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All Angels from Heaven Above - Chapter 3

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

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“I offered help to one of Detective Carino’s superiors and found a memory ritual that could answer the Royal Guard’s question regarding that… unpleasant situation,” explained Eupraxia before Spiridon could talk again, ignoring the strong tension in the saloon. 

A memory ritual demanded a lot of a group of witches and it was done in extremely delicate steps. The first part consisted of letting the shadows take their magic to where the situation had happened, which wasn’t so difficult. The second part, a bit more complicated, depended on the witch’s ability to weave a thin, intricated web of their own power so that memory could be trapped in it. 

The third one, the most dangerous of them, occurred when the other witches joined in the ritual: all of them, together, would build a bridge that would pull the memory from inside the mind of the witch responsible for the first two steps and project it into an open space, like a shadow theater.

Adra looked around, to the officers with equally disdainful and fearful expressions, and then to the nervous and cautious witches and wizards. She didn’t like the idea of doing such a difficult ritual with so much tension around her at all but the Guard would hardly accept leaving without it being done or giving them privacy.

To those demons, they needed to see to believe it. And they wouldn’t accept anything less because demons didn’t trust witches and vice-versa. The simple fact that they had accepted Eupraxia’s offer to one of her high-ranking lovers was a surprise, considering how the Royal Guard treated witches: pitiful beggars in the best-case scenario, prostitutes whose bodies and dignity were free-for-all in the worst case.

“Very well then,” Spiridon agreed begrudgingly. Not even he could deny such an important favor to the Royal Guard. “But if we’re going to do it, I want our most powerful witch doing the first two steps.”

Of course, you do, though Adra, frustrated when every pair of eyes turned to her. She didn’t like that attention and didn’t want it but didn’t have a lot of choice in it. 

Regardless of her power, the memory of the ritual would only indicate the culprit if the witch who was doing the ritual knew them. The most they would see were shadow figures and that was making her worry. Adra hoped they didn’t have too much hope about that, despite Eupraxia’s presumption.

Sighed in resignation, she stepped forward, letting Thalassa’s hand slip from her own, and stared at Eupraxia, who seemed ready to kick her. Adra ignored the lead detective’s stare when she spoke:

“Let’s go on then if no one is opposed.”

Despite Thalassa’s last warning, the woman didn’t interfere in the clash, probably too shocked by Eupraxia’s lack of prudence. That was big but it surely wasn’t good, especially considering that the chances of it going wrong were too high.

The witches seemed calmer now that Adra was chosen to do that task — she was the one in danger after all — and accepted her request, positioning herself. Spiridon nodded towards Adra when passing by her. His dark eyes didn’t apologize but Adra didn’t want apologies, so she only nodded back, walking towards the north side of the circle the other had opened in the middle of the room.

Eupraxia took to herself the task of moving the officers to a place where they could see what was happening but couldn’t interfere with the shadows. When everyone got silent, Adra closed her eyes, focusing on the Darkness, on the points of the room filled with it.

For witches, the Darkness was its own language that sang to them like old friends, as mermaids would sing to unsuspecting sailors. It could be good and bad and, especially, it could be controlled. Adra knew each song and each pun, therefore she let It flow around her, like the breath of a night breeze, cold and humid, making her hair flutter and trying to mix up with her soul.

It wasn’t so difficult to go through the city she was born into the Academy, even in the shadows, jumping from shadow to shadow quickly. And, when she entered the walls she had never entered, Adra followed to where the shadows came together more tightly, attracted by evil and Death.

She followed that still energy and, when she reached the place where Aglaie Kalliergei had died — even if she didn’t know which room was it because everything around her was just an echo of her power —, Adra focused on reviewing the dark memories, just like one would leaf through a book to see what was it about.

It wasn’t hard for her web to catch the memory she needed like a fly in a spiderweb. As soon as she got it, all the other witches felt the threads that connected them in that ritual being bound tighter, thus completing the ritual.

It was hard, however, to try not to be offended when they began to pull out the memory from her head: the feeling of being invaded was like strong dizziness and, for a moment, Adra couldn’t tell where she was or what she could see as she opened her eyes. With a deep breath, her sight adjusted to the scene that played in front of her.

The first figure appeared and Adra guessed it was the victim, even when all she could see was a black shadow like ink and water mixing up in the form of a manikin, with no sign of their own identity.

As a consequence of the successful ritual, Adra felt more than saw the restlessness of everyone in the saloon while her powers projected that image. 

If Aglaie’s death had really been a murder, the Royal Guard would have had serious problems to deal with, especially with King Stavros, since the prince had been studying at the Academy for a few years now. A piece of news like that wouldn’t be kept from the media for much longer, especially when there were other people involved in that ritual, which could chase away the usual clients of Agraés and would bring serious economic problems to the city.

Then, a second figure appeared and Adra frowned. Different from the first one, the second silhouette was diffuse, almost transparent, and she could see Thalassa’s blurred face through it.

It worried her.

Darkness called Darkness, and every kind of It — shadows made by the lights, inner evil, bad and/or too intense feelings — answered to the witches in the same way. It didn’t make sense the second figure was so different from the first one.

Confused, Adra followed the way through her own powers, trying to find something wrong in the web in which she captured the memory but there wasn’t anything. The silhouette just seemed to not have an inner darkness, which was quite literally impossible: every single one of them — demons, witches, and humans — had something bad that forced them to respond to a witch’s power, and that’s why they were so feared.

The two figures looked like they were talking but the Darkness didn’t speak the language of people and couldn’t hold on to words, that had their own power, therefore all they could hear was the cold silence of a possible fight. Then, like a snake, the blurred figure attacked the first one and a searing light blinded Adra for a second, cutting her powers off like one would cut the strings of a puppet, sending a sudden ray of pain through her throat and her chest. 

By the shocked gasps that Adra could hear through her own surprise, she could understand she wasn’t the only one who had felt it.

When all seemed back to normal and the room adjusted back to how it always was — the shadows slipping back to their rightful places — the witches looked at each other, all surprised and fearing. The ritual wasn’t supposed to end up like this, the memory should have continued.

But they still had an answer. 

“Murder,” Spiridon announced in a low tone of voice while the rest of the witches whispered among themselves, unease with what had just happened. 

Adra observed with caution when the officers walked as far away from the witches as they could while they moved but looking convinced enough to not cause trouble — or maybe they were a little more preoccupied with getting the hell out of there. She turned to Eupraxia, whose green eyes shone with presumption while facing the lead detective.

“As I said it would be,” she said.

Adra had the desire to recoil back at the danger those words could mean. By what she knew about the woman, Eupraxia was ambitious but rarely a fool. That was one of the few moments when the matron was purely stupid.

Detective Carino’s jawline was tense when he stared at Adra, ignoring Eupraxia and Spiridon’s verdict. It was just when she nodded that he turned to the woman and said:

“I’m going to send this information to my superiors, madam Skourleti, and I thank you for the help, just like I would for the discretion,” he said formally, his voice tight and rigid, his eyes sharp with an authority that seemed to come to him naturally, not from empty threats.

Eupraxia looked pleased with that answer and nodded, quickly moving away to join the fool group of women who admired her when the rest of the coven stared at her with caution. Spiridon, taking the reins of the situation, announced to the rest of the room, his voice echoing through the shadows this time:

“Well, this night was surprising to us all and I’m sure we’re all tired. Therefore, I think going home and having a good night's sleep.”

The witches grumbled their agreement, all ready to get rid of the officers, even when none of them were really planning to go home.

“Adra,” the lead detective’s voice caught her attention and Adra looked at the soft violet eyes they both shared. “We should go together.”

“Fine, Dad,” she agreed with a sigh, knowing that Carino would want to talk about what had happened that night in one way or another, so it would be better to be done with it.

Ignoring the equally disgusted looks from witches and officers, Adra took the overcoat her father gave her and put it on, sighing happily when she felt the warm flannel from the lining under the black fabric, pleased to verify that the garment was from her own wardrobe and it went all the way down the end of her equally black dress, hugging her waist like a bodice.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, smiling at Carino, who returned the smile, still tense but caring.

“I thought you’d be here, with all this happening,” was his answer.

He sighed, looking tired, and Adra just pressed her lips together, without voicing her preoccupation. They would have time to talk while walking home.

In silence, both climbed up the stairs, emerging to the cold night air and the mist, the golden lights of the poles were the only thing they could see in the distance. Other officers from the Guard were there too, no doubt waiting to get company for the night and Adra tried not to frown at them when their eyes locked.

All of them knew she was the boss’ daughter, the only untouchable witch in that city. And not because Carino protected her but because she was the only one who had the chance to attack them back and not face the consequences of it. It was enough that they feared her even more than they feared other witches.

“Adra!” Thassie’s voice came to her ears, making her turn in time to see her friend climbing up the Coven’s stairs, her expression preoccupied but Thalassa’s arm was pulled by one of the officers, a heart-shaped man that was probably useless. 

Adra saw the panic growing in Thalassa’s eyes from afar and made her way back to her without thinking twice, in time to hear the officer saying:

“You’re a pretty piece, huh?” he sniveled, tightening his grip on her arm when Thalassa tried to escape. “Maybe you could show me what you can do, witch.”

Thassie tried to escape once again, looking scared but he just raised his hand to grip her hair. Adra caught his wrist before he could, however, making the unknown officer let go of Thalassa to face her.

“It’ll be better for your health if you don’t touch her,” Adra just said, her voice whispering the danger in the Darkness but it was the dagger in her hand, hidden from the other Guard officers, that posed the biggest threat.

The man’s eyes widened with fear when he felt the blade against his stomach.

“You little whore...”

“Careful, Gregório,” Carino said, appearing behind Adra, his voice soft, like his daughter’s, just a ruse to hide the promise of violence underneath his words. “My daughter is a bigger threat than I need to be. And I’m still your boss. Go home.”

The man looked from Adra to Carino, doubtless recognizing the semblance between them, and made his way back, whining his protests as the filthy pig he was. Letting him go, Adra turned to Thalassa, using the shield of her father’s broad shoulders to hide her dagger back in its place.

“Are you okay?” she asked and Thalassa just nodded, embracing herself. Adra’s voice got softer than she was used to when she spoke the next words: “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Thalassa said, staring at Carino, who sighed and walked away just enough so that they could talk without being heard. When she got comfortable, Thassie grabbed Adra’s hand and said, her blue eyes shining brightly. “Promise me you’re not going to hear that demon, Adra.”

She hesitated, caught by surprise by the gravity in Thalassa’s expression, and then pressed her lips together in a tight line, incapable of promising something she wasn’t able to uphold. When Thalassa saw that, her blue eyes shone with her frustration and she let go abruptly of her hand.

“Fine, and then,” she said, already climbing down the stairs, back to the Coven, no doubt to alert the other witches to use the alternative exit that night.

Adra watched her walking away, wanting to ask her friend to come back and promise her whatever she wanted but she knew she couldn’t. That was her only chance of getting into the Academy, of being the first witch to ever do such a thing. And Adra knew the importance of being the first. But she also couldn’t promise something to Thalassa because at the back of her mind, around a thin web, shone a part of the memory that wasn’t seen. 

And in it, Damian Kolasi entered the room where Aglaie Kalliergei had died just a couple of minutes after the killer.

Chapter 4 - Coming soon...

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To Decadent Poets - Chapter 5

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

Once upon a time, there was a girl no one called for. No one uttered her name. (She didn’t have one) - Isabela Penov, The Impossible Lullaby.

Annie Wood was filled with expectation to meet the boys who’d be her company in Taigh Hill during the years of war but none of them seemed comfortable enough to start a conversation. Despite the terrible situation, she couldn’t say she hadn’t been expecting anxiously for the arrival of her uncle’s godson and the children of his two closest employees.

She was tired of walking around Taigh Hill alone like a too-colorful ghost haunting the sunny mansion, considering her sister, Ellen, seemed to be too busy with the clothes and jewelry she could lend from her mother to go to the city balls — and with her fiancée, of course.

Even Annie’s mother was more worried about the balls than her own youngest daughter, so Annie spent her days passing from one adult to the other. Sometimes she’d stay with her uncle Elijah in his office or the library but it wasn’t healthy for a teenager to be always inside the house, so it wasn’t rare that he ended up making her get out. Other times her father could spare some time with her but those were rare and, therefore, very loved also.

She didn’t think there was a human being she liked more than her dad.

Jamie Turner, however, was a close second. When he wasn’t working as a butler in Taigh Hill, he usually distracted Annie with his magic tricks and taught her to play poker (under the condition that she’d never bet, of course). But his obligations to the huge mansion usually didn’t allow Jamie to elongate those moments.

So, anyone could imagine how much Annie was excited to have some company her age to shake things up a bit. However, the boys didn’t seem at all comfortable and two of them didn’t even seem to be trustworthy.

She liked Noah and his shy, and calm manners. It didn’t take long for him to grab a book from the suitcase he’d brought, burying his face in it through the rest of the journey. Judging by the cover, Annie could see it was a book of poems and she got curious, just like the other two boys, Oliver and Christian.

She noticed when Evans poked Krause, pointing at Noah reading, and they exchanged a look like they were laughing at the fact the boy was reading. Annie frowned almost immediately, guessing the two were mocking the poor third boy.

Annie hated that kind of boy, who mocked everyone else because they thought so highly of themselves. But at least she already knew who she was gonna befriend: uncle’s godson wasn’t as interesting as she thought he’d be.

“Miss Wood, please!” Marjorie, her housekeeper, took Annie from her stream of thoughts and she soon realized why: while she was thinking, her body had been slowly sliding until she was seated at the edge of her seat, not even a bit worried about her posture.

Annie didn’t care that much but Marjorie, although loving, had always been very rigid regarding “christian” morals. Which basically meant Annie simply needed to, in the older woman’s mind, be a virginal lady at fourteen (almost fifteen) years old.

Which was obviously just a delusion. Teenagers were stupid and they’d always be stupid. This was the premise of being one, after all: making a lot of idiotic mistakes and regret bitterly, having their hearts broken by someone who wasn’t even worth it, fighting with their families, slamming their bedroom doors when they were made… things like that.

It was simply Annie’s purpose to be anything by a well-behaved lady.

But, of course, to her mother, whatever Annie firmly believed (or didn’t believe in) at her young age wasn’t important. So, she was tossed aside to etiquette lessons and to catechism with Marjorie during at least one-third of her week. Which was very, very boring.

Lest you misunderstood her, she knew it was important to learn about Jesus’ story and how he cared for the poor and vulnerable but there was just something in the way Marjorie spoke about it Annie couldn’t bear. She meant, how did the same man who preached about loving thy neighbor could dictate she couldn’t wear pants and more, punish her for it?

Uncle Elijah used to say Marjory had too much religion and too little faith but Annie wasn’t sure about that either. She’d seen the housekeeper getting emotional while she prayed, she’d seen her feeling God. Annie thought Marjorie let religion dictate her faith and that was dangerous: the Woman trusted more on others than herself — that was the problem.

At least, that was what Annie thought.

“We’re not far now,” said Marjorie suddenly, looking at the lawn that surrounded Taigh Hill. Annie followed the woman’s eyes when she grimaced and smiled as she saw Jack with his giant case on his back entering the property.

She couldn’t wait to get to know him but she needed to distract Marjorie first, since she thought the wanderer wasn’t a good influence on her. He mom as well didn’t think it was right of Annie to talk to someone from a lower social class. Elliott, on the other hand, was always making conversation with the man and Annie simply adored Jack.

Fortunately, Marjorie was too busy with the boy’s arrival and guiding them through the mansion, so Annie could manage to escape an run around. The first thing she did was run to Jack, who was ringing a little bell.

“Jack, I’m so glad you came!” She greeted him joyfully, watching as the man with a gray, thick beard, smiled at her, good-humored as always. “Do you have another quatrain for me?”

“Oh, Wood girl,” he greeted her with the same enthusiasm as she did even though he was almost thirty years older, his discreetly toothless smile illuminating his face through the thick beard. “Of course, I always have a quatrain for such a smart girl like yourself!”

“Declaim it, please!” She asked as he took off the bag from his shoulders, putting it on the ground. He opened the bag to reveal at least a dozen leather books, all of them about different matters, and the letters of their titles shining in gold on the covers.

She got to her knees to look at the volumes, listening intently as the vendor’s voice got deeper as he declaimed the small, funny little quatrain:

I’ll put your portrait On the pig stall So when me pigs need aid I’ll remember your love conquers all.

Annie laughed at the little rhyme, which Jack declaimed with an improvised and funny performance, throwing his arms around as he acted what he was declaiming.

“This was the worst love quatrain I’ve ever heard, Jack,” she said as her laughter died, and the old man, who was already laughing with her, laughed even more. He had a loud laughter, as happy as an adult could have.

Annie smiled at the books in the bag but soon the old salesman squeezed the tip of her nose between two curved fingers, daring her:

“I bet you can’t come up with one better right here and now, Wood girl.”

Annie smiled and looked around, watching the gardens of Taigh Hill’s property attentively, the quatrain rolling off of her tongue with scary ease:

Don’t give me yellow flowers For desperation is yet to come Give me little pink flowers So, I may yet return home

Jack, who always wore a black hat, took it off from his balding head and saluted her quatrain, clapping like a proud grandfather. It warmed Annie’s heart immediately and she didn’t hesitate to get up and thank her small, loved audience.

It was at that moment she saw Noah walking through the lawn. Annie didn’t know exactly what Marjorie had said or where she went with the boys but it seemed it didn’t take much time after all. Noah had a book in his hand and he was walking towards one of the huge willow trees next to the maze’s bush wall.

According to the map Annie had seen at the library, the maze on Taigh Hill’s property was gigantic and it even had a small stone fort in the Middle — a reminder of its feudal times, forgotten now — but she never managed to find it for real. On the other side of the mansion, there was a long set of lawn and a lake, in which Annie loved to swim when it was warm enough, which didn’t occur often.

Impulsively, Annie called, raising her voice:

“Kurtz!” The boy looked around, seemingly confused for being called by anyone.

When his eyes found Jack, who watched curiously, and Annie, the girl gestured for him to get closer.

Hesitant, Noah went to them, his skinny body seemed to shake in the breeze, which had gotten the tip of Annie’s nose cold and the joints of her fingers hurt. He was really pale, enough for the wind to make his cheeks blush, and he was tall. Annie reached just his chest, as she realized when he got close enough.

Noah also had bright brown eyes like those Annie had seen when she did charity work with underprivileged kids. It didn’t make sense but that wasn’t a matter to ask about in a casual conversation. He didn’t say anything as he got close, maybe too shy to strike up a conversation, so Annie turned back to Jack, smiling.

“Jack, this is Noah Kurtz, he’ll live with us for a while.”

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Noah,” said Jack, taking off his hat once more as he smiled in a friendly manner. “Why don’t you pick a book from my magic bag, huh?”

“I’m grateful, but...” the boy began to say, biting his lower lip hard. Je kept one hand in the pocket of his old tweed jacket while holding the same book from the carriage with the other. In general, Noah seemed hesitant, as if afraid of being himself. Annie could almost see his stiffened back through the fabric of his jacket. “I don’t have money to buy any of them.”

“Well, good thing my books are not for sale, then, Master Noah,” said the salesman as he’d once said to Annie the first time they’d met in the nearest city. “I’m a dream-sower, an enemy of the ignorance that plagues our lands. All of my books are a gift, not a product.”

“He lives off of selling antiques,” Annie kindly explained to Noah, smiling when she noticed the boy’s brown eyes shining in excitement. “You can choose one.”

“Just one per month,” Jack warned as he often did, and then he turned to Annie. “Oh, Wood girl here is quick as a little mouse at her reading. No doubt she already finished the one she got last week.”

Innocently, Annie smiled, knowing Jack’s accusation was right on track. The book (which had been great, by the way) was already tucked away in the small library she was slowly building for herself.

As she saw the timid smile on Noah’s face, however, all Annie could think of was that she might actually gain a friend from all of this.

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To Decadent Poets - Chapter 6

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

The man, the beast and the insect, at its shadow Live, away from hunger and fatigue: In its branches take shelter the ditties And the loves of the mockingbird. — Olavo Bilac, Old Trees

Although he was used to a comfortable life, Chris wasn’t prepared for Taigh Hill: that wasn’t any mansion, it was a manor. Just the entry hall could encapsulate his entire house with space to spare, and he didn’t even talk about the decoration.

If anyone told Chris a king had lived there, he wouldn’t hesitate to believe it. The stairs to the second and third floors, which began across the hall, formed the shape of a tree, splitting into branches to reach each side of the two floors up. In the middle of the first store, a huge tapestry that had a story sewn into it was laid on the wall above a fireplace.

The housekeeper, however, didn’t allow any of them to take in their initial surprise, walking towards the stairs as if the place was nothing at all. For her, who took care of the place every day and all day long, it might not be, but fuck, Chris thought while the three of them jogged side by side to keep up with the rigid woman while still trying to take in everything, wishing they had a thousand eyes just so they could see it all.

There was a huge chandelier hanging from the high ceiling of the entry hall and the sounds spread, sounded, echoed throughout the place, especially because Miss Turner couldn’t stop talking, the echoes heightening the annoying tone of her voice. Chris was an inch away from telling her off when the echoes faded away and they entered a closeted corridor.

“You mustn’t make much noise because Mister Elliott’s wife has regular migraines and, if you do make noise, you’ll go to bed without dinner,” said Miss Turner severely without turning, as if she was sure she’d be heard, it didn’t matter by who. Chris considered some old people really sounded like that, shrugging to his thoughts while exchanging an exasperated look with Oliver. The boy smirked a bit, sarcastic, just like Chris had seen a couple of times during their trip together. “Oh, and I was warned that Mister Elliott’s eldest, Miss Ellen, doesn’t want you going inside her saloon. I ask that you respect it.”

“She has a saloon?” Chris asked the only one of the three there who seemed akin to breaking a couple of rules. Of course, he was the only one who could question them: he was somewhat akin to family, after all.

“Yes, she has, Mister Evans,” said the housekeeper, turning a bit, her voice polite. “It was a request from Miss Ellen herself to her father and uncle she matured.”

Although Chris thought the idea of giving a saloon to a nineteen-year-old girl was ridiculous, he didn’t say anything, shrinking back to the horizontal line, which was formed by him, Oliver, and Noah Kurtz, not realizing his shoulder brushing the second’s for a moment.

When Noah seemed to shrink, however, Chris looked at him. The boy, however, didn’t look back, making it clear as day he had no interest in speaking with Chris. The boy, for once, just shrugged internally and stopped so as not to bum pinto Miss Turner. She, on the other hand, had stopped in front of the fourth door to the right in the corridor.

“Your room is here. Mister Elijah wanted to put you in separate rooms but Mister Elliott thought it’d be best if you were sleeping in the same room so you could socialize and not being stuck in your own worlds.”

The woman obviously respected the two men she was speaking about and that made Chris feel a little less apprehensive about the godfather he never met and his family. If their employees liked them, that was enough to say they were likable enough. The housekeeper let them pass by her and scan the room while she kept speaking:

“Dinner will be ready at six pm and I’ll come get you when the time has come for you to go downstair today. For now, I’d suggest you use your time correctly and unpack or go explore the garden before it’s dark. And don’t forget to be quiet around the library!”

“Why do we have to...” but Chris didn’t have the chance to make his question, once the housekeeper closed the door behind her as she left before he could speak. The red-haired boy frowned, then whistled. “Is it me, or she doesn’t seem to like us very much?”

He was left to laugh alone and, when he turned to know the reason why at least Oliver didn’t comment, he found the boy turned to the bed he’d chosen, the one nearest the window. Meanwhile, Noah put his bag on the bed nearest to the door, leaving Chris with the bed by the wall. Even weirded out by the silence, Chris resigned himself to unpacking just like Miss Turner had suggested.

The beds in the room he’d share with the Other two boys could accommodate him and the others, plus at least more nine people put side by side. Chris didn’t doubt they could sleep the three of them in the same one with space to spare. It seemed the bed of a king, just like everything about that manor seemed to reek of royalty. There were even curtains on the beds: they were golden, just like the sheets and the blankets.

Chris wanted to say something to break the ice he felt around the two boys behind him but, before he could think of something, Noah left the room leaving his suitcase on the bed without unpacking it or saying anything.

“Kinda rude,” Chris commented quietly, raising an eyebrow at Oliver, who was still in the same position, silent as a crypt. Weirded out by this behavior, Chris went to his friend, brushing his shoulder gently with his own. “Hey, is there a problem? You can talk to me if you want.”

“It’s nothing, it’s just…” Oliver said, no doubt trying to lie because it was obvious there was something wrong. The boy sighed mourningfully, and said: “I miss my dad.”

There was more about it Oliver wasn’t telling him but Chris didn’t pressure him for more information. He couldn’t forget that, as much as it didn’t seem like it, he had met the other boy just some hours ago and there were limits Chris didn’t really know whether he could cross or not.

Therefore, all he did was sigh while sitting in his bed and smiled at his joined hands and separated knees.

“I also miss my mom.” Chris scrunched his nose at the reminder of Maxwell but didn’t say anything out loud. Instead, Chris talked about Jane and how amazing she was. Oliver looked over at him for the moment Chris began to describe his mother, his blank eyes making him look more German than ever but the boy still took a seat by his side, listening silently: “My mom loves to paint. She’s great and has always dreamed of being a painter but she gave up this dream when she married my dad, considering my grandpa wanted her to stay home to take care of me. My dad… I’ve never seen him agreeing with my grandpa but he also doesn’t disagree with him. My mom has the prettiest, softest hair I’ve ever seen and she smells like rosemary.”

Chris closed his eyes to imagine Jeane by his side, smiling at him the way just a mother could do. Looking at him the same way she smiled when Chris was younger and his biggest worry was whether or not she had made ginger biscuits.

Oliver stayed quiet for a long time after that, allowing Chris to recover from the onslaught of feelings after he talked about Jeane. He gulped, swallowing down the tears.

“My mother’s name was Liora,” the blond boy said in a murmur, so low it seemed like a whisper, his eyes staring at something Chris couldn’t see. Then, hesitating, as if he feared Chris was going to start yelling at him or something, Oliver added: “She was taken by the Führer before we left Germany.”

Chris knew “Führer” was a word they used to refer to Hitler. So the magnitude of it all hit him like a punch, comprehension making his heart beat painfully, cutting his airways. He couldn’t help but look at Oliver with pity, although he knew that was certainly not the desired reaction. It was just that Chris couldn’t help it: it was like Oliver’s pain had spread to him, because, after all, wasn’t it his own as well in a certain way?

All of those crimes committed against the Jews, the black people, Romanis, different peoples… wasn’t it his pain as well? They were humans. They were people, they could’ve been people he passed by on his way to school, they could be his professor, his friend’s parents, and relatives, they could’ve been his relatives. It could’ve been him.

Chris saw the pain as his duty. He had to feel the pain for all of the families destroyed by Hitler and by the war that was happening. He had to feel pain because it was the least, he could do if it really mattered for him.

But Chris didn’t say any of that. He didn’t ramble about how concentration camps or did a monologue stating the obvious — all human beings should be respected. No, Oliver knew all of that, he didn’t need anyone to talk his ear off about it. He needed to be heard, or his privacy respected, whichever he preferred.

“Do you want to talk about her?” Chris asked then, as delicately as he could even though he could still feel his disgust for Hitler leaving his tongue heavy and sticky, making it hard to swallow.

In his nape, there was a shiver being born. Oliver kept silent for longer this time; his lips half-open in almost words.

“No,” he finally exhaled, getting more comfortable in Chris’ bed, his back straight. “I was just worried because it’s my first time away from my dad since they took her and I don’t want him to… spiral because of it again.”

The worry in Oliver’s tone was palpable and, for a moment, Chris felt a bit envious about his relationship with his dad. He wanted Max to care enough about him and Jeane to actually mourn if something happened to them. He wanted his father to care.

Admitting that even to himself was like a Punch to his stomach. Chris knew trying not to care would be useless someday but until then, making these mistakes wouldn’t be allowed. He shouldn’t have to beg to have his Father in his life, he shouldn’t have to beg for anyone’s love. Love was something to be freely given, selflessly and happily given. Love was something to be offered, not something to be stolen.

After all, that was the reason why Chris thought it was ridiculous when one of his friends said he’d stolen a girl’s heart. It was ridiculous because they really thought that trying and trying and trying the same way everytime would give them a different outcome. If a girl wasn’t interested in giving him a chance, Chris just moved on to the next girl to interest him: it wasn’t so hard to hear a no after you got used to it.

Anyhow, he was digressing, Chris realized when Oliver shook his hand in front of his face, catching his attention back.

“Did I daydream for a bit?” Chris asked, embarrassed, and Oliver chuckled.

“For quite some time, actually,” he just said.

“I’m sorry”, said Chris with a sigh, turning in the bed to look straight at his friend. “I didn’t know what to say and ended up thinking about my own dad.”

“It’s okay, I can’t expect people to know what to say to something like that.” Oliver smiled, clearly embarrassed and a bit worried. “What did you think of Miss Turner?”

“I think she looks like a Woman from the last century, but who knows? She could surprise us.” Chris answered and shrugged as he laid on the bed, supporting his head with his fingers crossed under it, looking at the ceiling.

“She seems a bit nicer than those women.” Oliver also shrugged but didn’t lay down: he preferred to stay seated on the soft mattress. “What about the other boy... Noah?”

“He’s... quiet.” Chris shrugged again. “I still don’t know what to think of him, actually. I didn’t have the time to get to know him.”

Oliver made no comments, nor did he disagree about anything in regards to Noah. The two boys stayed quiet for a while, the silence of people that had nothing to talk about. So, to break the ice, or maybe to get some alone time, Oliver got up and said:

“I should write to my dad and tell him we arrived and it all went well. I promised him I would.

“Hm, I need to write to my mom as well, although I didn’t promise anything,” Chris said, closing his eyes as the Journey began to take a toll on him. He could feel his body getting heavier and his mind slower. — I’ll just sleep for a bit. Wake me up in an hour, please.

He didn’t even hear Oliver’s agreement before he was out.

Chapter 7 - Coming Soon...

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I'm not sure if I'm crazy but...

Does anyone experience this very deep feeling of euphoria sometimes after a particularly bad anxiety wave?

Like, sometimes for me, I'll just be stressing myself out about something and then, the next day, I'll be calmer and everything will just feel so bright and so light.

I feel so happy for just existing that I'll just lay on my floor and laugh, really laugh, just because I exist.

And I really don't want to be alone in that.

Help me decide or I'll go mad

My current dilemma as a writer is whether I write...

A. A gay romance between Romeo and Mercutio with Juliet as Romeo's beard and best friend, the fight of both houses their most terrible enemy and a lot of angst because of compulsory heterosexuality

OR

B. A poly romance between Romeo, Mercutio, and Juliet with enemies to lovers Romeo and Juliet, a very-tired-of-the-fight-let's-make-them-kiss Mercutio, secret relationships, a side romance between Rosalina and Paris, and a mystery in fair Verona that Mercutio is obsessing over.

I just love my ocs relationship

I mean, I'm always down for enemies to lovers but whatever profound hatred and honest disdain they have for each other's very being that will eventually turn to the sweetest, most kind type of love Amalie and Khaos have going on?

That shit is making me go FERAL

I have seen death more times than I would care to remember. I stared at its face as he loomed over my brother. I watched as he sat at the foot of my grandmother's bed. I looked him in the eye as he followed my grandfather. Each time I begged him to have mercy. To leave them alone. This was the first time that I gazed upon him and felt his embrace hoping he would take me with him.

The more I get matured the more I get disgusted by people's nature. Once you have seen people's true colours, no matter how lonely you're, don't connect with those toxic people again. They gonna lower your vibe, mood and your energy levels. You're better off alone than to be with those people.

You know you're different when you see people trying to put you down for no reason. You know you're the main character when you see women talking shit behind your back all the time. Take no shit girl. Your positivity and self confidence will irritate the hell out of these insecure people. Keep shining.

I really have trust issues when it comes to female friendships. I personally seen lot of women coming to me and talking shit about their own best friends and the next day they be getting along with the same person like as if they never talked shit behind their back. Do you guys know there is a thing called loyalty ? If you claim someone as your friend you should defend their name behind their back not defame. I don't know how the hell in this universe they even call this shit as friendship.

I used to believe that scoring good marks and topping exams makes a person smart and intelligent. After joining college I've realised that I was wrong. From my personal experience I'm telling you that I've seen people who are academically so smart yet still lack basic common sense and manners. Education doesn't means just scoring good marks it's more like how much you've evolved as a person.

Being a pretty woman is really tough especially when it's comes to making friendships with other women. In most female friendships I had in my life either that woman sees me as a competition or tries to sabotage my confidence. It's always the same case and I am tired of this bullshit. Now I am no longer looking for friendships. I stick to myself. Sticking to yourself initially feels uncomfortable but it's peaceful.

One thing I learned on my own is to never ignore your intuition or gut instinct. Once you get a feeling that a certain person is toxic just from their vibe and energy, you better believe it. Ever felt your energy levels drained after speaking to a person ? Ever felt extremely low or tired after speaking to some people ? I felt this many times in my life. When I came to know about these people I just realised that my intuition was right all the time. Trust me if you're a person who is highly empathetic and spiritually evolved, your body is naturally going to reject those people whose energies are not good for your soul. This is the reason why I mostly don't talk to a lot of people. Some people think it's ego but I call it being protective of my energy.

The best life-long relationship you'll ever have in your life is the one you have with yourself. Analyse your own self, find your strengths and weakness, find what makes makes you happy and do those things on regular basis. Make a list of things that makes you feel special about yourself. Reflect back on compliments you've received in your life. These things might sound very basic but trust me it will improve your self-esteem in the long run. Nobody can shake your confidence level if you know who you are.

One of the ways where a toxic person tries to put you down is by asking "what's your name" or by saying "hey, I forgot your name" or by mispronouncing your name even though they know you for months. If you're wondering why they do this, these people are very well aware of your power and they do this on purpose to break your confidence level. From their perspective they want you to think that you're not that much significant or notable to them. They act like they don't even heard that much about you just to make you feel inferior or common. Watch out for these kind of people they're actually jealous and intimidated by you. I personally seen a lot of jealous women exhibiting this behaviour.

She ain't anti-social. She's just highly selective with people who she allows into her life as she is extremely selfish with her own time and enegy.

Currently in my "I don't give a fuck era." The era where I don't give a fuck about what anybody thinks of me. The only person that I value and trust is myself and I am gonna do whatever it takes to keep my mind peaceful. I am extremely selfish for myself and my energy and I'm gonna get highly selective with people who can get access to me. I am no longer going to allow some random idiots to affect my inner wellness without my conscious permission. I am gonna cut off anything from my life if it costs my inner peace. Period.

People will only like you when you're on the same level as them or below them. Once you start to level up, they gonna hate you. They become terrified of your potential by what if you become more successful than them. Then they'll become obsessed with humbling you or belittling you. They're not there to support you, they're there to sabotage you. Never ever hesitate to cut off these people from your life. That's why they say you will lose a lot of people when you evolve.

I want a man who is untouchable by other women. A man who is not easily accessible to other women. A man with strong boundaries and standards. If another woman can be friendly with you, I don't want you at all. Period.

Never ever trust people's words. Trust their actions, vibes and energy. You're not what you say, you're what you do. Your words mean nothing if it is not backed up by actions. You don't tell this world who you are by words, you tell them with your actions. Period.