“No! Please!” I beg as he closes the cupboard’s door. I hear him put a lock into place, and find myself in complete darkness.

He walks away, upstairs, high until I can’t hear his footsteps anymore.

“Come back! I didn’t mean to!” I scream into the void. I know he can hear me, but I also know he doesn’t want to listen. “I’m so sorry…”

Of course, the void doesn’t reply. Neither does the warlock.

I stay silent, gulping down my sobs. I feel awful. But I can’t even bring myself to say ‘I didn’t mean to, you’re not a monster’, because I can’t see this as anything but a lie when I’m being honest about his actions.

But I’ve altered his mind again. I think I made him internalize this sentence deep to his soul. Or his ‘lifestream’ if the distinction even exists. I don’t know how magic users conceptualize existence.

I hold for maybe an hour or two, I think, before the sobs I’ve tried to suppress explode out despite my best efforts. All the anxiety of the past several days of unpleasant march, and especially of the chaos that was today, leave my mouth unabashed. “I’m scared… I wanna go home… I wanna see Mom and my big sis again…”

I continue to mumble, muttering who knows what about my home life. Even I don’t know, my thoughts are too jumbled.

I think back to Henrietta again and wish she was still here, so I could squeeze her tight in my arms. “I’m lonely… I want a hug…”

I feel like all my senses have abandoned me. I’m barely thinking enough to curse how this body is unable to cry.

I think it’s my mind playing me tricks at first when I hear the warlock’s footsteps gently come down the stairs. But when I hear the cupboard unlock and open, and see his tired face dimly lit by a candle appear on the other side, I don’t know what to think. I think he doesn’t know either, at first.

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But eventually, he sighs. “I abhor you for the pain you’re putting me through. You hurting is hurting me.” He reaches in and grabs me. I see he is wearing a white nightshirt. “You make me hate myself.”

I still haven’t stopped sobbing. His grip tightens like he’s scared of letting go of me.

He stands still in the middle of his kitchen for a moment before his eyes dart to the flame atop the candle. “I should burn you to ashes before you get to change me any more.” He shakes his head dejectedly. “I should.”

My wailing abates, more out of having ran out of energy than anything.

He brings me up to the highest floor.

It’s his bedroom. I’m too emotionally exhausted to care about its furniture beyond the big canopy bed, off-center with its head against a wall.

The bedsheets are messy like someone twisted and turned while failing to fall asleep. Well, not ‘like’, my guess is probably right. Still holding me in his hand, the warlock slips back in them.

And then, he turns on his side and squishes me against his chest.

It’s warm.

It’s not supposed to be comforting, right? It’s supposed to be scary. It’s the warlock that’s hugging me. Not just anyone, but a person that murdered with no second thought.

Apparently that’s not something a tired mind cares about.

Whatever. I gave him the remorse he was missing. Everything is going as needed, I reply to myself, not wanting to think about this further right now.

I feel small in his arms. It’s more comfortable than I thought.

His breathing is calm, long, drawn out. There’s none of the agitation I think I caused in him earlier.

I still don’t think I need to sleep, I really don’t. But time passes by without me even noticing it, like my mind is glazed over by the perceived, paradoxical safety I am in.

It’s too nice, too familiar, like something I’d been missing since I had to part with Henrietta.

It’s funny, my mind thinks. My mom, my sister, my childhood plushie. Everyone occupying my thoughts is a woman. Everyone that I care about is a woman. I don’t know why I even make that observation now. I don’t think it has a logic to its timing. I’m just tired.

The blue link turns a warm red.

The heat is nice.

Despite the lack of a need… I fall asleep.