What moves the dead

by v3ry_b3rry_sw33t

Summary:

After years of not being in contact with his two only friends, Braeden Vanderbilt suddenly gets an invitation to spend the summer at their home, to reconnect with them again. He's also to study the flora and fauna around the towns tarn, documenting the strange series of mushrooms & fungi that had been suddenly popping up.
However, old demons die hard, and secrets thought never to be shared manage to worm their way into his already fragile relationship with his childhood friends. (I'm sorry, I haven't written in a while and I'm bad at summaries)

Chapter 1: 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧

Although they were sitting quite near each other, Braeden Vanderbilt never had felt so distant from them.

They looked so different, years of no contact made their faces fuzzy in his mind, warping them until he couldn't recognize the people in front of him.

It had only been two years since they last met, but those two years stretched out like an ocean, and both of them were on different islands. He sat in the Bodak’s parlor, pretending to be interested in his hands while the maid went to go get Serafina. Waysa sat in front of him, shining one of his prosthetics with a cloth, also avoiding eye contact. Braeden directed his eyesight to the room, he had long learned ago that staring at your hands was unseemly and rude.

No matter how awkward it was, you had to pretend to be still interested in the host and hostess, even if your friendship was on it's last limbs.

The air was stuffy, the clock ticked in rhythm to the crackles of the fire, whenever he shifted in his seat a cloud of dust would bloom up into the air. He looked around, the parlor wasn't anything too fancy, but it was homey enough.

In the corner there was a gramophone braeden had bought them as a wedding present, pictures of family members were hung on the walls, the wallpaper was a sage green and decorated with pictures of small mushrooms.

Braeden remembered something about Waysa going into mycology, evidenced by not just the wallpaper, but the several specimens hidden away in the glass walls of one of the cabinets. 

The sun shined through grimy windows, a salty breeze blew through the ochre curtains. Braeden thought Waysa hated the color ochre. 

It still puzzled him that out of everywhere in the world, they had settled here, Mosswash. While traversing to get to their small house, he had seen a bit of Mosswash, and it didn't fit what his friends had in mind, all those years ago. Mosswash was slowly sinking into the algae covered rocks, the water’s constant pushing against the houses wearing them down, until the inevitable day that they would be finally swept out to sea.

Braeden looked at Waysa again, who was still working on his leg, then at the door, already smelling hints of fig and cherry.

He sat up straighter again, trying not to revert his eyes back to his hands, just as the door creaked open.

Two women stepped in, he recognized Serafina, but just barely. The years had really flown by.

She was taller than he remembered, black hair considerably longer than it had been, her face was more angular and harsher, but she still had that crooked smile.

She strode toward Braeden, pulling him up into a hug, “Long time no see.”, she breathed out, “You look so much different than i remember.” Pulling back, Braeden felt her calculating eyes fall upon him, as he smiled back, “So do you, did you…did you do something with your hair?”

Serafina cocked back her head a barked a laugh, her hands curling around her locks, “Thank god you still haven't lost your sense of humor. How was the trip? Didn't lose any fingers?”.

“The trip was fine, but my god, I thought you would choose a less morbid place to live. How have you been?”, he looked away for a moment, his gaze landing onto one of the pictures on the mantle, “I know it’s been a while since we’ve all last spoke.” Serafina’s gaze softened, her hands falling to her sides, loosely touching her dress, “It’s been hard, but we’ve gotten through it, gods plan and all that.”

Braeden nodded, tearing his eyes away from the picture, “Where should I put my-”, he said, gesturing to his bags. “Ah- my apologies. Ill go make some tea, old times sake, while Essie shows you to your room.” She waved vaguely at the other woman, who smiled meekly, before walking towards the hallway. Braeden stood still for a moment, before running after her.

 

 

The room was on the left side of the upstairs hallway, about as big as a walk in closet.

Through the peeling paint Braeden could still see remnants of blue and pink, covered up by the beige. Essie, a short woman with thick hair and a splash of freckles across her body, helped him situate himself.

She had apparently lived in Mosswash her entire  life, working on the docks until an accident left her with a limp.

Essie could lift much more than he could, the biologist inside of him marveled at the way her biceps flexed whenever she pushed a dresser or moved a nightstand.

“You just gotta be careful of the ‘shrooms.”

“The mushrooms?”

Essie pointed out a small cluster of tiny white capped fungi growing in a corner of the room.

“They popped up a while back, and we cant seem to get rid of ‘em. I reckon they don't do much damage, hell i've been in here for the longest time and i've never had any issues. Just…maybe don't leave any of your stuff close to it?”

“Oh, err, ok.”

Braeden moved his books back to the top of the oak dresser, pushing the rest of his belongings away from the area.

Essie nodded, smiled at him, and left him to his own devices. Braeden looked back at the fungi, quickly closed his door, and dropped to his knees.

He rummaged around in one of his bags, before finding one of his books on mycology, flipping through the pages to find out what type it was. Upon closer inspection, the mushrooms were squishier looking, with the inside of their caps pink like human insides.

The stems were long, shooting up out of a particularly damp area, just near where the paint had peeled off, where he could see a flash of baby blue. The mycology textbook held no answers, but Braeden still stared at the white capped mushroom. He poked it, which proved to be a bad idea when it released a sickly-sweet scent.

It smelled like the sewers of new york city mixed in with baby powder, as well as the rising scent of…green tea?

Braeden got up, opening his door, just as he heard Serafina call, “Tea’s ready! Come down when you can.” He turned back at the mushrooms, which glinted in the fading sunlight, giving it almost a halo, then back down at the stairs. The oil lamps hadn't been lit yet, so the corridor was bathed in shadow. Braeden resisted the urge to turn back, as he closed the door behind him, and made his way toward the kitchen.

Chapter 2: 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐚

Phantom pain, that's what the doctor called it. 

Waysa was awkwardly propped up in a chair, one of his legs resting on an ottoman, the other on the floor. His prosthetics were still in his lap, the cloth abandoned. 

"Tea might help.", his wife said, rummaging in the cabinet, "We only have English...oh remind me to write that on the grocery list. We need more tea..."

He grunted in response, his hand still rubbing at his stumps. It was like it was being blown off all over again, the impact shattering at his bone, crushing his muscles and tendons.

Serafina poured the hot water into his glass, "Should I open the window? Maybe some fresh air will do your knocker good."

"Knocker.", he snorted, his hand reaching up to grab the glass from her, "You're hanging around Essie too much."

Serafina unlatched the window, pushing it open with a grunt. The curtains billowed in the sudden breeze, and his eye twitched from the burst of light.

"We really need to clean those windows, don't we?", she said, her voice trying to be lighthearted, "We should leave them open more often..."

Her fingers nimbly rustled around in one of the drawers, before pulling out a bread knife, "Do you want any? I think we have some extra butter."

"It's probably gone moldy by now.", he said, "We haven't cleaned out the pantry in ages." 

She pulled out a loaf of bread, green spores blooming across the side of it. 

"I'll just...I'll just cut it off. I don't think it has spread to the inside just yet." 

Waysa raised an eyebrow, "Suddenly care about your health?"

"What? No, I just don't want to waste any food.", Serafina laughed awkwardly, the gleaming steel slicing the rock hard loaf. 

He watched as she tossed the other half of the loaf into the over filled garbage bin, pushing it down until it barely peeked out anymore. 

"Put the cover back on, that reeks."

Serafina finished slicing the loaf, laying it out neatly while wiping sweat off her brow. 

Jam or jelly was out of the picture, Waysa knew that even if they did have any it would've succumbed to botulism by now. 

 "We still have margarine!", she chirped happily, holding the box up triumphantly, "I'll put it on the side."

She helped him put his legs back on, he leaned on her as she yelled up the stairs, "Tea's ready! Come down when you can!".

The dining room, if you could even call the tiny space that, was cold.

The coal had long since run out, leaving everyone sitting at the small table occasionally blowing on their fingers.

Even though Serafina had tried her best, the mold had snuck it's way into the ‘clean’ part, leaving his wifes face a bright pink when Braeden started picking away at it.

A moth fluttered around the bare lightbulb.

“Find anything…interesting?”, she asked.

“I showed him the mushroom pile.”, Essie said, spreading the cold butter on her bread with remarkable ease.

Waysa tugged at the collar of his shirt, “Ah…we’ve been meaning to get that removed. If it causes you any issues then we’ll call in someone.”

head snapped up, his face almost lighting up, “No no no,” he said quickly, “Thats ok. I haven't ever seen that specimen before, Ill take some notes on it, then ill…dispose of it.” “Are you sure? We’ve been having a lot of problems with fungi and flies as of late, you should be focusing more on your actual studies and not on our cleaning issues.”, Serafina rambled.

"I can assure you", Braeden laughed, "My apartment is probably worse."

Waysa remembered visiting his apartment, what seemed like years before. His wife had oohed and ahhed over the neatly kept specimens in the bookshelves, the clean ink blotter, the shiny windows. 

Waysa gently shook his wife's knee, “We used to have flies and fungi, but we don't anymore.”

He fixed a hard stare on Braeden, “We used to.” Braeden uncomfortably shifted in his seat, “Of course. I wasn't trying to imply that your house was dirty.”

Essie set the butter dish down with a clink.

Serafina stared at Waysa, who looked down back at his food.

Green little mold spores smiled back up at him.

“I-”, Serafina started, trying to get the conversation back on track again.

Waysa stiffened.

He felt heat rising to his face, “The tarn is to the east of the house.”, he quickly said, “Beyond that theres a peat bog, but i wouldn't recommend going there. You can get easily lost in there- and apparently it's bad luck, so to speak.”

“It is bad luck.”, Essie coughed into her napkin, “The dead don’t rest there.”

“It’s teeming with mushroom life.”, he continued, as Braeden warily looked at him, “Stuff alikes the which you’ve never seen before. Well, I don't know if you’ve ever seen if before because im not in your line of work but-” He was rambling again. He took a breath to start speaking again, but he sunk back into his chair.

Out of breath, it happened a lot these days.

“Do you need to rest? You’re warm.”, Serafina whispered to him. “I just…”, his leg ached, “I’m going to go lie down.”, Waysa said, looking back down at his prosthetics as he hobbled out of the room. 

“Are you ok?”, Serafina whispered to him, her hand on his back.

The curtains were closed, the house was silent.

Even the perpetually creaking floorboards were quiet, almost like they sensed something was going on. 

"I know today was hard, it was rough for the both of us.”, she said, as she trailed her fingers down his back, “We just…maybe this is a wake up call. To get our lives back on track, to leave all that stuff behind.”

Waysa did not reply, he stayed on his side, his eyes fixed on the picture he had moved that afternoon from the mantlepiece to his bedside table.

Back when he was still young, his legs still intact, his hand intertwined with a smaller ones, the two figures smiling at the camera.

His teeth still strong, without the army’s wear on them, and the other ones, still drooling with only a couple pearly heads peeking through.

On the side, a kitchen table jutting out, was a loaf of bread, completely free of mold.

Chapter 3: 𝐄𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞

Essie had a conundrum.

It wasn't even dawn, and already this household had another problem she needed to fix.

Essie had gotten up at some forsaken hour in order to make a hearty meal, but those plans were snuffed in the bud as soon as she saw the state of the pantry.

When had they last gone grocery shopping?

It had seemed moons ago, she thought. The pantry was filled with anything but good food...moldy pieces of bread, bones of mice that had died there long ago, dirt had made the shelves look darker than they really were.

She used her foot to push back several broken mouse traps, before going to the very back to what had been dinner for the past few months.

At the beginning of the summer, on one of their last outings, Waysa had insisted on buying the massive bags of grains and starches, claiming that they could solely survive on them if another war ever started. Several months later, no war had struck but by the state of the house, it was easy to assume that one had. 

Now, she shifted through the remaining bags of grain, potatoes, and rice, realizing that there wasn't enough for breakfast.

She had known during the week that their food supply was running out, and she was dreading this day.

Essie dug around in her pocket, she had seven coins, but prices had skyrocketed at the local market…

These days it seemed like a couple of coins could only get you a bag of parsnips and a handful of peas if you were lucky.

Even if she did go to the market, she needed Serafina’s money, and Serafina never seemed keen on getting out of the house these days.

No matter how hard she tried, Serafina refused to leave the house, for whatever reason.

Waysa could give her some money, but did they even have any anymore?

They hadn't worked in ages, Serafina had stopped going to her factory job just before the incident, and the checks they had been receiving from the government had not been coming in as frequently as they used to. 

She looked around at the dimly lit kitchen, the dripping faucet, the accumulating puddle of water on the floor from a crack in the ceiling left unfixed.

She looked out the window, through the dirt Essie could see that the sun had not risen yet.

Back in her youth she used to go near the tarn and forage small vegetables, they were thick and starchy, but a little boiling always seemed to do the trick.

Maybe that could tide them over for now, Serafina wouldn’t be happy, but what could she do?

A lone fly buzzed at the bare lightbulb, as Essie pulled on her rain boots, and set off. 

 

The back door’s hinges creaked, begging her for oil while Essie locked the door.

The squashed little house stood in the tall grass, a ship sinking into waters without a fight, the sailors stopping the fight long ago.

Essie really needed to weed the front garden, wildflowers the color of muck sprouting suddenly, along with those little funny mushrooms. 

She pushed through the cattails, tromping over small animals, getting her coat on little ferns situated around the house like pimples desperate to be popped.

She knew this path well, when she was in her youth she moved nimbly around these obstacles, but her age seemed to have led her worse off than before.

Twenty two years old, and she already looked five years her senior, dreams left on a shelf ever since the incident. 

Essie was now more acquiesced to that sad little house than the world beyond, tending to the inhabitants like she was tending to dying houseplants.

A large toad startled her out of her thoughts, as Essie accidentally stepped on him with a loud squish. She grimaced, pushing herself backward, and quickly walking around the dead animal.

White strands from it's body caught onto her boot, while she scrambled off into the distant fog. 

 

Morning reared it's ugly head as she reached the tarn after a thirty minute walk, it's still waters reflecting the gray sky.

It was the kind of walk where you think you're going to get there in five minutes time, but all sorts of pockets and wrinkles in the land make it much longer.

They were good hiding places in the war, but they didn't do Essie good now. One of the only good things about the land, the small wildflowers that would peek their heads out from the holes, were gone now. Little fungi had popped up instead, little white mushrooms sitting up in the damp soil like soldiers at command. Even surrounding mountains, which seemed so gentle and protective when she was a girl were uneven, jagged teeth, eyeing her with hunger as she made her way across the land.

Things really had changed since she was a girl.

 

Essie looked around for the small vegetables, finding small clusters here and there, which was rather strange.

When Essie was a girl, they had spread out all around the tarn, however the little mushroom-soldiers had appeared to have taken over.

Rakers Potato, her mother had called it, was known for spreading out across the land. In some places it was even considered a pest. 

But now, the potato appeared to be scared of even going near the little fungi. 

The vegetables were softer than she remembered, their pure white skin dulled to a yellowy-orange.

If Essie wasn't careful enough, they would squish, insides like organs slipping through her fingers into the tall grass.

‘Maybe it was just the ph levels of the soil thats causing this’, she thought, while gently putting some in her bag.

It was strange.

These vegetables had practically raised her, especially during the war, when almost everything was hard to come by.

They had done wonders for her, these vegetables made her strong and healthy even in the most dire of circumstances.

She thought back to Serafina’s pale, gaunt face, the bags underneath her eyes rivaling any alcoholics.

Essie gently wrapped the vegetables that hadn't been squished in her handkerchief, placing them in her bag. She could maybe bake these, or fry them with the remaining oil that they had.

Oil and starchy foods are packed with energy and carbs…

They were bulky foods for a reason, good if you wanted to put on weight. Everyone in that house was so thin, it was a marvel that a wind hadn't carried them away yet.

She subconsciously dragged her foot across the muddy soil as she thought, leaving white strands across the dirt.

Essie needed to get back soon. Those poor souls needed her.

She swung her bag over her shoulder as she walked off, the hares soon taking her place, feasting on the spattered bits of the vegetables, white strands drifting from their skulls like bits of torn hair. 

 

Essie stood over the stove, frying the vegetables over the flame.

They had been thoroughly cleaned, their stems cut off, Essie trying to remember how she used to cook them while doing so.

She checked on the kettle while she cooked the vegetables, herbal tea for Serafinas sudden cough, then grabbed a vial of cooking oil.

She poured it onto the pan, the flames roaring when some of the oil dripped down into it's greedy clutches.

The remaining salt was sprinkled onto the half-charred vegetables, Essie killing some time by plating the meal as best as she could.

She looked out the window again once the meal was finished, catching glimpses of small hares hopping around the property.

She smiled, at least there was another thing here that could sustain life.

Waysa used to be an avid hunter, maybe the sudden influx of animal life on the property could get him out of the house.

She didn't know the new guest, Brandon?, that well, but she was sure he could have a part to play.

Essie had seen him scribbling notes about the little fungi in his room, maybe she should ask him about the mushrooms she saw today?

He looked like the quiet type, his face reminding her of those little barn owls her pappy used to kill, but he seemed to perk up whenever he was talked to. 

Essie left the windows open, just as the sound of Brandon-Brendan’s heavy footfalls entered the room. 

Notes:

Short chapter :(...Sorry schools just have been hard on me as of late.

Chapter 4

“I like it.”, Serafina said, cheerily digging into her food.

Braeden just looked down at the meal with disgust.

The vegetable, if you could even call it that, looked more like a rotten piece of fruit than anything.

It's juices sunk into the rice, making it slip through the forks bars, landing with a wet splat on the plate. He gently pushing the food around, making it seem like he was eating it, sorting it into little piles, then even smaller piles. Braeden had mastered the art, if you could even call it that, when he was younger. Untouched piles of broiled carrots that looked like he had dug into them, mashed potatoes left untouched, the trick was to just make the piles smaller. It had seemed Waysa had learned a similar trick, as o ut of the corner of his eye, he could see him also discreetly ridding of the vegetable himself, instead sliding it from his mouth into his napkin while he wiped his face.

Essie seemed oblivious to this, even if she wasn't, Braeden noticed how her face lit up when she heard Serafina’s comment. She straightened up, brushing back a lock of hair. Her face was set into a deeper smile, like a rat that had squirmed its way into a butter dish. 

“You do? Oh I’m so glad, we have extras if you want me to make more!”

She bustled toward Serafina, pan in hand, scraping the remaining vegetables onto it.

Oil dripped onto the tablecloth, adding to the considerable amount of stains marring the felt.

The pan was set down with a clatter, both Waysa and Braeden flinched, but she just continued to dig in.

Braeden drank his water, looking the other way, feeling his stomach twist. Bits and pieces of stuff floated in the glass, but he still downed the glass, trying to get the taste of that…thing out of his mouth. White strands caught uncomfortably in between his teeth, the sudden need for floss more present than ever.

“I think I might go take a walk.”, he muttered as he excused himself from the dinner table, “Probably going to go to the tarn.”

Essie strangely perked up at that, “ok!”, she called, as Braeden left the room to get his jacket, “Tell me what you find there.” Braeden smiled back at her. It was nice to find someone also interested in field studies. She was a strange woman...but she was alright. He could see why they hired her.

“Wait!”, someone called out, Braeden turned around to see Waysa quickly stumble after him, “Ill come too, …just need some fresh air.”

Was Essie doing a fist pump?

“Oh, ok. I’m just walking to the tarn and back-”

“Ill show you the way. It's not too far from here, but with the way things seem to be growing these days you can easily get lost. Put on your coat, it gets cold out quick.” Braeden nodded, turning around and going up the stairs to grab his jacket, pushing in a field guide to flora and fauna he had gotten years ago.

“Have fun!”, Serafina called from the kitchen, one hand raised in a short wave, the other still grasped around her fork. Her fingers trembled as she waved at them, before she turned back to Essie. Braeden watched as Waysa paused for a moment, glancing at his wife for a beat, before turning around and walking out the door. 

“You were right.”, he said, shoving his fingers into his pockets, “If i would’ve known, i would have brought a thicker jacket.”

Waysa strode ahead of him, his cane hitting the wet ground with a routinely thump , “You should see how it gets like in the winter. Costs a fortune these days just for a pound of coal.” “You could say it costs…an arm and a leg.”, Braeden laughed to himself, just before Waysa hit him with his cane. “Oh come on, i didn't mean it!”

He mumbled something less than savory underneath his breath, continuing to walk ahead of Braeden. He groaned, running to catch up to his stride.

The bitter wind whipped at his cheeks, the recent frost crunching underneath his boots. The tall gray grass came up to his waist, and when he looked down all he could see was mud. It was a marvel that Waysa could find his way through the mess, he weaved through short stubby pines with remarkable ease. Braeden found himself crashing into a couple, nearly spilling his bag and the contents inside. A melancholic bird warbled a last call before it flew off to distant lands, just as he saw the lake for the first time.

People said that mountain lakes were calming, but this one was far from it. It was a grayish-green color, bits of stuff floating in it, with strange little clusters of yellow plants scattered around.

But what intrigued him the most was the mushrooms, they were unlike anything he had ever seen. He walked over to them, squatting down low as one gloved finger touched the base.

Could this be his big break?

Little mushrooms in the middle of nowhere?

They were not like anything he had ever seen before, little white hairs trailed up from their caps and were released into the breeze.

Perhaps it was to pollinate surrounding areas, spreading its DNA to reaches far beyond than what the little mushroom could imagine.

He watched as one let go, rising in the wind before falling into the tarn.

Braeden took out a small mason jar he had, plucking one of the mushrooms gingerly before placing it into the jar, screwing the lid shut.

“Waysa, look at this-”, he called, looking around. Waysa’s cane lay on the grass, but he was nowhere to be found. 

"Waysa?”, he said, slowly beginning to panic.

Did he get too close to the tarn? He wasn't exactly up to date on the latest scientific journals, but with a busted up arm and no leg...

"Over here!"

Bushes covered it so it was almost invisible, but he could make out Waysa’s hand, which was waving at him to come over.

“What is it? Did you fall? Are you ok?”, he called, as he rushed over, "Do you need me to go get something? Is your arm hurt?"

“Shh!”, Waysa hissed, beckoning him closer.

Braeden peeked in, his knee pressed against waysa’s back as he leaned over him.

“Oh-” Small leverets, about the size of Braedens fist, squirmed in the nest, a muddle of brown and white fur.

“Around here they're usually born in the spring.”, Waysa quietly said, “So these ones must be special.”

Pink noses twitched, their eyes still screwed shut. They weren't just babies, but they were little babies. So vulnerable to the outside world.

He reached out a finger, but then decided against brushing their fur, the look Waysa gave him was telling already.

Braeden cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “Would you like me to sketch these? So we have something to show the women once we get back? Ill go get it right now.”

He nodded, "Do one for me too.", he said wistfully, his gaze far away. 

Only the sound of the scratching of Braedens pen filled the air, as the pair sat in silence. 

 

“Look. The momma must be coming back now.”

The pair stood on top of a hill overlooking the tarn, Braedens sketchbook still pressed against his chest.

The hare was chewing on one of those strange looking plants, long white strands blowing from her chest onto the ground below.

She hopped over to her babies, and before going out of view, ate some more of the fruit.

“Strange, you know? At least in this area, the season only happens during the spring. After that it's nothing but hares hopping around before the next season comes”, Waysa speculated, “Huh. Supposed that maybe there was something in that plant that made it easier for that to happen.”

He turned to look at Braeden,”I could be wrong though, either way, it's a good thing. Maybe i should get back into hunting, there's definitely going to be a ton popping up. We need the meat, especially- nevermind.”

“We can go together.”, Braeden butted in, and he looked at him, surprised.

“You hunt?”

He shrugged sheepishly, “Used to. I think i still have some relative knowledge.” Waysa smiled, the first genuine smile Braeden had gotten from him.

It made his heart flutter a bit with elation, “Yes, Lets go hunting sometime.”

 

Chapter 5

Summary:

CW for mild sexual stuff, nothing too explicit though.

Outside, it had begun to rain.

The fat droplets spattered when they came down, some slipping into cracks, leaving wet spots on the carpets.

Breakfast had long since past, the memory of it gnawing a hole into Waysa’s stomach, as he lay on Serafina’s chest, fingers absentmindedly toying with her hair.

He could still hear Essie downstairs, dumping out filled buckets, and replacing old rags with new ones. He needed to remember to pay her her monthly fee one of these days, although the costs had all been backed up, so what was the point anymore? Money, expenses, everything always seemed to build up overtime no matter how much money he coughed up. It's not like there was any jobs to be found, Mossvale’s economy was slowly sinking just as the town was. The nearest job was all the way in Peatland, and to get there there had to be money for train rides…factory supplies...would his job even have the benefits they needed?

He sighed, pinching the space between his eyebrows, burying his face back into Serafinas neck.

If both of them went back to work, then what would happen to moments like this?

Just pauses in time when everything felt safe again, the world slowed to a halt, waiting for the two of them to get back on their feet.

The door was closed, the curtains drawn, the only light in the room a small candle lit beside the bed.

The darkness concealed them, putting a mask behind their problems so they were easier to face. His leg was set down on the dresser, far out of sight, covered by the last bits of cleaning cloth they had. It was cold down there, he needed to remember to buy more coal, which was so exorbitantly expensive that he wouldn't be surprised if everyone froze to death this coming winter. Winter was fast approaching, Waysa could already feel it biting at his ankles.

But here it was warm, he could feel Serafina’s heart beat through a thin layer of skin and bone, warmth radiating from her like she was the sun. His left hand cupped her right breast, sometimes gently squeezing it to the sound of her pulse, his right one intwined with hers. Their clothes were discarded, but he had never felt so warm. Perhaps there was some sort of witchcraft in her embrace, something that made him want to stay more, want to drink in her more. She was his Circe, and he would gladly dance around her like a sheep until the end of time. 

It had been so long since they had done something like this, not since the incident at least. It was usually at night, when they used the dark to their advantage to hold their secret little meetings. Waysa would rely on touch, but here in the daytime, light streaming through the curtains, he saw a whole new woman. He felt Serafinas hip bones, her collar bones, her joints and ribs. He studied her skin, he used to paint, so maybe he could pick that up again. “Imagine. You as my first subject.”, Waysa murmured, feeling the gentle bumps and curvature. Serafina gave him a puzzled expression, but sunk back into breathing quietly. She smelled like lavender and chemicals, her black hair finally loose, spilling across the bedsheets like spilled ink, her skin such a pale, sickly yellow, like daises drained of their color.

Her eyes, so drooped like a basset hounds, watched him as he kissed her chest, which was as sweet as pie, pale veins sticking out like the stitches on a doll.

He wanted to memorize all of it, every slope, every line, every tiny hair on her body. It was all a work of art, no matter how thin she got, no matter how much the house sunk its teeth into her, she would always be a work of art. Waysa wanted to drink it all it, his fingers brushing Serafina's face, as lips met lips, and tongue met tongue. Serafina tasted like honey and rotten fruit, her nails dug into the skin of his back, pulling him closer.

Even if all the coal ran out, even if the frost breached the limit of the windows, eve if the world turned into a snowscape, she would always be his radiator, his heating pad.

He let go of her breast, her heart thudding against his, their bodies interconnected, entwined. 

His thumb trailed a line to her belly button, his lips touched hers, it had been so long, too long.

His fingers followed a path that was almost muscle memory, a thumb turning into a forefinger, turning into an entire hand, just waiting, on edge, just for that first brush-

 

“You have a white hair, Serafina said, breathlessly, breaking away for a moment.

She hastily wiped spit off of her face, looking at him expectantly. Waysa just looked back at her, confused. 

Was she uncomfortable? Surely, she would tell him, right? Was it just the atmosphere? He didn't have time to prepare anyway...

Thrown off, he looked up at her, "What?"

"You have a white hair. I just noticed."

“I didn't think i was getting that shriveled.”, he said, half joking, half disappointed, “Pull it out for me, will you?”

He glanced back up at his hand as he laid to rest it on her back, sighing. 

“It's ok.”, she kissed his forehead, as Waysa continued nuzzling her affectionately, “I found one too, yesterday. Guess we’re both getting old.”

“Where was it?”, he asked. Might as well keep conversation going. 

Serafina looked down at him, then at the closed door, “I don’t think a lady should tell.”

She continued to run his hands through his hair, “Ill look for more if you want.”

Waysa grinned in response, “I might as well. You know, do some deeper digging.”

Serafina smiled, then gasped, her cheeks turning pink as she gently shoved him, “ You !”.

He laughed half-heartedly, putting his head down again. Perhaps she had just gotten tired, that seemed to happen a lot these days.

Alas, maybe this was more high energy than just chopping up vegetables, or mopping the floor. 

Lost in thoughts, tracing patterns on Serafinas cheek, he remembered that he needed to buy vinegar, especially with those strange little mushrooms popping up more often than usual...

 

“Does it ever stop raining here?”, Braeden complained, “It's a miracle we haven't been swept away by some sort of flood by now.”

“This house is old. It's been through enough battles that it's going to decide when it's time to flow away.”, Serafina responded, laying on her back on the moth-eaten couch.

Another headache, Waysa guessed, her dog eared book laying on the floor next to her.

The carpet squished as he walked over to her, putting a hand on her head. “Should we call the doctor again? Are you feeling alright?”

Water plopped from another hole, sliding through and landing onto the rug, sinking in quick. He could hear the mold on the walls cheering. 

“It's probably just because we have nothing filling to eat in here.”, Essie muttered, "Making me go to hell and back just for something filling."

“Food is expensive these days.”, Waysa groaned, “It would take hours to get down to the market, especially with how little petroleum we have." Serafina wheezed from her chair, picking up her book again. He glanced back at her, her pale figure, the way her hair drifted in the air. He looked back down at his hands, at the cracked and dried skin, how his nails had progressively gotten worse over the weeks. Everyone here needed some sort protein, but god, meat and eggs were so expensive these days. Waysa thought back to the hares, then back at Braeden. He would take him hunting maybe tonight, when the rain stopped. 

But then there was the house, he looked around at the d amp, darkened parlor.

The curtains were soggy with mold, the window panes clouded with dirt, the wallpaper revealing the bare bones of the house.

“I have someone who can come and maybe help you all out…Serafina you might know her.”, Braeden said suddenly, cutting through the silence, “She works for the medical facility in Easton, I believe. She can come and give all of you a quick check up, I’m guessing it's been a while since you’ve had money-”

“For a doctor. I know.”, Waysa said bitterly, looking down at his leg, then at his wife's pale figure “Whats her name?”.

“Dr. Rowena Fox-Pemberton. If i send her a letter today, she will be here in a months time.”

Chapter 6

To Essie, Mosswash was the most beautiful place on earth.

It was early spring, the trees were blooming with little yellow flowers, the frost was slowly melting off of the plant leaves, and even on some days she was able to shed her winter clothes and go out into the sun. Outside of her friends house there was little shoots sprouting up, tiny brown and black beetles crawled in the healthy dirt, the ivy was slowly regaining it's color. On the beach small shells washed up from the oceans clutches, baby hares were already being spotted in the tall green grass. The skies seemed endlessly blue, and even when it rained, it was nothing but gently rain.

Serafina sat by the window, knitting a green hat, the soft breeze gently caressing the front strands of hair. Sunshine shone on her face, embellishing all of her features. Her skin was smooth and soft, her eyes a deep ochre, her lips full and a healthy pink. The frock she had gotten for her birthday hung on her figure perfectly, the deep green going with her pink and robust cheeks. 

Essie lay on the couch next to her, busy with her own work. She had recently gotten a job as one of the dockworkers handyman, small signs of muscle already showing from all the grunt work she was given. Her own hair was loose, curly strands of it escaping down her back. Essie didn't know if Serafina had a job or not, probably not, based on how much free time she always seemed to have. It wasn't like she was complaining though- who better to spend these spring days with your bosom friend?

Last year was their last year of schooling, and Leandra didn't really seem to know what to do with her. Twelve years of just sending her daughter off every day had culminated into this, just sitting around filling her days with nothing. Jobs were an option, but that was tricky. The nearest factories were a train ride away, and the job market in Mosswash was awfully competitive. Even though Leandra herself worked as the town bookkeeper, she never talked about taking her daughter as her apprentice. Always said it was for 'someone else'. Essie felt lucky that she was able to get her own job, get her own pay.

At fourteen she felt awfully grown up, her grandmother and father being able to afford more than just the usual bunch of vegetables, with her new pay coming through. Her grandparents still treated her like a child though, it was a miracle she was able to come over to Serafinas more than once a week, with all their worrying. Essie looked at the clock, she had a strict curfew of 6:30 and nothing more. She felt like her grandmother and father would always see her as their baby girl, the same really couldn't be said for Serafina.

Leandra was one of the more religious folks in town, believing that her daughter was a completely full grown adult instead of…well…a teenage girl. Essie was superstitious herself, growing up with tales of the supernatural and such, but Leandra's views differed greatly from her own. Serafina’s long black hair was now kept in a bun since she got her period, she sat up straighter than Essie did, even her mannerisms felt so adult.  Gone were the days of lisps and daisy crowns for Serafina, all she did, or at least what her mother made her do these days was cross stitch and keep house. On Sundays they couldn't keep each other's company, because on Sundays they traveled to a nearby village to attend their local Roman Catholic church for a day. 

“Do you think shes going to sell me?”, she muttered, voice still clear as a bell underneath all that contempt.

“What?”

“Momma. Do you think shes going to sell me? Shes suddenly been all nice, giving me gifts and stuff.”, at the word stuff her hand did a little wave as she rolled her eyes.

Essie perked up, she hadn't seen this side of Serafina before, “What kinds of gifts?”, she decided that she liked it.

“Oh, nothing special, just about every cream and tonic in the book, mother says it's for my ‘dry skin’ and ‘basset hound eyes’. She would never do something like that, she’d rather die than spend all that money, and a direct quote from last month when i asked her for one hair tonic, ‘We’re all going to be bones and dust anyway, so why bother?’”

"that's just absurd, you don't have dry skin", Essie laughed, “Maybe she’s going to sell you on the black-market for brides for some extra money.”

“Yeah that sounds like something she would do…”, she said bitterly, “But hey, you’ll fight for me, right?”

Essie blushed, then smiled, “Of course i will. I always will be on the lookout for you.”

Serafina smiled, her eyes looking strangely liquid, until fluid poured out of them, clouding up the air with the smell of baby powder and sewer sludge.

It was so sudden that Essie nearly fell back, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

The clocks sped up, Serafina's face turned sickly and pale, long finger nails grabbing at essies hands. 

She gasped as the room suddenly collapsed around them, the wallpaper peeling, the floorboards breaking apart, the curtains collapsing. White mushrooms shot out of the floorboards, out of the walls, clogging the air with the scent of nothing but…baby powder. “You’ll protect me right?”, Serafinas desperate cry broke through the silence, essie cried out, she could her only through the stalks, parting out a path between them. She could hear her crying, and she broke out into a run, the stalks letting her pass through as she shouted, “I will, I will !” A prosthetic leg kicked her side, knocking her over, as she blacked out.

 

Essie woke with a start, sweat beaded on her forehead, cloudy moonlight streaming through the curtains.

Her heart still pounded, as her vision cleared. She grabbed onto her nightstand, pulling herself up as the room spun.

Essie’s head hurt, she walked a couple of steps before ultimately collapsing onto her bedroom floor with a thump .

Gods, it had seemed so real, Essie could still hear the desperation in Serafinas voice, the pain in it.

Was this a sign from the gods that she wasn't doing enough for her? She sunk down into an armchair, looking at the moldy wallpaper.

What did it mean? The stalks of mushrooms letting her through, the legs, the everything. Was this an omen for something to come?

Essie remembered the vegetables she had harvested the day prior, how Serafina seemed to perk up whenever she ate them. She herself had not eaten them, they seemed much less appetizing to her, but they made her strength get back up, right?

Were the mushrooms meant to symbolize something?

Were they just as powerful as the vegetables, if not more?

They grew in the same area after all…She thought back to those leveretts Braeden had prattled on about the day prior, how it was strange that something like that could happen so late in the year.

Did those vegetables have some sort of fertility magic? The fae often used mushrooms to communicate with each other, did she stumble upon some sort of secret they had been hiding?

The hares couldn't just survive on Rakers potato, there was so few of them.

Which meant they also survived on the mushrooms which were- She spotted them almost instantly, growing in the corner of the room. But-

Should she really do this?

Essie knew that this was a dumb decision, but the quicker she resolved all of the things caused by the incident, the quicker she could leave without feeling guilty. She thought back to the room with the painted over blue and pink, the furniture gathering dust in the attic, the overall oppressive feeling of the household.

She looked down at the stalks, this was her path to her. This was how she was going to help save her. 

She needed to sneak these in Serafinas breakfast somehow…

 

It turns out it was hard finding an area to store them in without anybody noticing.

She thought about putting it in her nightgown pocket, but she would probably roll over it while she was sleeping.

The cabinet was too warm for them, the dresser was too dry.

The next best option was underneath the bathroom sink, it was dark, damp, and cold in there.

Her clock read 4:09, so surely nobody would be up at this hour.

The floorboards nearly threatened to reveal her presence as she walked down the hall, groaning with her weight. Had it always been this humid in the hallway? She nearly expected a haint or demon to come trundling up the stairs, or some sort of rat to scuttle across the floor. Those seemed to happen a lot these days, she would find white haired rats crawling about the upstairs corners of the house, multiplying quicker than she could kill them. 

Essie opened the bathroom door, registered that something was obstructing it, and pushed it with all of her might.

Something loudly clattered across the tiles, letting out a sound that to Essie was the equivalent of stepping on a dog toy.

Waysa’s leg gleamed in the moonlight, the perpetrator.

Why was it even in there? Did he move it for some reason?

No time to ask questions, Essie stored the mushrooms just as lights came on in several of the bedrooms. 

Notes:

SIX CHAPTERS DOWN AND WE'RE STILL GOING STRONG BABY!

Chapter 7

At the crack of dawn, Braeden pulled himself out of bed with a grunt. His back ached, he had a crook in his neck, the white sunlight hurting his eyes. 

The sky was cloudy, remnants of last nights rain dripping through the ceiling. More mushrooms had popped up overnight, perhaps to the damp and cold climate?

The investigation would have to wait, he thought, as he pulled on a jacket, he had somewhere he needed to be this morning. Hunting, to be exact. Braeden still didn't know how he had let himself get pulled into this, he hated waking up early, he didn't half of the things he had been taught about hunting, and even though the food here was less quality than a prisons, he would do anything for just a small bite to eat. He decided he would leave his bag in his room- its not like he would be going mushroom hunting this morning. He needed to pay his friends back somehow for letting him stay here, and going hunting, as much as he disliked it, was one of them. After all, he had seen what Serafina and Waysa looked like, if it was one thing they were lacking, it was definitely protein.  

Braeden tried his best to walk quietly down the stairs, but they seemed to think otherwise, crying out like beasts being tormented by hot iron. He could hear Serafina mumbling in her bedroom, talking to herself maybe. Essie was already downstairs, the kitchen door closed as she did something in there. Oh he would kill for just a bit of bread right now, moldy or not. 

Waysa waited near the door, foot tapping impatiently, “You’re late.” He tapped his watch, "Three minutes past eight." Braeden suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Overachiever. 

Waysa sighed, as he gave him a gun, “Got this one years ago, might not still work. Triggers a bit jammed up.” Braeden nodded, holding it awkwardly in both hands. His hands traced the crude engraving: W + S, TILL DEATH DO US PART. Wedding gun probably, Braeden had met Serafinas adoptive father before, and this seems like a present he would give. 

He had only gone hunting once, a trip with his uncle that had ended with Braeden accidentally shooting him in the foot before they could kill anything. His uncle hadn't taken him out hunting after that, so he prayed he wouldn't blow off Waysa's remaining leg with his rusty skills. They both would be protected anyway, Waysa looked less intimidating when he looked like a baby bird.  Braeden himself was bundled up to the nines, a peat coat over a ratty old sweater, three pairs of socks upon his feet. The cold still soaked through them, as Waysa unlocked the door. 

The door opened with a groan, sticky spiderweb snapping as it opened, like the house tried to seal them in overnight. Brown water dribbled down from an unknown source, plopping onto Braedens head as they set off. 

Waysa walked slower than he had the day previously, cane nowhere to be found. When he caught him staring, he stated, "Supposed to be so that I don't get too dependent on it. Serafina enforces it harder than the doctor did." 

Braeden trailed after him, not tripping over any tiny ferns this time, but still stumbling over unseen rocks. He internally groaned as they made the trek up one of the steep hills surrounding the house. Runoff poured down in little streams, each one making Braeden more unsteady. 

“Where we going?”, he asked breathlessly. 

“Just near the outskirts of the peat bog.”

“I thought you said you hated-”

“Essie said that, not me. I just…don't trust them. Too many ways you can get lost in them, and nothing good ever comes out of them.”

They walked in silence, the mud squishing, revealing little worms that bursted upon impact when accidentally stepped on. White hairs trailed from what looked like a younger one, but Braeden just shrugged it off. It was probably it's intestines or something, nothing too important. the older ones carried less of it, but it still stuck to his boots and the grass below. 

“The hares are usually most found near the peat bogs these days, for some odd reason. Maybe theres more food source there, but it was just like a sudden shift. We used to find them all over our front garden, back when Serafina still planted in the boxes outside she’d make me go and scare them off.”, Waysa reminisced, cutting through the silence.

The mist formed dew drops on his coat as he nodded, “You sent me a letter like that. Said it was just like scaring squirrels when we were kids.”

Waysa smiled, “I remembered that. That one summer, where we all met. We felt so powerful back then, like nothing could stop us. Hey, what’d you even do once we were gone?”

“Just…sat around i guess. Maybe thats when i started really getting into mycology, since we had a fungi problem that year, and they grew excessively in my bedroom. Makes you mad like that, you know? Somethings living with you, so I just started exploiting their company, i guess. It's a miracle uncle didn't send me to some institution.”

The fog swirled around them, white wisps kissing the backs of their necks, pulling them closer into it's embrace.

“I mean, it wasn't as important as getting married.”

Waysa weakly grinned, “that was only two years after it. Leandra made me finish my apprenticeship first before my aunt got us married. Even then we had to sleep in separate bedrooms. Afraid we might 'do something', whatever that means. I don't think she liked me very much when we first met.”

“Still, thats a big step, no? We wouldn't be here if that didn't happen.”

Waysa sighed, “I guess.”

 

The rest of the walk was quiet, except for the rustle of the grass.

All Braeden could see in his peripheral vision was just dying, soggy grass, and the mist. Waysa moved about like a dancer, swishing about, turning around to make sure he hadn't lost him. He had nimble thin legs like a deer, Braeden ever wondered if he felt like a cannibal whenever he ate venison. He eventually pulled his hand closer to his, stating, "We're here."

he was expecting the mouth of a darkened swap, but in reality it was just little clumps of dead vegetation in a foot’s deep level of water.

Little white wildflowers peeked out, hairs like daffodil seeds blowing from them in the wind. It smelled like a rotten boughet, the promise of natures love spoiling in the air. It was a graveyard of natures mistakes.

Waysa grabbed his arm, pushing him down, “I see one.”

Braeden turned to look where he was seeing, and sure enough, a half white hare sat in one of the clumps, nuzzling about for something. It pulled a white mushroom out of the ground, chewing on it the likes a predator chews on it's prey.

“Ready your gun.” Braeden tucked it on his shoulder, one eye closed, his finger on the trigger. 

He could feel the breath of his uncle, long gone, but in this moment he could hear him coaching him. Atta boy, stay quiet, ok? Don't wanna scare it off, do we? Just pull the trigger- theres my boy. It was jammed, he tried multiple times before getting a resounding bang  that nearly knocked him off his feet.

The hare slumped to the ground, blood pouring out of it's side, as he shakily sat up again. Waysa gripped his shoulder tightly, his left hand over his ear, as he whispered, “Well? Go get it.”

He stood up, wobbling over to the corpse. The hares face was still stretched in a scream, it’s eyes bulging out of it's sockets. There was blood everywhere, on the rocks, on the dead plants around it. Braeden pulled his coat closer around him, he felt cold. He looked closer though, amid all of the blood, he could also see…white hairs? Was it just some of the skin that was blown off? No…they were wriggling about like they had been separated from something, like newborns trying to adjust to the outside world.

“Waysa? Can you come over here?”

His footsteps warily pattered toward him, “What is it?”

He pointed at the gunk, “Is this…normal?” Waysas hands flipped the rabbit over, mishearing his question, as he probed the animals belly.

He groaned, “She’s pregnant. It’ll be harder to clean the body now.”

“Thats-thats not what i-”

“Come on, lets go get another one. It's bad to eat a pregnant animal, they say it’ll mess up your hormone cycle if youre a woman. Here, ill get the next one.”

Braeden sputtered, looking back at him, as Waysa walked away. He ran off to go catch up, looking back to where the rabbits body lay.

Except, there was no rabbit there anymore. It was just a pool of blood, like the animal had grown legs and had walked off. 

 

 

“The menfolk have been out for a while…”, Serafina murmured, while she picked at the dry, dead skin on her hands. She was sat by one of the curtains, a wet cloth over her head to combat her head pains. 

“Out hunting. Wont be back until lunch, but at least I can make hare pie tonight. It'll be good for you, all of us need that meat in our system.”

Essie stood over the stove, watching the soup bubble.

It was easy to sneak the mushrooms in, earlier that morning she had grinded them up into a paste, slipping them into the soup she was making.

“Are you feeling alright? Would you like me to go into town and get something for your skin?”

“No bother”, Serafina laughed, “We’ll all die anyway, so whats the point?”

Essie felt that she had heard something like that, many years ago, but couldn't exactly pin point it.

“Well, maybe the doctor will bring something for you. Maybe she’ll cure all those headaches and backaches you’ve been having.”, she set the soup down in front of serafina,

“Go on, i’ll open the curtains for you, so you can look outside.” Essie watched as Serafina’s face lit up as she tried it, as she pulled back the curtains.

“Oh, look! I haven't seen those in years!”

“What is it?”

Essie pointed at the specimen, “I thought they had all left…this is amazing.” 

Outside, a snow white hare dug it's paws into the dirt, staring right at them, its glassy blue eyes just a reflection of them. 

Chapter 8

Waysa ended up helping scrape the plates. Even though the morning had left him exhausted, both mentally and physically, he still labored over the nice china, at Essies request. 

"Remember when we first bought those? It was back when you took me to New York for the first time, and I saw them in a window.", Serafina reminiscence.

Braeden looked up from his letter, and Serafina corrected herself, "Not New York city. Albany, we could never afford plates from New York."

"And yet you don't take care of the ones you already have.", Essie quipped, sweat running down her neck. 

Her arms were joint deep in brown, soapy water, as she scrubbed off remaining bits and pieces of lunch stuck to said china.

"I almost wish you had chosen another hare- its almost like this one doesn't want to leave our palattes."

Waysa dragged a fork against one of the plates, watching some bone fall into the trash. 

"Very filling though, I quite liked it.", Serafina sighed, squeezing her sponge. 

It was nice that everyone seemed to be helping, especially serafina, the meat seeming to do her well. Perhaps it wasn't anemia, it was just the absence of a good meal from her system. 

She was less lethargic today, even though she had to take breaks in between scrubbing the windows- it was a step in the right direction. She finished a pane of glass, looking proudly at her work, "I can see my reflection!", she proudly said to no one in particular. 

He smiled, continuing to scrape, "What can you see outside?" "Grass...I didn't think the garden had gotten out of control. Do you think our carrots survived?"

"Definitely not."

The squish of the sponge, the scratch of a pen, the smell of dish soap, for a moment this felt normal. 

Braeden sat at the table composing his letter to the doctor, even with so little petroleum left in the tank, Waysa had promised to take him down to the post office later.

He was a bit nervous, the car was over ten years old, and even before when they used it, had a track record of suddenly stopping. 

No matter, no matter. 

He finished scraping the plates, and went over to work with his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“I can go change the water, if you’d like.”, he said. Serafina nodded, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, of course."

He lifted the heavy bucket with a grunt, gray water sloshing onto the floor. Essie groaned, "Might as well get the mop, you're cleaning that up later, right?"

Waysa staggered, his prosthetic leg grunting in protest, "I will, I will. Gosh Serafina, is there also concrete in here?"

Some of it spilled onto his shirt, onto the carpet, a couple suds even getting onto the furniture, before he finally poured it outside.

Some of the gray water went onto the pile that was probably the long dead carrots. He winced, maybe the water would bring them back to life.

It stayed on the already soaked grass, a tiny puddle forming on the half-drowned grass. He closed the door with a creak, going back into the kitchen, Braeden rummaging though their cabinets.

“Stamps are in the left one.”, he said, before turning to his wife, “You already done?”

Serafina sat in one of the chairs, hand to her forehead, “Headache…its making my vision blur.”

“Again? Braeden, did you finish that letter yet?”

He licked his fingers, setting the seal down, “Just did. Come on, lets go.”

 

The automobile had been gathering dust, and it took ten minutes to start it up again.

Waysa stood with his hands on his hips, a mice scuttling by his feet, the front of his pants spattered with oil. He suddenly felt like his father. 

Serafinas father used to come and do yearly checkups on it, but based on the quality of the automobile, you could’ve never guessed that had happened.

It had taken a while, and lots of swearing, in order to scrub the automobiles of the impurities it had gotten from so many years of storage. 

"I didn't know y'all had a garage.", Braeden said, wincing as a spider crawled near his ear.

The bare light bulb flickered, casting shadows on the rotting wood, and the small creatures slowly making their homes in the wood, carving it to suit them. 

"Its just one big closet, you know." Waysa stepped over a container that stored old toys, pushing it to a darker corner with his foot. 

"Just the stuff that didn't fit in the house, like here, this is my certificate stating my trade. Serafina wanted me to hang it up, but I just thought it would be too much of a hassle, you know? Just think of the vehicle as one big storage item."

"What if you mounted it over your bed like some people do with old taxidermy?"

He laughed, "I think the entire house would come caving in if we tried to do that."

Waysa dusted off the cover, black smudge being left on his hand, as he gestured at Braeden. 

“Get in. Heaven hopes that this thing doesn't break down halfway.”

He awkwardly got in, a plume of dust blowing up as he sat down, “I haven’t sat in an automobile in a long time. Where’d you get yours?”

Waysa stomped his foot, scaring off a rat as he opened the garage door, "Wedding present, paid by Serafinas family. At least in this area, its something you're supposed to do, pay for one big gift instead of a ton of little ones.", he turned to Braeden, "I wanted a new kitchen, but they seemed to think otherwise."

 Waysa tightened his coat around him, gingerly sliding into the vehicle. He rammed in the rusted keys, and breathed out as the engine puttered to life.

He held onto his hat, as it started to move. Braeden let out a little gasp, grabbing onto his seat. 

It unsteadily drove down the mud spattered drive, before landing with a small plunk onto the asphalt at the bottom of the hill.

He waved at Serafina, who was watching them from the window, blowing her a kiss as he did so. 

Waysa took a deep breath, his glove clad hands gripping the steering wheel as they drove out toward the town.

The cold wind whipped at their cheeks, a light rain coating them, making it much colder than it needed to be. 

The asphalt hadn't been replaced in a while, still dating back to the days of the war. Even old banners were still hung up, tattered versions of what they used to be. 

When he was younger they had seemed so bright, so promising. He dreamed of medals, saving people, protecting his people. 

The only medal he had gotten was one earned from getting his leg blown off. 

At the edges of the road, it had broken down into bits and pieces, grass slowly reclaiming them as their own.

Waysa drove away from some dead animal carcass, a stray dog that hasn't been too lucky, it's tiny body laying motionless in the road.

He heard his companion sigh sadly, and say a silent prayer.

As they drove farther from the house, the father the small white mushrooms popped up, the smell of wet house leaving their clothing as the towns gaping mouth leered.

 

When he was younger it seemed more beautiful.

A fine summer day, all those years ago, the scent of the sea still lingered on his lips as the car bumped down a gravel path leading toward the entrance.

There used to be poppies growing in the sea grass, seagulls calling out to each other in the sky, seashells that looked better than rubies or diamonds just laying in the sand.

When he had gotten married, on that day twenty years ago, as he stepped out of the chapel Waysa was blinded with a blue sky.

Now…it seemed like the war really had afflicted it.

The grass was trampled underfoot, the harbor was no longer as clear as it had been, the dirt was overturned, and the paint was peeling off of abandoned houses.

They passed by an abandoned tank, half sunk into the dirt. Old bullet castings were buried, like the town trying to shed painful memories of the past. 

In the harbor trash was floating about, rements of old battalion ships that had came in. 

They drove into town, and not a single person came out of their homes.

A stray animal barked at them, the wheel of the car narrowly driving over a beer bottle.

“Rosy, isn't it?”, Braeden murmured.

“Wasnt always like this…”

Music drifted through the cracks of someones windows, a sad sounding love song from a couple decades back.

He recognized the song, he had danced with his bride to it years ago.

The chapel they had married in was covered in vines, the windows were broken in, and half the roof was missing.

The cross had fallen off, stolen maybe to be used as kindling for a more unfortunate family. 

Waysa turned the corner. He didn’t know if someone was in the house or not, and he wasnt willing to find out.

A small, boarded up building was the first thing in his vision.

He barked a short laugh, “Look. It's our old business.”

“You and Serafinas?”

The small sign, worn down by years of salt air, read: BODAK ACCOUNTING AND BUSINESS.

Waysa weakly nodded, “There she is. In all her glory. We couldn't keep her after the war, fees were too high.”

The buildings eyes seemed to watch them, as they pulled up to the small postal service.  

He glanced back at it, as Braeden deposited his letter, the window blowing through the windows and knocking another pane over. 

Chapter 9

Braeden sat in the bathtub, water half up to his stomach, lukewarm with bits of dust floating up in the water.

His mud-soaked pants were in one of the laundry baskets, his shirt stained with ink and gas in another one. His replacement, A pair of waysa’s pants and shirt, was neatly folded on the radiator. They were both an atrocious color of piss yellow and bruise blue, but he was no fashion critic. Who knows? Maybe he was secretly colorblind.

Somewhere downstairs a record played, the soft music trailing up the hall and through the thin walls. Vividali, maybe? Something that gave him nostalgia, probably swan lake; his fondest memory was when his Uncle took all of them to see it. Braeden had begged him to buy them each a record, he had thrown his out long ago (Dog got into it), but maybe they hadn't. 

Braeden’s knees were pushed up against the tile, as he sunk his head into the water. Only his face and pitifully bony legs stayed out of the water, the cold air nipping at them like a disobedient puppy. A couple of soapy bubbles stuck to his legs. Serafina had tried to be hospitable, pouring in some of the last bubble bath that they had. He wondered where they had gotten it from, both of them took showers, at least to his knowledge. He kicked his feet up in the air, spreading his fingers wide in the tub. It was tinier than maybe a matchbox, not a good fit for his frame. Maybe it was just because half of the water was out, which was his fault. 

Once Serafina had left, and he had undressed, he decided to indulge himself for a bit. He had not been allowed to splash in the bathtub as a child, so during his bathing period he decided to do it as aggressively a thirty five year old man could.

The euphoria of it had quickly worn off, once he realized that now there was less bubbles in the bathtub, more of it outside the bathtub.

Taking a bath in clear water really wasn't the same. Outside it was dark, the moon slowly rising in the hills beyond. 

It was mid-evening? He could never really be sure here, it either always was mid-morning or the dead of night. 

He wouldn't care if it was either. 

Braeden finally got out of the bath, sacrificing his towel to clean up the splashed water.

Waysa didn't need to know everything about him. He stumbled, out clothes half stuck to him, avoiding eye contact with him.

Just as he left, he heard Waysa mumble, “Where the hell did it go?”

At least he wasn't the only one taking baths.

 

“Aye, it's a shame you havent been able to go out as much.”, Essie said over evening tea.

Could it even be considered evening tea, when the ‘tea’ in question was just boiled water?

Braeden nodded his head, “It's just the weather thats gotten me down, you know, im usually able to go out in times like these, but perhaps with age comes limitations… back when I was in Pakistan I could spend hours underneath the hot sun just to study Agaricus bisporus  ...”

Serafina yawned from the spot at her table, her long black hair freeing itself from a tight bun, “You can say that again. Oh- i don't want to talk about all of the white hairs coming in these days.”

“You’re getting those too? I thought mine would wait…my grandfather died at eighty seven and even then he still had a full head of brown hair.”, Waysa said, biting into a rock-solid biscuit. It was a miracle nobody had chipped their tooth on it yet. He recognized those, hadn't they served them five years ago?

“It's high time you’re losing your luscious locks, before you know it you’ll be bald as a ba- one of those fish sellers down by the pier. Finally i wont be the only one losing hair in his thirties.”, Braeden teased, hoping nobody would notice his mistake. He subconsciously touched the small spot forming in the center of his head. Curse his genetics. 

Serafina ran her fingers through her hair, “perhaps. Waysa, you have sinned, and this is god’s retaliation.”

“In maybe my dreams I am sinning.”, he stated back to his wife, putting his hand over hers, "This place is already hell on earth."

Essie poured more ‘tea’ into Braedens glass, as rain started to patter on the rooftops.

“I might go in early tonight, my head is killing me”, Serafina murmured, touching her head than rosary. “I can walk you back, if you want.” She waved his husband off, “No need. I think im well enough to do it on my own.”

A white hair fell from her head and into her seat, just as she pushed her chair in, and walked off. 

 

The sheets were too itchy.

They scratched against Braedens skin, leaving raw patches and eventually blood whenever he tossed and turned. His bandaids supplies was exhausted, it covered his back, his neck, his legs...

It made no sense, he had cleaned them, multiple times in fact, and yet the scratching persisted.

His pillows were both too warm, his mattress felt like a solid brick beneath him, his duvet was way too heavy for a normal human being...

Perhaps he was just too spoiled, too used to the luxury of down-filled comforters, and goose feathered duvets.

The only good thing about this bed was its lack of canopy, many a night he had spent in his childhood choking from the copious amounts of dust exerted from just a single shade. 

And yet- he knew that the average bed did not feel like this.

Little sticky tendrils, the ones you would find on sea anemone, made their presence known whenever he rolled over, yet disappeared when his hand went searching for them.

The room felt boxed in, less a bedroom, more of a shoe closet.

The small window refused to budge, yet let little shrieks of wind through them, a song of banshees and sirens calling his name.

Since the lightbulb had long since gone out, it was just him and the swallowing dark.

Braeden felt like a small child again, crying alone in the darkness of his bedroom until his mother or maid came in to sleep with him.

He couldn't just do that, while he had a semi-close relationship with his friends, he doubted that they would let him sleep on their breast.

Maybe Waysa would, but he would probably do it begrudgingly. 

Braeden decided that he just needed some water, to fill a glass while listening to the sounds of the other folks sleep, in order to remind himself that he wasn't alone in the night.

His feet tentatively hit the floor, and yet they strangely made no noise, like the house decided to shut up for once.

That wasn't good. 

The white mushrooms seemed to watch his back as he opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, tittering to themselves.

It was more claustrophobic than his bedroom, the oriental pink roses on the wallpaper had faded to grey in the night, the hallway like a never ending shoebox.

His feet pattered like a little mouses, groping around in the dark to find the bathroom door.

Braeden needed to see his ophthalmologist, desperately.

However, nothing could have prepared him for the shock when he hit not just a door frame, but a person. 

 

He felt a scream rising in his throat, just as the person’s face came into view.

“Oh god, Serafina. You scared me there, what are you doing so late up at night?”

Serafina’s eyes seemed liquid and soulless, her lips pale and cracked, as she rasped out a single sentence. 

“Who?”

Who? What kind of question was that, unless she had also been skipping trips to the doctors. 

“It's me, Braeden. What are you doing so late up at night?”

Her fingers groped at his face, her eyes concentrating like a newborns would, “Braae-dunn?” 

“Yes, Braeden. Are you ill? Is your tounge swollen?”

Was it was one of those cases where the brain wasnt getting enough air and was beginning to shut down? Was she going through delirium? 

Was Serafina having breathing problems that he didn't know about? 

"yup, that's-thats my chin-" 

“Whooo?”, she slurred, her fingers grasping at his nose and lips. 

“Braeden.”, he said, reverting it back to a one word sentence. Maybe that would be easier for her to understand, at least in her state. 

“Braeedunnn.”

Was it sleepwalking? 

He grabbed at her arm, white hairs tickling his hand, “Lets get you back to bed, shall-”

“Onee, tuuu, ‘reee, ‘ourrr”, she looked at him, that same glassy stare, “Good?”

Braeden nodded quickly his hand outreached in the darkness, “Good. Very good. Serafina, you need to wake up.”

She smiled, showing too much gum and too little teeth, “Al’edy wake.”

Already awake? What did she mean by that? The serafina he knew would rather be dead than act like this, “Serafina…”

“ ‘ot ‘er. 

Braeden gripped her forearm so tightly that white hairs were still enclosed in his palm as he let go, knocking on their bedroom door.

Had he pulled it out by the roots?

No, when he let go the imprint of his hand was still visible, every finger, every print, like she was just made out of clay.

It had not left a bruise- had the hair been rooted so shallowly that it had just blown out? Was it even hair?

He knocked harder, Waysa’s pinched up face sticking out, “What?”

Serafina stumbled toward him, and Braeden backed away, down the hall, and back to his room. 

 

A shoebox suddenly seemed like the height of luxury the rest of the night. 

 

Chapter 10

“Do I look like him?”, he whispered into the darkness. His fingers traced the bronze frame holding his likeliness,a young man of nineteen or so. 

His head was fully shaven, his expression trying to mimic the sternness of the adults around him, while his fingers curled around a small cap. 

Initials of her name was messily stitched onto it, a reminder of who he was doing this for. 

But was it worth it, for a life like this?

There was a look of bravery yet uncertainty in his eyes, his back straight as a stick, a message scrawled on the image in grubby ink. 

This is me- two days in! Can't wait to see you again, 1st paycheck coming soon

He turned back to her, a white hair falling from his pillow onto the floor, "Do I look like him?", he repeated. 

Waysa touched his face, almost trying to peel all those layers of skin until he could maybe reach-

Him. 

 

She didn't respond.

Serafina lay next to him, panting heavily. Her head was slick with sweat, wet hair pushed to the side, and off the bed. 

She sounded like the static on the gramaphone before it caught the record, blind mice scuttling down a path of unreliability, right into a foxes den.

Waysa turned over to look at her, looking deep into her eyes. They were completely blank, although they were looking straight back into his-

Nothing. 

"We.", she rasped, groping at his fingers. Was that really directed toward him? Her glance always shifted between his face and the wall behind him. 

Or maybe she was looking at something else, only something she could see. 

Her head was somewhere up in space, the frayed threads unraveling into strands and strands of nothing. Space glimmered in her eyes, reminding Waysa of the time when he was a boy, and the family beagle had gotten ill. He had held the dog in its dying moments, the gunshot wound in its side not giving it pain anymore. He had seen the look in many a dying soldier, even ones he didn't know he had held in his arms, as they told him stories of girls back home, the smell of their village, even the sound of birds tweeting before their last moments. 

The same stare, the world spinning on its axis, the moon and sun spiraling around them, the stars colliding into their bodies until they were nothing more. 

 

He wondered if she would die tonight.

 

Her face was pale as a ghosts, her black, thick hair slowly turning white. There were maroon bags underneath her eyes, her breath was shallow, puffs of it slowly going up in the cold night air. This was different from all of her other episodes, it wasn't just a headache, but it was her body was slowly shutting down and restarting. The slurred speech, the glassy eyed stare, the smell of her body reminded him of formaldehyde and dying funeral flowers. 

He hadn't decided to call a medic yet.

T he people here would do anything for a quick buck, even if it made things worse. When he had been at the local hospital he had lost a quarter of his leg, not because of the cannon ball, but because his 'surgeon' poured whisky on his stump and called it a day. They had lost thousands paying for treatment at a higher level hospital. 

Maybe death would be less painful than this.

What was that saying, “let death be kinder than man?”

Here they were, slowly starving to death in a house that was on it's last legs. If it was the mold that was doing this, he would keep letting it, hell, he would even give himself up for it.

Waysa took her hand, it was cold and clammy.

Her breathing was shallow, her mouth forming small, unspoken words that even he could not transcribe.

This was probably some sort of disease, spread through water or fish, all nursed on the tit of the war, carried on the pad of his army jacket.

Nothing good ever came out of joining it, no matter what he convinced himself.

Waysa wouldn't be surprised if he was the main cause of everyone's downfall. Him leaving meant the business eventually shutting down, the money needed for Leandra’s treatment slowly eating away at their own savings, the slow death of the house they had spent almost everything for, even his own wife, his other half, growing apart from him.

Loneliness could have caused this, he didn't know. 

Was it supposed to atone for his sins, if Serafina died?

Nay, he would rather let himself go first than let her go in his place.

Waysa deserved it more than her anyway, he had told her that only in dreams he was sinning, but there was so much blood on his hands.

When he had watched Braeden shoot that hare he had saw himself in the reflection of its blood, but it wasn't him.

He should be responsible for something for this. 

 

What an idiot he was.

The picture had fallen off of his nightstand, the glass cracked just around his face.

He had been so young, such a fool to follow the merry parade the army promised. He was promised riches, enough gold to weight him down, mead and the fruits of his labor. 

And yet here he was, still picking up the pieces of broken glass, watching as they tore into his fingers. 

Chapter 11

It was morning, and she was still not awake. Essie stood over Serafina’s twitching body, cleaning her face with a wet cloth, an arm holding her down to the couch. 

She kept shaking, her eyes half rolled up into her head, as the water spilled from down her face and onto the plush lining.

Occasionally she would let out a small gasp, choke on her own spit, then fall silent again.

She wrung her hands, before patting at Serafinas mouth again, where spit had begun to form.

She had tried all of the tonics, the salves, the solutions, yet nothing worked.

Most of the medicine in the house was either expired or not fit for her consumption. For all Essie knew, Waysa's diarrhea medication from seven years ago wouldn't suffice. 

Essie didn't want to make things worse- but she was still paranoid. She had been asleep for hours, well not exactly asleep, but in some sort of limbo state. 

Serafina had never been this comatose before. She had never had an episode like this, usually it was just a coughing fit or a headache. On worse days Essie would hold back her hair to vomit, but that was this. Now she was suddenly having these fits, shaking and gasping for air, her mind gone to different lengths. 

Essie remembered whether grandpappy had died, he had spent his last days in bed asleep, before succumbing to the flu. He had been so lively before he passed, but during his last days all he did was just lie there, Essie holding his hand and talking to him. 

What if Serafina just died on her?

She was all alone in the house with a sickening woman, Braeden had gone out earlier, leaving a note that he was going to go field study, seemingly oblivious to the issues inside of the house. Waysa was already walking down to the town to get help, or better yet, see if the so-called 'doctor' responded. And Essie was here, holding serafina’s clammy hand while trying to figure out what was wrong with her.

A bible on one side, and a glass of water on the other, she took a closer look. 

When leandra was still alive, Essie used to watch the medics preform their duties from the corner of the room. The doctors black medical bag had piqued her curiously, the strange instruments he pulled out of it determining the root cause of her suffering. Of course they didn't have, much less could afford instruments such as that, but Essie could try and figure out a good temporary solution. 

Before they found out about Leandras cancer, something that had apparently been hidden for a long time, they had examined her. She was lain on the dining room table, her arms and legs spread out as they poked and probed. The doctors had taken her blood, her spit, and somehow used it to tell her and Serafina her cancer. 

Essie could do that just fine, she was fairly strong and able, and she was gentle enough that she wouldn't hurt Serafina.

She hoisted her up bridal style, carrying her from the couch onto the table, gently setting her down.

Essie took out a pen and paper, looking closely at her face. Serafina’s eyes were dull, glassy marbles in the sagging sockets of a corpse.

Her lips were pale and thin, Serafina’s cheeks had faded to a sickly yellow.

Her skin, which used to be a healthy color of almond and honey, was now resembling the color on a hat band. 

Her left side of her face was completely swollen, tiny things roiling underneath it like beasts covered by the oceans blanket.

She poked at it, and instantly recoiled. S

omething was…pulsating underneath it.

Something that didn't belong to serafina, nay, an outside force. But what? Essie went to set her pen down on the counter, when she suddenly let out a cry. 

Essie rushed back to her. Food…even the half dead needed nourishment.

The gramophone muttered a soft tune, as she hoisted up the body and laid it to rest on the moth-eaten couch, putting a blanket over Serafinas body.

She wasn't dead, but it helped cover up…that. She could still see her twitch and move, as Essie hurriedly bustled into the kitchen.

 

A change of scenery of nice, the kitchen didn't make her feel like she was in a morge. 

She still had some leftover soup in the icebox, that had done wonders for serafina.

She poured it, now a chunky, globby mess, into a pot and lit the gas stove.

Stirring it for a bit,she realized she had no way to make it less condensed. What if Serafina choked on it?

Right now she was basically on the same level as a small child, despite being a grown woman...

Essie didn't want to treat her like a small child, but at this level of illness she had no choice. She just hoped Serafina wouldn't remember it. 

The pot handle burned into her skin as she poured it into a clean, bowl, bringing it back to Serafina like a mother bird brings back food for her babies. 

"Open up.", she murdered, sitting back next to serafina, and propping her mouth open.

Essie winced as she took some soup in her mouth, chewed it up, and spit it back into Serafinas mouth.

No harm in that, her grandma used to do it, and Essie turned out fine.

It was a bit unsanitary, yes, but Serafina needed the food more than anything. Nutrients, carbs, they did wonders for the ill. 

Especially with how the mushroom soup seemed to perk her up more, Essie was already seeing amazing side effects in her.

Her eyes were less foggy as she finished feeding her, pushing back her sweaty black hair.

“You have more white hairs than i remember.”, Essie said, lying next to her, “it’s ok. I found one in mine a while back.”

Serafina yawned, her eyes fluttering shut. She breathed out. She wasnt twitching or writhing this time, and her breath was coming in nice and slow.

A normal sleep, a deep one at that.

Good- Essie needed some fresh air. She whispered in Serafina’s ear, “ill be back soon, ok?”, as she opened the back door, only to be greeted with the scent of blood. 

 

At first she had thought Braeden had caught something else, and had skinned it in the backyard. Some meat would do some good...but this was different

A hare, a large one at that, was caught in the broken chain link fence. It was a bright white, its winter coat already coming in despite no snow on the ground. Its pupils stared deep into Essie's bones, as it twitched in the fence. Had it been chased in by something? Did it see some food in the grass and try to find it? Either way, Essie knew she was going to get it out. Maybe it was the adrenaline at the moment, but she wanted to save it. 

There was a small cut on it's side, circular shaped, slowly healing but clearly being penetrated by the metal.

“You poor thing!”, Essie cried, as she quickly came over to it, trying to untangle it.

The hare squawked, as Essie took it into her arms, looking at it's wound.

It wasn’t as nasty as she thought it would be, it looked like it had been grazed by a bullet, but it still made it a worthy target for predators.

The coyotes had stopped coming around, at least in this area, but there were still hawks, snakes, and other nasty creatures that could get it's hands on this poor baby.

She knew that there was so many other hares suffering probably worse fates, but she wasn't going to let it just die.

It reminded her so much of serafina in a weird way, just the way it stared at her, golden eyes glimmering with something.

She didn't want to lose something else, even if it was insignificant as a hare. Was she being over emotional? 

“Come on, youre coming in with me.”, she said, “Hopefully Waysa wont mind.”

 

The hare twitched it's nose, sitting next to Serafina’s sleeping body as Essie prepared it some food.

She set a plate of grass in front of it’s little tuckered out body, wrapping an old rag around it's wound.

It was only for today, and then she would set it free. It would be gone the moment Waysa and Braeden stepped foot in the house, Waysa would go comatose if he found out a wild animal was near his half dead wife.

The hare watched her with it's big yellow eyes, not touching the plate of grass.

Essie’s brows furrowed, “Do you want something else?”

Strangely, the hare thumped it's foot in response.

“We don't have that many vegetables…”, She said, gently picking it up and setting it down on the kitchen counter. What did hares eat? They were the cousins of rabbits..so they must be able to digest vegetables such as carrots...

She rummaged through the pantry, before she heard a short snuffling sound. She turned around to find the hare eating the white mushrooms she had left on the counter, as she gasped in horror. One common trait they both shared- eating mushrooms meant certain death. 

“No, no, no, no-”, she hissed, as she scooped it up, trying to pry it from it's mouth. She didn't want something else to die on her hands-

She shrieked as it bit her, continuing to gnaw on the stem, “Thats poisonous! You'll die!”, she said, as she tried unsuccessfully to tear it out.

The hare swallowed it, before leaping out of her arms and running toward the living room.

It was a wild animal- not a person. She needed to remind herself of that...

It curled up next to serafina, looking at Essie expectantly.

She let out a sob as she dashed back toward it, holding it's warm body in her arms. At least it would die somewhere warm, she thought, as she looked back at Serafinas sleeping form. It was better than the wasteland that was outside. 

 

"Babies.", Serafina's slurred speech woke her up out of her slumber. Essie's head whipped around to meet Serafina's unsteady eyes, her finger pointing at the creatures in her lap.

"babies? Oh-Oh! Babies!" The hare stared at her from on top of the coffee table, her baby leveretts squirming in her lap.

"You're alive?", she shrieked, "You were pregnant?"

The babies crawled on top of each other, as Essie stared in shock. No, the animal should be dead.

Was this mushroom a miracle?; even her wound was healed. 

Serafina was awake too- Essie was certain she would die in her sleep. 

"Babies.", she said, still in shock, "Babies."

Chapter 12

She first felt it in her lungs. 

Expanding, nestling into crooks and corners, making it harder and harder to breath.

She was a fool to think it was just something else-

A cold

The flu

Even pneumonia, 

But pneumonia wasn't like this. 

Whenever she tried to cry out, scream, even beg for it to stop, her voice came out as only a whisper.

Her heart, her lungs, her organs were slowly being overtaken, overwhelmed by this new intruder, this force that couldn't be stopped.

An uninvited guest, maybe, but like giving her name to a fae, she had willingly let it in. 

It felt like a newborn baby when it first came inside, was that why she allowed it to take up residence?

Was that why she let it bend her flesh, so pliable for it's will?

Serafina was a puppet for it to play with, a toy for a baby to cling to before it eventually decided that it needed…more.

She lay in bed, sweating from not a fever, but the feeling of it creeping up her spide, twining up her nervous system like vines overtaking an old pillar, it knocking at the door of her brain.

The end was near for her. She could feel it in her bones. 

Chapter 13

Braeden Vanderbilt was having the time of his life. His heart pounding in his chest, he quickly walked over to a nearby stump, sitting down and ignoring the squish he heard. 

This was his first field in study in what seemed ages, the last study dating to back...god knows when. But here he was, in a familiar- yet not too familiar enviorment, his gloves on, his shoelaces tied, and his pen at hand. 

He felt like a child on Christmas morning again, the dreary weather matching the winter months back in New York. What month was it even? 

The ground was wet, his bag already half soaked through when he lifted it up to rest on his lap, using it as a makeshift desk to place his notebook upon. 

Even though his pantsleg was muddy and wet, the cold creeping up his leg barely bothered him as he examined his specimens. 

Such beauties they were, the outline of them already getting his heartbeat racing. He hoped they hadnt been too banged up in his pocket, that would ruin a lot of his plans...

He digressed. 

Braeden laid out all of the samples he had gotten in the morning on a piece of white cloth he had brought from the house. 

It still had scents of Serafina's perfume lingering on it, the overbearing smell bursting out into the cold morning air. Did it attach itself to the mushrooms, or was it just how it naturally smelled?

He coughed for a second, before waving his hand to get the smell away. It proved to be useless, it lingered around like a dead spirit not put to rest. 

One of the mushrooms he had gotten from his bedroom, the others he plucked near the tarn. 

He guessed they were all the same species, or at least in the same family. They all had white caps, long hairs floating in the wind (Was it for reproduction purposes?), twisting stems that clung to his hand whenever he picked them up. When he pinched them in between his fingers, they easily smushed. Pureing it would be easy enough, maybe grinding it into a paste then putting that into a pill? either way, a tonic utilizing that would be revolutionary. 

It had been his secret project for years, the development of his final magnum opus, and this was the key to unlocking it. Braeden had partially came to Mosswash for the mushrooms, but he had stayed for what they could have become. He was already envisioning it- a tonic, which cures of all fertility maladies, made out of nothing but the products of the earth.

He had been studying the effects of it on earthworms for a while now, in this little field. He had first noticed it on that fatal walk with Waysa, the guts spilling out of the earthworms resembling the mushrooms hairs. The hare he had shot, pregnant far too late in the year for it to even be possible, the white hair on her head. 

And then there were the effects on the baby, Braeden had noticed it with his experiments on the worms. It seemed to work almost instantly, the eggs formed, the cocoons being weaved in only fifteen minutes. The little earthworm spawn had wiggled their way out into the world in only twenty minutes.

The earthworms had created their eggs in due time, came from, maybe it was a way they were adapting to the new environment?

Mosswash had been hit hard by the environmental devastation caused by the war, so was this a new tactic the hares and worms were using? Braeden made sure to mention in his notes that the mushrooms also worked on mammals, more baby hares had showed up since he arrived. Did it speed up the pregnancy? He knew many kits died in childhood, so did it help with their survival? What could this do to fellow humans?

This would need to go through testing, he knew that for sure.

But what it could become motivated him to no end. 

Braeden needed more time though, these mushrooms seemed to only survive in a damp, dreary environment and Mosswash was a breeding ground for them.

What if he stayed longer?, he thought. He could rent a small house near Serafina and Waysa’s, get out of their hair of a bit, and work on his newfound project.

Salvator Matris, that what's he would call it. He would be the first person to discover something like this, to make such bounds in the medical field. 

He smiled, as he held the white mushroom up, “You’re my savior.”, he murmured, nuzzling it against his cheek, “Thats what ill call you, Salvator matris .”

Finally, a purpose in life…He started on his way back home, trudging through the dirt with a new sense of beginnings. 

The hares watched him from afar, their small noses twitching, their ears tuned to his every move.

The small leveretts watched as well, he noticed that they were almost the exact same as their parents.

Same eyes, same nose, even the same floating white hairs atop their head. 

Chapter 14

The train had pulled in fairly quickly. It had taken him awhile to find Mosswash's train station, he had thought they had closed long ago due to the costs of upkeep. 

Nay, it was here, dirty and disgusting, but he still watched as the train pulled it. It was one of the nicer ones, not the coal freights that frequently came in.

It was a deep green, Latharian words embellished on its side, golden wheels pulling it to a stop on the rusty train tracks. 

Whoever this doctor was, it was clear they had money. He felt lucky, that not only did they arrive so early, but this was what they were arriving on.

Was it just pure luck, or was it some sort of divine intervention for something like this to happen?

Waysa had scoured the pharmaceutical shelves prior to the trains arrival, looking for a substitution just in case the doctor didn't arrive.

Arms full of bottles of tonics and pills, he realized that it was a waste of money. 

It was easy enough to spot her, shocking red hair tied up into a gelled bun, as she parted through the waves of people like Aphrodite riding the ocean to shore.

Many pushed passed her, bags of stuff tied to them, quickly filling the train. Few came off the train, many of them matching the grey surroundings, but she did not.

She wore a deep green suit, red pumps, maroon lipstick that he saw got on her teeth as she smiled at him. What was the saying?

A snake's smile. 

She stuck out a gloved hand, “Rowena Fox-Pemberton. You must be-?”

Rowena’s voice was quick and sharp, an accent hanging on the tips of it.

City folk and their way of talking, Waysa blinked once before answering, “Waysa. Waysa Sanchez.” Fast talker. She would definitely tire of the town after a couple of days. 

She smiled again, thin lips pulling back just a bit too far, “Great! If you could just lead me to the ailing then…”

Strange way to turn the conversation...ah well, what else could she say?

He nodded, “It’s a bit of a walk. Hope your shoes don't get too dirty.”

He saw her stiffen a bit, her demeanor changing in a split second, but then she was suddenly back to all smiles, “Of course! I just need some help with my bags.”

The brass handles were cold as he took them from her, lugging them from the train station platform onto the wet ground below. He noticed a golden monogram etched into the side: R-F-P, monograms we're costly these days. He would have to be extra careful handling a bag like this, it probably had insurance on it anyway. 

“I hope the ride wasn't too long. How’d you get here so quickly? Braeden said you’d be here in about a month or so.”

Rowena walked beside him, two of her bags slung over her shoulder, “Was doing some work down in Grampleton, testing out a new formula. Post is relatively quick there, and as soon as i got the letter i knew i couldn't say no. It’s been so long since i’ve actually done my job.”, she barked out a laugh, trotting alongside him, “Say, how far is your house from here?”.

Waysa processed what she said. The way she talked was like unleashing a thousand wasps into a honey-bee hive, chaos so quick you don't realize what's happened until its all over. Definitely grew up in the city, from the way she talked to the way she walked...He could see she wasn't fit for this type of terrain, watching as she slightly stumbled on the deceptively mushy ground.

“Thirty minute walk maybe? I apologize, petroleum is awfully expensive these days, and I wasted it on driving into town to send that letter to you.”

Rowena smiled, “Ah, i understand. I don't mind.”

Her lips were taunt, her smile forced as they left the town gates. Waysa held the suitcases as high as he comfortably could, but flecks of mud still spattered onto the leather. Rowena slightly winced, but continued to trek, avoiding the mud piles with surprising ease. He guessed that she was born somewhere like Eastern Hapsburg, or Peies, one of the more wealthier cities, ones that hadn’t been affected by the economic collapse the rest of the towns and cities faced.

She wore a Saint Marcos watch on her left wrist, one of the pricier ones too, her suitcases were patent leather, on her feet were shoes that would cost Waysa his remaining leg to pay for. He looked back down at his bare wrist. He used to have a watch like that, his great-grandfathers, but he had to sell it for coal the winter prior.

Rowena was clearly making good money, which meant she must have a strong grip on the medical industry. Doctors, especially good ones, were hard to come by these days. The good ones prices almost made you wish you were dead of your ailment rather than cured. 

He was lucky that Braeden had connections with her, by winters end all of Serafinas medical issues could be solved.

“To kill some time, mind telling me any background information? Just for future reference.” 

Waysa was snapped out of his thoughts, already noticing the house rising in the distance, “He didn't tell you anything?”

“No, frankly, the letter seemed a bit rushed.”, Rowena sighed, grimacing as something got onto her shoes, "Quite unlike him."

“Ah- well Serafinas always been relativly healthy, it was only after the war ended that things seemed to go downhill. She was sent to a sanatorium a while back, only two seasons ago she was let back out. Lung troubles from all the carbon in the air, not from here, but from where we lived prior. Big producer of planes back in those days.”, Waysa blabbed on, trying to drill as much information into her skull. Maybe she could instantly get a cure just from just listening what had happened in the past. 

Rowena perked up almost instantly, staring him with new interest, “Really? Where?”

“One on not to far from here, at the outskirts of the local peat bogs”, he waved his hand toward what he thought was the north, “She came back all fine, but she started having these fits not too long ago. Started out a coughing and migraines but it escalated into..I don't know sleepwalking? If you could even call it that? Such as last night, she was 'here' in a sense, but also not here?”

“Head trouble? Was she also admitted to the sanatorium for hysteria?”

“If she was, they never told us about it. No, she wasn't, it was just an infection. But like I said, she came back all…different. Like something inside of her had flipped.”

Rowena nodded, “Probably another infection, sanatoriums on this side are notorious for being unsanitary and overcrowded. Why didn't you just send to one of the ones in Waverly or Quenteth?”

Waysa coughed, “We don't exactly have the funds for that. She hasn't been able to work- and, you know, our business had to shut down just after the war, so we haven't had the best care in a while.”

“Of course, I understand.”, Rowena said quickly, “I used to treat veterans, the way the government treats them is absurd. Ah! Is this your house?"

Waysa grimaced internally, seeing her eyes scan up and down the dilapidated building. It was definitely not something she was used to.

He opened it with a crack, "Come on in. Please don't mind the mess- we haven't had guests in ages."

Chapter 15

Rowena didn't want to be rude, but it was the filthiest house she had ever seen. Waysa opened the door with a creak, and instantly several small hares ran out, pushing through their legs and into the wild beyond. He looked just as confused as her, but as he opened the door wider his face set back to neutral. Rowena did not see how he could be so calm, it took every drop of self preservation in her body to stop her jaw from dropping open. 

She had helped delivered babies in the slums of london, helped with war patients in the most deplorable conditions, she had even quite literally been in the trenches.

Rowena's first time out in the field was watching her teacher amputate a leg of a man who had been run over by a carriage. 

However this house took the top tier, from the outside it had seemed so unassuming. Sure, it looked like it needed a couple of repairs, but nothing more.

Was it just because of her privileged background?

She wasn't used to see such disgusting conditions in what seemed like such a neat and trim house from the outside, maybe it was just some stereotype she had grown accustomed to. Every time her teacher had been called to deliver a baby, the outside usually matched the inside. Her first birth was in a house that had half of its roof caved in, an entire room blocked off. It had still been relatively clean, unlike whatever...this was. 

It stank of rotten food in the house, there was day old food just left out on the floor, trash accumulating in small corners of the room.

As Waysa led her in she saw rat scat smeared on the floor, animal piss soaked into the carpet, some sort of mouse corpse lay dead in a crumbling part of the wall, and yet nobody seemed to give it a moments notice. He even got some on his shoe, yet he didn't look down. Was it just obliviousness? Did living in this type of environment so long make them used to it? 

“They’re in here.”, he said, leading her into a little alcove off of the hallway.

The couch had copious amounts of dirt stains and dust on it, the two woman sitting on it were so thin-looking they almost blended into the background.

“Hello.”, the stronger of the pair called out to her, weakly waving.

Rowena waved back, trying to hide her disgust as she looked at the woman.

She was very pretty, doe like eyes and curled brown hair, but her dress was torn and ripped at the bottom, there was food smudges on her clothing, little cold sores around her mouth torn open.

“My names Essie. You're the doctor, i presume?”

 The name rang a clear bell in Rowena's mind. Former model maybe? She was pretty enough to be one. 

Rowena nodded, “Wheres the patient?”, dreading the answer.

“On the couch. Essie, why do i smell…animal fur?” Essie’s face flushed, as she took Rowena by hand (Clammy, cold like gelatin out for too long), leading her to the couch,

“She’s awake by now, i think. I gave her some soup a while back and that seemed to do the trick. I'll keep giving her more- unless you say otherwise."

Rowena wanted to vomit. She was laying on the couch in an unnatural angle, her legs bent sideways, her head turned lengthwise, her mouth open with fluid leaking out of it. Her skin was clammy and cold, her eyes were bulging out of it's sockets as it's almost colorless pupils turned to look at her.

"She was ok a couple hours ago, she was even talking.", she heard her sigh, patting Waysa's back, "Don't fret. She'll be fine."

Rowena shooed the others out, pulling off the blanket that was covering the woman.

She grimaced as she saw the scene before her. Serafina’s-that was her name, right?-legs were covered in blue and black bruises, making it look like she was wearing strange colored tights instead of it just being bare leg. Rowena could see veins popping out of it, each with a heartbeat of it's own. Her body twitched like a person with epilepsy would, her long fingers clenching and unclenching. What even was this? As she rolled up her sleeve she noticed dark marks all up and down her thin arms, boils spattered like flies to a fly trap across her shoulders. Through her thin nightdress her ribs poked through her skin, a sickly blue shadow cast upon each of them.  

This wasn't in any of the textbooks she had studied, nor did any professor ever lecture about it.

Was this some sort of new illness?

Was it curable?

Was it even treatable?

Rowena looked through her bags, herbs, instruments, pills and medications all seeming useless.

This wasn't leprosy, this wasn’t cholera, nay this was something new entirely.

Was it already spreading through the sanatoriums?

What if it wasn't even a disease, but something else brought upon by another's hand?

She sat near the ailing woman, her gaze always following the shadow of Rowena as she sat near her.

For now…she just needed to think, to hypothesis.

Rowena couldn't just tell these poor people that there was potentially no cure, they clearly were giving all that they had to some nobody doctor that had failed medical school two times. This was her first ever mission by herself, and she didn't just want to abandon ship.

What had Essie been feeding Serafina in order for her to stay alive for this long?

It definitely wasn't something that average doctor would recommend, Waysa had even mentioned that they never had the money for medical care like this.

What were they all eating that was keeping them alive?

She looked back down at Serafina, wiping drool off of her cheek.

First order of business, she needed to dress her wounds.

‘Act like you know what you're doing- and prepare a plan while you're at it’, thats what her old professors used to say.

F ake it till she made it, that would always be Rowena’s mantra.

Notes:

Yaaay! The end of part one! part two will be up soon :D, provided I can get all of my requests done while I'm working on it. Part two will be more focused on the past, it'll be 5-10 ish chapters, then we'll go back to the present in part three
Sorry this chapter seems rushed, I'm sick at the moment, so I've been a little bit loopy.

Please tell me what you think of it so far lol, I love comments sm :). Ty for reading along so far, it really means a lot to me <3333

Chapter 16

Summary:

Just felt like adding something :3
might rewrite ts

"Do you ever wish you could just run?", Braeden mumbled hopelessly as they watched Rowena close the door to the room.

Waysa stayed silent, his good leg bouncing erratically as he looked off into the grass surrounding them. It reminded him of the plains in Terria where he had fought, still a bright-eyed young soldier with dreams and hopes for the future. He had kept Serafina's portrait always stuck to the brim of his helmet, her face smiling out obliviosly to the violence that surrounded them. 

That fateful morning he had first gotten word of the gas attack at the factory, his heart lurching as he read the paper the general had given them. The same factory Serafina had worked at had been attacked, some died but the causalities were few. Her name was mentioned in the injured list, but even with the few details given he could tell it was minimal. He was grateful, the paper later stated that one girl got her face melted off by the debilitating toxins in the air. His day was already off to a bad start, but it only went more downhill from there. 

Maybe it was because he was distracted.  

Maybe there was a ton of factors that played into it that he didn't understand. 

But that morning he had been running across the mushy field, gun in hand, his wife's portrait flapping so fast in the wind that he was scared it would fall out. It did, the force of a cannon-bomb-whatever it was thrown at him so forcefully it flew off and burned with the fire that came with it. He had watched her face melt, crumple, before his eyes turned to his leg, and everything shattered.

Yes, he wished he could run. He could hear talking now coming from the closed off room, and the adrenaline only pumped faster through his blood.

But he looked down at the floorboards, as soft as the terrain he had lost a part of himself on, then back at Braeden.

"I can't.",he whispered sorrowfully, the weight of his failures finally settling down on him as he broke down, beginning to cry, his prosthetic like the metal of a gun when it rained, sleek and shiny. 

Notes:

What did you think lol? Please give me comments, I love comments, questions, speculations...
(I just rlly like comments bc it feeds the bottomless pit of attention inside of me)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Mosswash Universe