The house was, to Camila's surprise, more put-together than the pictures showed. When they arrived, the grass surrounding the house was beautiful, green, and full of life as if nobody bothered to yell or hover over them. Vines circled the fiery red bricks, like a Victorian child all over a clean fruit. The house itself looked like it came out of the Victorian era. Yet, inside the decor was semi-modern, with dark wood flooring, and black stair railings. As they enter the house, Camila and Marie's lungs fill with dust, erupting a violent cough from Marie.

While death does not have a smell, corpses do. Overripe grape, and sewage water. Camile can’t confidently say how long the lady laid in her sheets before they found her, but she’d guess a week or so.

“Old people are so lazy. She should’ve hired a housekeeper.”

Camila inspects the shabby wallpaper, watching it move from bright flowers to a dark green that makes the house darker. “The lady was four breaths into death, I doubt she cared about the dust.”

They separated into different rooms, peering into the decor, dust, and occasional squeaks of mice. Camila enters the kitchen and is hit with an odd feeling. The kitchen itself looks as if it has traveled through maidens' hands in the old centuries. A gas stove, large wooden table, half-dark green and white walls, and wooden shelves that hold more old-looking pots and pans than an antique museum. She grimaces until she hears Marie's quick footsteps galloping towards her.

“I’m in the kitchen.” She calls out, hearing her voice echo through the shabby wallpaper of the house.

When Marie finds her, she places her hands behind her back. “It’s perfect. I mean, we can peel the crappy wallpaper and get new ones. Even change the furniture a little.” Her hands fly around pointing in several directions, and then she stops, looking at Camila with eyes that she can only describe as ‘pitying’. “I can help you…with it.”

Camila raises a brow, “With what?”

“Your hunger,” her voice lowers. “There are animals around the woods.”

Camila scoffs, a hand on her hip. “I’ll settle for pigs' blood from a butcher shop. Relax.”

Camila turns on her heels, “Unbelievable.”

Marie whines behind her until Camila feels her warm arms around her waist, “So we can get it right. You’d be the best sister in the world.”

Camila shimmies from Marie's grip, moving outside the house until a grey sky comes into view. Camila pauses, letting her back hit the navy car. She sighs into the air but looks at Marie. “Do you actually like the house?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

A loud squeal, then a hug. Her cold cheeks feel warm then cold again when Marie moves away from her and rushes to the driver's seat, picking up her phone.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

It takes a week and a half to clean the house, and completely move everything the old house contained. Cleaning the mansion took sweat Marie did not want to shed, and in the end, Camila took on most of the load with her abnormal energy. She tried her best to dust and mop each room. The bathrooms, a total of four, smelled of bleach and every disinfecting bottle she grabbed at the nearest store. By the end of the week, she had cleaned eighty percent of the house, ignoring the two bathrooms downstairs and the dusty old library that held century-old books.

When they began packing for the old house, it felt like they were carrying their lives in tiny trash bags and boxes. Yet, as they settled their items inside the old house, they realized they barely filled space. Between Camila's tendency to wear the same color, and Marie's habit of buying and discarding, they could fit their belongings in one walk-in closet. Even the food transported from the old house left the vast pantry empty and depressing.

As grey clouds engulf the sun, and the sky turns into hues of pink and orange, they settle into the cold living room. Their couch is small, black leather, and does not fit the house's old color scheme.

“We have a basement,” comments Marie staring into the empty fireplace.

“We need a freezer,” Camila adds.

Marie turns to Camila. Her expression is neutral but underneath that face, Camila can tell she is thinking about her appetite. “You’re not thinking about…killing, are you?”

Camila shakes her head, hunger rumbling in her stomach. She denied herself the pleasure of food until they settled, only making trips into the city for their belongings or food for Marie.

“I kill animals…not humans. Relax.”

In all, even if she were to starve herself, she wouldn’t die. Her body and soul are already in the gates of death, a foot inside yet outside the door. She could lay in bed for days, but she would never die. She had tried it before.

Maries yawns and lays her head on Camila's lap. The thick jeans separate Marie's tan face and Camilas cold skin, only letting her feel a soft coolness on her cheek that makes her smile.

“You’re not a monster.”, murmurs Marie in a soft tone.

Camila stays silent, letting Marie's words float.

When stars began appearing in the midnight sky, Camila took Marie to her bedroom, pulling soft comforters around her frame until she looked like a newborn child. She stood in the dark for a moment watching as Marie's chestnut brown curls framed her face, then left for her room.

A wooden bed frame piles on the wall, while a neat bed lays flat on the floor. The wooden frame takes nothing to build, only common sense and instructions, but Camila tries to hold on to a percentage of her past laziness and ignores it. Instead, she let herself fall on the soft bed covered in dark red comforters and bed sheets. She does not sleep but rather slips into a state of consciousness that allows her to stop thinking and remain attentive to her surroundings and Marie's heartbeat.

She awakes when the clock hits six, and the sky looks pink and orange, but the earth looks black. She showers, then dresses in a long black dress that covers her neck and tan arms. She applies a small amount of sunscreen on her face and heads downstairs keeping an ear on Maries heartbeat. In the kitchen, she makes pancakes with crispy bacon and scrambled eggs. It does not take long before the sun is violently beaming into the wooden floors from the uncovered windows, and Maries is awake.

Breakfast is calm and silent, as Marie eats and Camila sits in a corner shielded from the sun, watching the woods through the window.

“I’m going to check if that club needs a bartender, maybe I’ll get lucky,” she murmurs over a cold cup of orange juice.

When Camila nods, her ears immediately pick up the soft purr of a car engine, and then two short heartbeats. The faint smell of cigars and alcohol mixed in with the sweet scent of syrup makes her grimace.

“We have visitors.”

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