𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑎𝑤𝑛 | 𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐍

28⋆☾⋆ In the Dead of Night

The smell of fresh porridge filled the small cottage in the woods. It reached the half-unconsious girl whose stomach rumbled at even the thought of any food at all. She tried to pry her eyes open, her lids were so heavy however that they kept falling aclose. Far away in a cold distance she heard voices, she knew they were speaking the language she understood, but she did not know what they were saying.

Her back ached, her arm stung, her legs were weak, to summarize: she felt like a limp noodle. With great effort she managed to wake herself up, and she swung her legs over the side of the table. She knocked down several pots over and fell to the floor as soon as she tried, standing up. Dark spots swamped her sight, the world seemed to keep on spinning even as she painfully hit the ground.

The warbled voices got louder, but still they seemed muffled, as if she had moss in her ears.

"Don't rush yourself there kid," she heard Crowley assure her as his arms pulled her to her feet and as he gently put her on the table again.

Her surroundings became clearer, she saw the cobblestone walls, the dark beams, the deep oak floors, the shelves upon shelves stocked with glass jars containing all kinds of suspicious squishy brown and red objects. The young girl hoped it was nothing of the sorts which popped into her mind.

"How do you feel?" the red-headed commander asked, eyeing the girl with great concern, "do you think you're poisoned?"

She frowned and assessed everything she was feeling in her body. Her mouth wasn't dry, she could feel all of her limbs and her breathing was okay. "I'm fine."

Crowley nodded, sighing in relief. He ran an ink-stained hand over his beard. All morning he had been writing letters, communicating with all Rangers that the appearance of the King should be cancelled. So far all the official correspondents of His Majesty were not as concerned as he and were only willing to postpone his coming.

"You're awfully rude," a strange woman with bright red curly hair walked up, handing her a bowl of porridge, "not even offering the poor girl some breakfast."

The young woman gratefully took the steaming oats, stuffing her face with it. Moments afterwards she realized that maybe it was rude not to thank the kind stranger first. "Thank you! It tastes amazing." she mumbled with a crooked smile and her mouth still full.

"That's because you're starved," snorted Crowley, "otherwise you would never be able to stomach her cookings."

Charlotte smacked the back of her brother's head violently, "watch it or you're going to have to find a healer to go to for yourself."

With a confused look the girl looked to the two red-heads, "how do you know each other?"

"She's my sister."

"We met in my mother's womb," she put a hand on her hip, "crazy how you run into people there."

"You cannot act normal for the one day I bring in one of my Rangers?" Crowley sighed like a tired older brother. He was older by just fourty minutes, but it still counted according to him.

A sad smile played on the young woman's lips, a sudden overwhelming ache pained her chest. She watched the two siblings interact attentively, it had never been like that at the barn where she grew up. She had had too much responsibility and not enough time.

"You never told me you had a sister." The girl stirred through the porridge before taking a bite.

"As a Ranger it is never good to boast about your personal life to too many people," his grey eyes fixated on her with a serious, stern stare, quite unlike him, "it can be dangerous. Keep it limited to a few who you know you can trust."