#v03.

"i think i know how you feel about tinned peaches," tay says, as she slides into the blanket beside him. with nothing to make a fire, she doesn't wait for an invitation to tuck herself into his side either. though, resting her head against him has nothing to do with requiring warmth.

there's another can of strawberries left. thankfully, klaus talks of hunting. she doesn't recall seeing much on the way to the cabin, but she wouldn't know what to look for. he must— it had been his suggestion. still, she finds herself needing to ask, "do you promise that you're coming back tomorrow?"

"i promise," klaus sounds devoid of judgement. that is another thing to thank him for.

"okay," she settles against him then, pulling the blanket up so far that her breath is no longer visible. "you should sleep too," tay advises, before drifting off. whether or not he listens, she doesn't know. the next time she opens her eyes, morning light is shining through the small window, and klaus isn't beside her. she sits up, immediately, and scans the room, eyes landing on the door, which seemingly won't budge.

"oh, come on!"

tay blinks the sleep from her eyes, and joins him. she tries the handle herself, in case of user error. it still doesn't move. she can feel his eyes on her. "what? i just thought—" she doesn't finish her sentence, and instead moves to peer out of the window, and then she sighs. she doesn't point out the obvious, and shrinks back down from her tiptoes.

to avoid thinking about their lack of breakfast. tay uses the daylight advantage to explore the other rooms. she turns the family photos around when she passes by them. everyone in them is probably dead, or worse. she can't help but feel like she's infiltrating. the built-in wardrobe of the largest bedroom is empty, except a few boxes on the top shelf. she reaches for them, dumping them on the bed.

"klaus!"

when he reaches the bedroom doorway, she's grinning. tay looks between him, and the boxes, stuffed full of tinsel, and ornaments. she rifles through one of them and finds a nutcracker doll. "oh, and—" she reaches back on to the shelf, grabbing a wreath, decorated with fake holly berries and leaves. "but this can go on the inside, for uh— obvious reasons." her lips quirk, despite the circumstances.

the  wick  of  her  soul  flickers  dimly  against  the  darkness.   encroaching  shadows  play  unkind  tricks  on  the  ruins  of  the  stranger’s  face,   though  his  voice  unwinds  like  poisonous  honey.   meant  to  comfort  someone  unwary,   perhaps  ensnare,   but  his  presence  only  serves  as  a  clear  warning  sign.   kindness  is  a  meager  crumb  in  this  place.   alice  is  only  certain  of  her  gut:   instinctually,   this  imposing  man  frightens  her.

thusly,   backed  into  a  corner  like  a  prey  animal  merely  fighting  against  the  inevitable  fate  of  being  eaten  whole  by  some  slavering  beast,   a  fully  formed  answer  to  his  question  eludes  the  girl.   she  wonders  if  she  has  become  many  persons  over  this  night,   in  pure  defense  of  herself,   the  true  alice:   if  this  were  the  case,   she  shouldn’t  hand  her  victory  over  to  anyone  else  so  easily.   crescent  moon  eyes  blink,   capturing  what  little  is  left  of  the  light,   calling  illumination  to  the  blue  void  like  a  lighthouse  beacon.

there  is  a  glint  of  silver  in  his  hand.   pleasegodno.   alice  blanches,   the  rosy  flush  of  blood  leaving  her  pale  skin  drained.   ravenous  fears  are  hardly  assuaged  at  the  sight.   she  begs  her  composure  to  stay  with  her  as  an  oblivion  waits  behind  her  eyelids.   there  is,   at  the  very  least,   a  trellis  of  rusted  metal  behind  her;   she  threads  both  frail  hands  into  the  door  as  a  support  while  her  shallow  breathing  returns  to  a  steady  rhythm.

she  can  only  settle  upon  one  thing:   she  thinks  she  wouldn’t  like  him  to  get  to  know  her  any  better.     ❝   alison,   ❞     she  firmly  decides,   and  the  name  feels  strange  upon  her  tongue.   like  being  in  roll  call  on  the  first  day  of  class.   alice,   she  would  insist  later  on,   before  the  teacher  became  comfortable  with  using  her  full  name.   not  alison.   likewise,   her  father  barely  used  her  full  name  either,   not  even  when  he  was  cross.   that  is  not  who  i  am.

somebody  would  need  to  forgive  her  manners  if  a  later  date  ever  reckoned  with  her:   poor  alice,   pinned  like  a  butterfly,   does  not  ask  his  name  in  return.

“But of course not. We are never alone, for the lord is with us.”

Tucked away in the chapel he had built for himself, the lost souls and devoted followers alike, he and the child stayed. Each speck of dust on the filthy windowsills glitters in his eyes as he speaks, the swarm around the girl floating in and out of his vision. Even when it is not present, he senses it. They all do. She has been plucked from the masses of sinners, presented before the father, and chosen for a higher calling. He only hopes to aid the Lord’s presence as he always has. The non-believers will be ripped apart, scattered over the grounds to fertilize the soil with their flesh and the devoted will rise above, rewarded with peace.

“Here. Take this, my child. You must be starving.”

From within his pocket, Father Martin produces a half eaten cookie. He had saved it for a special occasion and what more special is there than this?

                    alice’s  eyes  fall  to  the  humble  offering  he  has  bestowed  upon  her.   perhaps  it  was  an  action  of  great  significance  to  him,   but  it  proves  itself  as  a  small  token  of  normalcy  to  the  girl.   she  also  thinks  the  gesture  is  quite  sad,   somehow,   a  plaintive  plea  for  communion  in  their  shared  silence.   she  accepts  the  dessert  from  the  father’s  outstretched  hand,   her  own  pale  limb  ghosting  forward  to  shadow  his.   although  she  doubts  she  can  stomach  anything  while  the  air  around  them  still  tastes  of  copper,   she  doesn’t  want  to  somehow  upset  the  only  kind  soul  she’s  had  the  fortune  of  meeting  through  her  perilous  journey  to  the  chapel.   alice  tries  her  best  to  take  comfort  in  the  fact  that  he’s  demonstrating  some  care  towards  her  despite  his  vacant,   somewhat  awed  expression  in  his  fixated  yet  distant  gaze.   she  thinks  he  might  be  looking  beyond  her.   perceiving  something  just  out  of  reach.   it  can  only  be  felt  in  the  dull  ache  in  her  bones,   the  swift  pounding  of  her  heart.

                   ❛    thank  you.    ❜     it  is  true  that  she  needs  something  to  stabilize  her  declining  state.   she  has  felt  faint  throughout  the  entire  night  in  the  absence  of  her  medication.   the  girl  unwraps  the  remainder  of  the  cookie,   breaking  a  small  piece  off  for  herself  and  returning  the  other  half  to  him  expectantly,   trying  her  best  to  seem  appreciative  while  overcoming  her  unease.   she  barely  manages  an  upward  twitch  of  her  lips.   whether  it  will  be  perceived  rude  or  not  is  to  be  determined,   but  alice  can’t  eat  anything  in  good  conscience  without  knowing  he  is  also  being  fed.   she  had  no  grandparents  to  call  her  own,   but  she  supposes  it’s  only  right  to  treat  him  with  respect.   she’s  not  sure  what  lord  he  speaks  of  ——   the  one  she’s  heard  so  much  of  in  hospitals,   chapels  much  like  this  one  where  loved  ones  came  to  pray,   or  maybe  even  the  presence  she’s  heard  the  variants  whisper  about.   alice,   for  once,   does  not  possess  the  drive  to  question  his  intentions.