The Devil Doesn't Bargain (MatD part 2)

Chapter THREE - Gravestones

(You can start this one whenever you'd like, but imagined it mostly for after the second page break -- The Wisp Sings - Winter Aid)

The silence of the next morning ate my appetite and curled at the edges of the home. It crawled along my skin and wound tight around my wrists and throat. The little fireplace in the corner had nearly gone out despite the charm to keep it lit. Perhaps it too was stifled by the silence, its pops and cracks sizzling low, hushed and hollow.

I woke slowly, bones chilled and muscles aching, dangling over the edge of the couch. I'd found it even harder to sleep that night than normal and only drifted once my mind could no longer accept the weight of my limbs.

The Sallow home, in all its silence, was occupied only by the silent tapping of wood against wood. I blinked a few times to clear the fatigue from my eyes and found the usually pristine posture of my blonde friend slouched at the kitchen table, wand strung through his long fingers and rocking back and forth, rapping one end and then the other against the table. His right knee bounced briskly below, kneecap brushing the underside of the wood with every movement. His chest and neck adorned high with little black buttons and a sleek black shirt that looked ever so wrinkled around the neckline as if it had been fiddled with one too many times. His hair was combed precisely back though it too sat just ever so imperfectly, a stray piece dangling over his forehead.

Tap

tap

tap

tap.

Again and again until the little sound became too loud for my heart and I made the conscious effort to rise noisily from the couch. 

His spine immediately straightened and his wand tucked swiftly into a pocket below the table. His lips pressed back into a simple smile and I tried not to notice how it hung off centered, just like the hair on his head.

"Good morning Atley darling."

I couldn't bring myself to add the adjective among the greeting, after all, it didn't feel very good.

"Morning Ominis."

A beat far too long.

"Is Sebastian-"

"Outside. They both are." He swallowed and the tender tips of his fingers pulled at his rumpled collar, shifting it back and forth before squeezing his fist shut over his lap awkwardly. "Digging."

Digging.

A grave.

Solomon's grave.

"I see."

The conversation tasted stale, entirely absent of any truthful thoughts.

"Anne, the stubborn woman she is-" His grin halfhearted but true. "-insisted on helping, though Sebastian was adamant on doing it alone..."

My mind wandered to just how indicative that was of the Sallow twin's spirits. It almost made me smile until the door to the home creaked open and two wilting figures trudged in.

Anne's usual low bun had been braided back high atop her head, though it hung loose and a few strands of her bangs twisted with sweat. She had adorned a deep black dress with puffed shoulders and sleeves that dipped tight across her wrists. Intricate black lace gloves pulled tight over her hands.

Sebastian's black trousers were dusted with dirt at the knees, the material a hair too tight but incredibly pristine. The hem of the pants sat far too high up on his leg and highlighted the dark socks underneath. It was a silly sort of look but I couldn't imagine he had many other options. A slim white undershirt collar peeked up from beneath a tight black overcoat with large round buttons up either side. A thick black ribbon-like tie was pulled into a lopsided bow over his neck, it too was covered in a light layer of dirt.