twelve.

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..⃗. [coming back to me] 𑁍ࠜ ・゚ˊˎ

╰┈➤ ❝ [i am frightened and doubtful, and everyone who touches me must suffer

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╰┈ [i am frightened and doubtful, and everyone who touches me must suffer.]
╰┈➤  martha gellhorn

A FINGER TAPPED HER SHOULDER, JOLTING HER AWAKE. Alfred sent her an apologetic smile as he took a step back. A groan involuntarily slipped out at the ache in her neck and back. Her hands reached up to massage the muscles in a vain attempt to quell the dull ache. The computer screen in front of her was still black, glitching every now and then. It'd been, what, two hours? And there had been nothing but radio silence. "You should head home, Miss Siobhan. I can take it from here." Alfred spoke in a soft and caring voice. "You need to get some rest."

Part of her wanted to protest, claim that she was fine. But the exhaustion in her eyes, the weight of her eyelids, all told her different. With a soft sigh, she nodded, slowly pushing herself off of the stool that she'd made home for the past few hours. She pulled the blanket off, folding it and setting it on one of the empty tables. "Are you sure? I can always just make some coffee-"

"I'll call you if we get him back." Alfred cut her off, not wanting her to waste herself away in this cave like he'd watched Bruce do for so long.

With a soft nod, she began to make her way to the elevator. As the doors slid shut, she watched the computer screen, hoping that it would turn on. But it remained black. When the elevator opened up on the upper floor, she stepped out into the dark hallway. Warmth flooded her body, immediately comforting her. She carried her heels in one hand, the other rubbing away the goosebumps on her arms. Her eyes grazed over the artwork on the walls of the hallway. She stopped in front of one of the Baptism of Christ by da Vinci. Her eyes ran over the smaller details, the hands of God releasing a dove from the Heavens, the small halo over John the Baptist. Another sigh escaped her lips as she turned and continued her trek towards the front of the mansion.

Pushing open the front door, she began making her way down the stone steps. A black SUV sat, waiting for her. A man in a suit stepped out, opening the back door for her. "Miss Dumont?" She slowly nodded. "I'm to escort you home tonight."

"Oh," she shook her head, "I should be fine. I'm just... down the road, so I can just... walk."

"Boss' orders, ma'am." The man motioned towards the car. She slowly nodded, climbing into the back of the spacious car. The drive was silent and short as her mind raced. All she could do was worry. The pit in her stomach consumed her as she replayed the events of the night, like a loop of some horror movie that had shaken her to her core. Biting her bottom lip, she pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe this was all some surreal nightmare that she'd wake up from. Things like this made her miss the bird dreams.

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐈𝐆𝐒 ☞ 𝐁. 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄Where stories live. Discover now