Lore [6/???] Part 2 of 2

[Redacted] jolts, foggy mind trying to understand the whispering words against their cheek.

Words.

How?

They know they are alone. They know it.

But then they feel it. The cold swirl of wind through the damp undergrowth. The harsh whistle through the pines. The scattering of leaves and the rasp of breath.

𝗜⃥𝘴̸ 𝘵̸𝗵⃥𝘪̸𝘀⃥.̸ 𝘞̸𝗵⃥𝘢̸𝘁⃥ 𝘆⃥𝘰̸𝘂⃥ 𝘄⃥𝘪̸𝘀⃥𝘩̸?⃥

Is this. What you wish?

[Redacted]'s head lolls to the side. The world tilts wildly and doesn't right itself.

They want to ask What? They want to cry. They want to swallow down the dry knot in their throat. The cottony feel in their veins.

𝗜⃥𝘴̸ 𝘵̸𝗵⃥𝘪̸𝘀⃥.̸ 𝘞̸𝗵⃥𝘢̸𝘁⃥ 𝘆⃥𝘰̸𝘂⃥ 𝘄⃥𝘪̸𝘀⃥𝘩̸?⃥

Is this. What you wish?

The voice is just wind, just their dying brain senselessly firing off signals. The last rattling cry of synapses.

Yes, they think. Yes, this is what I want. I want the hurt to stop. I want to sleep without seeing their faces, slack and cold and terrified. I want to give him peace.

𝗬⃥𝘰̸𝘂⃥ 𝘄⃥𝘢̸𝗻⃥𝘵̸.⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘰̸ 𝘯̸𝗼⃥𝘵̸ 𝘧̸𝗲⃥𝘦̸𝗹⃥.̸

You want. To not feel.

Yes, they think, desperate. The world seems to be fading out around the edges. Going soft and dark.

𝗧⃥𝘰̸ 𝘯̸𝗼⃥𝘵̸ 𝘧̸𝗲⃥𝘦̸𝗹⃥.̸ 𝘐̸𝘀⃥ 𝗱⃥𝘪̸𝗳⃥𝘧̸𝗲⃥𝘳̸𝗲⃥𝘯̸𝘁⃥.̸ 𝘛̸𝗵⃥𝘢̸𝗻⃥ 𝘁⃥𝘰̸ 𝘥̸𝗶⃥𝘦̸.⃥

To not feel. Is different. Than to die.

Can't. See. How. Now they're halting, just like the voice in their head. Slowing down. Slipping.

𝗪⃥𝘦̸.⃥ 𝗖⃥𝘢̸𝗻⃥ 𝘀⃥𝘩̸𝗼⃥𝘸̸ 𝘺̸𝗼⃥𝘶̸.⃥

We. Can show you.

[Redacted] would smile if they could. If they had any control left. Too bad... you did...n't... tell. Me... sooner.

𝗜⃥𝘴̸ 𝘵̸𝗵⃥𝘢̸𝘁⃥.̸ 𝘞̸𝗵⃥𝘢̸𝘁⃥ 𝘆⃥𝘰̸𝘂⃥ 𝘄⃥𝘪̸𝘀⃥𝘩̸?⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘦̸𝗮⃥𝘳̸𝘁⃥𝘭̸𝗲⃥𝘴̸𝘀⃥.̸ 𝘉̸𝘂⃥𝘵̸ 𝘸̸𝗵⃥𝘰̸𝗹⃥𝘦̸.⃥

Is that. What you wish? Heartless. But whole.

Sure... why not...

.

.

 .

Hunter hears Deerly's laugh even through the chaos of the kitchen's bustle. A fluting sound, a springtime bird calling out.

The sound always makes him smile. It reminds him of his mother's laugh despite them being very different. He thinks it's the joy ringing through more than the sound itself.

He doesn't understand why the others hesitate around her. Why Xavier hates her. Why no one will meet her gaze.

He puts that from his mind, grinning and grabbing the plate of cooled sugar cookies to the side of his decorating station. They're her favorite - uniced, plain, and perfectly round. The sugar crystals glisten on their pale skins, reflecting the harsh florescent into something beautiful.

He only looks up when setting the plate on the serving counter.

His welcoming smile freezes.

Deerly is walking toward him, but she isn't alone. She's with a beautiful person whose caramel skin and silky black hair Hunter still sees in his dreams and nightmares alike.

He wants to ask a million questions. How? Why? When? How?!

But he knows. Deep down, he knows that the thing in the woods offered something, and [Redacted] agreed.

"Oh, Hunter!" Deerly smiles, the skin around her blue eyes crinkling with happiness. "This is Hunter," she tells [Redacted]. "He's only been here a few months, but he's taken to the campus like a duck to water. I think he'll be an excellent candidate for you to shadow for a while!"

No, Hunter begs the universe. No, no, no -

[Redacted] finally meets Hunter's gaze.

A chill shudders along Hunter's spine. A chill that doesn't leave and that keeps quaking through his fingers.

Their smile is syrupy sweet, but their eyes. Their eyes are flat, dead things. Hollow and dark like coals.

"Hey," they say. "I'm Jordan."

Hunter grips the counter, the stability the only thing that keeps him from hitting the floor.

 A new name cannot change who they are. What they've done.

But something about those eyes tells Hunter that the list of what they've done has gotten even longer. And worse.

It's always worse when deals get made in the woods.