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Aurelia's POV

"Asher?" I call out into the darkness of my house, suddenly glad that my house isn't so dreary and empty anymore. I drop off my groceries and belongings at the kitchen.

"I'm in a freaking cell, do you think I'm going to come out and kiss you hello?" Asher's slightly annoyed voice comes from the right.

I raise an eyebrow as I see that one of my guest bedrooms had been converted into a cell by barring the windows and breaking down the door to replace it with bars.

"At least you have an actual bed," I shrug, going down the hallway to look at him.

"Well, I have to say, your taste in interior decor kind of... sucks," Asher says, completely serious.

My eyes widen. I had spent a lot of time on the house, and had gone for all cream and neutral colors, like white and tan.

"It's so boring," Asher adds. "It needs color."

"It's sophisticated," I defend.

"Oh, my sincerest apologies, it did not come to my mind to account for your aristocracy," Asher mimics, his voice swimming in sarcasm.

"You can decorate your cell if it bothers you so much," I roll my eyes at him. "I'll dump some paint in your cell, and you can amuse yourself while I'm at work."

"You make it sound like I'm a stay-at-home dad, or I'm that whiny toddler kid you never meant to have," Asher points out.

"The latter," I reply, throwing a pillow on his bed. I glance at the TV room, where Bianca and I had giggled about guys just some time back. I force my gaze back. The best way to avenge her was to somehow get out of this society, maybe shut it down. If I could save those that she loved, maybe her death wouldn't be so meaningless.

"You're mean," he replies, whining. "At least I can actually sleep now. Most of the time at that cell, I just stayed awake watching you sleep."

"What the actual hell?" I yelp, realizing that he's stared me for at least ten hours.

"I pulled an Edward Cullen." Seeing my confused face, he sighs. "Okay, not really. I mostly stared at the wall, but sometimes when I was bored I would look at you."

"That's creepy," I decide not to comment anymore. "I'm glad I won't be right in front of you, then."

"I think I'm an insomniac," Asher mused out loud. "Even now, I find it literally impossible to sleep."

"What?" I question.

"Oh, right," Asher scoffs. "You guys have crappy doctors who refuse to diagnose things like depression or anything more negative than the flu."

"You say you like you're not apart of us," I tell him, watching his face darken.

"I'm not," he replies. "At least, I don't want to be."

I don't know how to reply to that. "Night, Asher."

"G'night," he mutters, though he makes no move to actually lay down.

I take one last look at him before heading upstairs.


"Ooh! I love you! You're the best! Ooh! Oh my god! Ooh! Let's make out! Happiness is real! And dreams do come TRU - U - U - E!" I sing along with the radio, while I flip a pancake.

"SHUT UP!" A familiar, grumpy voice echoes down the hallway.

"Shit," I realize. "Oh my god. Asher, you're here, aren't you?"

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