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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 of the grandfather clock chiming resounded throughout the entire house, causing her to look up from where she had been sulking on her guitar.
She inclined her gaze towards the clock and sighed, her eyes leaving its glossy surface to focus on the floor instead.
“Glob, it’s already midnight.” She mused, allowing herself to slouch on top of the guitar in her lap.
How long has it been since I was alone? She wondered, placing the guitar on her bed and walking towards the window. It sucks to be here by myself.
So boring. Her lips drew themselves into a straight line, allowing her fangs to be exposed for a split second in the light of the glowing moon. Maybe I’ll go suck the red out of some apples.
She floated out of the house door and to the nearest apple tree patch — she had not bought the house around twenty years ago for no reason, and she did not really care for the neighbour, a sweet old farmer, who always complained about his apples appearing colourless.
But before she could reach for an apple in the tree, she heard a twig snap in the grass, and she immediately floated to the ground.
“Uncle Simon?” She called uncertainly, and sure enough, the old white-haired man popped out from behind one of the apple trees.
“Hello, Marceline.” He greeted, staring at her with his beady eyes. “What are you doing in my plantation at this time of the night?”
“Ah–” Marceline avoided eye contact and rubbed her boot in the dirt. “–just happened to see some monkey around here and I thought that he was the culprit for your colourless apples.”
His eyes crinkled. “Oh, Marcy, you sweet old thing.” He patted her on the arm, being shorter than her, and flashed her a kind smile. “That’s a small matter, though I’d like to know who or what did it.”
Marceline returned an anxious smile of her own and tucked a lock of her thick black hair behind her ear. “Sorry that I couldn’t help.”
“Not at all!” He chimed, exposing the few yet sharp teeth he had. “Though...” He trailed off, and an idea sprang into his head. “I would love to hear you sing for me.”
Brightening, she nodded, having come to adore the idea of playing her bass guitar for the old man to enjoy, especially when he was the only one to keep her company in this arid part of the country.
“Okay,” she told him readily. “Lemme just go get my guitar.”
“I’ll be waiting inside.”
Checking to make sure he was out of sight, she quickly used her bat wings to give herself leverage into her room on the second floor of her house.
