✞ Do you believe? Do you fade like a dream?

Let me hear you breathe ✞

--- *** ---
--- The Next Morning ---
--- 21st of December, 1964 ---

As soon as the midnight's vibrantly profound twilight bled into the wee hours of the morning, the honey-mouthedly mirthful birdsongs stitched the numbness's patchy hollow outdoors as the gracefully melliflous tunes pierced the walls of the privately owned property. Vastly luster snow fantastically settled on bare branches, window boards and anywhere else where it could be amenable for the newfangled guest to find its new cozy home after the perkily vehement dance of the swarm of snowflakes in the thin air. A weak glacial wind gingerly puffed the light-heavy branches and anything that equated to vulnerable in its weight due to the vicious winter climate.

The promisingly inviting, satin snuggle you and Timothy traded its ethereally timeless, down-to-earth hours during your iron-willedly brass rest through the nocturnal episode engulfed you in a miniaturely cozy bubble of your own world and realm stitching protectively your very muscles and very hurricane of thoughts. Contagiously fleshy warmness hypodermically rippled your tender fleshes as your pressed bodies managed to choir the tandem. Warm breaths faintly, welcomingly fanned each other's earlobes and napes of your necks.

The relentlessly vindictive ebony darkness with its thickly rigid, shapeless mantles swathing the site as its own children of the darkness. The dear children of the darkness kipping beyond nonchalantly, scarcely daring to care if even somebody is going to venture up inside the site and banish their very lives out of their motionless figures with its own bare, fiendishly bloodthirsty hands that were coated in its thickly marvelous baptize of the scrumptiously cloying blood.

Once you were abysmally dipped aimlessly in the stormy tempest of its monumental waves innundating your wild reverie where your current location was solemnly established until you came to your senses, consequently the former aspiring Monsignor woke up beneath the brassly dim silver stream of the early morning embracing him in the company of the honey-mouthed birdsongs tickling his delicate, vulnerable ears. Manifesting to straightening his posture and seating on the edge of the bed after flipping vehemently on the other side, releasing himself from the promisingly warm, doting embrace of your silken arms in series of non-verbal protests as the grip reined off unceasingly, he fashioned his mammoth, pristinely milky hands into balled fists to knead his groggy eyes and then muffling gracefully with the palm of his hand a yawn that curled upon his lip.

Sooner or later, everybody were presumed to no longer roll their bodies up underneath the comfy blankets of the apovalytically succumbing comfort through the inexorably frigid hours ticking unnervingly and light-headedly accomodating to any daily episode. Of course, everybody had their own daily celestially eminent goals for today and they ventured up inside the chromatic trance leaking their sheer brilliance to shimmer extraordinarily luminous of their determination!

Once the former holy priest lifted up his rear from the comfy furniture, the sheer oblivion of the mystified flock of traces of something that didn't even bear a semblance of something perfectly natural to embroider afflictively hypodermic his vulnerably tender flesh of his torso underneath the promisingly feather-soft fabric of his collection of pyjama. Seaming almost every ounce and every span that bracketed each familiar sanctum, in order to expand its outstanding territory. Demonically afflictive to be savored its bittersweet flavor of the eventual sorely fresh agony ornamenting the formerly possessed holy man. Yet, the abysmally eternall, brassly smoggy lakes of sore vermillion mischievously drummed and synced the amplified heart pulses thudding into Timothy's toned, muscly chest.

When the comfortably feather-soft fabric of the duvet no longer contacted even an inch clumsily of Timothy's frail skeleton that was donned up in his pair of cozy, thus the common chilly climate that naturally authentic beset the thin air pebbled his thin plum nipples and his bare feet gliding to the impending destination that could be interpreted the grandiose round mirror standing before himself. Undoing a couple of stubbornly bland buttons as his fingertips bedaubbed smoothly until the pyjama shirt perpetually peeled off its freshly welcoming fabric from his chest and leaking the beginnings of his insatiable collarbones and a thick wire of kinky, dark hair sowed, meantime, his chocolate brown big, rotund gemstones lingered to chase down each discrete detail exposed to the manipulated glass reflecting the absolute reality surrealistically.

An eerie flat line flourished insecurely upon his naturally pale-pinkish, deliciously plumpish lips that meagerly twitched during his dexterous manipulation of his virginally strong fingers to unbutton the flock of buttons until the attire swung candidly playful, faintly as his smoky quartz gemstones landed on the foreign, the unseen scrapes adorning his velvet, alabaster abdomen in the right side. What it struck the British aristocrat about the scrapes of demon's bloodthirstily spine-chilling, unthinkable claws to lug down and dump relentlessly its unmerciful plague to agonize a former prey of the villaniously hair-rising, unbelievable vile essence's dominance.

The haphazardness of the sluggishly obdurate buff of his pale-pinkish mouth to contort its greasy grimace accompanying an indistinctive pout tugging at the corner of his mouth, elaborating a low hum of the ironical nonchalance that prominently spolighted his handsome facial attributes. Maneuvering to incline a dark, masculinely natural thick eyebrow at the unspeakable vista and surveying a in scrutiny the eerieness of the devil's wickedly hazardous claws opting to bind him in an ever-lastingly tight, unremitting grapple of the demise and unholy nemesis.

Little did he know what those claws' scrapes of an antagonistically ferocious supernatural creature that marked its own territory by compensating its non-verbal damage to ornament awfully blood-curdling at the very thought of the claws' fiercely honed nails dragging at the tender, vulnerable skin in a fleet motion and baptizing its sharp entities into a luxurious cataract of pungently infernal gore. The starkly inebriating, breathtaking stream of gore glimmered dimly.

"Oh God!" Mewling a harsh shriek after gritting his pearly-white teeth acriminously at the surreal grotesque prospect in a great alloy of tremendous disgust, nauseous fear and enthralling disbelief, meanwhile, you couldn't help but waking up hours after hours of promisingly restless rest where you didn't even manage to twitch a muscle. "T-That's impossible!" Yet the childlike mortification of the a couple of inches trio grazes incising its downy fleshy muscles into its harrowing vermillion ingresses to dribble its own rivulets, whilst registering to bit the inside of his cheek disquietingly humdrum when the stir scarcely caught him off guard and shifting his attention without turning his body fully to spear with his doe coffee brown embers, kindled its very blazes, ablaze with sheer innocence and guiltless vulnerability brightly illuminating his very nature.

In a half a minute of fashioning ordinarily into balled fists your elvish, pristinely delicate hands to rub the inescapably sticky, chubby layer of grogginess ornamenting your E/C embers and muffling with the palm of your hand a mere yawn, thereafter you shifted entirely your attention to the British compatriot who came to his senses slightly earlier than you. It looked like somebody was missing the early morning party of the enigmatically bloody woes. Ironically or not, later today you planned to phone Dana's mother to arrange an appointment for the forthcoming few days before Christmas holidays to grant the needful aid for the former pious clergyman.

The venomously salty flavor of the dreadful concept of dumping the former pious clergyman whenever he needed to seek a professional help about the nightmares that chased him for straight two weeks ruthlessly reckless and struggling to accommodate to his post-spiritual possession life physically and mentally almost died on your tongue, due to the fact, you weren't midst the nobodies that were far cry from altruistic to ultimately endure each segment of the afflictively strenunous process. Every single life that hedged you freely was pearly precious. Regardless each person's past and mistakes or rather the times when their darker side has gradually exuded due to the cumulation of the pernicious wrath, held grudges and the malevolently venomous fear blending its own philtre to strengthen the worst foes as emotions and sentiments for every living being, the dearly unique life that has being bestowed for everybody couldn't be deprived.

You could formulate slyly, gravely pensive the genuine notion of the older man's agony and affliction he was persuading eagerly, demandingly its path. It would be a crime to not grace Timothy with the desideratum help. It would be a crime to ebb his life off even when he was in the middle of his strong-willedly unspeakable battle with the diabolically cutthroat shadows, vengeful demons and barbarically impudent monsters creeping to blight every properly functioning muscle, cell and thought.

A straight line remarkably embellished your satin, dry façade, boring your E/C bijous into the former aspiring Monsignor's cocoa brown. The amiably mellow address of the casual greeting couldn't be formatted genuinely good, in fact, you just found yourself beholding the woefully injured former man of the cloth posing before the grandiose round-framed mirror.

"Tim, is everything okay?" At the moment, you manifested your elvish, creamy hands to unwrap ordinarily the comfy duvet and hopping out of the king-sized bed promptly on your mission to discover the unsolved mystery. The posed question of yours even if the manipulated reflection of the indubitably otherworldly marks of the devil have hypodermically nicked maliciously a couple of inches youthful flesh, whereas electrifying goosebumps spiked your smooth epidermis of your overall arms and legs as your starkly exposed feet ghostwrote the cozily carpeted floor of the guests' room, following its rhythmically resilient, lethally quiet drums conjugating your elegantly casual gait. "Oh my goodness!" Stifling a blatantly blunt sob bubbling up from your feminine Adam's apple, subsequently your gaze forcefully penetrating fixated on the unspeakably hair-rising injury as the British aristocrat's virginally long, ghostly pale fingers worked on peeling off the pajama attire to be discarded on top of the exquisitely polished footboard and scarcely averting his doe cocoa brown depths from yours, blazing its fiery insecurity and childishly innocunousness. "What happened to your torso?"

"I have just discovered a few minutes ago, my rare bird!" His solely free hand's slim fingers managed to slither to his dark scalp to graze gingerly uneasily its palpable area, whereas the dry fat of his strawberry-coloured tongue clumsily crafted a guttural, frustrated groan formatting his apocalyptically inexorable vexation of the injury, whereas you maintained slowly but surely, warily to approach and sealing the adequately intimate proximity you traded with one another, examining in a scrutiny the fiercely cinnabar variants distinguishing from one another in its length and width as well. The valley of green nausea inundated barbarously your lower abdomen and its abysmally dense lake flowing through your veins and blightly unceasingly your muscles accompanying its facial expression to twiddle emphatically with stark revulsion etching ominously your facial attributes eventually. "I haven't seen my torso in such condition since the night before."

"That's so dreadful." Without hesitation, you slipped your orthodoxy plumes to parcel circa his broadly muscly shoulder and then squinting up your gaze to bore into his, your nude pink lips struggling to buff a ruefully radiant, weak smile flexing your delicate jaw. Pinkness gamely tickled your well-sculptured, chubby cheeks promptly when your brittle fingertips and digits lightly, bashfully traced its masculinely anatomical shoulder's outstandingly intriguing curve shortly before its affable claw you offered. Your heart pulsations synced subconsciously wicked and channelizing to lull your dry, strawberry-coloured tongue to lick thoughtfully your upper and lower lip in no time. "Oh fucking God! You need to see the doctor sooner than later, because it would be unthinkable to behold you lugging yourself as a worm in sore agony, feeling as if you have resided Gehenna's very walls."

"But what about your day shift, Y/N?" The inquiry almost died on the older gentleman's tongue tip subtly, molting into the affectionately welcoming touch of your tissues binding his shoulder blade sluggishly, admiring the crispy anatomy.

"My manager can go screw up himself, because I can work anything else than a pathetic waitress that is trying to save the life of a dear friend that might be not being able to crawl on this crudely cold, big world any longer if I abandoned you all alone with those demon claws torturing you."

"Don't be silly, my bird! I can help myself to go see a doctor shortly after breakfast." The hoarseness of the sardonically inward snigger of the British aristocrat didn't vanish as his Adam's apple seethed, callouses abruptly seriously heinous inscribing your frail knuckles' highlands on your hands' fists.

"Going on your own to the doctor office is quite risky," Stifling the urge to exceedingly choke on the bitter lump seethed your feminine Adam's apple, whereas you ushered to raise an arch of your elegant eyebrow escorting its sharp incredulity buckling across your full profile. "Especially in such utmostly hazardous condition with such unbelievably unnatural marks of demon claws embroidering almost every inch of the right side of your lower abdomen, Tim!" In the meantime, you managed to emit a cold-bloodedly dry, wry chuckle simmering your tongue tip after its sloppy slither in no time, recurringly shaking your head in solemn disapparoval to allow him to venture up in the hospital on his own in less than an hour. "We will be good once we go to the hospital together. It's still a quarter past six, honey! We have a lot of time until my freaking work. Even if I am late for work within a second, the manager can do whatever he wants to me to banish me out of my position."

"You're too good to me!" All of a sudden, you rose on your toes and ushered your naturally rosy-coloured, angelically cherub lips to press an affectionately altruistic, merry peck to the older gentleman's well-carved cheek as he tugged you in a tight, kindheartedly protective hug shortly after he snaked his strongly bare, muscular arms to brace your middle.

"Honey, you deserve only the best! Don't ever dare to think of dreadfully dramatic scenarios where I will let you down!"

--- *** ---

--- A Several Hours Later or So ---

When the wee hours of the morning ominously stagnantly, unceasingly bled into the mid-afternoon's twilight looming the horizon with its wintery weak, monumentally roundish gilded sun mounting up and accompanying prominently the vast mass of silver clouds overcastting its flock, throughout the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer managed to venture up inside the former property of Y/N as she ascended the stairs bluntly restless. Generous layer of blush unknowledgeable powdered her porcelain, elderly attractive façade after conjugating dozens of footsteps whispering against the concrete floor and stairs.

A cryptically beaming, optimistically vibrant weak smile embellished uniquely her silken, glossy mouth and balling up persistently her winter pantaletot on her mission to reach the floor of your former property at last. Hitched breathing trashed its vibrations into her brittle lungs, all alone perpetually accomplishing her mission while Frank was at work as a security guard of a bank.

Profusion of glossy perspiration truly clung to her forehead and marbled expanse that was mantled in a conveniently warm scarf until she stood before the wooden door. Manipulating her gloved spidery fingers to reach for the bell to ding, elaborating its monotonously high-pitched drone to keep the wits the current owner about the former nun's very presence, her heart candidly vehement trashed into her ribcage. The heart pulses amplified rabidly rapid. The perkily elaboration of footsteps emanating from the hallway tingled its alarming tones into her amenable, petite ears until the front door was unlocked in a single click and swinging unremittingly opened at the vista of the recent owner. 

Author's Note: Regardless how brief certain chapters appear to be due to the fact, the words' count is less than 3000, nevertheless, I'm still proud of myself for including freshly baked plottwists for this book even if it's in the early 30s chapters, where the plot-twists will be pretty amusing and arousing abundance of questions for the readers rather than in the previous ones. 

What are your thoughts on that shorter chapter even if it's slightly bland, due to the fact, I had ginormous inspiration to grant my readers with an update sooner than later? What are your thoughts on Timothy's wound of the demon claws during his post-spiritual possession phase? Furthermore, what do you think about the crude cliffhanger where Jude opts to find Timothy and the female reader, howsoever, she ends up finding a different owner of the flat which was a former property of the female reader? 

I hope you liked and enjoyed the chapter! :))