𝕳𝖊'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕬 𝕳𝖞𝖆𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖍

{ Job 4:15 }

Chapter 22's song: No Song yet...

——————
{ "A spirit glided past my face, and the hair on my body stood on end." }
——————

"My, my, if it isn't my favorite psychic." Bug AKA Émeric compliments the lady in front of him. Her eyes position themselves above Émeric's head to distinguish the white glow around his body. He radiates with pure happiness, peace, and love. An aura she is so not used to. It takes her breath away being in so much good positivity.

However, she pulls her attention back onto her friend. "Bug~, oh my lord!" She squeals out, her hands subconsciously placed on both of his forearms. Her eyes constantly are focused on him, the feeling of the young childishness and mirthfulness erupts within her.

All of the time they spent together. Albeit, they were around 5-10 years old, she still sensed the same emotions she felt when he was around. His head shifts subtly to the right side, he, too produces a grin on his playful face. "Look at you, renard. You're all grown up." He comments.

"I'm merely seventeen. But you're approximately...19?" She assumes. Her e/c eyes currently analyze the mature man ahead. He's also taller than her, albeit he's possibly shorter than Vincent. Émeric is perhaps five inches taller compared to the woman.

His brunet curly hair is short to his chin and his bangs are pulled back into a tiny bun. His warm smile is welcomed by the teenager who solely stares towards him in awe. "How are you approximately correct?" He teases her word choice.

"Because I still remember that time when we went to the beach and you dumped water over my head. You stated that you were endeavoring to reveal if I was a mermaid. Gosh, I was so flabbergasted by it that I said something like...aren't you two years older than me, yet you behave imbecilic than me?" Y/n snickers, her hand extends out to his right shoulder shoving him slightly.

His laughter erupts within his throat, overlooking how boisterous and noxious it is. Yet Y/n habitually loves his chuckle because it's the type where the joke doesn't have to be humorous. Nonetheless, his voice will make her fall backward holding her abdomen. Tears slipped from her eyes from the contentment overwhelming her. "Yeah, and I presume I said I don't know what game you're playing but you will not eat me alive, sea witch!" He mentions.

"Gosh, we were—" Y/n interrupts herself, detecting the area on the right side of her become a dark shadow looming over the two. Half of Émeric's face is cascaded down with the same dark abyss decorating him. She immediately comprehended what and who provoked the dense atmosphere. "Wha's (who's) the wean lad?" A soft Scottish voice intervenes.

Her eyes shift over to the darker side of them. The darkness simply lurks above their pure white light. Eventually, Y/n's attention anchors on the reason for the opaque surroundings. "Vincent!" She blurts out, scolding him with her eyes. "This is my childhood friend: Émeric Aveline." She introduces the two males. Her arm is linked with the shorter French man.

His brown eyes laser focus on the intense golden beams of Vincent's. Émeric tugs at the corner of his lips to relieve the heavy intensity Vincent's pressured them in. Émeric's hand is offered out to the demon in front. Subconsciously, Vincent takes his hand tightening his iron icy hand into the French person. The emotion Vincent exhibits goes predominantly to the conclusion that this feeling causes him misery.

Meanwhile, Émeric notices the sudden shivers chase along his spine as the hairs on his forearms stand up. His eyes glimpse down to perceive Vincent's hand had morphed into a dark purple larger palm than before, his fingers wrapping around Émeric's wrist. There's a vague crimson red and abyssal black smoke rising from his hand. Of course, this whole surprised appearance is invisible to everyone's eyes except for Y/n and Émeric.