"Which childhood? The one that never ends? O you,
still a child, and slow to grow.
Still talking to God and thinking the snow
falling is the sound of God listening."
—Li-Young Lee
. . .
[September 27th (03:28 AM)]
It was just a feeling he had, a little tickle in the back of his mind... but Alastor suddenly found himself waking up with a tingling, vague feeling of something that has gone horribly wrong as he quietly slipped out of bed, feeling for his mate's presence.
To his relief, Winters seems to be still in the dining area, right where he had last seen her only hours ago. And William...
Strange.
The kid doesn't seem to be around.
In fact, judging by the faint scent, he doesn't seem to have returned to the hotel since yesterday morning. Did William go off to another mission?
Alastor frowns at the thought.
Why does it always feel like he's the only one who actually goes to sleep like a normal human being when he wasn't even one in the first place?
I swear, those two...
Blindly groping around for his cell phone on the nightstand, right where Alastor was so sure he had left it—spoiler alert, no: it's actually under his pillow—the little search took him an embarrassingly good five minutes before he found it.
Alastor squints in irritation at the sudden assault on his eyes as he tries to check on the time, ignoring the sudden brightness.
With a tired groan, Alastor stretched his arms up a bit as he lets out a quiet yawn. Hm, since Winters is already up... and no doubt, hadn't bothered to go to sleep (or even eat) it might be nice to make a very early breakfast for her.
Oh, maybe they can cook together!
He perks up at the idea.
Should he make pancakes or waffles? Ah, it's such a shame that they've already ran out of chocolate syrup... but as far as he knows, they still have some of the maple syrup left—
Wait.
What the fuck.
Alastor gawks, not believing his eyes for a second as he stands frozen by the doorway, taking in the sight of the room. It looked like a storm had gone and wrecked through the place while he was fast asleep. How the hell did he even slept through this? Could this be why he even woke up in the first place?
But...
Alastor swallows nervously as he sees the ruined dining table practically shoved to the farthest side of the room. It was practically cleaved in half... and as he looks around, he could have sworn he sees some the chairs looking like it has been thrown in random directions, some of them with their legs torn off, he even nearly stepped on a shattered piece of woodand glass that he was very faintly sure was the remains of a coffee mug.
Then, he noticed something that makes his heart practically drop out of his chest. Because even with the lights turned off, leaving just the distant city lights creeping past the curtains, it was enough to help him see his mate's silhouette huddled next to the window.
"Winters?" Alastor called as he tries to inch closer.
His eyes were instantly drawn to the skin on her forearms; it had been scratched raw, still bleeding right where they lay on her lap almost listlessly, marked with the distinct shape of crescent moons... blunt human fingernails (Alastor was quite dead certain those wounds had been self-inflicted), her head bowed down with her hair veiling most of her face.
