wooyoung frowns.
well, of course, blessed be the Mother— but is that really supposed to be his witch half?

the candles burn bright, bathe the bits of scavenged bone a sickly orange. there is a picture of himself, still alive, smiling wide, an arm thrown over the shoulder of a familiar face— an easy lay, then.
"now, you don't need to haunt those people anymore."
he's trapped.
a sweet smile: "you're mine."

"i love you"
wooyoung turns with a swiftness. whatever story he'd been in the midst of telling dies in the bed of his mouth; no matter how spoken he is, he's always listening, that grinning, fox-faced fool. his eyes are so big.
near tearing through his chest, he holds a quietened face.
"i love you."

wooyoung knows it's been a long time, or that at least it feels as such; no light, no sound but the clinking of chains, the wetness he disturbs on the floor. his mind seems to shrink, a bonsai made of himself to bear it.
one day, a golden crack appears; then two, three, seven—
"hello?"
finally.

he should hate the thing that lives in his new apartment when it pushes and whispers and scratches at him...
but he's been so lonely. if anything, he wishes it'd touch him a little harder, a little lower...

san's dead ex made all the ones that came after leave, scared them all back into little boys.
yeosang wasn't even meant to be next— but when he leans in, san realizes he'd been hoping for it, too.
a growl cuts the air.
yeosang's eyes never change. he giggles.
"sorry, give me a sec."

this wife is younger than the last— nearly her age. jongha hoped, much in vain, that her father would drop the facade when the last finally said the quiet words out loud.
well, at the very least, yuna is sweet on the eyes.

when one is so powerfully inhuman, no soul can bring their beloved harm.

nor safety.

he watches them from the pews with a resigned, dull pain. there was always room in their bed, but not their happy ending.

evil people die a lot slower than they should and stay behind a lot longer than they're welcome. well, someone's gotta keep the spirit lanes clean.

and where in his white mane they saw fragility, and in his white robes they saw divinity; hongjoong only ever saw the pale horse of death.

"my, my, my," the smile is sharp, the voice unsettling in its sweetness. mingi stumbles back as though screamed at, legs made ribbons. "look what the cat dragged in."

"god and the devil were brothers" he says, "one just had a better PR team."

the guardian and the thief meet at last.

his god won't let him kill this sinner; yunho is starting to find this leash unbecoming.

the new day breaks through the hills at last, smears it all pale gold. the vampire only has a moment to look at his lover before it happens.