Digging up graves in the middle of the night...That's not exactly 'witchy' business, but it is when you're eager to prove yourself. However as it so happens your magic doesn't come with a flick of a wand or a wish. Instead it comes in the worst of w...
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Everything in your brain was on autopilot. The drive back through the dark streets, parking your dad's car in the garage (that you hadn't really had permission to drive) and hauling Jungkook's laden body into your family's morgue.
Even the cat that padded by your feet like an old friend, you felt as if the whole night was a dream. In fact you barely even remembered hoisting Jungkook onto one of the refrigerated metal doors and closing it. Had you done that? Had you taken off your shoes before crawling into bed? Your body now numb from the ache you had put it through, you definitely remembered that feeling.
You didn't even register Suga curling up on the end of your bed and falling into a light purring slumber, thinking he may have been a figment of your imagination.
You do however, remember the moment you succumbed to sleep, proving that the night had been real, it hadn't been a dream. Suga was real, he could speak, and you had in fact dug up a dead body of the boy you hated with your entire being. You fell asleep the second your head hit the pillow.
Your dreams brimmed to the surface, full of soil and dead things. Flies buzzed around your ears and the soulless glassy eyes of rabbits stared back at you, muck and dried blood sticking to their furry little bodies. One of which had the back of its head cracked open, a gaping black hole in its skull. You peaked an eye through the hole, maggots brushing against your hands as you held the rabbit's limp corpse.
Inside its skull you could see a bristling thorn bush, that was growing bigger by the second. You flinched back as it grew out of the rabbits head and began growing through its body, wrapping its sharp stems around your hands and climbing up your arms. The thorns poked through your skin, releasing the red fluid from the confines of your skin in pulps of blood.
You went to scream but stopped yourself in fear of the brambles reaching down your throat. Quicker than they had grown around you, they retracted back inside the rabbit's head, finally allowing you to drop the animal to the floor.
What was left in the wake of the thorns on your arms and hands had you shuddering in your broken skin. Like the thorns had, fear wrapped it's icy hands around you.
Your wounds were letters, words. A single word, scattered around your skin endlessly.
You found yourself unwillingly begin chanting something in a language you didn't understand. Yet the words that came from your lips felt right and familiar, as if it was your own language.
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