I don't know who I am, I don't know who I'll be
Remi's eyes go wide, breath catching fast in his throat. Downstairs, the chaos blurs into noise: frantic voices, stomping feet, orders shouted. But none of it feels near. None of it feels helpful. His name doesn’t echo back. No one calls for him.
And then the bedroom door slams shut.
Hard.
The wood shakes in its frame like it wants to hold; not keep something out, but keep him in. His pulse jumps in his throat, and even then, the fear doesn’t rise like panic. It coils low in his belly, familiar. Not a first-time fear. Not the shallow flailing dread of a man who’s never met what lingers beyond the veil. He’s felt this before.
"In here!" Remi hisses, eyes scanning the room, waving both arms in a sharp, frantic arc as if to gather something unseen toward him, herding them. Protecting them. His voice drops again, urgent and low. "Venite, veloci. Qui dentro."
The closet door creaks slightly as he ducks inside, shuffling quickly back among shadows and splintered corners. He pulls the door almost shut, leaving it open just enough for breath, just enough to see. When he exhales, it fogs in front of him, a soft white plume curling in the dark. The warmth has fled like prey. The cold has weight now.
His hand slips beneath the collar of his sweater, fingers curling tight around the gold cross that rests against his chest. He pulls it free, presses a kiss to the centre; fast, reverent, and not for show, before tucking himself deeper into the dark, back against the wall of the closet, the cross clutched in one hand as the other hovers inches from the door.
And then the bedroom door slams shut.
Hard.
The wood shakes in its frame like it wants to hold; not keep something out, but keep him in. His pulse jumps in his throat, and even then, the fear doesn’t rise like panic. It coils low in his belly, familiar. Not a first-time fear. Not the shallow flailing dread of a man who’s never met what lingers beyond the veil. He’s felt this before.
"In here!" Remi hisses, eyes scanning the room, waving both arms in a sharp, frantic arc as if to gather something unseen toward him, herding them. Protecting them. His voice drops again, urgent and low. "Venite, veloci. Qui dentro."
The closet door creaks slightly as he ducks inside, shuffling quickly back among shadows and splintered corners. He pulls the door almost shut, leaving it open just enough for breath, just enough to see. When he exhales, it fogs in front of him, a soft white plume curling in the dark. The warmth has fled like prey. The cold has weight now.
His hand slips beneath the collar of his sweater, fingers curling tight around the gold cross that rests against his chest. He pulls it free, presses a kiss to the centre; fast, reverent, and not for show, before tucking himself deeper into the dark, back against the wall of the closet, the cross clutched in one hand as the other hovers inches from the door.
but there's a light in the attic and I swear it's calling me
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
