𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐂 | (adj.) "Otherworldly."
In an alternate version of present-day Britain, ghosts who are deadly to the touch have been rising from their graves for the past fifty years. Adults cannot sense the ghosts, but children can, so teenagers hav...
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𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐈𝐍 the span of twenty-four hours would be a lot for anyone to comprehend, especially when one of the invaders wasn't even a living, breathing human. Though Erin felt some sort of connection to Annabel, her appearance in the attic had left the teenage girl the slightest bit uneasy. There was a chill in the air that no amount of blankets seemed to fix and every slight sound had her catapulting straight out of bed in a fit of anxiety.
It had been almost a week since both of those incidents occurred and it wasn't uncommon for one to wake in the morning and find Erin asleep in the sitting room, sprawled on one of the couches instead of in the attic. Anthony had been the one to find her the first time it happened, and he'd thought it had only been a one-time thing, until he found her the next night, and the night after that. He'd ended up joining her on the fourth night, situating himself on the floor below the couch. He told himself it was only in case she woke with a nightmare, which she hadn't since either incident took place, but it made him feel better.
On the fifth night, she'd woken up in the middle of the night to find Anthony there. He was still awake, just barely dozing. Erin nudged his foot with her own. "Lockwood," she whispered, blinking to adjust to the dimness of the room. "Lockwood, are you asleep?"
He jumped slightly when he realized she was speaking. "No—No, I'm not," he assured her, sitting up from his makeshift bed on the floor. He ran a hand over his face, hiding his yawn as he did so. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"
Erin laughed. "I'm fine," she replied. "I just woke up. Can't fall back to sleep."
Anthony hummed. His eyes scanned the room, filled haphazardly with objects of his past that were still mysteries to Erin. The library was right behind them, and Anthony got to his feet slowly, beginning to make his way toward the doors. Erin sat up against the back of the couch, following him with curious eyes. He returned a moment later, holding a small, but thick weathered book in his hands.
He moved some of her blankets aside as he sat down beside her, throwing them back over his legs once he was seated. Erin moved closer, eager to see what book he had gotten, and he threw an arm around her shoulders, holding her to him. The warmth radiating off of his body was almost enough to send her to sleep, but she fought to keep her eyes open, scanning the faded cover of the book in his hands.
"Ugh," she groaned upon reading it. "The Iliad?"
Anthony glanced at her, brows raised. "What's wrong with the Iliad?" he inquired.
Erin shrugged, snuggling into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. "Nothing," she muttered. "It's just . . . Everyone wants to make Helen seem like the bad guy when no one really knows why she left with Paris. Maybe she had to in order to protect herself and her family. Maybe she had no agency and was abducted. Or maybe Menelaus was a shit husband and she wanted to."
