Esteemed Malevolence

XXVI: The Devil Says

Sighing with guilt, Eleanor pressed her back into her shop door, not caring when the back of her head hit it with a thump. Her deep breaths puffed out, visible from how chilly it was in her vacant premises.

She felt more than terrible now. She'd already been on edge since the Judge's party had been abruptly cancelled (more like evacuated) and having seen the young lad peering up at her in hopeful desperation just then... only to shout the odds at him...

She'd never forgive herself.

Yet she could never have brought herself to deal with whatever he'd been asking of her. When she tried to recall what he'd even told her, his voice became an absent, incomprehensive blur.

Too many strange things had happened in a short space of time for her to make sense of it all.

She took a couple of steps from the door, focusing on the shop floor, which was devoid of any colour - and for once, she felt like she was staring into a dreary mirror.

Deciding that she was being beyond ridiculous and all she needed was a sit down, she headed to her parlour, hugging her arms around herself as the cold air swirled about and seized its hold of her...

SLAM.

She stood bolt upright, frozen with fear at the loud noise - the action had been so strong that it shook the shop windows behind her. Her eyes squeezed shut with dread and she gulped down the urge to let out a small whimper.

She knew she wasn't going to have a serene night.

She started to shake with panic when she heard the latch being yanked down - the click of the mechanism told her the door was now securely locked shut. Footsteps approached behind her, and it was then that she knew she'd missed any opportunity to leave the situation completely.

She heard the footsteps come to a stop at the back of her and she inhaled deeply as she braced herself, feeling someone's warm breath panting out onto the back of her neck.

"Don't forget to lock your door, pet."

She breathed out an enormous sigh of relief at the sound of the barber's voice, but she couldn't help but feel annoyed with him for sneaking up on her like that.

"You never know who could be itchin' t'get in." Sweeney added, black orbs slitting through the darkness at her as she swivelled to face him with a stubborn glare.

"I know 'at! A crafty sod like you would wanna come in 'ere, I'm not daft!" she shot at him in her strange defensive manner - to which he frowned in confusion.

He knew exactly what had gotten under her skin - it had to be the ordeal of the party, and then the near-traumatic panic when they both had fled. He'd witnessed everything during the meeting she'd had with the lad outside, but decided not to bring the matter up considering her distress.

"All the more reason to lock your doors then, isn't it?" he answered vacantly - she huffed out an annoyed wheeze and shook her head at him. Next, she turned around, storming off towards the parlour to stoke the fire, muttering "Unlike 'im, I wouldn't be stupid enough to bleedin' lock meself in wi' the crafty beggar. Wot does 'e know? 'E should be upstairs sulkin' 'imself to death."

She really wasn't in the mood for his flirtatious games after the recent events of the night, and it seemed that whatever the man intended to say or do... it would be pointless, because she'd still be in her foul mood.

He watched the open door with a curious frown, stood motionless in the main shop as she bustled about in the moonlit parlour. She was grunting over-dramatically as she transported a few logs from one end of the room to the other, which was where the fireplace was situated. Her grunts of effort were certainly an attempt at a guilt trip, though he was slightly thankful that she could at least take out her frustration on something inanimate...