#faithfled

he rests against the doorway, his emerald hues studying the woman as he lingers in the shadows of the room. can she sense me? he wonders before stepping out from the dark, "I was not sure if my invitation was still open." his boots lead him closer, though intuition warns him to keep cautious, to stay a safe distance. "If I am too late, I can always leave. No harm, no foul, isn't that what they say?"

fashion . . . hobbies ( combat training ) . . . muns choice * places ( the badlands ) . . .

without missing a beat, lily mae quickly locked arms with the other girl as she continued to stroll along the main street’s sidewalk. “ why hey there! long time no see! gosh, it has been too long! ” she spoke fast, her tone higher pitched as she attempted to make it sound like she had just met up with an old friend.

she smiled & waved to others walking by, keeping face as the polite and well-mannered preacher’s daughter. through her teeth, she spoke softly: “ you got something going on that’s causing you trouble? ” momentarily, she glanced over her right shoulder, offering another wave to a group of older women before she looked back to the other girl. her eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to read her for any signs as to what was going on. maybe it was nothing, but her gut was telling her it was something.

paranoia was not in lily mae’s nature, but the fear of being followed always nibbled at her. she had felt it before, the prickle of her hair against her neck & the chill brought on by a wind that was never there. even now, as she walked, she could feel a chill intermixed with the warm summer air. maybe she was imagining things.

@faithfled said: " this is a long road to travel. "

The bar is dated and musty, its wooden tables left permanently sticky by a varnish of old beer and tobacco-sweat. It isn’t nearly as busy as Wesley thought it would be when he first settled against worn leather and resolved to fade into the dusty shadows — but still, he’s gained some company tonight, some poor soul just lonely enough to speak to the only other solitary wretch in the dive. ( He feels bad for her, getting stuck with someone like him. )

He doesn’t even know how the conversation started; could she smell it on him when she walked in? Was it the long miles carved into a tired old expression, or was it the caked-in stains on his secondhand boots?

( What brings her to this sorry stretch of highway? Is she lost, or is she running, too? )

"No." Her response came almost instantly, the firmness in her voice betraying the weight of her thoughts. It was the kind of question she could imagine herself asking someone else—if only she’d been brave enough to face the answer first. But that kind of bravery felt far out of reach. It was as if the burden she carried, the penance for something she couldn’t quite forgive herself for, was hers alone to bear.

She hesitated, trying to lighten the moment—or at least soften its edges. "You haven’t done something truly unforgivable, have you? Like, I don’t know, finding the best bagel place in town and not sharing?" It wasn’t much of a joke, maybe not a joke at all, but it was something.

Dani's gaze softened, her sincerity breaking through. "Look, if you want to talk about it—whatever it is—I’m here. And even if you don’t want to share anything else, I stand by my answer. Just so you know."

"Okay, can we not start the day being such a downer? It’s way too early for that." She tugged her jacket tighter against the stupidly cold air, already annoyed that she’d had to drag herself to school solo because, of course, someone bailed on her. Ugh.

Still, she figured she might as well salvage the morning. "Instead of... this," she said, vaguely waving a hand at her friend's whole vibe, "super depressing or whatever, let’s go grab some food and coffee. You can vent, spill, or whatever it is you’re dealing with. Come on, it'll be fun—or, at least, less miserable."

Flipping through the pages, she stopped only when the one she was looking for appeared. Pressing the book flat against the table, she pushed it away with an air of grim resignation. "A very small head... but a normal-looking body? Or..." She turned another page, smoothing down a rebellious flap of paper. "Raven-like beaks on faces?"

She’d witnessed plenty of strange things—things so bizarre they belonged in the space between dreams and nightmares. Most of it, she kept to herself. Not that it mattered; the few times she had mentioned any of it, people just assumed she was being, well, her.

So Lydia learned to stay quiet. Instead, she poured everything—every unsettling detail, every haunting image—into a thick book filled with her careful scribbles and half-decent sketches, each page a silent testament to the surreal reality no one else seemed to see.