𝕳𝖊'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕬 𝕳𝖞𝖆𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖍

{ Psalm 91:5-}

Chapter 8's song: Harmonies Poétiques et religieuses S. 173 No. 7 Funérailles by Franz Liszt

——— Moments Ago.

"Fine! Fine! I'll fetch ye some ludicrous snacks." Vincent breaks and lifts his body off of the bench. Then begins to walk down the long, dimly, lit corridors. Finally, he reaches the end of the hallway to simply turn left towards the concession stand.

Casually, moving his body to the neatly formed lineup to the horrid, toxic junk food. The poison, humans are so addicted to is now being presented to the young girl's craving. 'These people are askin' ta be poisoned by this industrial environmen—'

"Ladies and gentlemen~!" A booming voice echoes throughout the enormous stadium. The folks inside the stands cheer and praise the start of the show.

The pent-up anxiousness bubbles inside of him, not realizing he, himself wanted to watch the show too. His footing shifts upwards without the line moving itself. Automatically, his chest collides into someone's back. "Sorry for ma irreverent behavior, miss." He blurts out, noticing how well dressed she is, he lowers his head towards her, just out of respect.

She gives him a subtle nod to greet him. "It's fine, it's fine." She forgives him, waving her hand in his face to disregard the first impression of the boy. The lady rotates her body around, just to discover how young the male is. Turning back around to the young lad, she tug at the corner of her lips. "Well, you're faraway from home. I presume... Ireland?" She surmises.

He shakes his head by her erroneous answer, he, himself plaster a smile on his face. She, too, is young... her hazelnut eyes already seeking for adventure and mishaps. Her fair skin's unsolicited marks of being previously ill nor tiny bumps of white pus. The lady's lips thin and rosy ready to speak her mind if required, and her almond brown hair curling around her. Although still being pinned up in a intricate bun, some strands left out in her face. A pale yellow bonnet's placed on top with the strings tied underneath her chin.

"Nain, Scotland. But that was an adequate accusation. Dae ye perhaps travel?" Vincent queries the fair lady.

"If you're implying that I'm an excursionist then you are incorrect...mister?" The young woman trails off, hoping he would finish her sentence for her.

"Vincent. Vincent St.Evans Callaway." He greets himself, bowing once again to her. She continues to smile, his fluffy black and white hair flowing downwards all so velvety. Tempting to course her fingers through his silky yet wavy hair. "Hm. Earl of Callaway. Well, my name's Lilian Jocelyn Mary Rosenfield." Lilian inclines her head again too.

"Aye. Yer family's Marquess of Rosenfield?" He banters. She smiles sheepishly, glancing down then back up to his eyes saying: "I am conversing with the nefarious Barbarian Vincent of Scotland." She blurts out, teasing him with the names people rumored him when he was younger.

He chuckles once perceiving that dead name. "I wa—" A burning sensation abruptly raises inside him, specifically on him. The agonizing pain uproots in him as he automatically gives out a shout at the suddenness. He's holding onto his abdomen since the pain originated there.

The people around him including the girl becomes perturbed towards the fallen boy who's kneeling on one knee. Hissing towards the overwhelming feeling of being burned by some sort of invisible nitrogen sheet on his stomach. 

His eyes immediately darts over to the young jogging girl. Drowning out everyone's concern, he gets up as if nothing happened to him and march up to the girl, meeting her halfway. "Hey, are yo—" He snatches up the closest arm to him and drags her away outside. "E. Vinny! Let go of me! It hurts! Let go!" The protagonist protests all the way.

He releases her once they're outside. The night sky welcoming their presence and the boy's eyes sharply narrowing downwards to the upset female. Scanning the environment to see no one around, Vincent initiates the conversation. "Whit did ye do?" He demands.

"I didn't do anythi—"

"Oh, yeah, then what is this?" He announces, untucking his shirt to lift it upwards for the young lady to reveal her doings. However, the girl positions her head to the side, bickering "Ew, I do not desire to see you—"

"Look!" The boy urges her, she hesitantly pivots her attention to the pinpoint area he desires her to inspect.

There, she see is a tiny palm on his abdomen. The same place she touched th— "How did..." She points at the spot, losing her words in the process while still trying to get a grasp on it. "Ye touched ma umbra." He mumbles, still attempting to wrap his head around this predicament too.

"Your what? Umbrella?"

"No, my umbra. An umbra is ma shadow self...ma true form and ye, somehow, connected with me in a spiritual level." He explains to her. Y/n's eyes instantly widened by this fact, her body trembling with the same fear before prior minutes. "Wha—what?" She murmurs, petrified to say the words daring to spill out of her.

Her figure's striving to distance herself away from the boy she used to play and babysit her. The fear scurries back up inside her once more as the overwhelming sensation begins to prick at her eyes, now. "That's you? You're the evil lurking in the light?" She muster out.

"Aye..." He answers shamefully, lowering his head by the conclusion. Vincent eventually glances up to her eyes and all he see is: Fear... Endeavoring to soothe her nerves, although he struggles to reassure her: "But dinna be feart (afraid) of me—I didna want to tell ye because I was feart (afraid)." The boy notice the distance between them growing widener by the minute and the tension becomes more heavier than before. Nearly suffocating to be in.

He starts to trudge over to the frightened girl seeming as if he's trying to tame a wild beast. "After all of these years... you're telling me, you're...a..a demon, but I thought all of The Elitists got rid of the demons." She proclaims, her eyes cautiously watching him from afar. Vincent persists on steadying his pace to get closer to the little one. "The majority, however ma family has been runnin." He informs her.

Shaking her head by the truth being told to her. Once he's closer to the girl, he reaches out his hand towards her. Instead of taking it, she shouts at him: "Stay away from me, you malicious beast!" She barks at him, pointing directly at his face. The girl he once known is washed away with the common Christian belief.

"Y/n, ye ken me, I would never do such a thing to put ye in harm's way." He strives to assuage her, albeit her eyes leisurely looking at him as if he's a stranger to her. "I don't know you, anymore and I don't want to know who you are, so please take me home." She spit in disgusted and abhorrent by the creature.

Her eyes becoming insipid and more incoherent by the passing seconds. Maybe she's taking it into consideration, however consideration doesn't appear in that context. Perhaps she's blocking out all of her pleasant, bad, devoted memories of the beast that's standing before her.

"Whit aboot the show?" The boy mentions, his thumb pointing back to the building. He muster up a smile to alleviate the tension between the two. Yet Y/n would not permit him too by stating: "I don't care about the show, anymore, just take me home Vinn—...Vincent." She formally implies, not once has he heard her call him by his full name and it feels strange to him.

It literally alters his genuine smile into a subtle frown and his eyebrows hardening. Then this thought crosses his mind.

'My mother was right.'