Nearly Witches //Ryden // DISCONTINUED

Dès le premier jour

When Brendon awoke, he expected to be in his own bed. Okay, maybe that was inaccurate. He expected to be in his own bed or someone else's, but hopefully, he would know who this person was. It wasn't uncommon for him to wake up in people's beds, but he usually had someone beside him. He looked to both his left and his right, but no one else was present. How odd.

As he began to process the room around him, he noticed many things directly off the bat: firstly, the floors were his favorite type of wood. They were a gorgeous cherry and yes, while it is admittedly odd to have a favorite type of wood, Brendon very much did not care about that fact. Secondly, this room was incredibly tasteful and fancy, like that out of a history book portraying a high-class Victorian mansion. The bed he rested on was a darker shade of cherry, a nearly transparent sheet hanging from the top in a canopy style, which was typical of the Victorian era. There was a purple carpet on the floor, decorated in twisting spirals of gold and a soft pastel green, the colors contrasting beautifully. Shelving lined the walls, each covered with small rocks that must be a collection of some sort. A large, circular window rested against the wall to his left, gentle sunlight pouring in from a crack in the curtainsIt was overall aesthetically pleasing, especially compared to Brendon's lower class apartment back where he lived. Speaking of, he had absolutely no idea where he was, and the panic was just now settling in. He easily forgot just how anxious he could get without being high or drunk, and it was settling in now once again. Oh, and thirdly, he wasn't wearing his own clothes. He wore a loose-fitting, white t-shirt that was incredibly soft against his skin. When he peeled back the covers- also royal purple-, he discovered that he was wearing blue and white pinstripe pajama pants, which he very much wasn't wearing last night, nor did he own anything of the sort.

His anxiety was quickly getting the best of him, and he needed answers.

He stepped down from the bed, which was much taller than he expected, cringing as the floor creaked . Brendon hated creaky floors since he was a small boy. They simply unsettled him for some reason, and to this day, he couldn't claim to know why. Perhaps a distant memory from childhood was what bothered him about it. Regardless, as he took a few more steps to the door, the floor creaked each time. He didn't suspect such nice woodwork in the floors would creak so much, but then again, the structure of the house might just be the one to blame. He slowly wrapped his hand around the brass doorknob, throwing the eggshell colored door open and preparing himself to attack an armed robber or something of the sort. But alas, there was no one there. Just the soft sound of sizzling, floors creaking and clocks ticking.

Brendon listened closer, and upon doing so, he realized that not only was there one clock, but many- possibly too many to count. They were all ticking relatively in synchronization, but some were behind a split second or two. It was enough to annoy the snot out of Brendon, which was all that was important. The floors creaking annoyed him as well, but the one thing he was focused on was the sizzling noises coming from downstairs. That meant that someone else was here. And cooking. That's all Brendon needed as an invitation to walk down the cherry stairs, still cringing each time the floors creaked. He doubted that would ever not bother him, to be terribly honest.

The stairs lead him down to what appeared to be the front door, a little open expanse of room connecting to, from what he could tell, a kitchen and a living room. He decided to go with the kitchen, since both his instincts were telling him someone was in there and his stomach, which was growling loudly, was telling him some food was in there. Taking a deep breath- and noticing how he wasn't as anxious as he probably should be, roaming around a stranger's house-, he walked into the kitchen, bracing himself for an attack or something. But nothing came, only louder sizzling as Brendon looked around the kitchen.

It was themed the same pastel green as the highlights of his carpet upstairs, the retro-style, white appliances standing out against the nature-esuqe color. A black mass stood in the middle of the kitchen, and it took Brendon a moment to realize it was actually a person. The only reason he realized so, and didn't instantly label them as a shadow creature from beyond this earth- my, he watched way too many horror movies-, was because he saw their tan, skinny forearms peaking out from under sleeves of black lace.