the secret of distance

Chapter 7

Notes:

"But what if the monsters come?"
"Fancy." Kit looked away from the drama to stare at her sister, surprised. "We are the monsters."

—Dia Reeves, Slice of Cherry

"Why are you here?" It probably hasn't even been three hours since Josie and Lizzie left, barely two since she had finished training with Alaric, but Hope has already decided pretty quickly that she's not going to attend any of her classes today. Instead, she's here in the dungeons, interrogating the latest monster from Malivore.

It's hard, she thinks, controlling herself. She can't trust herself not to lunge at the monster and get revenge for everything she had dealt with last night. Fake-Josie's rejection is still fresh in her mind, and when she allows herself to think about it for too long, she forgets that it hadn't been real.

To make matters worse, the full moon is tonight, and she'll be not-quite forced but compelled to change when the clock reaches twelve.

Even now, hours before, Hope can feel the power of her wolf pulsating throughout her body, can feel the subtle strength when she clenches her fists. But she can also feel the hole in her stomach where Josie's absence lies. It sits there dully, a sign that Josie isn't really all that far yet, but Hope knows that the worst is yet to come.

In a few hours, when Josie is thousands of miles away, the true pain will hit, and Hope will be forced to endure the relentless agony of it. But for now, Hope has a monster to question.

The Timor Tunores itself hasn't responded to her last five inquiries, but Hope doesn't mind that much. She rather wouldn't be talking to it—the monster's previous victory over her too fresh in her mind—but she needs a distraction.

"I thought that was rather obvious," it bites out finally, at last, causing Hope to lean away in surprise, taken aback.

It's terribly dark in the room, so much so that she can barely make out the monster's shapeless form. What she can tell from the dim lighting is that it's ravenously skinny—inhuman ribs poking out of a grey stomach. Its limbs protrude hideously, layers of skin torn and shredded over one another.

"Yeah, yeah," Hope realizes herself a second later, snaps out of her surprise. "You're another monster here for the knife, blah, blah, blah. I'm asking why."

Another answer doesn't come for what seems like a while, but really is only a minute or so, and Hope relaxes from her side of the bars. She dimly registers that it's freezing cold. The biting laugh of the monster makes a shiver run down her spine. She hugs her elbows, unbidden.

"You call me a monster, yet you stand here before me—a vampire, a werewolf, and a witch," the monster bites out, and Hope can't figure out exactly where its mouth is right now. Last night it had been at the front of its head, but now she's sure it's at the back of its neck.

Hope doesn't bother replying, because the Timor Tunores doesn't look done talking. She had forgotten that it knew everything about her, and the creeping realization that it had been able to find it all out in barely a second settles across her shoulders uncomfortably. Hope rolls them to relax herself, shifting her weight from one foot to the other where she stands.

"Sure, you could make the argument that you're not a vampire thus far, but that is only because you haven't yet died." The voice is almost contemplative, and a red-hot fury heats Hope's blood. "You've killed, though, haven't you?"

Misery flashes across her eyes like a golden haze. She gulps down the thick swallow of it in her throat to no avail. She opens her mouth to speak, but is quickly interrupted. "How different are we, truly?"