Eternity Glass

IX: Familiar, But Different

Jeremy Herrera had reserved himself next to a potted plant near the edge of the room, purposefully removing himself from the crowd. Morgant had offered him a cup of golden liquid that she said would ease his nerves. He held onto the flower-shaped cup but didn't take a sip. Mostly because he thought this was a test of some sort.

Ever since they came back from the lake house, that sea witch always had an eye on him. At the start, Jeremy thought they were hallucinations, that the entire thing was a bad dream and he'd wake to spend a proper summer break with his best friend. When he returned to the shop, he thought he heard the fish talk to him. The dead fucking fish kept telling him to go back to the water.

It got even worse during his fishing trips with his brother and father. Sometimes he'd see the sea open, ready to swallow him in, only to have Jeffrey pull him from the edge of the boat. That happened multiple times. Each time, they wouldn't believe what he saw. His mother absolutely lost it, but he couldn't blame her. To them, he attempted suicide and rambled nonsense about how the sea wanted to devour him.

They sent him to a therapist, which helped a little. Jeremy appreciated having someone to talk to, despite how the doctor thought he was just speaking in metaphors. It wasn't until he decided that he was mentally well enough to return to the lake house that everything hit him.

Morgant had been waiting for him, standing on the porch just like the first time. Rather, Fallon stood on the porch, but he didn't want to believe it. He'd turned her down without any explanation, seen the hurt in her eyes. He knew that she had a million other things to focus on, but he had to. For himself.

He kicked himself every day for how selfish that sounded, but after being ambushed at the lake house, after being knocked out by that... Reaper. He still saw him in his nightmares, his cold hands tightening and tightening around his neck until he thought his chest would burst. Even then, his eyes wouldn't close, wouldn't let him just die.

That reaper forced him to stare into his eyes. Look at what I'll do to your beloved witch once I'm done with you. Once your body is rotting six feet under, I'll take her for myself. Chain her up and use her to my will. To my master's will.

It didn't take too long before Jeremy grew resistant to his need for sleep, which added onto the hallucinations and fever spells.

So, when he saw Fallon standing on the porch of that house, he didn't take a step forward, instead demanding that the figure tell him something only she would know. The entity wearing Fallon's skin gave way, revealing her true form—or at least a truer form—of tight curls, pink to fair skin, and razor bright violet eyes with the name Salulla.

That was her first test, to see if he could differentiate what was real and what was an illusion.

"Oh, I wouldn't forget a face like yours."

From the corner of his eye, he saw a tall, broad-shouldered satyr cornering what Jeremy assumed to be a lesser known deity, or some sort of birdwoman based off the feathers falling. He sighed inwardly and looked down at the cup of ambrosia, weighing the pros and cons of stepping in.

The person in question could only utter a hesitant rejection. The satyr snapped his fingers. "Are you one Diasyra's offspring? Explains the impeccable beauty."

Jesus.

Jeremy downed the cup and turned to step in, but not before another voice cut in.

"Her name is Fallon Phorisdottir."

Fallon?

The blond man next to her placed an irritatingly comfortable arm around her shoulders. "She's with me."