Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)

Chapter 49

*TW: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MEMORIES OF VERBAL/SEXUAL ABUSE*

Eerie confusion built seamlessly into a maddening schizophrenia at each ominous repetition of phrases within the formally printed scrawl on the textured ivory pages of works written by Edgar Allan Poe. The Raven was bordered by an almost irrevocable insanity, boiling beneath the surface of each deceivingly calm description, each rapping at the windows and the doors locking the desolate man in his home of violent silence—I couldn't decide if I were utterly raptured by the vague undercurrent of meaning, or if I were entirely put off, nearly frightened by what the meaning could be, too wary to dig further into the mental descent of an otherwise sane person. But I couldn't look away, nor could I simply pause without finishing. Perhaps the emptiness of the nothing that would ensue at having left the short poem-like story half-read would create an even more odd sensation of disturb.

My eyes followed each word with a reverent awe, or fear, genuinely absorbing the content of the writing this time rather than dozing off in thought. I sat still on the sofa in the living room, almost rigid, my face half-buried in the collar stitch of Chrollo's beige crewneck, directly in the line of the bright light shining ethereally through the gossamer curtains draping over the back french doors. Quiet settled down around me just as the suspended flecks of dust, visible only in the stream of sunlight, gracefully settled on the tops of the furniture—Chrollo had insisted on folding what was clean of the laundry before returning with the nail polish and his rings, so I was reading while I waited.

There was a haunting sensation that lingered even after I finished the story and closed the book. I couldn't decide if I had interpreted it correctly or not, but either way, I would probably come back to that collection for another short story at some point.

Breathing a long sigh from the depths of my lungs, I set the book down on the coffee table and picked up my phone. My teeth came down on my bottom lip apprehensively—it was nearly two in the afternoon now, and I still hadn't answered Kurapika's text.

"Hey :)"

It was just a simple greeting—why did I feel so heavy about answering it? But even I knew, as well, that this wasn't just a greeting. This message was his way of kindly asking for any sort of response from me. I was already aware of the fact that he hated feeling like a burden, and that his wants and desires always suffered for it—this little message was his way of asking me for something, anything.

In a way, I was glad that he seemed more invested in his friendship with me, for multiple reasons. The first, obviously, being that he deserved to have a friend, someone he could let his guard down around and not have to control his emotions so steadfastly with. The second, though, was a bit more guilt-inducing—if he was focused on me, perhaps he wouldn't spend so much time tracking and learning updated information on the Troupe. But I justified this wrong by telling myself it was good, in a way, that he had me as a distraction, that I could be his resting place to return to whatever former fragments of himself he could scrape up, fragments that existed before rage had consumed his character.

I wonder if Hisoka is still in York New...?

This was something I hadn't really delved into before—honestly, I tried my hardest to forget that our encounter ever even happened, since both Machi and Chrollo were convinced that I was safe, that he knew nothing about me. But although Kurapika told me indirectly, I knew he was working, or exchanging information, with Hisoka. If he was in York New, and they both were allies of sorts, wouldn't that mean he knew Kurapika's location?

Have they met up?

It didn't feel like my place to ask, and I was highly concerned about keeping any vague, probing questions unspoken, now more than ever, so I wasn't sure if I even wanted to push the issue with Kurapika. But he seemed so distant now from the rest of his colleagues, as though he'd isolated himself again and was planning on working as an individual, without the pomp of the Hunter Association. If this was the case, I was sure they'd met up. I just hoped that Hisoka had no clue where Chrollo really resided, or that he wouldn't care, since he knew that their battle was an inevitable outcome, anyway.