➵ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓: 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒 [𝐊.𝐓𝐇]

"Time to do something stupid."

You groaned lowly as you felt the weight of the crate housing that damn sword begin to strain your arms. It wasn't that it was too heavy for you to carry, but, being as tired and brain-dead as you were right now, it was pretty clear that you would have trouble making it to your apartment. 

You could almost hear your little brother, who you had always called weak as children, laughing his guts out at the sight of you struggling right now.

GODDAMIT all I want to do is sleep and I literally have to deal with this STUPID SWORD RIGHT NOW GOSH-

To say you were annoyed was an understatement. The temptation to throw the crate on the ground and watch in satisfaction as it shattered to pieces was surging through your veins, but the logical side of you remembered that Adra would have your head if that sword was even scratched. And considering all the trouble you had went through for the irritating thing, it would probably be a bad idea to relieve your stress on it.

The streets were dark as you stumbled home from the museum- the streetlamps were bright, illuminating everything in front of you, and the stars were out, giving you a lick of comfort as you watched them, but the usually-busy roads were deserted. There were no tell-tale bright flashes of red or orange lights, no cool breezes as the vehicles breezed past without noticing anything. The shadows that creeped in between the dim light of the streetlamps seemed to crawl closer to you with every step you took. An irrational type of fear slid up your spine, and though you shook it off after a moment, your steps still sped up with each one you took.

"Are you-"

SH*T IT'S A RAPI- oh.

You whirled around violently (and slightly awkwardly, due to the crate clutched tightly in your arms) and essentially deflated in relief when all you saw was an woman, maybe in her 40s or 50s who was looking curiously at the brown, wooden box in your arms. Her hair was a stringy, matted, dark red, her forehead wrinkled slightly but her skin otherwise clear. Her eyes were a shining, beady black, the same color as her outfit, which was shapeless and seemed to be made of a bristly black substance you couldn't identify, falling to her feet. She was pretty for someone of her age- she may have been truly beautiful at one point, with elegant features and a posture she upheld as if supported by wings, but time had taken its toll on her. The woman gave you a thin-lipped smile which was more creepy than reassuring. "Um," you stammered out, unsure of what to do, "hello?"

There was silence for a moment. "What's taking its toll on you so late at night, chickie?" the old woman finally cooed, her voice squawky and high. She eyed the box in your hands with her beady black eyes, interest piquing over her features. You didn't know why, but something rubbed you the wrong way about this woman. You instinctively clutched the box tighter, trying hard not to flinch.

"Nothing," you weakly smiled, backing up. You were already tired, and you needed to get home. You didn't have time for this. But the old woman just stepped closer, her own grin widening.