You are the night-time fear
There's not much more to say. He likes the name, finds it fitting for her, but what he doesn't find is he way to put it into words. Besides, what does it matter? A pretty name means nothing.So he stays silent, soon too preoccupied with watching his new surroundings. The dimness of the house doesn't bother him much, nor does its state, or Mabel's wordlessness. He follows her in much the same manner, a step behind. His footfalls are soft and his eyes are keen, peering into the rooms they pass.
It's almost as if the family disappeared overnight: most things are still in their places, just covered in a thick layer of dust. The bedcovers are matted with it, and undisturbed. Something old and familiar pricks at his heart as he watches the scattered toys. How long since they knew the touch of a child? Evoked laughter and fantasy, playing out some imaginary tale of heroism and a golden, bright future?
It's haunting, and heartbreaking. Aamu looks away.
Instead he finds himself gazing down into a tub, which looks like it could do with a bit of scrubbing itself. He traces a finger around its rim, swiping off a trail of dust, touches the taps as she pads away again. They squeak in protest and he braces, expecting a pipe to burst somewhere and shower him in icy water, but the only thing to happen is a somewhat foul jet of water spilling from the tap. How long had it been since Evelyn was here?
He lets the water work its way towards a more acceptable quality while he (gently, respectfully) rummages through shelves and cabinets for a brush and a bar of soap. When Mabel returns he's bent over the tub with his sleeves rolled up, coat folded neatly on the floor, washing the worst of the dust from its sides. He straightens up to regard her. "Do you want to go first?" he asks mildly. She looks like she needs it more, with the salt and seaweed in her hair.
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
