a song of death.

[ 6 ]

☆ Second person POV, past tense

"Okay, yeah, that was fucking delicious."

"Right?! I forgot that venison tastes good cooked, too," Alastor chirped in return as he wiped at the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

Both of you had a healthy heaping of spaghetti sitting on your respective plates, but Alastor's looked untouched. Throughout dinner, he had made it his mission to avoid every strand of spaghetti that sat on his plate. His fork squirmed past the noodles and stabbed at all of the little chunks of deer meat.

You giggled and rolled your eyes before burping.

Alastor rose an eyebrow at you. "Mind your manners, love."

"Oh, right. Hah. Excuse me."

Alastor's grin flashed, but the real smile was all in his eyes. The smile on his lips was cheshire, but the crinkle in his eyes was unique. It told you that he was really smiling; that his soul was smiling, not just his facial muscles.

It was still a bit strange in your eyes that Alastor enjoyed the taste of what he was (or, in other words, that he was a cannibal) but, after some extensive thinking, you had gotten over it almost completely. For starters, Alastor wasn't part deer when he was alive, and developing a taste for venison as a human really wasn't strange at all. Plus, you had accepted the reality that Alastor was just... Alastor. He was weird—in the best way possible.

And the cannibalism wasn't even the worst of it; he was a serial killer. But you had accepted that, too.

You were too close to Alastor for those personality traits of his to not be accepted.

"What should we do today?" you asked as you stood up, picking up some dirty dishes to take to the kitchen. You wanted to do something fun—anything, for that matter, that could take your mind off of tomorrow.

Alastor followed suit, pushing his chair in neatly as he stood. "Well." He paused. Picked up his plate. "I think I could fit in a game of chess or some piano lessons before I retire to my study. I'm sorry love, I'm quite busy today."

"Oh, I didn't know." You turned away, carrying your dishes to the kitchen. Damn, looks like you were going to be anxious all day. Your biggest distraction, Alastor, was busy.

As you set your dishes into the silver sink basin, Alastor came up beside you. He set his dishes almost noiselessly down on the counter top before leaning against your back and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I'm sorry, darling. I love you," Alastor murmured into your hair. "And, look on the bright side! We'll get to spend plenty of time together tomorrow."

You sighed, letting your hand graze over the warm grip of Alastor's arm as you soaked in the heat of his body.

"I know."

Alastor didn't move, and neither did you, but you let yourself slip into thought again. Would he make you kill the woman yourself? What if you had to—if the woman attacked you, you might have to defend yourself. Or what if she somehow killed Alastor, or had backup? Would you be powerless?

You didn't have time to formulate any new thoughts (or elaborate on those existing ones) because someone was knocking on Alastor's front door. The sound made Alastor's whole body tense against yours, which immediately concerned you.

You tilted your head up in Alastor's direction. "Are you expecting someone?"

Alastor pressed a finger against your lips. "Stay here," he whispered, not answering your question. Without looking at you again, Alastor withdrew himself from your figure, his microphone-cane-staff thingy poofing into his right hand. You almost forgot about that thing—you hadn't seen it in quite some time.