Monochrome.

two.

A/N: At this point, this book is just crack

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two.

Red(like Rashes and Soulmates)

~••~

               Rue ended up gifting her the shitty pride t-shirts, shrugging and saying birthdays are nothing more but a celebration of the approaching and inevitable doom of age and death.

Hannah called her a nutjob doomer. And her mom thwacked her in the head and sternly told her not to be rude to guests. Thomas frowned smartly while Sabrina asked what does nutjob doomer meant.

“It means sexy bitch.” Rue grinned at the five-year-old tall while her lanky silhouette leaned cockily on the porch. She wore her usual flannel, a beanie and her iconic shoulder bag that doesn't have anything on it. She adorned her usual dark black circular earrings that were almost hidden by her shoulder-length, black hair.

The brunette closed the door right to her face and kept it locked until Rue was made sure to stop Sabrina from repeating the word ‘bitch’.

The birthday party consisted of a few people; just Rue and the Gaunt family. Well. Hannah stared at an empty seat. Most of the Gaunt family.

Happy birthdays were sung.

Mrs Gaunt beamed at Thomas as he placed the cake into the centre of the table. The beginnings of a wrinkle were forming on her face, tired blue eyes carried heavy eyebags and her honey-brown hair with stripes of grey tied into a ponytail. She carried a stench of alcohol and a whisp of smoke.

Hannah pursed her lips and smiled tiredly.

Sabrina tried to blow out the candles at the end of the song. Thomas smartly stopped her, and smartly looked like he hates his sibling. Rue eyefucked the chicken wings, lasagna and the shepherd pie.

“Where's dad?” Hannah asked evenly, her hands set primly on the table. Thomas looked alarmed at the question, smartly.

“...Business trip, dear,” Mrs Gaunt said smoothly, smile strained because parents either have to be six feet below or divorced or cheating bastards or neglectful or all at once. “For two more weeks.”

Hannah hummed.

The doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” the brunette said quickly, standing up.

To her surprise (but not to the Cliche Gods), Xavier Evans stood behind the door, a wolfish smile on his face. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. A bouquet of lilies grew on his palm. “Hi. Since we're neighbours I thought it would be rude to just not visit and, um.” He handed it to her. “Well, happy birthday.”

She plastered a smile as she received it.

“Thanks.” Hannah is allergic to lilies.

“Lilies are flowers of death,” Rue said approvingly. “Wait, Hannah, you're allergic.” Hannah bit down the urge to throttle her best friend with a rope.

Xavier's eyes widened, dramatically, his cheeks aflame and voice high-pitched. “Oh, Rue, hi!” Then his brain caught up to what Rue said. “And oh my gosh, I didn't know. I'll create another one—”

“No need! I like lilies.” There was an itch in her neck and she felt rather dizzy and light-headed.

Thomas smartly interrupted, “You are allergic to them, sister. From what I remember, you got an anaphylactic reaction and collapsed. Do you not remember? Goodness, you are so stupi—”