"Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness.

Everything passes.

That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings, where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell.

Everything passes" - Osamu Dazai

∞

The days after being drained were foggy and always covered in a haze of discomfort. I felt nearly nothing, if not for the incessant, dull ache that lingered in my body. It was always discomfort, never a full pain. Nothing comprehensible, nothing corporal enough for my mind to grasp it. I couldn't even have that relief; the relief of knowing what was wrong with me, instead having the lucidity forever out of my grasp, just on the tip of my tongue. I wasn't even allowed that closure, which in turn ran my mind ragged, inhibiting it from being put to rest.

During these days, I did not walk; I floated. I floated about from room to room, each bleaker than the last, as if I were a phantom soul looking for purpose. I never found it, whatever I would hover about for. No matter how many times I relocated, that perpetual feeling of dulled hopelessness greeted me. Maybe if it was real hopelessness, I would have had reason to be so miserable. But it wasn't even that.

Whatever meager feeling I had, it was incomprehensible. It was not real hopelessness. It was not real depression. It was simply an awareness of lacking. I was lacking something...something in my life that made me content. The scientific reasoning behind it was my lack of magic, my being and soul feeling unwhole without it. But I did not care for the scientific definitions of anything, during those days. It was simply about what I felt, and I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I poured myself a steaming cup of green tea, so hot that it was most likely burning all the tastebuds off of the surface of my tongue. I did not care, as I gulped down another sip. I preferred it to be scalding, because this way, could feel the hot liquid as it trailed its way down my esophagus. It was a comforting feeling of warmth, the boiling liquid blazing it's way through my frigid insides.

It was nice to feel something warm, something alive throughout the mass of empty nothingness that I held inside me. During the days of my lows, the cold that constantly surrounded me felt ever the more biting, ever the more isolating. Instead of greeting me fondly, it nipped at my exposed feet with its uncomfortable ache, lashing at my numb limbs despite my layers of clothing. It was the only times I willingly seeked comfort from warmth, and that was through my cups of hot tea. They made my insides warm.

My bones croaked and moaned, with a tiredness that belonged to a senile, elderly lady, when I attempted to rise up. The mounds of pillows on my bed shifted, as I put great effort into throwing my weighted blanket off my frail body. A knock at my door was what prompted this shift, most likely being Ibet to walk with me down to lunch. I missed breakfast already, that was most definite by the blaring light outlining my drawn curtains.

Trudging to the door, I winced as the cold bit into my sensitive feet. Everything was always so...iritable during these days. I creaked the door open, peering out as an old, unfriendly crone might. Ibet's marvelous eyes greeted me, lined in wings of kohl that made them seem all the more feline. The eyeliner went all the way from her wing to the corner of her cat-eye, making the jade-green even more vibrant.

I creaked the door open a slight bit more, but not enough for her to gouge the severity of my current state. Her gaze caught on the bruise under my eye, from where the calka had hit me in the face. The scratches were long gone, thanks to the elixir. The bruise remained howerver, having held no demonic DNA. I relied on it to fade naturally. Though the medicinal properties of the potion had brought the swelling down, the red bruise fading to a yellowish-maroon, it was still  blatantly evident on my cheekbone and eye.

"Lunch is on in seven minutes, you're not coming down?" Ibet asked me, choosing to ignore the bruise, making me relieved. She leaned a hip on the doorframe, giving me a soft smile, one she reserved for me and solely me. I glanced back into my room. It held nothing for me, in all genuinity. And despite my bed being warm and comforting, I was bored. It was not satisfactory anymore, and now I was getting impatient again. Restless.

I sighed at her before giving her a curt nod, and closing my door. I quickly slipped on a large, white, cable-knit sweater from my pile of comfort-wear on the floor. The sweater was huge, originally intended for extra-large man, and heavy. I liked it though, because it provided me with comfort of being concealed. Maybe even a sense of protection from the outside world, if you want to go that far.

It hung on me like a sack, disguising any features I had from the neck to my lower thighs. It comforted me knowing that when people saw me, they wouldn't really see me. They would perceive what I allowed them too, and that was an oversized pullover. Less of me was visible, hidden and tucked away from foreign sight, solely for me to see.

Slipping on slippers over my white, shin-high socks, I opened the door again and stepped out. Ibet's attentive eyes slipped over my attire, from my sweater to my wide-legged,  cotton pants, and my uncharacteristic slippers. I simply shrugged at her.

"It's cold outside" I justified, giving her another indifferent shrug.

"I didn't say anything" She retorted with a gentle smile, walking us down the spiraling staircases of marble. Our footsteps were muffled by the red carpet that seemed to trail on forever. The narrow strip was in all the Belserra corridors, and on every staircase of the building. Ibet kept nudging the rug back into place with her foot as we descended down the stairs. 

The fabric shifted underfoot, mislaying itself on the individual steps. I didn't know why she bothered; the Venti were waiting right around corner to fix it anyways. It's a miracle they didn't chuck us off the rug before we were even reached the bottom. They took maintain the meticulous perfection, upon which they upheld the manor, very seriously.

Our conversation dwindled, the mood already somber with the cover of bleak storm clouds and bitter wind up ahead. Our silence was comfortable, in my part at least, not particularly caring whether or not it descended into awkwardness. Dry, brown leaves scampered infront of us, egged on by the breeze.

As we reached the dining hall, Ibet and I made our way over to our regular seats, where Cera and Clairmont were already seated. From the distance, I could see that they weren't speaking, only staring at eachother. Chatter was filling the hall as more and more student rolled in from their extracurricular activities and such.

When we sat, I observed what we had to eat: lentil soup. I liked lentils, though I was in no particular mood to eat at the moment. I knew I was eating out of boredom, and would soon be uncomfortably filled and stuffy. On days like these, I had to refrain from recreationally making myself retch, unable to deal with the feeling of restriction that came with over eating. Even a full stomach was an inconvenience. Nothing I consumed was ever worth the discomfort and immobility that came afterwards.

A body slumped in the seat next to mine, and by the heat radiating off of it, I could already tell who it was.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" He asked Ibet, already predicting my answer.

She gave him a benevolent shrug, before uttering, "Sure". She returned to her book straight after. The fact that the cover was enchanted blank, told me enough about the contents within the pages. Paris glanced over at me, waiting for the protest, but I simply ignored him. I focused on my breathing. During these periods, I often found myself inhaling in great big gasps, the usual, superficial breaths being unsatisfying.

My jaw was propped on my hand, as I spun my spoon through the thick stew. It was brown, a tempting aroma rising from it, but the thought of filling myself made me feel nauseous. Instead, I took a sip of water. I hadn't drunk water in a while, discouraged by the cold, instead opting for green tea.

"You alright?" Paris whispered to me, leaning in close as if to provide me with a sense of privacy from prying ears.

"Yes" I stated indifferently, tracing patterns into my lentils with my silverware.

"She's just fussy. She'll get over it soon enough" Clair clarified for him, letting Paris know that everyone could probably hear him, despite his hushed tone.

"Fussy?" He asked him. Clair shrugged in response, refusing to clarify.

"Don't call her that. She's not being fussy" Ibet chided, snapping her book shut and shooting Clair a glare. Cera smacked him upside his head.

"Yeah. She's not fussy" The female twin added on, making me roll my eyes.

"You do look a bit sick" He stated, lifting his tan hand up to my face. Before I could understand what he was doing, he had touched my forehead in an attempt to gouge my temperature. Upon feeling the warm pressure against my skin, I lurched up. Instantly, I snatched his pointer finger from where it was touching my temple, and pried it back. It bent at an unnatural and most definitely painful angle, pushed down towards his knuckle.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to touch me?" I said icily, as his finger turned white from the pressure I was applying to it. I released after holding It for a moment longer. He hissed, shaking his hand out.

"I was just trying to check your temperature. Gods" He grit out, his face twisted up in a grimace. His finger had turned red.

"I don't need a nursemaid" I bit, before turning back to my bowl of lentils. Him and I were not the same. I had healed him the other night to save my own hide. This was a completely different situation. He was trying to coddle me in an attempt to be a nuisance.

"Like Hell you don't. Maybe if you had one, you wouldn't be ice cold to the touch" He shook out his hand again. That caught Cesarie's attention. Rookie mistake.

From where she was sitting at the table, Cera began with a snicker, "Your skin is pale white and ice cold"

Clair, sharing the same malicious glint in his eyes, continued for her, "You never eat or drink anything. You don't go out in the sunlight... and sometimes you speak like – like you're from a different time". He placed a melodramatic hand onto his chest, obviously mocking Paris' concern.

Their golden eyes twinkled with unmuted amusement. Even Ibet looked up over the pages of her book, her mouth curved up into a snicker.

"This is the part where you exclaim that you're a monster, Eules" Cera laughed. Paris' expression vacillated between confused and disturbed. His brows were furrowed, as they usually were these days, as he assessed the scene. Did he get that they were making fun of him? I'd drop dead if he did, proving that he wasn't as naive as he looked.

"This is the skin of a killer!" I proclaimed, jutting out my pale arm as an offering. Paris' eyes flared with panic. Oh so what? I was a killer. Big deal. It's not like I couldn't joke about it without giving myself away. He was rigid in his seat, and I rolled my eyes. So touchy.

"It's a joke, Paris. Don't get all riled up" sighed at him, begrudgingly explaining it to Paris. My own mouth curved up just slightly. I wasn't smiling. No. Not smiling one bit. The corners of my lips were just perky. The twins' eyes narrowed at me, before they silently slinked back into the walls of their consciousness. Whatever they were saying to each other within their minds, I did not care. My lips remained curved up for the rest of lunch.

Ibet's nose was buried in a book again, and Paris asked me, "What is she reading? She always has those books with her...Some ancient text for her tract, I assume. She seems like the type to learn Sumerian or Phoenician, just to read literature in it's original language" 

I pursed my lips, not bothering to mention that she did, in fact, learn Sumerian as apart of her syllabus. It was the language in which the first known literature was recorded, and was a  requirement for her advanced Arcane Historian tract. But that was for school. In her free time, Ibet preferred to read...more eccentric literature.

"She's not reading ancient texts. She's reading smut" I stated bluntly. I fully approved of her books, because I too shared her tastes in literature.

"What?!" Paris choked on his drink. I continued poking at my peas, unbothered.

"Usually it's fan fiction that she had printed and bound. A lot of the time, it's faerie erotica though. She loves that trope" I personally found Faerie based books a bit...lacking. Too many "velvet wrapped steels" and "growls of pleasure" for my taste.

Mafia romances were nice, but always had sexist undertones and weak heroines. Not my cup of tea. Reading about a teenager getting sold by her mob father for the millionth time got repetitive. Demon's though... now those were nice. You could never go wrong with a Prince of Hell.

"Thats- well- that's nice" Paris cleared his throat, tugging at his tie for some extra airflow. The conversation came to a stopping halt after this, thank the everseeing. He must have been uncomfortable, sitting away from his friends, instead with me and my band of misfits.

I quite frankly did not care, nor did I try to make it a more welcoming environment. I never asked him to sit with me. It was his problem. I sat silently picking at my food, not in the mood to talk. Ibet was reading, and the twins were talking to eachother mentally. Atleast they weren't giggling this time around. I realized, for the first time, that in public we were all quite quiet. I suspected it had something to do with the "good-breeding" our parents had instilled in us from a young age.

Upon the ring of cathedral bells that marked the end of meal time, Paris jumped up to take away my tray of food. I rolled my eyes at the gesture of chivalry. Not waiting for him to return, I quickly dropped my napkin from my lap and onto the table, before getting up to leave. As predicted, Paris sprinted after me, finding me within the bald-spot of the crowd; student's tended to leave me my own personal bubble when walking together. It was as if they were afraid to touch me, lest my evil rub off on them like a contagious disease.

I felt Paris' warm presence by my arm as I walked. He, so far, proved to be the only one with gall enough to walk this close to me. My eyes drooped with boredom, staring straight ahead in indifference.

"So, are you sick?" He asked. At my leisurely pace, most students had already rushed by. I wasn't going to class, so I wasn't in any hurry. And apparently neither was Paris. Honestly, didn't he have class to attend besides bothering me all day? Why was he never in school?

"No" I stated, offering no further explanation.

"You don't look like yourself" He said quietly, in a small voice.

"I look exactly like myself" I shot down his attempt at a conversation. I healed him once and now he decided to take up the role of my care taker. He could take his chivalrous pomp and performative activism elsewhere. He was just lucky I didn't have enough energy to argue with him today.

We winded through the castle, taking turns through the corridors in the direction of Belserra. Not in the mood to walk outside, I was taking the longer route through the castle.

"You don't" He rebutted, "You look different. Your eyes look different"

I glanced up at him sharply, narrowing my eyes into slits, "Well maybe you should stop spending all your time staring at them, if you have a problem with how they look". My voice had menace in it, but was otherwise frigid. It was dead and monotone, my body lacking the energy for it to rise and fall as deemed necessary.

"I don't have a problem with your eyes. I have a problem with the emptiness in them. Like they've gone hollow, a light blinked out" He stated honestly. What on earth was he on about? I gave him a weary, sideways glance, my face twisted into a scowl. When I didn't reply, refusing to indulge in his fantasies, he continued,

"They look different. Desolate" He quickly added on, "Not that they're ugly. No, they're very pretty, just vacant" He said with a transparency that made my eyes shoot open. I snapped my head in his direction, my gaze enraged. His eyes were wide with innocence, finding no offense in the statement. He said it with such honest genuinity, that he didn't seem embarrassed by it.

"What is wrong with you?" I asked frankly. He blinked, visibly shocked by my reaction.

"What did I say?" Paris asked, worry lacing his expression. Again, he blinked those big, puppy-dog eyes at me.

"It's not that I'm trying to insult you, Eulalia. Your eyes are nice. Very very pretty, actually. I'm not saying that they're not-"

"Oh will you be quiet" I hissed at him, speeding up as to get away from the madman. The action was interrupted by a sound that was something short of a dog squeal.

"Ah!" A high pitched exclamation cut through our disastrous conversation. From an alcove near my dorm room, tucked deep behind a tapestry near the entrance, two figures stumbled out. Two utterly familiar, slender figures.

Instantly, their body movements aligning, Cera and Clairmont jumped up. Their faces were wide with cheeky grins, faces flushed and excited.

"He called you pretty!" Cera shouted, jumping and pointing an accusatory finger at me. My eyes widened into saucers, practically popping out of my skull. If it were anatomically possible, they would have already been rolling down the hall by now.

"You were eavesdropping. After I told you not to. Twice" I accused her, my voice deadly calm. It was a measly attempt at regaining control over the situation, condemning her before she condemned me. Kill or get killed. Cruel world indeed.

"Actually, you said not to pry into your mind or Paris'-" Clairmont clarified.

"-Which was extremely unfair on our part, so we resorted to older forms of information extortion. And he called you beautiful!" Cera finished. No, he didn't. She was just shamelessly fabricating lies now.

I blinked at them. I looked back at Paris. Looked back again at Cera and Clair. Looked between the twins and Paris, as the silence stretched on. The flushed look of achievement drained away from their faces. Discerning my humorless expression, they shifted on their feet.

"Right...well we weren't trying to eavesdrop actually..." Cera retorted. I raised an unimpressed eye brow at her, expecting her to clarify.

"Your..." she paused, a look of befuddlement passing over her face, "well...your Luca was looking for you. We told him you were coming down here" She stated, confused on what to refer to Luca as.

She knew I was related to him in one way or another, but didn't really know how. I never called him my cousin, instead referring to him as the vagabond miscreant who loved clinging to my family, as if he hadn't his own. They knew he wasn't my cousin, but weren't exactly sure what he was, in terms of being related to me. As far as I was concerned, he wasn't at all.

I stared at them, my lips pursed in disappointment as I inhaled a big sigh. Exhaustion nipped at my mind, my eyes stinging from a desire to sleep.

"You two are genuinely insufferable" I tightly said, my voice quiet but steely. Without saying another word, I turned my back on them. I made my way down the hall, ignoring the shouts that they called after me. Paris followed in my stead. I walked in silence, not acknowledging him, refusing to utter a single word, all the way back towards my hall.

As we cut a corner, I ran into the one person that I was hoping to avoid. Luca stopped, stiffening his shoulders defensively. He looked at Paris with shock, eyeing him over for any sign of the fatal wounds I had left on him last night. By the glint in his eyes, I could tell he was suspicious. Ignoring Luca, I shoved past. I didn't owe him anything. Paris was alive and well. He had no right to question me.

"Eulalia" Luca said, stopping infront of me. I side stepped him, and I could tell he wanted to force me still. He refrained from grabbing me though, knowing better than anyone not to touch me.

"No 'Lulu' this time?" Paris asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Luca's eyes snapped to him and narrowed.

"I don't know what you-" he stopped himself before finishing that phrase, instead turning towards me- the culprit behind this mess. He ducked down, as if to whisper in my ear. He respectfully kept his distance though, not daring to invade my cherished personal space.

"I don't know what is going on, but I can't help you if you don't tell me" he hissed at me secretively, lowering his voice so that Paris would not hear. I don't know what he expected to have happened to him. I murdered Paris and then what? Replaced him with a Frankenstein version of him, that I cloned in my bedroom?

"I don't need your help" I sniffed indifferently, opening my bedroom door and slamming it in his face.

Silence followed me in the stead of what was supposed to be a slam.  I heard nothing. My shadows were gone. They couldn't possibly be muffling the bang. I looked down to see what the problem was, and found a dirty sneaker shoe wedged between my double-doors.

"Get your filthy Converse out of my doorway" I seethed, slamming the door once more on his foot. Luca's eyes flickered down to his beige sneaker, scuffed and dirty, and currently interfering with my solitude.

"They're Golden Goose, actually" He snapped back, pushing my door open. I struggled against the weight, my body aching with the sudden strain. Why did everyone in this bloody school have to be ten-foot athletes?

"Okay. Get your Chicken Shit out my doorway" I hissed back. Paris attempted to step in and help me in my tug-of-war, but I shot him a withering glare. Just because I allowed him in my room once, did not mean I had approved around-the-clock visitation hours. He was just as unwelcome as Luca was. On the receiving end of my glower, Paris stepped back. He turned on Luca instead, deciding to perpetrate the root of the problem.

He grabbed Luca's shoulder, "Hey, man, she said lay off", saying the most coastal phrase I had ever heard him utter. Too which Luca replied by shoving him off, and grabbing Paris by the collar. Oh for the love of the everseeing.

"I don't know what you're doing with her, but I'm warning you now-" Luca snarled in Paris' face. Paris shoved him off with one hand, sending Luca stumbling towards me. Taking the opportunity, I reached up on my tippy toes and calmly grabbed a fist full of his brown hair. His head jerked back harshly, and I began dragging him back. I wasn't about to jump in between them and cry, "look at me. it's not worth it!", only to get slammed in the face by a two-hundred pound male. If they wanted to act primitive, I would give them primitive.

I smacked Luca upside the head, dragging him by his chocolate curls. His pace was rapid as he was bent backwards in a 90 degree angle, following me as to not fall and have a chunk of his hair ripped out. I should have known.

By nature, my imbecile cousin was a hot head. He was a pyrokinetic, an elemental tract that could control flames. His temper took influence from it, being unbearably explosive at times. This was one of those times. For the Gods' sake, I thought he was going to therapy for this.

"Not that this is any of your business-" I seethed at him, leaning down so he could hear me, "-but I am fine. I don't need your help, as you saw perfectly well last night"

"What?" Paris asked, blinking at me for clarification. I shoved Luca away from me as one might a misbehaving dog. Neanderthals. Absolute Neanderthals.

"Last night he caught me stabbing the calka" I outraged to Paris, "He walked in on me straddling your corpse and impaling the thing to death. Blood everywhere. Excessive stabbing. I got a bit aggressive with it after he did this number on my face". I gestured toward the whopping bruise on my cheek.

"What?" Luca asked, brushing his shirt off. I turned to him, clenching my jaw.

"It wasn't Paris that you caught me murdering. It was a demon masquerading as him. I killed the thing. That's why he was nude and missing half a bloody arm" I exasperated. Luca's face wavered between disgust and disbelief.

"Look" I pointed at Paris, "He has two arms. And also, Luca, your willingness to help cover up a murder is concerning"

I furrowed my eyebrows, my mouth twisting downward in disbelief at his idiocy. He really needed to start thinking things through. He hadn't changed or matured one bit since we were kids. The same impulsive, hot-headed, recklessness that I grew up with.

"I was helping you cover up a murder. Not just anyone, but you. Big contrast" he clarified, as if it made any difference.

"No, you weren't. I had it under control. You, of all people, can't protect nor help me in any way that matters. Get over it. And lay off Paris, too" I snapped at him, nodding my head in his direction. Why was everyone I know attacking Paris? First the twins kidnapping him, and now Luca too.

Paris' mouth twisted into a frown that looked an awful lot like a pout, for Goddess knows why.

"Well I don't need you to protect me either" Paris stated, "I could take him"

I gave him an incredulous look, "Yeah. Okay, Paris"

"I can!" He proclaimed at me and I turned away from him, ignoring him as one might a child throwing a fit. I knew he could, looking at how easily he pushed Luca off, but I simply did not care enough to coddle his bruised ego.

"Lay off, Luca. Got it? I don't need your help and I'll burn all your hair off if you bother me again. And trust me when I say, I know how to make it look like an accident"

Luca pursed his lips, as if refusing to agree to this, "If you need help-"

"Luca-" I growled a warning.

"If you need help-" he began, despite my interruption, "-you can turn to me. Just remember that"

"And you'll do good to remember that all your looks lie in your hair. You'll look like someones uncle without all those curls, Luca. You just remember that" I batted my eyelashes at him. He gave me a frustrated sigh. He ducked down to whisper to me.

"Look, Carmella told me to look after you, okay? I promised that I would after, well, you know..." he trailed off, guilt lacing in his eyes. His thick eyebrows furrowed upwards apologetically. My jaw ticked as clenched my teeth.

"Well then just lie. I don't need you taking care of me. Not now. Not ever. Whatever complex you have going on, get over it" I ground out, refusing to get into this twisted topic. Whatever guilt he had, was not my problem.

He nodded at me solemnly, before turning to leave when I didn't say anything else. I had nothing to say to him. He was realizing this far too late.

"And same goes for you" I swiveled towards Paris, "Stop trying to help me. And stop saying weird stuff about my eyes. Or anything else that comes to mind in that fat head of yours"

My stomach flipped uncomfortably, upon remembering the embarrassing conversation we had about my eyes. It made me nauseas. Paris touched his forehead self consciously.

"Oh for the everseeing sake, I meant that metaphorically. Not literally" I clarified, exasperated.

"Oh..." he said, putting his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. He was silent for a few moments, before asking, "So...who's Carmella?"

I snapped my head in his direction, eyes narrowed, "What?"

Was this boy never taught conversation patterns? Why was he always randomly blurting whatever came to mind?

"Well you've mentioned her a couple times to Luca. Twice to be exact"

"Carmella is his mother" I said slowly, my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes still narrowed. I didn't understand what Luca's mother had to with anything. What was the connection? The relevance?

"Oh...so you're close with his mom then" he stated. Where was this conversation going?

"Yes? I've known her since I was child. Luca and I were close growing up" I glanced up at him, deadpanning in a frank tone, "We've obviously had a falling out, as you can tell"

"Right...right" he said, leaning back on my doorway. A stretch of silence grew between us as he continued wordlessly staring at me. After several seconds of him just standing there, I finally spoke up.

"Paris?" I asked him innocently.

"Hm? Yeah, Eulalia?" Again with the bloody name calling. I gave him a ditzy smile.

"Don't you think it's about time...YOU LEAVE?!" I shouted at him. He blinked, as if not understanding me, before quickly scrambling off my door.

"Right. Yeah. Right. Bye, Eulalia" he waved. Paris stood for a couple more seconds, staring at me. Was he expecting a farewell? I raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, before he finally got the memo and left the hall.

'Bloody morons' I grumbled to myself, slamming the door behind me. This time, the slam rattled the entire doorway.