Baal stirred awake, feeling the soft glow of daylight kiss his face. For a fleeting second, the lingering scent in the air made him smile, a whiff that spoke of her—of Nord. Sounds of fabric rustling and heavy footfalls in the room tantalized his imagination. He kept his eyes tightly shut, indulging in the fantasy that perhaps it was Nord in a state of déshabillé like it used to be.

When he finally surrendered to curiosity and opened his eyes, his fantasy shattered. It wasn't Nord; it was Adamastor, methodically moving around the room, placing Baal's clothes and assorted belongings into the closet. Adamastor's stoic face was set in concentration, but something stopped Baal's gaze.

Adamastor paused his chores as though struck by a sudden, heavy thought. He turned toward the closet mirror and unbuttoned his shirt with a sense of ritualistic gravity. The mirror reflected back an intricate tapestry of dark, vein-like markings that sprawled across his alabaster skin like the gnarled roots of a dying tree. These markings weren't just aberrations; they were harbingers of a fast-approaching end—an end that seemed as inevitable as it was inscrutable.

Less than one day, perhaps.

Adamastor, lost in his private moment of reflection, seemed to trace the markings with his fingertips. His touch was gentle, almost reverential as if he were trying to memorize each line, each intersection before they claimed him.

With an unreadable expression, Adamastor buttoned his shirt back quickly, the ominous markings vanishing beneath the fabric as if they'd never existed. Dutifully returning to his tasks, he took a lint brush to Baal's jacket, the fallen particles seeming to hover in the air before settling on the ground.

While engrossed in these duties, he moved to straighten the bed, unaware that Baal was still lying on it—unaware because to Adamastor, Baal was utterly invisible, non-existent. For Adamastor, they never even met.

With quick reflexes, Baal seized the opportunity. He carefully slid his body off the mattress, his movements almost choreographed to sync with Adamastor's own distractions. As the vampire fluffed a pillow with focus, Baal's feet touched the carpet, his form slipping away without the vampire noticing, while Adamastor rearranged the bed blankets.

Finished, he surveyed the room, his eyes inexplicably drawn to the space Baal had just vacated. Was it a sixth sense? Adamastor's posture stiffened, and for a brief moment, the air in the room seemed to bristle with an intangible tension.

----------------------------------------

The tattoo machine's buzz finally stilled, replaced by the muffled sounds of the city drifting in from outside. With a practised hand, Nord wiped away the excess ink, revealing a meticulously crafted charm etched into her client's skin.

"And there you have it—your first tattoo with a lucky charm attached!" she said, her eyes glinting with quiet pride.

The young woman glanced down at the art now forever part of her. Her face radiated a silent joy that words couldn't express. She reached over and handed Nord a curious heirloom bracelet, its craftsmanship antique and intricate. The gift was oddly magical, purportedly able to find lost objects. However, it had never proven effective beyond locating inconsequential things like pins. Nevertheless, it was payment, and Nord was grateful.

After the door clicked shut behind the departing girl, Nord found Baal lounging against the counter. "Happy customer?" Baal's eyes shone with curiosity, though his posture betrayed a certain unease.

"You could say that. How did you sleep?" Nord moved to pour herself a cup of orange juice.

Baal grinned, "Fine, I guess. Woke up to Adamastor stripping his shirt. It was...awkward."

Nord laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "That's an image I didn't need."

"He's handsome."

"Not my type." She took a sip of her juice, shifting the topic. "How's your head feeling?"

But Baal sidestepped her question, a sudden sharpness to his words. "Why did you move my things into your room?"

"We're married, aren't we?" Her voice held an edge of genuine confusion.

"I don't want you to feel obliged, Nord. I'm not here to force you into anything. I want to help, but not at the cost of your own... I don't want to feel I'm forcing you to love me."

Nord placed her glass on the counter with a soft clink. "Baal, I don't remember. My memories are housed in a gadget that takes an eternity to recharge. There's a whole master plan, a door I'm supposed to destroy, and you're...involved, somehow. Then I learned my first friend, the first person I met and helped me here, is dying, and now I find out I'm married to a man who's keeping life-threatening secrets. How could I not be lost?"

"Nord, listen—"

"I put you in my bed because if you're dying, how can you help me? And let's be honest, do you want your own room back?" Her voice held an unspoken dare.

Baal hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor. "That's a low blow. No, I don't want my own room, but I also don't want you sleeping with your back to me. You used to do that when you were mad."

"Was I mad often?" Nord put her empty glass on the counter and eased herself into a worn leather chair.

A smile flickered on Baal's face. "Not often. A couple of times, maybe, but we always worked through it."

Nord took her empty glass and placed it on the counter, then settled into the worn leather chair near the tattoo station. "Do you know the movie 'The Lake House'?"

"Yeah, we watched it. You loved that film," Baal chuckled.

"In this narrative, I'm Sandra Bullock."

"You're prettier," he said unabashedly.

A blush crept onto Nord's cheeks, unexpected but not unwelcome. "Let me finish. You are Keanu Reeves, and—"

"It's impossible to beat that guy," Baal quipped, his eyes twinkling, "Even for me."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Will you let me talk?" Nord interrupted, struggling to hold back laughter but visibly irritated. "You're ten years ahead of me. I've known you for what—a month? Did we fall in love the first day we met?"

Baal shook his head. "No, it took us almost a year for that first kiss."

"So be my Keanu Reeves. Wait for me to catch up to where you are. I'll get there—I have to trust myself on that. But you have to be patient with me. Is it okay if we share a bed as friends for now? To take care of each other? Or is that too strange for you?"

Baal looked at her, his gaze meeting hers squarely as though he were searching her eyes for an elusive answer. After a moment, he sighed, "I can do that. I can be your friend. If you can accept that I have like a huge crush on you,"

"You're impossible today!" she chuckled.

The door creaked open, and Adamastor poked his head into the room. "Is this a bad time?"

Nord rose from her chair, shaking off the heavy conversation she'd just had with Baal. "No, what's up? Do you need anything?"

With a look of hesitancy, Adamastor entered the room and extended a sealed envelope toward Nord. "This is my resignation letter, effective immediately," his voice wavered as he spoke. "I've completed most of my tasks and left clear instructions for Perdita for the future. I'd like to take care of some personal errands today if that's all right."

A swell of confusion and concern rose within Nord. "Adamastor, are you...?" The words hung in the air, unfinished.

"I'm leaving Ravendrift tomorrow morning after fifty years. And I'm quite excited about it," Adamastor said, his face breaking into an unexpectedly wide smile.

"What are you planning for your last day?" Baal caught himself mid-sentence, rephrasing his question. "I mean, your last day...in Ravendrift?"

Adamastor's eyes twinkled as he answered, "I was thinking of asking someone on a date."

The room seemed to pause as though holding its collective breath. Nord felt her cheeks flush, the earlier intimate conversation with Baal still fresh. Her eyes darted toward Baal, who looked equally caught off guard.

"I'd like to go into town and ask Ursula. I doubt I'll have much luck, but I want to spend time with her outside the confines of Madame Bougie's atmosphere," Adamastor elaborated.

Nord felt her own tension dissipate, replaced by a wash of relief and a touch of surprise. "Oh," she finally said, her voice light. "Well, that's a lovely idea, Adamastor."

"Is it?" Adamastor looked both hopeful and vulnerable.

"It absolutely is," Baal chimed in, the corners of his mouth lifting. "You should go for it."

Nord glanced at the resignation letter still in her hand and then back at Adamastor. "I accept your resignation, and I wish you the best of luck on your date and wherever your journey takes you next..."

Adamastor's eyes shimmered with a complex blend of gratitude and an emotion that verged on love. "Thank you," he murmured, lingering at the threshold. "Thank you both for everything. I wish I had met you sooner."

"Do you need a ride tomorrow?" Baal offered the words hanging delicately in the air.

Adamastor hesitated as if weighing the gravity of the moment. "I would love that. I'd like to be with friends when I step out of this town. Thank you."

A palpable silence settled over the room as the door closed behind Adamastor. Nord locked eyes with Baal. Both were gripped by the acute realization that their lives were in a state of flux—punctuated by goodbyes, shadowed by uncertainty, yet shimmering with the promise of new beginnings.

"You do understand that he..." Baal's voice trailed off, the words heavy with unspoken meaning.

Nord nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Tomorrow, he finally dies. Yeah, I understood."

----------------------------------------

Adamastor shifted nervously, his fingers brushing against the lapels of his blazer as he contemplated stepping into Mme Bougie's off-hours. With no patrons or performers to serve as a buffer, walking into the empty establishment felt like crossing an emotional boundary. He finally pushed open the door and entered. The stage was dark, the bar deserted, and silence filled the void.

He hesitated, aware that Ursula's room was within reach but unsure of the decorum. Would knocking be considered an intrusion? Perhaps she was sleeping, seeking refuge from her own complex life.

"Do you wish something to drink?" The voice came from behind him, breaking the stillness.

Startled, he turned to find Lucero, the proprietor, eyeing him cautiously. "No, I just came to—"

"Good," Lucero cut him off, pulling a chair down from a nearby table and setting it upright. "Because I don't have any fresh blood for you. What's left has probably already coagulated."

Adamastor swallowed a sigh. "There's no need. I came to—"

Lucero interrupted him once more, his eyes narrowing. "I don't think Ursula is in the mood to discuss business with you, boy."

"I came as a friend," Adamastor insisted, his voice tinged with urgency. "After she tried to kill you?" Lucero's eyebrows arched sceptically.

Adamastor paused, considering his words carefully. "She had her reasons, and I can respect that."

Lucero's eyes narrowed as he glared across the table, his fingers gripping the armrests of his chair. "You are very bold, boy. Very, very bold. Coming from your kind, I find that distasteful." With a calculated movement, he yanked another chair from its place, making sure it landed with a thud that echoed in the room.

Adamastor leaned on the table, his eyes pleading. "I'm leaving Ravendrift tomorrow morning. I thought... I thought I might invite Ursula for a picnic by the lake. I can pay if that's the issue, but what I truly want is to spend time with her. Just her."

Lucero scoffed, his eyes glinting with disdain. He yanked yet another chair from its spot, this time letting it crash to the floor deliberately. "Good riddance, then. You've done nothing but disturb her. And now you want a farewell soirée with my finest girl without even offering something in return? The audacity!"

Feeling cornered and unable to mount a defence, Adamastor stepped back. He removed his blazer with deliberate slowness and placed it over a table. Then, he unbuttoned his vest and laid it beside the blazer. Finally, he took off his shirt.

Lucero's eyes widened at the sight that met him: black veins sprawled across Adamastor's skin like tendrils of some dark plant. "By Atua, what is this?"

"I had an accident," Adamastor murmured, not meeting Lucero's eyes.

A voice sliced through the tension like a blade. "You're dying!" Ursula stood on the balcony, her silken nightgown clinging to her frame, her eyes ablaze. "You came here to tell me you're dying?"

Both men turned toward her, a mix of guilt and shock painted on their faces. The room seemed to grow colder as the truth settled like a heavy mist among them.

Adamastor looked up, his eyes meeting Ursula's. The raw emotion on her face struck him like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily speechless. "Ursula, I—"

"I asked you a question," she interrupted, her voice quivering between anger and something less definable, perhaps concern.

"Yes," Adamastor finally answered, his voice soft. "I am."

"And you're here because...?" She descended from the balcony, her silken nightgown flowing behind her like a ghostly aura.

"I'm dying, Ursula. And I didn't want to leave this... I didn't want to leave without spending one last night with you, if you'll let me, as my friend."

Ursula's gaze softened, the anger dissipating like a spent flame. She looked from her father to Adamastor, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "So, this is it then? A picnic by the lake to say goodbye?"

Adamastor leaned in, his eyes pools of desperation that silently pleaded with her. "Ursula, that's all I'm asking for. A chance to set things right." She studied him for a long moment before asking, "How did you even get to this point?"

A rueful grin touched Adamastor's lips. "An Allatori blade, of all things. It was a stupid accident—a minuscule nick right here," he said, pointing to his index finger, "practically a paper cut. You really could've saved those 500 tokens for something worthwhile."

Ursula burst into a peal of laughter, her eyes dancing with incredulity and a touch of mirth. "You've got to be kidding me. How in Atua's name did you manage to cut yourself with Allatori?"

Adamastor's eyes twinkled despite the gravity of the situation. "Would you believe me if I said... gardening?"

Her laughter boomed again, genuine but laced with a dark undertone. "Gardening!"

Lucero, standing a few feet away, felt a tug-of-war within him. He was torn between the magnetic pull of their banter, dark and twisted as it was, and a feeling of unease, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. Eventually, a nervous chuckle escaped his lips, betraying his inner conflict.

Adamastor caught the sound, and his eyes shifted to Lucero for a moment, softening. "You see, even Lucero finds the irony amusing."

"Or he's horrified at how nonchalant you are about this whole life-and-death situation," Ursula countered, her laughter fading into a sober expression. "So, what now?"

"Tear Lake, midnight. Bring a coat. It is cold at night."