A Rose Painted Black || The Distortionist x Reader

⊱ ──.⋅Chapter 4⋅.── ⊰

"It's all a game
Avoiding failure
When true colors will bleed"

»»-------Poets of the Fall-------««
-Carnival of Rust

A lightbulb hanging from the ceiling illuminated the room, reflecting some artifacts with a sheen. Perhaps it was a small shop, but decades, centuries, were behind the old and ancient objects, which were all mostly small enough to fit as a souvenir or a gift.

"So who was the friend that coerced you here?"

My shoulders jumped at his voice, I had forgotten where I was, and that he had gone for a few minutes to turn on the light. Coerce... It was a bit harsh for the lie but applicable to the truth.

"She didn't coerce me, necessarily." But I didn't come out of my own volition, either. I didn't want to mention her. "This is a nice shop you have. It's small, but there's enough to walk around and give thought to different times."

"Well, there's more to it than this." He was silent, and I brought my eyebrows closer together. I had no idea what he meant. "It used to be my grandfather's who passed it down to me," he whispered quietly.

His tone was enough to tell me where his grandfather was and what he meant by passing it down. My features softened and I brought my eyes to the faded wood below before looking back at the tall boy above me. "Are you usually here?"

"Yes, it's not common for you to see me out of this place. Of course, an exception being the shows," he added.

I wondered why. Perhaps others have hurt him or he has a dislike for others. I didn't know, and I didn't want to rub on pity.

"But enough about that. How about you, my dear?"

Did he just... 'My' dear.

"I judge you by your more elaborate dress when I say you're not from the town?"

"Well, I'm 'from' here one-fourth of the year." Christopher slanted his eyebrows. "If you couldn't tell already, I'm American. I'm from Maryland."

"And all this simply because you can?"

I hope that wasn't a statement of disdain.

"No...my father is from New York, but my mother is French. And trust me, sometimes it's best to leave America and Father's family behind."

Christopher nodded along. "Now that," he emphasized, "makes you sound just the tiniest bit more humble."

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean--"

"Don't apologize, dear. You did nothing wrong."

"But..."

Chris tilted his head down and raised his eyebrows.

"O-okay." There's the heat on my face, again.

I took a small step forward. The step was enough for him to shower me in darkness and for the light to give him a halo around his head that filtered in lightly through his hair, giving it a lemon tint. I pondered at the sort of angel I was now witnessing.

Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

The clock fills in the silence.

"How was it?" he asks.

How was what?

"I'm sure the grand experience of nearly getting killed wasn't too great or was it?" He tilted his head a bit to the left and the light that hit my eyes brought shadowy circles like static that I had to blink some times to rid myself of.