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Isolation

—can’t keep doing this, can’t keep doing this, can’t keep—

“Are you sure it’s the one?”

A voice echoed at the edges of his consciousness.

It wasn’t familiar in the slightest, but where the voices echoed from certainly was.

While he never bothered to learn their names, he remembered faces, voices .

And the one who had torn him from his lethargy was entirely new.

How … interesting…

It had been such a long time since he had company, though he doubted this newcomer was aware of how close they were to him.

So rarely did the old ones mention him to anyone, and it was so difficult to tell time in this space.

“Yes,” a second voice huffed.

Indignant, hassled —

“Laura found the object not far from the victim’s home. It was pristine—like it had never been touched by the fire—”

Fire.

He let the thought swirl in his mind before his mouth sharpened into a smile.

Lot. 179: A silver locket from the eighteen hundreds with a secret compartment containing a lock of pale blond hair—

“How does this keep happening?” The first voice—softer, higher—asked.

“First the wing-backed chair, then the Art Deco lamp, and now—”

He could practically taste the fear on their breath.

Sticky sap that overpowered his palette with its rich, nauseating flavor.

Too sweet, too sweet, too sweet—

“It’s complicated,” the annoyed one replied.

“Trust me, the less you know, the better.”

Oh, but this one hid fear much better than the first. Even and measured, through strained teeth— this one— was a much better offering.

What an awful temptation to be given two vulnerable meals so close to his domain.

So close to him.

“I wish I knew less, sometimes.”

He shifted in the darkness, felt something old creak from his prone position.

Recklessness could only ferry him so far, and he had learned his lesson long ago.

No, caution was needed here.

The metal pressed around him.

His eyes collected, gathering to focus on precisely where the voices were coming from.

Whispers rose around him.

Keep talking.

Keep talking.

Keep talking .

“Not gonna happen. I get it. You’re new to all of this, but there’s no going backwards. Not in this—”

His mouth split open, hot breath escaping as his tongue spilled onto the floor beneath him.

They were close, so close—

“I understand, sir—”

“Do you? Because this isn’t some teenage sleepover—”

Stress exploded in the air.

His tongue slithered across the ground, leaving behind a hot trail of thick saliva in its wake.

When he reached the end of that particular organ, his patience wavered.

The choice was obvious, and the risk was worth the reward.

With a soft groan, unused bones cracked and joints popped.

Muscle tore as it swelled and stretched.

His neck elongated with an agonizingly slow movement, allowing his tongue to continue its path.

“—there are real lives at stake. This is real rot, Harrison!”

Harrison.

A wheeze escaped his mouth, mirth cutting into the edges of his face.

A name, they had dared to utter a name.

The glee and anticipation were too strong to ignore.

he could extend himself any further, the rattle of chains pierced through everything.

“What was that? ” Harrison whispered as the other swore.

“Nothing! Drop the locket and let’s get out of here—”

No, no, no…

The doorway was closing, so recklessness it would be.

With an inhuman growl, his spine snapped in a brutal arch and he heaved himself from the cold floor.

Anger bubbled deep within, like lava growing with every sharp twist of his body.

He wouldn’t be left to squander, wouldn’t be left to rot in the darkness without the soul of another .

Not now, not so SOON—

“Harrison…” he whispered.

“Sir! Something just said my name—”

A face was forming in the darkness with him.

“ Harrison, ” he cooed, ever so sweetly.

That face was starting to take shape.

Even in the dark, he could see it just within reach of him.

His tongue coiled, preparing to strike.

The terror was there—raw and heady, and nearly his!

One moment, only one moment more—

“Drop it and run!”

When his tongue lashed out, there was nothing.

No head or neck to break.

No soft flesh to dig his clawed hands into.

No fragile mind to play with.

Just empty space and the rattling of heavy chains echoing in the dark.

Harrison and their companion had escaped him.

“How disappointing,” he murmured as his form carelessly slumped back to the ground.

The chains eventually grew silent, and his body settled back into a more familiar form.

Eventually, his mind would go silent, too.

Not a thought, not a desire, just terrible silence until the sound of that familiar chime—