The time was around 7:30pm, ghouls and siblings of sin alike came and went from Genesis’ bedroom in hopes truths would be revealed about unrequited crushes, their future and just about anything their little heads could come up with. The bedroom door was left ajar with thin springs of light peaking through the cracks. Her room in itself sparsely lit with a few candles strewn about and curtains drawn to let in the beckoning moonlight that danced across the mirror of the vanity at the other end of the room.
Tarot cards strewn about her bed she was just about to call it a night before a knock on the wooden doorframe brought her back to reality. She couldn’t make out the person cloaked in darkness but the horns adorning their head confirmed it was a ghoul possibly looking for services.
( @genesisghoulette 💜)
TW: depiction of anxiety
Shadow had always been a skeptic about people who said they could read the future. He had always felt like there was a cloud of misfortune hanging over his head, and he wanted to believe that it was simply a culmination of bad choices and random chance rather than a pre-determined path that he would’ve eventually had to walk even if he had tried harder to avoid it.
But when he met Genesis, he thought maybe things were looking up. Maybe this could finally be an answer to his prayers, or some kind of karmic reward for how hard he had been working. He wanted to believe that. He wanted to feel the weight of that cursed cloud lift from his shoulders.
But it didn’t. It felt heavier than ever, and he couldn’t place why. Nothing had happened. It was all around a very mundane day. Nothing had gone wrong. But all day, he had felt a sense of impending doom that made his chest ache and his hands tremble.
When he found himself in need of answers, for the first time ever, he knew where to go. If Genesis thought that this was real, that he was stuck feeling this way, or worse, that he was justified in it and that he really was putting people in danger, then that would give her the chance to leave him on her own terms. He didn’t want to blindside her.
As he opened his mouth to announce himself, his voice caught in his throat, and he made a small strangled squeaking noise that he didn’t know it was even possible to make. He was so embarrassed that it made him want to run away, but he was so shaky he could barely walk, much less run.
He stepped into her room, closed and locked her door, and kneeled next to her bed with his head down and his hands on her blanket, palm-up.
The only sound he could make, although it was barely a whisper, was the only thing she needed to hear.
“Help.”
