𝕳𝖊'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕬 𝕳𝖞𝖆𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖍

{ Timothy 2:21 }

Chapter 11's song: Run by Hozier

A/n: The song being mentioned.

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{ "So if anyone purifies himself from these things, he will be a special instrument, set apart, useful to the Master, prepared for every good work." }
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1 year ago...
( Moments before Y/n's mother interrupted her. )

"Rare is this love, keep it covered. I need you to run to me, run to me, lover." A soft melody slips from the lips of an older lady casually strolling through the hallways. Her mind wondering over to the business trip she just came from.

Nearly a whole year without seeing her daughter's welfare was too unbearable for her. 'I don't care if its a month trip, I will take Y/n with me, next time.' She concludes to simply resume singing her song she seemed to catch onto during her time of living.

The older woman continues to amble in the anomalous, quiet manor, which normally have giggles or liveliness in the place. Instead it's lugubrious and deserted as if no one residences in the massive place.

Despite that, she saw Cassia and Einir Callaway in the garden, strolling alongside with one another, discussing about something privy and important. M/n didn't want to interject on their conversation, so she continues to await her personal announcement to the couple.

However, one greeting that can't be waited is seeing her daughter: Y/n. Determined to see her, she walk to Y/n's room still singing the same folk song. "Beneath her sky, her punishing cold. To slowly learn of her ancient misery..." The flow of the song brings back nostalgia in this moment. The yearning to go back in time and relive the memories of that peri--

"Ta be twisted by somethin'...A shame without a sin..." A low, croaky voice sings along with the mother, even though she's alone in the hallway... Rotating her head to the left side to where she perceived the noise. There, she notice a teenage boy with the causal, peculiar hair color of black and white infused together and his face simply dazing off to the wall ahead of him.

The younger person is sitting on the floor, his legs out in front, and his hands' resting in his lap as he attempts to drown out the despair and agonizing loneliness filling up his core. He could sense he's cracking through the seams since its been two years of not being able to communicate with the one person he could tolerate for a very long time.

M/n automatically approaches the person as he sits there before turning his head to the opposite side of him and wiping his hands on his face. "Vincent, what are you doing out here?" She inquires.

"I'm waitin' for Y/n." He blatantly responds.

Smiling by his gentlemen-like gesture towards waiting for the young girl to get dressed for their outing. "You and Y/n are going somewhere?" She comments.

"Nae...Unfortunately." He shakes his beautiful, messy locks. M/n finally recognizes the white loose sleeves underneath his black vest with navy, blue intricate design covering the front part of the attire. His once immaculate collar is carefreely welcomed by his missing tie and crinkle ends on it. "Why are you waiting? Are you attempting to see if she's up--"

"Nae, I'm waitin, so she kens that she willna (wouldn't) be feart of me, anymore." He utters, still distinguishing the croakiness of his voice from the previous moments. M/n only scrunches her features as she ponders over the why is her daughter afraid of Vincent? "Why would Y/n be afraid of...you. Unless you told her??" Once she came to that conclusion, Vincent's eyes immediately averts away. Automatically corroborating with her accusation to the question.

"Vincent.. Don't tell me...You told her." The lady takes a step towards the lad on the ground. The air thinning from her by the theory of her daughter being well acknowledged to his family's secret.

Vincent abruptly shot up on his feet. Suddenly, eye to eye with the lady he was attempting to avoid eye contact with. Instantly, she realizes why because Vincent's eyes had an intimation of pink in his white sclera and extremely moist than usual. "I wasna excogitatin ta tell her, anytime soon. It unintentionally came out."

She peers over to the side of her before pointing her anger to the lad. "It just magically slipped out of your mout--"

"Nae...I was coerced to inform her because she touched me." Vincent informs her to only receive a dirty and spiteful gaze towards his way. Indicating she will cause harm to him if what he speaks is the truth. She will rain heaven on Earth for him to ever touch her young daughter who was probably 9, 10, or 11 at the time when he did so.

Straight away, he knew that look on her and he dismisses it, reposeful. "The devil nain, I would never do such a thin' with a wean. Anyways, she was able ta someway... somehow touch or even see ma umbra from the astral plane." He mentions, his mind travelling back to that moment in time where he felt naked and for the first time was ashamed for being who he is and what he is.

He once had pride in being of what he was and would bathe in the glory with women, men and anyone of age that desired to ravish in his lifestyle. Now he sits here at a mortal door's, cursing himself to be something more...human regardless of what his kind would say. He yearns for her acceptance only.

"What?" M/n mumbles out, her aggression downing a bit by the response. "Wow, I didn't comprehend her abilities were manifesting that fast." The mother adds onto her words.

"The peculiar thin' is that...she....burned me." He mentions before untucking his shirt and rolls up the two clothing to reveal his battle wound. The injury is a tiny, flesh-burnt handprint placed upon his firm, light pale abdomen.

"Afterwards ma body fell ill, I could no longer be in front of mortals for months. For the reasons of ma true appearance flashin' in and out. Typically, I would have control over ma body, regardless, I would morph back in it, bokin (vomiting) mors out of me. I surmised: It would all go away if I regenerated the lost skin. Albeit when I did 'recharge' myself, it became permanent to ma 'human' flesh. Then it eventually went away," He narrates his unfortunate months of agony and solidarity.

The wound simply makes the woman draw near to the person once more. Her hand beginning to hover over the accident. Grazing it with the softness of her fingertips. Habitually, the teenager flinches by her unanticipated interaction and continues to keep his wildcard abilities away from the woman. Still struggling to have any control on his powers because of the illness or the infliction Y/n placed on him. "How did she--... Only a selective few can do that--" She stumbles. A revelation had appeared upon the mother about her daughter.

The other palm, she utilize to cover her mouth with. "Yer daughter's soul is pure. I sensed that when she connected with me."

"Pure souls can only mean..." This time the boy interject her saying. Pulling his shirt down to permit him to bear the contemptible wound he obtain by a tiny, mortal girl, who he could easily destroy in a heartbeat.

"Yer daughter is an Elitist.

Therefore implying, she can kill me..."