𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 [OLD/ORIGINAL]

Chapter Eight - The House of The Butcher

Taffy dragged herself up, her arms flinging off the doors and limping away to see the radiance of snow and trees. She was able to feel alive for maybe the first time after dropping the metal object haphazardly. At least for a while, when months of feeling dead seemed so natural. It was ambiguous how this was possible. The term has been getting more nebulous than she imagined. 

They were ready to leave the residence for good, feeling refreshed and exhausted under their chests. The subterfuge of snatching a few more cookies while savoring the taste of fruit in liquid form quieted their organs. Flowing high and fast to accept the painless offer. Even so, the warm air hung thick enough to blind them mentally, with a briny yet succulent consistency that intoxicated them. 

It hurts a little, not too much. 

When they regained consciousness from their own reality, all they could see was a red gathering. It was over. It was done. All of them had warm blood from a man who had once greeted them with an easygoing voice. Until he became aware of their sluggish reflexes. He was now lying beneath them. As she held the bottle tightly, her gaze was focused on him. Taffy rubbed his sockets tenderly, just to see the pink wiggle over his neck and now his shoulders that dripped his life. Shortly hooking on his thinning hair, her hand caressingly impacted his left eye that was red and sore for dear reason. She experienced a tightness through her chest that didn't seem unbelievable. This made them feel as if they were watching a tragedy unfold in front of them.

Again, it felt as though they were having to wake up until they remembered one person: the cookie man. The man who was serving them tea while they were roaming around. Taffy entered the kitchen, unbothered about the blood on their fingers.  

When they saw the strands of the doughy color laying on the floor, they avoided the small mess of crumbs and bits, and the warm clothing remained undamaged. Thankfully. They gently tap him, expecting a reaction. But nothing, nothing told them he was okay. Blood wasn't there. 

The woman left, thereby leaving the man on the couch and a piece of paper on the small table.

❄️

What did he do this time?

Did he 'accidentally' showed you the truth?

You don't have to be scared, if you want to be. I'll be there to comfort you.

I may look different than what you are, but I'm trying. I know I'm far from human. It's scary myself. 

Once he heard the door slam with a shudder to his comparatively tiny neck hairs, the blond stepped still, retaining his rucksack close to his chest. He realized by looking back with a startled utterance. Nonetheless, he's believed the relaxing tension above the ceiling of absence of light bestowing blessings on him. While he was confronted with the sounds of the unknown, he had the opportunity to back out. Seriously, why did it have to be so...unearthly?