After verifying he was completely alone, Wilfred, clad in navy blue pajamas, approached his bed and sat down. He looked out the window, staring at the continuous snowfall and letting out a low sigh. He suddenly stood up and approached another table across from his bed, his slippers making little noise against the creaking wooden floor beneath him.
On the table was a plate of food that was half eaten, the greens and vegetables having been left untouched by the fork and spoon. Beside the plate was a glass of water with mint leaves floating atop its surface, gently floating and colliding with the ice cubes drifting within the glass.
The last item was a flower, dried and withered. It was kept within a partially cracked jar sitting beside the glass of mint water. The flower was a rose, its thorns having been trimmed off long ago. Wilfred slowly picked up the cracked jar and unscrewed the lid, allowing the rose to gently drift onto the table.
The moment it landed, the brown-haired boy picked up the dried flower and placed it in the cup of mint water. After a few seconds of silence, accompanied by another glance at the door, he grabbed the plate of uneaten vegetables and tipped it into the glass accompanying the previous items.
"Power of the Mother." Wilfred whispered, clasping his hands together as he dropped to his knees before the concoction in the cup.
"Bestow on me your finest blessing; allow my heart to expand and contract as you please." His hands began to tremble as he reached out and grabbed the glass of water with vegetables, mint leaves, and ice within it.
"G-give me the blessing of finality; allow the girl to gaze upon my form and love me."
Wilfred's voice hushed as he brought the glass to his lips. Gulping down the concoction slowly, he plugged his nose to avoid tasting the foulness of the drink he had prepared.
There were many ways to worship deities; making sacrifices to appease them was the most favored, especially in the eyes of the one who's being worshiped.
After finishing the drink, Wilfred gritted his teeth as he clenched his stomach with his hands, pressing them to his lower abdomen and curling up on the floor. Aside from a divine ritual, mortal issues like indigestion were bound to still occur.
"T-thank you, M-Mother Nature." He mumbled, his voice low and trembling, barely above a whisper.
…
"Raymond just did that?" I turned around in Florence's bedroom, facing The Umbridge. The illusory cloaked figure with wormhole-like eyes gazed down at me.
They nodded their head with some solemnity. "Appearances are never what they seem to be."
"Strange, based on how he's talked to me, I thought he'd collaborate with Bertram to keep him shut at night."
The Umbridge crossed their arms over their chest, their form gradually turning illusory. "Raymond was the one who found him in the streets; it's best for him to assist Wilfred whenever he can to show he cares about his adopted younger brother."
I shrugged, letting out a scoff. "If I were to confront him about it tomorrow he'd…"
I suddenly recalled something he had said before sending Wilfred to his bedroom, my eyes widening slightly. "Raymond said he'd take Bertram's soul if he did something like that again."
The towering figure clad in a dark-colored robe of shadows suddenly disappeared, their illusory voice sounding in my mind. "It's just a teenagers wordplay."
I looked around the room for a brief moment, everything was silent and The Umbridge was nowhere to be seen. "Why'd you vanish on me?"
A few moments later, the door suddenly opened. Florence, still clad in her nightgown, stood in the doorway. Her blonde hair was tousled into a messy bun above her head.
"You're still up." She mumbled, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes.
"I just got back from a snack." I turned around to face her with a small, unassuming smile.
Upon hearing my words, Florence's lips curled into a smile. "It appears the both of us are victims of late night cravings."
"Were you gonna go get a snack, or were you coming back from one?" I asked.
"I got back, fancied myself some buttered bread." Florence replied, leaning off the doorway and entering the room.
She paused for a brief moment, looking towards the area where The Umbridge once stood in their illusory state. Florence's nose twitched as she sniffed the air for a brief moment.
I habitually took a step back, my face paling slightly. "What are you doing?" My voice trembled a bit.
The blonde-haired woman turned to look at me, waving her arms around in the air. "Is the incense bothering you? I never realized I kept the wax burning."
Florence pointed to the table beside the window and opened a drawer. Inside of it were numerous candles burning without flames, letting out tiny fumes of colorless smoke that dissipated into the air.
"Bertram recommended to me a rather peculiar flavor, Night Vanilla."
She reached down and picked up one of the candles. The wax was a dark purple color, bordering on black. Unlike the other candles, this one burnt with a small purple flame on the tip of the wax.
"Madame Fitzgerald has quite the vast collection of incense, and she lets us borrow them from her. but…I've never seen Night Vanilla among the catalog."
"How long ago did Bertram give you it?" I inquired, crossing my arms over my chest.
Florence fell silent for a few moments before sighing. "After you arrived and he gave you the tour, he came to my room and gave me the candle."
At that moment, I grabbed the candle from Florence and sniffed it. The smell was a mixture of something like wet grass, vanilla, shampoo and conditioner. Along the edges of the candle wax were tiny, resplendent beams of starlight that shone dimly.
"Did he tell you anything else about it?" I raised an eyebrow.
"It can cause nightmares if consumed directly." She replied, her gaze never leaving the candle.
I froze, my skin paling as my hands began to tremble. I quickly recalled the bottle Carter had given me from Catherine's catalog of items. The sleeping medicine he had given me bore similar effects, and I believe I took it to this house!
At some point in time during the tour, Bertram must have taken it!
"So that explains the nightmare I had…" I mumbled under my breath.
"Still, I don't trust Florence." The Umbridge's voice rang with caution.
I looked up at Florence and sighed. "We can talk more about this in the morning."
…
"You wanted …skin?" Aizawa inquired, his body remaining tense as he gazed at the elderly woman sitting opposite of them. The place they had entered amidst the storm was a small pub, and they had gotten complementary dishes out of pity from the staff.
The elderly woman with sunken eyes and a shrill appearance remained solent, her boney hands picking away at the turkey like a rabid animal. Her hands trembled as she ripped the meat apart and stuffed it into her mouth.
"She weirds me out." Olivia whispered, leaning to Aizawa's ear.
Aizawa didn't comment, continuing to watch the woman without eating his own food. Although her previous actions were violating to say the least, her desperation for warmth and food must have altered her mental state, prompting her to say such things.
"Skin…" Her low voice sounded again as she looked up, her dark brown eyes locking into Olivia once more.
The woman tensed, shrinking back in her chair. Aizawa cocked an eyebrow, his eyes glowing their faint crimson hue. "Don't try anything."
"I won't. I apologize." The elderly woman sat up in her chair, adjusting her posture almost formally as she picked up her fork and knife, slicing into the meat with a formality that deeply contrasted the rest of the pub. Around her, the rest of the guests were shouting and clamoring, betting on a game Aizawa and Olivia didn't recognize, much like many things in this new world.
"She's …eating politely now?" Olivia's voice rang with curiosity and suspicion as she continued to observe the woman as if she were a test subject.
Seeing this, Aizawa finally felt an alleviating sense of calm. Now that the woman had regressed to dining formally, he felt like he could eat without her attempting to claw his hands off.
His hands still carried a subtle tremble as he grabbed his fork and began to eat his pork and peas. Olivia's demeanor also changed, she too was able to resort to eating comfortably to a certain extent.
Suddenly, one of the guests at the pub, a brawny man with a shaved head and beard, lashed out at another male guest. He extended his muscular arm and landed a clear right hook to the other man's cheek, propelling him back behind the bar. Olivia flinched at the sudden noise, habitually shrinking back and pressing against Aizawa's side.
The dark-haired man watched the scene silently, his grip on his fork tightening slightly, causing the edges of his knuckles to turn white.
The elderly woman tensed at the commotion, raising her hands to cover her ears as she closed her eyes. She lowered her head onto the table and covered her face by pressing it against the wooden table. Seeing this, Olivia's eyes widened as she exchanged a worried glance with Aizawa.
"Something's wrong with her." She said, her voice a worried whisper.
Aizawa's gaze remained on the fight with a cautious edge. His crimson eyes were narrowed to a predatory extent as he gazed into the madness ensuing. Aside from the group of men, he, Olivia and the elderly woman were the only people in the pub. The bartender who had served the men their drinks had long disappeared, the cowardly man with a frail build darting out the back door and into the snow.
Suddenly, Olivia ducked under the table with surprising speed as one of the muscular men was sent flying from his seat and into the booth where the trio sat. The elderly woman had now fallen silent, her body still trembling.
The man who had landed surveyed his surroundings with half lidded eyes and a froth of beer running down his cheek. When his almost predatory gaze fixated onto the woman, he let out a low growl and leaped at her. He extended his left arm, ready to land a hit, only to be met by a clean hook to his cheek.
Below his skin, Aizawa, along with the other men in the pub, heard the audible sound of bones snapping.
"That's enough, gentlemen." Aizawa stepped out of his booth and rolled down his sleeve. The drunken men stared at their unconscious friend on the floor for a few moments before gazing back up at Aizawa. One of them gritted their teeth as they hurled their empty glass at him with surprising speed.
Aizawa weaved his head to the left, effortlessly dodging the attack. Behind him, he heard the glass collide with the wooden wall, shattering on impact.
The drunken man then leaped out of his chair and lunged towards Aizawa with tightly clenched fists. He swung his left arm towards his chest, but Aizawa effortlessly stepped aside and landed a knee to the man's lower gut, before swinging again and hitting him in his lower regions.
The drunken man let out a howl of pain as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his privates with his fists while curling up into a ball on the ground. Seeing this, Aizawa turned back to the other patrons and scoffed.
"Anyone else wanna brawl?" He asked, an edge of sarcasm dripping from his voice.
The men sitting at the bar were silent, their gazes fixed on Aizawa as if he were an otherworldly demon.
Seeing that everyone was silent, Aizawa walked over to their booth and sat back down. Olivia's eyes were wide, her mouth half opened with astonishment.
"Badass…" She mumbled, crawling out from under the table and sitting back down. Aizawa then turned to face the elderly lady.
"Hey, you're safe now." He said, poking her cheek.
The shriveled woman looked up at him, her widened eyes gradually regressed to normal as she vigilantly surveyed her surroundings.
"When do I go back to my room?" She asked.