#sacredterrors

@sacredterrors said: "you'd do well to say yes to me."

"And yet I say no." Willow treads carelessly on the side of confidence. Where one might advise timidity (if ever there was a time to play the anxious mouse it would be with Lazarus near) Willow keeps her spine straight and her large eyes fixed on his, a slight challenge in her expression as the thrill of exercising autonomy tingles the top of her skull.

She doesn't know how dangerously close she is to having that autonomy stripped away. This time he asked, but he may not the next. Willow does not recognise a warning when she hears one -- but hey, it wont be anything she isn't used to from her time downstairs.

"valentina, you look enchanting as always." as the last time they met, at least. hugo gives the impression of warmth; old friends reuniting on a chance encounter at an expensive hotel. he doesn't know if their meeting is so much of a coincidence, however, and without his necklace... this one, yes, this woman in particular makes him a touch unsettled.

does she know what he did? is she protective the way the rest of her kind seem to be? does she want revenge or simply company?

hugo bows his head toward her, holding out a hand to kiss her knuckle, should she accept the offer.

The  Other  One.  The  Dreamwalker.  Zero  refuses  to  refer  to  her  by  name;  it  was  only  when  Jun  asked  Lazarus  did  he  get  her  name.  Valentina.  It’s  a  beautiful  name,  one  that  feels  like  velvet  on  the  tongue.  Plastic  cringles  under  his  fingers  as  he  grips  the  tied  together  stems  of  a  bouquet  of  red  roses  just  a  little  too  tight.  He’s  nervous  —  it  was  his  idea  to  meet  her,  but  standing  in  front  of  her  door  has  his  stomach  tied  in  knots.  Why  doesn’t  Zero  want  to  say  her  name?  Should  he  have  asked  first?  Mustering  up  his  courage,  he  raises  his  hand  to  knock.

The  door  swings  open  before  he  even  gets  a  chance  to  make  contact.  He  freezes,  arm  returning  to  his  side.  The  rose’s  stems  are  sure  to  be  bruised  by  his  anxious  grip.       “  H-hi,  um,  miss  @sacredterrors,  I  —  ”      he  pulls  his  bottom  lip  between  his  teeth  for  a  moment  —  a  nervous  tick,       “  I’m  Junmin  —  Jun.  I’m…  new.  And  I  wanted  to  meet  you.  ” 

His  voice  shakes  violently.  His  eyes  keep  lingering  back  over  the  mess  he  made,  and  when  the  line  finally  connects  he  starts  speaking  a  mile  a  minute.  Panicked.  Confused.       “  What  did  you  do  to  me?  What  —  When  does  this  wear  off,  I  can’t  —  what’s  happening?  ”

 He  didn’t  want  to  call  @sacredterrors,  never  really  thought  he  was  going  to,  but  even  so  he  kept  the  business  card  tucked  carefully  into  the  back  of  his  phone  case.  He  felt  like  it  would  be  a  bad  idea  to  get  rid  of  it,  and  maybe  he  was  right  —  or  maybe  not.  Still,  whatever  that  guy  did  to  him  landed  him  in  the  trouble  he’s  in  —  his  neighbor's  body  grows  cold  in  the  living  room.  All  of  the  blinds  have  been  pulled  shut  for  days.  He  hasn’t  left  his  house,  hasn’t  gone  to  work.  His  voice  is  hoarse  from  crying. 

 “  Please.  What’s  going  on?  You  know,  right?  That’s  why  you  gave  me  this  card?  Please.  Something  is  really  wrong.  ”

@sacredterrors said: "you can't hide from me forever."

Would that she could. Valentina has hardly been an active presence in Willow's life since she claimed ownership of the mother-title but that doesn't make it any less unsettling when she comes to call. Her own mother was either absent or suffocating -- or Willow was so used to her absence that any presence at all became smothering, when she decided she wanted to be a mother to her. It always felt too performative, false, cloyingly sweet.

Having adjusted to the change into a Dark Childe, Valentina's attempts at being her parent are less comforting and more of the thing she thought she'd escaped when she left London.

She winces. Emotions are jagged, still. Some catch, some roll smooth off of her. Discomfort wears at the edges of her eyes.

@sacredterrors said: PRIDE. mommy loves it when her daughter does murder good .

And she does, murder good.

Getting better and better at it, routine now. She feels hunger pangs and she goes hunting. A little excessively, now that she's back from Hell, but she doesn't like to feel weak. Willow has amassed a decent amount of blood on her hands, in her stomach -- she is not one to waste a kill. Though she often loses sight of herself in the initial act, the aftermath is a time of peaceful contemplation. Meditative, almost, a self-soothing moment, to cope with all that she has been through and all she has done.

Valentina was not invited into this moment, but she is here nonetheless ( A running theme, mothers are so often unappreciated when they're there, are they not? ) and Willow isn't sure what to make of it at first.

Had she been followed and not noticed? Was Valentina nearby? Did she sense that her daughter was finally starting to feel bad about this one? Knowing what she has condemned this soul to?

Willow opens her mouth to explain, but then she realises -- Valentina is the opposite of disappointed in her. The kill is clean, the aftermath is manageable, they are in a private enough location for Willow to continue feeding if she wishes, for a little while longer, if she needs to. She's done well.

Valentina sweeps forward, the picture of grace, and descends upon Willow in a motherly embrace. Willow is stiff. Valentina's cool hands press against Willow's feverish cheeks, and she gets the sense that she is being admired. Willow's eyes, still black, stare up at the redhead with an animal innocence. The lion cub with her teeth sunk into a carcass.

Growing into such a capable young woman. Valentina murmurs. I'm so proud, darling. Something that digs just under Willow's armour. Why would she be proud of this? Why wouldn't she be?

It's nice to be held. She hates to kill alone. She needs the praise almost as much as she needs the blood to feel like herself. Rubber-band twang. Sting.

Her eyes.

"Proud?" Willow asks. The bruised child that lives inside of her crawls out of hiding. Valentina presses their foreheads together, then kisses away some of the blood on her cheeks along with her tears.