𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗 : 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

With the lead in hand, you lengthened your strides to evade another buckshot of questions. Once you had walked far enough from the stables, you hopped on Lady's back and slowly eased her into a walk.

You hated riding her so early in the morning, as both of you were often tired and shaky, but this was a serious matter. If you did not cleanse the house, there was no telling what might crawl from the shadows to possess your life.

As you rounded the corner onto the forest trails, horse hooves pounded in the grass behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, a flurried Frenchman joined you on his saddleless stallion. No longer Knight, but Voltaire. You pulled back on your reins to bring Lady to a halt.

"What do you want now?" you asked.

"I cannot, in good conscience, let you go alone."

"Good conscience?" You had just enough energy to laugh in his face despite your exhaustion. "Is it that stupid voice in your head again? Or are you just planning to use this against me later? You're going to lord it over my head, just like all terrible people do whenever they do something remotely dec–"

"If I swear I will not, may I join you?"

Squinting through the moonlight, you inspected Mr. Kirstein's face closely. His tight jaw reflected in shades of silver and indigo, and his sharp brows clenched in total seriousness. The longer you stared, the stiffer his shoulders grew, and the harder his pronounced Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow.

"No," you finally answered. "Enjoy the rest of your morning however you see fit."

Relaxing your pull on the reins, Lady took your silent command and continued through the path. You would not even spare Mr. Kirstein another glance over the shoulder as you drifted further down the long dirt trail in the misty, blue woods.

Crickets chirped, and bats flapped above your head with each clop of Lady's hooves. A little red fox scurried over the dirt far enough away, giving you hope that this night would go smoothly. Should you cross paths with a bear, which you had been fortunate enough never to do in nineteen years, you would have to rely on Lady and the fates to protect you. Any good luck gifted by the universe, even from the smallest fox, was greatly appreciated.

In the end, you told yourself, it would be worth it. On Mother's side of the family, they believed that dreaming of departed loved ones spelled misfortune for the living. From Father's limited recollection of her practices, Mother burnt red cedar branches to smoke out the house whenever she dreamed of a lost soul to ward off the ill omens. Father did the same when he dreamt of her, and you, too, burnt the wood when you dreamt of him. After your initial rounds of cleansing following his death, you stopped seeing his final state in your sleep, and life became more manageable. Your nightmares of blood-soaked rags and fingers turned into pleasant, dreamless rest.

After Sasha passed, you filled the lake house with smoke each week and prayed to the universe that you would never lose anyone again, but Sasha haunted you in visions for three months despite your efforts to purge her from your mind. Her laughter and coughing rang in your ears until you nearly went mad. She even brought your father into her illusions, making your reimagining even more painful.

You had mostly healed since then. It had been a year and a half since you last saw her. But, in truth, you were not sure you had the spirit to go through it again. Should you break under the weight of her spirit, you could not blame it on a fight with Mr. Kirstein or Mr. Arlert's request for you to spend more time together. You could only blame yourself, your weakness, and your lack of preparation.

What would you do this time when you broke? Would you have to kick Marlowe out of his marital bed to sleep with Hitch until you feel safe sleeping alone? Would you sob into Niccolo's clothes until his chest was wetter than if he had dipped himself in the lake? Would you hide in the forest again and require Eren to track you down with tears in his eyes, pleading for you to come home before doing something you might regret?