𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚

just the kids at the dance bc i guess i should write abt their last moments of happiness
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"Ew."

Molly stared at the cup in her hand, tipped the contents within from side to side. Her plush hung loosely from her hand, empty little ear scrunched between her grasp in a desperate attempt not to loose it like usual–she wasn't sure if Uncle Felix would wait around like Sophie would if she did loose it, if he would simply drive away without her or lean on the back of the car like Sophie would do with her bike and pick at loose things until she finally found it under a table, or on a chair, or in the bathroom because she left it on the sink washing her hands.

"What?" Her brother piped up beside her, craning his neck away from his cup and towards hers. "Red punch?"

"Yeah. I don't like it." Molly shrugged, jabbing it towards him in a discarded offering. He gladly took it, giving her the half finished cup of grape juice he had and chugging the whole thing she gave him in a disgustingly boyish way. She shuddered at the loud guzzle, taking a sip of the newly-attained grape juice she had while making sure she wasn't drinking where he'd put his mouth—just in case he had boy cooties. Boring music was slithering through her ears, not the fun kind Sophie would play on the radio while their mother made them double check their bags just in case they forgot their lunch, the waltz kind her parents would sway to in the living room.

"Don't you think this is a bit boring?" Edd looked towards her, stunned by her moment of silence in a sense. She finished off her grape juice before responding.

"This music's making me sleepy." To emphasise her point, she let out the upcoming yawn flooding her throat and put down her cup. "Can we go somewhere else?"

"If you're sleepy, we can just ask Uncle Felix to take us home." Even after his suggestion, he still followed her when she slipped out of the room and into the dark hallways of the school; a sprinkle of light would pop up from time to time, but that's all there really was. Most people in there were either getting some water from the fountains, or giggling awkwardly loud but abruptly stopping when they spotted the kids walking down the hallway. More fixture then anything either child really acknowledged.

"What do you wanna do?" Molly piped up after fifteen minutes of mindless wandering, fingers flexing over open air. Wait— open air? "Oh."

"What is it?" Edd turned from where he was studying a soccer sign-up on some dilapidated board, and Molly feebly held forth her empty hands, earning herself a sigh from her older brother. "You can't keep loosing that thing!"

"I don't do it on purpose! It's like that one book we read with the moving toys–that's what it does!" Molly pulled her elbow away when it almost knocked against a heart shaped statue, didn't rest her shoulder even after she did.

"Molly, that's fiction. It's not real." Molly frowned. He had no proof it wasn't real–Sophie told her all the faeries and the trolls and the imps in her little cardboard books were real, so why couldn't moving toys be? Edd just didn't know, he hadn't seen toys move like she had. Her father once made Rocket move. He didn't help it move or anything, it just did, and when Molly asked him how he did it he just winked–he had to have done some magic or something.

"Nuh-uh! You can't prove that!" She stuck out her tongue, and Edd returned the gesture with no hesitance. Eventually, he looked away, glancing from left to right as if he was suddenly going to find the directions illuminated in glowing red words.

"See Molly, now we're lost!" Edd grumbled, and she rolled her eyes with a scoff, pointing to her side.

"We came from over there! If we retrace our steps we should find him!" Molly scuffled towards the cursory direction, waiting for Edd to follow. He did after a long moment, following her and laughing at her shudder when they got to the school mascot's statue–a silver thing with deep black eyes that stood at a staggering six feet. When Molly pointed out its creepiness to her dad, he mimed out the act of punching it and almost cracked open his hand–kindly nursed back to health by her exasperated mother.