Since she was young, she loved the strange, uncanny and even terrifying. Horror obsessed, not seen without a graphic tee, and wearing her neon pink scrunchie she is Fatemore's Bravest. Birch Barker looks into the mysteries, folklore and phenomena th...
Sicily has not stopped eyeing her scarf since they left. The longer he did the more she wondered how noticeable it was. Her parents were yet to catch on. So were her friends. Shaliver was the only one who was aware. Note to self get more or better concealer before heading home today. Pulling her scarf up tighter she continued to feign her ignorance.
"Where did that come from?"
She gulped.
"The scarf? That was a gift from my friend. She makes these cool outfi-"
"You know what I'm referring to, Miss. Barker."
"...Do I?" Her voice cracked at the last letter.
Sicily shimmed his free arm from the backpack he tugged down her scarf. Upon closer inspection there were not one but two large bruises. Purplish in color and curling around both sides of her neck. He pokes it, "This. Where."
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Slowly her thin line of a smile had changed into a tightlipped frown. The sudden anxiety emanated from her. Frankly, she acted as if he had caught her burying a body.
"D-doesn't matter. It's over now." She spoke as if in a whisper. A comment more to comfort herself than Sicily. The little snake was shocked; and angry.
"Who?" He yanked at her scarf, "For the short time we have known each other you are the last soul someone should strike fear into."
Birch didn't look at him, "Allow me to return your kindness with vengeance. My venom will surely have them wishing for their unbirth."
"No point," she huffed, "They're dead."
Like a midnight tombstone, ice cold. In the few seconds after, the words hit him with the force of a semi. Dead? Her friendly features were overshadowed with grimful gloom. She became uncomfortably still bowing her head. He recalled the strange happenings of recent times involving the people marching through Old Fate. That combined with the short lived food craze...
"Okay. Well if they did that to you they surely deserved it." Birch turned to meet his gaze. It was a sad mix of uncertainty and nervousness. He hoped she was not feeling bad for such a crook, "Guilt like that is undeserving of you."
His little snake arm patted her pale cheek. The adorable display had her let out an amused snort, "If you met him you would know how right you are."
As the streets became more lively they turned their discussion of the ever chillier weather to hushed small talk. Sicily seemed more bright as they got closer to the inner circle. Some people even stopped to question and pet the reptile. Obviously she excused it as "taking my friend's pet snake for a walk," much to everyone's amusement. If snakes could blush he would be rosy red.
