cupid clearly hates me.

[ 17 ]

Alastor reached over and took your hand in his, each of his fingers lacing between the gaps of yours.

You shivered. Alastor's touch was not enough to uplift the nervousness weighing your stomach down. The forest around you was getting darker, casting shadows over you and Alastor—but not because it was getting late. The shade was from the trees, which were growing so dense that the leaves overhead formed a sort of canopy that blocked out any and all skylight.

For some reason, this Rosie girl that Alastor had to see enjoyed meeting within the secretiveness of the deep woods, something that you, in difference, did not like. You hated forests. For many reasons. Not only because of the ominous darkness, but also because of your death and the dreams you had been having lately. You clung close to Alastor, relying heavily on the warm safety of his presence to keep you sane.

"How are you feeling?" Alastor asked, looking down at you with an odd expression.

You were now gripping his arm with both hands, staring out into a particularly grim looking patch of trees. "I'm fine," you croaked. Your throat felt dry and scratchy, and talking gave you a sensation like vomiting sand.

Alastor stopped walking, making you stop with him. "Are you sure?" he pressed on. "If you want to go back to the house, I'll take you—"

"No, I don't want to go back. Let's find Rosie," you said, giving Alastor a hopefully comforting smile before continuing to walk, pulling him along with you.

After some time of meandering, your nerves began to ease. You were still walking with your arm hooked around Alastor's, but you were able to look at the trees stretching vastly before you without wanting to cry. Taking a deep, relaxing breath, you glanced around, before suddenly—

"There you are."

The feminine voice startled you so much so that you gasped and jumped about a foot in the air, letting go of Alastor in the process. The familiar fight-or-flight rush made your blood run cold in less than an instant.

Once your feet were steady on the forest ground again, you turned to see that Alastor had looked around to face the voice. "Come to kill me, have you?" he asked the figure.

A feeling of confusion joined your fear as you squinted to get a better look at the person. It was, in fact, a girl. You made this assumption based on her motherly, old-fashioned posture (including her breasts), the long, burgundy dress she wore that feathered out at her feet, and the giant, similarly flamboyant sun hat on top of her short cropped gray hair. Her skin was a muted white, and the two black pools carved into her face—that you assumed were eyes—contrasted to her skin tone greatly.

"Not quite yet, my dear Alastor," she said. Her voice was sugary and smooth. It resembled milk. "Although I'm sure you're hoping I just get it over with already. I promise, when the day comes, I'll make you suffer your worst."

Alastor just grinned. When you saw the way his eyes brightened as he looked at her, you felt a pang of something sharp in your heart. It reminded you of Angel Dust, and the run-in with him and his rude guy friends at the bar: jealousy.

You looked back at Rosie, and if you didn't know any better, it would seem that she was staring into your soul. However, you couldn't really tell where she was looking, considering the fact that her iris and sclera blended into one murky puddle of black. "Would you do me the honors of an introduction?" she asked Alastor curiously.

"Oh, of course! Excuse my rudeness," he rushed. "Rosie, this is a close friend of mine, (Y/N). (Y/N), this is my business partner, Rosie." He gestured his hands between the two of you, and although you would normally see it as an awkward gesture, he managed to do it smoothly.