her wet skin or pry the denim shirt from her abdomen, she sunk into her bed.

Just before her eyes began to close, a knock came from her wooden door. "Hey there, Marlowe."

"Gran," she croaked, her cheek still lying flat on her pillow. "I thought you were asleep." Because of her heavy limbs, her attempts to move were in vain. She simply laid still and breathed hot air onto the bed.

The old woman leaned against the door frame, both humor and worry tugging at her wrinkles. God, this girl was going to give her so many more. "No, I've been waiting up for you. You told me detention would be an hour, Marley. Not the entire day. Gah, don't you have school tomorrow?"

          Her eyes squeezed shut, body tensing at her grandmother's tone. She hated when people were disappointed in her. "Yea, Gran. I thought I told you I was gonna be helping a friend with something today, though. Um, Allison was a few units of math behind and she wanted my help." Marley prayed her lie was good enough. Her body almost gave her away, though, because she could feel her cheeks heating up and heart rate rise. Stupid guilt.

          Louise squinted. "Mhm. You should bring this Allison girl around sometime, then." She turned to go back to her room but stopped, neck craning and eyes flying back to her broken granddaughter. "And get off your bed in those wet clothes. I'm not gonna keep doing your laundry if you keep dirtying up your sheets like that."

          But the old woman left before she could hear Marlowe's soft snores.

              A sudden burst of light came from behind her eyelids, a display of colors playing against the whiteness. Almost like a firework show. It was the same thing that happened for the past however many years. She would see the light, watch the colors, and then be brought back to a certain memory. The only shock factor being the time and place that she was sent to.

          Even though it played on repeat in her head daily, the memory didn't register in her head. She didn't know what was coming, the fire, the tears, the sirens. All she knew was that she'd soon be stuck back at her Gran's house with a lifeless body and a racing mind.

          Her old house was always such a pretty one. She'd lived in it for three years, each one dragging her further and further away from the memory of her father. Of her sisters and brothers. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought. It'd been ten years since her entire family was slaughtered, enough time for her fingertips to forget their touch and ears to forget their voices.

          She searched the room for a newspaper, a calendar, anything. Something in her mind told her what traumatic memory it was and that something made her want to dig her claws into her abdomen. Hell, she was better off calling sick into school tomorrow.

          Finally finding the calendar her mother hung up near the door, she found the date. July second, two-thousand-four. It was the day seared into her brain like a branding, the events enough to bring even the strongest of women to her knees. It would be on newspaper's front pages for months, the title the same every single time. A young girl and her mother survive a house fire. The St. Claire house fire trial still ongoing, verdict unknown. But even with the jury pondering it over and judge urging them to a decision, she knew the verdict. Whether or not her mother was guilty or innocent of trying to burn herself and her daughter.

          Every single time she caught a glimpse of the headline, she'd be internally screaming the answer. She'd be taken back to her mother's death grip on her neck and the smoke she was forced to inhale. Guilty. Always fucking guilty.

          The front door opened, a child's giggle wafting throughout the house, and Marley snapped her head up. Turn around, Marlowe, she thought, the voice in her head screaming at the kid to go back. To keep playing outside, enjoying the rainy day. The poor little girl had absolutely no idea how truly horrible things would soon get.

          Her giggles continued on as she trampled through the house, rain boots dragging mud along the wooden floors. "Mommy, mommy! Come look at what Sarah and I did," she called out, her coils flying in the air. The nine year old girl's words were accompanied by a slight lisp, she'd just gotten her braces on, and every syllable took more effort than usual.

When she did finally find her mother, it only took a moment for the smile to drop from her lips. Sitting in the corner of a dark room was Mauricia St. Claire, her braids sitting in a messy bun atop her head. She was usually a very put-together woman; their neighbors couldn't recall seeing her in an effortless manner since they'd moved in. So the image of her mother with smeared makeup, messy hair, and ragged clothes sent a shred of anxiety through Marlowe.

"Mommy? Are you okay?" Once she stepped closer towards the woman, her eyes landed on the flicker of a match. The flame danced about in the shadows, illuminating the mascara stained face of the shattered woman.

At this point, tears slid down teenaged Marley's cheeks. She remembered that day like it had just happened, her memories constantly going back to the fire. She wanted to scream at her mother, to beg her not to scar the poor child. Her throat was raw from the motion of her vocal chords rubbing together but no sound came out, just the breathing of the two others and the noise of the flame traveling down the burning wood.

Stop, no please! Please, mommy, please! I love you, please.

Time paused, the little girl's tears stopping and flame going motionless. Until chaos broke loose, the match falling onto the rug and Mauricia grabbing her sobbing daughter with all her might. She wrapped her two, bony hands around the small throat and held her against her own body, like two chains shackling the nine year old in a prison cell. Except it wasn't two chains, it was her mother, and it wasn't a cell, it was her burning home.

The fire raged, swallowing everything it could find. If young Marley stopped for a second, maybe she would've smelled the paint thinner or seen the shiny floorboards. Maybe she would've realized sooner that the kureg still had the mug under it, the same one from three hours ago. Perhaps she would have known that something was wrong. That her mother was about to try burning her alive. Maybe she would've stayed with Sarah.

Her little fingernails scraped against her mother's thin fingers, sobs wracking at her chest and tears falling into her scrunched up hair. "Mo- mommy please," she choked, throat raspy from the sheer effort it took. At that point, her little lungs were screaming and begging for the oxygen they craved; for just a moment of freedom from the emptiness running through them.

Mauricia's eyes were glazed over as she snarled at her daughter. "We should've died with them that day. All— of— us. Together as a family." She crawled atop the girl, knees digging into her sides like two boulders.

As she was forced to watch herself as a child, defenseless and dying, Marley nearly fell to the sleek floors. Her knees were weak and wobbly, each one locking just to keep her on her feet. "Please, mommy, no," her younger self croaked, though it might've been the teenager herself.

Black dots began to take over her vision before a flame reached out, licking her mother's forearm. At the woman's moment of pain, she scurried from under her. With adrenaline being the only thing to keep her from succumbing to the little black spots, she stumbled to the doorway. Small, raspy yells broke from her throat, each one bringing immense pain. And just as the sound of the front door slamming open reached her ears, a hand clasped around her ankle, dragging her down to the floor.

"Marlowe, Mauricia! Hang on, we're coming!" Mrs. Turner's southern accent rang through the house, bringing sweet relief to both the past and present Marlowe. Please hurry.

When flames curled around her calf, releasing a sharp scream from her tired lungs, the woman's thin figure appeared in the door frame. Because she was still shackled by her mother's firm grip, every attempt to flee was useless — just a way to let go of her energy. Mrs. Turner stood for a moment in shock before her instincts truly kicked in.

"Brett, call the fire department and an ambulance! Hurry!" She called out to her husband and pulled the poor, crying child from the crazed woman. "Oh, don't worry, Marley, I've got you." Brushing hot, sticky hairs from her face, blue eyes met brown and she gave her a soft smile. "Run outside and don't stop 'till you've reached Brett, okay?"

Not even bothering to nod, she ran and her present self followed. Brett Turner was a big man, his tall figure accompanied by large muscles, but still seemed like a sweet father figure to his daughter's best friend. He saw her as one of his own, even. So when she came from the house with burnt clothes, bruises on her neck, and paint thinner sticking to her like a second skin, his heart broke.

          He ran over, engulfing the child in a big hug, before leading her further away from her house. One hand was still around her shoulder while another was latched to a phone, his words fast and tears nearly spilling from his eyes. "Ye- yes. Um, a nine year old girl and a, um, a forty-two year old woman. I don't know, it seems like a house fire." A moment of silence stretched for what felt like years before he gasped in pure relief. "Okay, okay, thank you. Thank you, so much. The girl is with me now but her mother is still in there with my wife."

          Marlowe's heart gave another lurch. His wife wouldn't be the one to emerge from the flames once everything was over. No, she gave her life to ensure the small girl and her mother were safe. To save Marlowe. For Marlowe. She died because of Marlowe.

          She knew how the rest of the dream went, ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks with yelling and scared adults. Except it didn't. Instead of in the safety of a dreamless sleep, she was back in the fire, skin melting off and screams tearing into the atmosphere. Like hell. Lucifer deemed her worthy of his torture so he brought her back into the selfish and angry flames to feel the pain she brought into Mrs. Turner.

          Giving one lasting cry, she was back in her room, coils dripping and face wet with something. Terrified, she gingerly lifted a hand. Sweat.

          The night was still cold, a direct opposite to the heat she'd just been surrounded with. Placing her feet onto the tile, she stood. There was no way she'd be going back to sleep so she didn't even let her mind drift to the idea. Instead, she cleaned. It was a habit she picked up after the first nightmare. Cleaning seemed to calm her so she did it frequently, and, if her room was already clean from previous nights, she would re-mess it up.

          During the remaining hours of the night, her mind kept drifting back to the fire. A reminder of what pain she brought onto others. Of what pain she would inevitably bring to everyone who decided she was worth their precious time.

          Mind flashing back to her previous thoughts, she let a slight chuckle go. The nightmares couldn't hurt her. She was safe.

word count: 5623

author's note

ta-da chapter número tres is up

i've been getting a ton of inspiration recently
for different books and different characters
(which is so helpful :| )
and i've been trying my hardest to just focus on
carpe noctem

it also helps that i've gotten into making covers
and i get a buttload of inspo for that lol

anywhosies
what do y'all think so far???