gold dust woman | MICHAEL LANGDON

[13] youth decay

Molly would need a plan if she intended to confront Michael about this. One thing was certain - she wouldn't be letting him off with a warning.

♱

Michael Langdon was worried.

It wasn't an emotion he often felt with regards to others, but there was no denying - to himself or anyone else, he worried for Molly Cromwell. For the first time since their initial meeting, she was the one to be absent from their shared dreams, leaving him alone in his bedroom with his thoughts.

He thought about their last encounter over and over, analysing every detail to assess if at any point he had offended her. But Michael came up blank each time, Molly had even said 'see you later' before they departed.

If she were dead, he decided he would know. Like it or not, understand it or not, they were bonded on a level no one else could reach. He could sense her presence when she was nearby, he would certainly know if she was dead.

A few hours into the morning passed, and Michael's restlessness grew too much to bear. He had a horrible feeling something was going wrong. He wasn't sure what, but he knew.

He must have been mad, he decided. So mad that his sensitivity for Molly once again led him to a place he promised to never re-enter - Murder House.

The first place he checked was her room, finding it devoid of life with unmade sheets. He decided next to take a tentative walk around the house, in case she was somewhere else. Michael abhorred how his shoulders slouched with discomfort. The ghosts should have been scared of him, not the opposite way around. But the last person he wanted to see was any one of the remaining inhabitants, who would judge him mercilessly.

He could feel their gazes on him as he walked the halls. But they didn't dare reveal themselves to him.

"She's not here," a girl's voice commented from the dining room table, after he had successfully reached the main floor without contacting anyone.

He turned his head carefully, eyes narrowed with suspicion at the sight of a blonde teenager seated at the table, slowly cutting an apple into slices.

It was a girl he had never seen in his life, but from Ben's stories and her striking likeness with Vivian, Michael could guess with ease that this was his long lost half-sister.

"Where is she?" He asked carefully, approaching the table with cautious steps. He always wondered why Violet never wanted to see him before. And he would be lying if he said he hadn't wanted to meet her once upon a time.

"I don't know," she shrugged, still not sparing him a glance as she harshly cut out a few stray seeds. "Left in quite a rush this morning."

"So... she's okay?" He hesitated to ask, aware the question alone made him look bad. At his words, Violet stopped cutting the apple, her eyes lifting from the table to Michael's blue irises.

"She's fine," Violet revealed, not allowing Michael a beat of relief before continuing, "no thanks to you, of course."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He questioned, taking a step further toward her. He was a little out of sorts, speaking to his sister. Even more put off by how she wasn't intimidated by him at all.