Guilt

The drizzling sound of rain is what rouses Alina Croix from her light slumber amongst the twisted bed sheets. The tangles of a reaping memory and hollow bridges of lost sleep, tightening the girl's throat when she raises a pale hand to block out the invading light from her wispy curtains. It's hard to tell what time of day it is, but for some unknown reason—perhaps it's the way her senses tingle in slight awareness at the intensity of the sun—but she's certain it's around noon.

"Damn…" The mutter is displaced and groggy, oak blinking twice to clear the sleep from her heavy eyes. Elbows creak, pushing her into a sluggish upright position. She never was a morning person.

A brief glance towards the wet glass and Alina stifles a yawn. It seems the storm from yesterday had yet to break, casting the breezy edges of her home in a lingering haze of rainfall. It brings the events that had transpired last night fresh to mind and she's immediately shedding the rest of her daze, eyes wide when she fumbles to separate dream from reality.

Quickly she climbs out of bed.

Those eyes the color of rustic wine, the whispers of something missing, the cryptic words strung from a mouth she didn't place much trust in. . .

As much as she wanted to write it off as her imagination gone wild, Alina was well aware she wasn't that creative. This brings with it a sense of dread when her feet finally shuffle across the base of the floor, reluctantly facing the new day.

Fire weaves between the ice blocks that bundle like rocks in her stomach. Yet a new day was more than she could handle lately. Her peaceful bubble of life, pinned down and leaking with every new minute she spent in her old house.

All of it stemmed from that single face that hovered at the edges of her nerves like a plague. Her hand that moves to adjust her pillow touches a sleek texture and the young girl pauses. The resin rose is staring up at her like it always did when she lays her gaze on it. Faintly, she remembers clutching at it before she went to sleep, but it only adds more irritation to Alina's already crumbling mood. Without a word, she sets it down with a clank, and then heads out the room with a tug of a new bubble gum pink shirt.

Her phone that lies beside the frozen rose bud, flashing hastily, two missed messages from Chris appearing and several others from an unknown number. Before the phone screen grows dull and bleak, the battery draining while the rose grows a shade lighter.

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When Alina steps into the kitchen, she almost has to hold back a flinch at the sight of Claec standing at her stove, nonchalantly poking at something. It was such an odd image that Alina froze for a moment. The skin of that man still seems hazy to her, a flicker of wonder and confusion that presses her jaw sharply; but Alina decides to ignore it, entering the room fully.

She's content on pretending he isn’t there, but it seems her unwanted housemate had other plans.

"I tried to make you something for breakfast, considering it a truce regarding my disagreeable existence within this house. But… it seems some endeavors are not fruitful." Claec says in voice that’s smooth as silk and that leaves Alina feeling perplexed, because it's almost like he's sulking.

The tone catches her attention, pale hands hesitating in their reach for the coffee pot when a slender brow rises. The keyword there was tried, even without his later admission. "What did you do?" It's the first thing out her mouth, and on instinct, she's moving to peer over the tall male's shoulder.

Even with the spirit-thing shifting to hide what's in the pot, Alina quickly sees the disaster with a startled noise in the back of her throat. Black Tar is a hazy reminiscent of what should be oatmeal (or so she thinks). The brew bubbling and no doubt toxic, when Claec and her both flinch at a disgustingly large bubble that forms—only to pop with a wretched burnt smell.

How in the world--.

"What the hell even is that?!" Alina chides, hand reaching out steal the ladle from Claec's dangerous grip. Briefly she feels a wing of some sort breeze over her palm—brown eyes wide in shock at the sudden reminder that this person wasn't human—when the cook in question drops it in her hand fully. The hand is retracted with it, creating distance and Claec is looking at him through stone eyes and heavy lashes.

It bothers her.

She can’t ever tell what he’s thinking, hell she never could.

For some reason, Alina has to bite her tongue on the guilt that invades her. Whatever this thing was thinking wasn't her problem.

Reality jerks her back to the present when Claec's voice sounds over the dishes he dropped in the sink. "Something called oatmeal; I found it in your pantry. It looked simple enough to craft."

Craft?

“I really am starting to think you’re from some old fashioned timeline I know nothing about. Who even talks like that, next thing I know you’ll be conjuring up hot coco.”

Claec looked at her as if she had slapped him.

Pointedly ignoring him, a harsh sigh escaped her lips, pale jeans being used to wipe the muck off the spoon. "Also it is easy to make, so how long did you try to cook it for? Did you even read the directions? That shit is not oatmeal. That's . . . that's dinosaur killing muck."

From the corner of her eyes, Alina sees the brunette's mouth twitch, before he steps away from sink. The dish isn't washed—much to her annoyance and harsh thought of suddenly becoming a maid—when Claec turns to her. He almost looks exhausted, but Claec thinks that'd be ridiculous. It was only 12:30.

"I think I had it boiling for at least an hour before you awoke. Also, that's a colorful comparison. Are you sure it isn't Ali killing muck?" He's obviously amused, Alina isn't however.

The slightest hint of it doesn't count—heavily outweighed by the bizarreness of the situation. If someone had told her she'd be in her kitchen, bickering with some otherworldly entity that she was supposedly friends with as a kid, Alina would have happily kicked that person in the face.

Alina moves to encase a filthy dish in her palms, elbows being bared with a roll of sleeves, as the girl starts to clean it. Her back was to him with a reply on the tip of her tongue.

"So you didn't read the directions. What kind of ghost are you?" Alina scoffs, continuing as suds build in the metal sink. ". . . You didn't even have to try, you know. You said it yourself, you don't have a choice. So, it's whatever. I’m the one who asked you to stay in that weird form of yours."

It's only a few minutes in when the black spots finally start to relent to the persistent scrubbing but Alina can feel the gaze burning into her back. For a second, she thinks perhaps the entity wasn't going to grace her with an answer. But when he does, Alina's slim wrists freeze mid-scrub.

"Even if I had the choice, I'd want to be by your side. You’re the only person I’ve cared for in decades." The words are a whisper of pain. Alina's stomach drops to her knees, trying hard to focus on what her reaction should be.

Something isn't right.

"What," Jerking back to look at Claec, Alina's body becomes rigid. Shoulders tense when her gaze locks on the snarl that morphs that lonesome beast's face, ". . . Claecy."

It's a cruel, sick, mask that showcases what she had thought she'd seen before in perfect detail. Bats alive and real, fluttering beneath porcelain skin, they're squirming so fast that Alina was afraid that if she blinked, the boy would simply vanish. But instead, that male is in her personal space faster than Alina can protest, spine jammed harshly against the countertop as she bends to get away. "Hey, what the hell, what’s wrong!?"

Fingers close over her jaw, once again the pressure is there, but it doesn't feel solid. It rubs her the wrong way, pale lips quivering with twisted anger and something bitter like sorrow.

Was he going to kill her? Alina couldn’t help but wonder. And instantly she knew that she wouldn't be disheartened to learn that maybe she actually had lost her mind, because her own reactions no longer made sense to her.

She SHOULD have been afraid.

But all she can do is remember. "Claecy!" Little legs run, crashing harshly against the elder's legs.

"Where are you!" The continued cry, she remembers the stricken look on Claec's face. "Where are you really?"

She wasn’t afraid at all. Her heartbeat thrumming so loud in her ears, it felt like a roar.

"Did I really mean so little, that your age has altered our supposed friendship so much? I was under the impression the Croix's kept their word whether it was a threat or a promise. But it would seem you really have forgotten." Those eyes are daggers and Alina wants to lash out. But her tongue isn't working, and by the time it does, Claec’s already vanishing—breaching their agreement on the second day, no less.

"Wait!! How are you going to go and blame me for some shit like that when you're not even human, Claec!" The bats seem to screech. And her chest feels bruised, panic setting in when she can’t find him with her eyes.

"Don't call my name so carelessly." With that final warning, any reminder that he'd been there at all is gone, the only scent lingering is the burnt oatmeal that leaves the air stale.

Alina's appetite evaporates along with him.

The pot she had been scrubbing is slammed harshly against the faucet, Alina cusses in a growl that echoes.

Harshly ignoring the tears that wanted to pool so desperately past her lashes.

Why did she feel like this?

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A cloud of smoke bellows into the air, a wispy curl that leaves a poor old woman coughing and waggling her cane at the offensive twist of toxins, when Jake steps off the train with a loose hand curled around his briefcase. A pair of identical shoes follow, a mop of long wavy brown locks flowing around a much younger face when they both step in sync swiftly over the cobble stone, ignoring curious glances passed their way.

Another cloud is released into the air and with a dry look from the youth; he shoves a hand in his pocket.

"So… that idiot is messing with things she shouldn't. Damn Ali, really knows how to make things difficult, doesn't she?" Maya states with a pretty red lipped scowl, grey eyes carefully guarded.

Jake’s eyes gleams with ice, the briefcase moved to settle on his shoulder. Thudding against his back with his urgent strides. "Little shit is getting into something much bigger than she realizes. Shoulda known she wouldn't roll over with this, but I didn't think she'd start prying that deeply. Just like Alec."

Maya’s face grows considerably darker, and the raven can only assume what she's thinking. His own chest lurched at the thought; no doubt the recount he gave his pupil left her with undealt anxiety. And when Alina's phone had hung up, it left him chilled to the bone. She had never called back, never left a message, and the name she had uttered before she vanished was one only heard from legends. It had been over three-hundred years since that name had fallen from the records, only to show up again from the girl's mouth. The first murmur had been of delight, at an age that left Jake and Dylan sharing uneasy glances. It left a sour taste in his mouth. Despite his best intentions, he had kept the secret for Alina, assuming she had read something in her mother’s journal and her imagination had supplied the rest.

And it had ended with the family being slaughtered.

" Alina can an idiot, but… even she's smarter than to let something happen to her. Besides it can't really be that thing. It's impossible. Maybe she's suffering from her blood heritage, unlocked charms or something."

Jake’s mouth stiffens, and the lack of reassurance leaves Maya fuming. But the man only speeds up, leaving the girl to scramble to catch up. "Nothing is impossible, kid. But I'll be damned before . . ."

The words are left unsaid. But he knows Maya understands them well enough.

They'd both be damned before they let anything hurt Alina Croix.

With a frown, a sleek black phone is raised against his ear. But he only gets the same voicemail he's heard five times today.

"Kid, answer already…"

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Alina was pacing, relentless and furious.

The soles of her feet ached from how long she had been at it, but for the life of her, she couldn't calm down. Irritation a knife that scrapes over her throat every time she tries to locate the being who had flew off the handle for no god damn reason. The frown that steals her lips isn't enough to alleviate her frustration, and soon Alina's tugging at her bangs for the third time in the span of an hour. She still doesn't know what she did wrong, or why she even gives a single flying damn about it.

But she does.

It’s eating at her.

And Claec wouldn't stop being childish and hiding.

When did her life get so bent out of shape?

The clock on the wall is ticking endlessly, the fires of anger still licking at her wounded pride. She just doesn't understand anything anymore, and in a world as stained with blood as hers has been—it doesn't bode well at all.

With another tug, brown strands clenched in frayed tussles between her fingers, Alina's about to relent her pride and call for the bastard, when the sound of her doorbell ringing sounds from the front door. The toll had left her house quiet as if the walls had stopped to listen as well. No doubt, the sound hadn't only caught her attention. Pushing back her sudden spiral of negative emotion, wondering if it was hers or maybe an effect that came with who lurked beneath the shadows, Alina's sturdy steps bring her to the living room, just as it rings again.

"Shut up, I'm coming." The mutter is cast beneath her breath, just as she yanks the door open. Wood revealing a visage that roots the girl in place.

Cocoa gleams in a startled gloss, then a hand smacks down on her head.

Hard.

"You've got a lot of nerve, stupid disciple."