a/n: oh my gosh i had so much fun writing this chapter — enjoy!!!
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Keeping her promise to Husk, Talia had gone straight to her room in an attempt to drift off to sleep; unfortunately, it had been a rather rocky night — and that was to put it bluntly. Grumbling softly to herself as she got dressed and left her room, she planned on retreating to the half-finished library and taking a nap on the furniture there.
It's what I usually do, anyways, she thought to herself as she walked down the hallways, clipping her ribbon-crafted bow to its usual place on the back of her head. She didn't know whether it was the atmosphere of the room or some misplaced sense of attachment, but the only times she ever slept peacefully were in that room.
"Hmph," she hummed lightly to herself, deciding to bypass the lobby in favor of heading straight to the library. "I'll say hi to everyone later... and talk to Angel then. But for now... I wonder if my blanket's still in there."
Her plushie was tucked securely under her arm, positioned in a way which it would remain genuinely unseen in case she were to cross paths with someone. She loved her miniature Bailey, she truly did, but it would be embarrassing to the most horrifying extent if she ever needed to explain the reason for the stuffed animal's existence.
She hoped that she would have an undisturbed rest — she was exhausted, and for some reason, simply maintaining such levels of anger as the ones which she had held yesterday, that in itself was a tiresome activity.
She had no idea how much she screwed herself over with that one thought.
[ ——— ]
Alastor did not care for others, save for himself; it was a principle which he had grown wholly accustomed to, self-preservation over empathy at all times. So to find himself wondering where Talia was oh so frequently, questioning the doe's every waking move, he wondered if his guard had dropped around her just long enough for that irresistible little troublemaker to worm past his defenses.
He was quick to reassure himself that no mere demon — especially her — was able to make him care. No, no, caring was reserved for idiots, for sentimental fools who were moronic enough to multiply their vulnerabilities. He would not allow his heart to exist outside his body in the form of a demon whom he had deemed to be his friend.
That in itself was a stretch — he seldom allowed someone the monumental achievement of becoming his friend, and on the rare occasion if he did, his friends were simply companions of connivence. Powerful beings whom he tolerated more than others, who could offer him advantage so long as he provided something in return.
Even Rosie, whom he adored so dearly, had only associated with him initially due to his status. Of course, they had grown past such trivialities, but a good house built upon poor foundation was bound to crumble eventually.
