DYING MOURNINGS, original

twelve : the party

┌─────━┿──┿━─────┐

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘

└─────━┿──┿━─────┘

I was able to slip my way into the cabin in order to change clothes. Pairing a nice tank top with my leather jacket and black skirt seemed like the best move for the night, as the air was thicker than normal. Was it possible we were finally getting a warm day after years of constant murk in the sky?

It didn't seem likely but I hoped for it anyway.

I had considered, as I applied some light makeup to my eyes, talking to Crow before I left. Possibly even sitting down and hashing out what was said and what it meant for us. He had deliberately lied to my face about the reasons behind Pandora's murder and he was doing it for a pretty good reason if he thought lying and pushing the conversation elsewhere when we needed to trust each other, now more than ever, was going to work.

He was scared. Acting more cowardly than me.

Had our roles reversed? Had I become the deranged killer looking for justice and power and he the lonely high schooler hell bent on keeping secrets?

I finished my mascara and eyeliner, applying a shiny pink shade of eyeshadow before finally leaving the little bathroom. The cabin had been eerily quiet since I had snuck inside, Crow had locked himself away in his room which was where he usually was when I was there. He wanted me to have my privacy as well as a way to keep his secrets his own.

I had invaded his home, so this shouldn't be much of a surprise but it stung. Surprisingly.

Why did it have to sting?

I went through my bag only to pull free my cigarettes, lighter, and the crumpled bank statement. I stared down at the little paper, wondering how the man hidden away in the other room had gotten Cage to sign away such a large sum. Did he know he was going to die? He must not have known Crow was going to be the one to kill him or he wouldn't have signed off to have this money sent to him. I understood the money being given to my mother, because she had me to take care of and along with the bills and tuition.

I slipped the paper back inside my bag for safe keeping, crossing the room and freezing for a moment. Hadn't I done the same thing to something else I'd found a month ago?

Prying my brain for the information, I stood still in the middle of my little guest room, drumming my fingers against the side of my leg. I had been standing in Wrath's trailer, stealing photographs of myself and John off of the walls, slipping them inside one of the journals I had had with me that night.

I took off through the room, pulling open one of the bags I'd brought with me and pulled one of the journals out, one I hadn't touched in my rereadings. They were still in there, tucked in the back and it took me flipping the journal upside down to uncover them.

I had stolen two, one of John alone and the other of the two of us outside school. The words on the standalone was the singular word 'risen' written in red across the back. The second, written on the back just the same, was 'fates woven together.'

Why would Eric Conner have these pictures of us? With these words?

Conner, a known devil worshipper and fanatic, having our faces printed out and pinned to a wall didn't leave me with a nice feeling. It felt as if my stomach was already churning from something rotten, something wrong. I didn't have time to think of what it all meant, so I tucked the photos back inside and placed the journal in my bag, leaving it all on my bed. I would have to go through all my findings when I didn't have to leave the house for a few days. I wanted to lay it all out, start from the beginning with the bank statements and work my way to cryptic photographs of the prized quarterback.