Adjusting his bundle in his secondary hands, Pale King stopped before Townhouse 105 and checked his phone again to make sure that yes, this was the correct address. How embarrassing it would be to show up to a stranger’s home with a pound full of raw meat in hand, butcher paper beginning to soak in the paper bag.
An offering was not necessary yet it felt proper, falling back into old habits of when he had been forced to delve into Deepnest. Not that he had minded the dark confines; its inhabitants begrudging tolerance of him had always been a point of contention.
Adjusting the paper bag to the crook of his other arm, he slid the phone back into his pocket and looked up, as if trying to catch a glimpse of her being home in the window. It was midday, terribly bright outside. Herrah preferred the darkness so she would, with hope, be home.
Glad that he had at least dressed modestly in pants and a top that covered his shell almost fully, Pale King hit the doorbell and waited. No use putting this off.
@queenofdeepnest
