Falling Skies

Fourty Two

Though weeks have passed, December can't rid himself of the visions of red or the toxic fumes of fire long extinguished. The summer heat is too reminiscent of flames licking at his back, of smoke swirling within his lungs and the deafening cry of a beast gone mad. Blood filled chalices only bring back the memories of blood splattered across stone and crimson flowers drifting in the breeze.

December rubs at his eyes, the thoughts wearing heavier by the day as he lets out a breath dripping with exhaustion. He's been wandering the corridors for hours each night, unable to sleep due to the stress of the last month.

Moonlight splashes across his back as he turns the corner, body dragging as he stumbles into his bedroom and falls upon quilted blankets with a huff. His weary body collapses into the material, the soft cotton wrapping around each sore limb until he's fully immersed in its depths. Yet, as he rolls over on the plush fabric a soft crinkle catches his attention, hands searching through the material until they graze upon stiff paper.

Curious, December pulls the mystery paper from beneath his stomach, brows furrowing at the sight of the letter crumpled in his grasp. The black envelope is difficult to view in the moonlight, thumb grazing over the golden wax that seals the letter. Though he can't quite see the details of the seal, his thumb can make out the dips and grooves of a bird stamped into the wax.

Holding the envelope against the moonlight, December breaks the seal, flakes of wax falling into his quilt though he pays it no mind, merely pulling out the letter with a nervous anticipation.

December,
Please consider joining me in the bathhouse tonight at two. There's something I would like to discuss with you in private. I will be awaiting your arrival.
- Wren

There's a knot that forms within him at the conclusion of the letter, hand falling upon his stomach as it scrambles itself with nerves. The bathhouse... December's cheeks grow hot at the thought, memories flashing by too quickly as he scurries from his place on the bed. He's not even a step out of his bedroom before he's colliding with flesh, the scent of anise flooding his nose at impact.

December doesn't need to look up to know who the intruder is, the heavy scent of spice giving him away instantly. "Jax, why are you outside my door?" He questions, head still downcast as he pinches the bridge of his nose in pain. "It's nearly two in the-"

His head flies up wildly as he makes the connection, eyes wide as he scans the body before him before his gaze falls on black hair, stomach dropping as Ryder gifts him a small smile.

"I'm guessing you got an invitation too?" Ryder quizzes, holding up the invitation clasped between his middle and forefinger. "Any idea what this is about?"

So he gave everyone an invitation...

December silently shakes his head, a hand coming up to rub away any residue of disappointment still residing in his expression. "No, but the bathhouse isn't that far from here." He starts, turning to take the lead as to hide his disappointment from the others.

They're upon the door in mere minutes, December refusing to hesitate as he pushes into the door, the familiar humidity of the bathhouse flooding his nose and mouth with a wild cough. Ryder joins in, hand coming up to wave the heated air from his face to no avail, black hair already sticking to his face from the wet atmosphere.

The bathhouse doesn't feel as glamorous at night, the moonlight shimmering in the reflection of the gold dull in comparison to the morning sun. The room still houses the overbearing aroma of patchouli and herbs, the scent sticking to the clouds of steam and burning his eyes as it adheres to his skin.