How did his life end up here? That was a question Riley found himself asking for what had to have been the fourth time in the last hour. Five years ago, he was bright eyed and bushy tailed. Fine, that was a blatant lie. He hadn’t been bright-eyed since he was eleven, but he had options. Maybe even a future that didn’t include him struggling down a fire escape without shoes, weighted down by a backpack and duffle bag filled with everything he had in this world to call his. That didn’t involve him pealing out of a parking lot like a bat out of hell. No, he could have had a future with a career, a car to his damn name and maybe fucking something! Anything but the shit he let his dick and his naivety stranded him in the middle of. Rebellion? How the fuck was this the rebellion he wanted?! An eighteen-year-old moron thinking the first guy with a roguish grin and whispering all the right words in his ears was the love of his life and nothing could be more perfect. Hell, barely got a goddamn degree before climbing in the damn car and leaving his life, his father and everything that was Riley in the distance. Drowning in the damn sewer that was David.<br/><br/><br/>Now here he was five years later in a borrowed car, a set of keys in his pocket and feeling as lost as he had ever been. Both figuratively and literally. “Where the fuck am I now?!” He hissed, turning off the backroad to a roadside gas station. It hadn’t been the first one he’s had to stop at so far. Part of him was convinced this was a hoax. A horrible prank. That he was going to reach the end of this wild goose chase will be Riley and that damn dog, standing there with that horrible grin, waiting for him. Ready to remind him what happens when you run away. When he didn’t listen to what he told him. He slammed on the breaks, kicking up dirt as he threw his car into park with all the gentleness and care of a bull in a china shop. The old junker gave a plaintive shudder at the quick shift of gear.<br/><br/><br/>His stomach found it’s way into those knots, they twisting, turning, weaving its self into the distinctly sickening way he knew all too well, a cold sweat that prickled up and down his spine that made him want to rip his own skin from his bones. Shit, maybe he should turn around? If he turned around now maybe it won’t be so bad if he just came back on his own? If had to be easier then what would happen to him if David actually went looking for him. If he found him. If he turned around now he might even-<br/><br/><br/>A hard shiver ran through his body at that thought, he leans his forehead against the wheel with a stuttered sigh. Who was he kidding? The best case scenario? He’d be in the hospital for a week. The worst? That was why he left. There was no back, only forward. Hopefully forward put enough distance between them both that the bastard wouldn’t even see him worth the effort.<br/><br/><br/>A knock against the widow drew a yelp from the man within, he jerks back from the worn, leather covered wheel eyes wild, and arm pulled back. It took a moment for him to process what it was, a minute longer to process the baffled-looking man in the blue coveralls of a mechanic. A dark brow raised in question accompanied the cautious smile that lifted at the corners of thin lips. Riley took a deep breath before reaching over to roll down the manual window crank, smiling sheepishly at the older man. “…Hi? Can I help you?” What else was he supposed to say? Go the fuck away and let me have my existential crises in the peace? Cause that didn’t sound insane. Was he even sane anymore? He really doubts it.<br/><br/>Arms as burly and they were hairy crossed leisurely in the window as the man leaned against the side of his borrowed car. The salt at his temples biting away at the pepper of his hair aged him up, along with the wrinkle about his eyes. Was this the definition of a ‘good old boy?’. This was at least what Riley wanted to call it. The deep, soothing baritone only added to that certain easy comfort the man had to his stance. “I was about to ask you that, son. You alright?” Riley could have sworn he heard a little caution in that tone, but that was drowned out far more by the almost fatherly concern that tinged it. He had to look a little crazy. Thick, chestnut hair as wild, and untamed. To call it bed head would have been kind. The results of a hurried escape. Brushing his hair this morning never quite crossed his mind. Neither did a shave. Avoiding getting bitten in the ass by a big, angry mutt took precedence over his morning routine. He honestly had to look like he rolled out of the trunk of this car before he took it for a drive.<br/><br/><br/>“I-I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, hoping the action steadies the unwanted tremble in his voice. Pushing those demons to the back of his mind and he planned to do with the past five years. Give him enough time and whiskey and he might just manage it. “I’m cool. Just-“ Deep breath, hold it and let it go. Let it go. “I got a little lost is all.” He muttered, color returning to him as he glanced at his wheel and back half expecting the man look at him like he was a moron, but his expectations weren’t rewarded. He just got a smile far kinder then he expected or was accustomed to.<br/><br/><br/>“I get plenty of those around here, son. Why don’t you let me see your map, I might be able to help you out.”  This man reminded him of warm tea on a cold day. Warm, comforting and for the first time in what had to be years, his shoulders unhunched from their perpetual flinch around his ears as he relaxed a little into the worn seat. He loosened his white-knuckled grip as he reached for the unfolded paper. It was a pretty standard road map. Something before the age of GPS and cell phone navigation. Whitewood. A place mentioned in a letter he intercepted before David or his damn dog could return from a walk. A letter from his grandfather of all things. He hadn’t spoken to the man since he was a young boy. He had been baffled by this. A man who hadn’t tried to contact him in twelve-some years sending him a letter out of the blue.<br/><br/><br/>Who would have imagined it would be an invite to a funeral, an address, a map and a key. His mother’s funeral. His mother’s home. It all had been a blur the first time he read it. He had collapsed back into David’s couch with the weight of the grief that slammed against his battered soul. It took four more reads after to be able to understand what it meant. That he couldn’t ever speak to her again, to see her, to maybe find out from her why she didn’t want to see him anymore. To hear if it was true when his father had told him that she didn’t want him anymore. His childhood was a fuckery in itself. Though that wasn’t important now. Not a whole lot was important anymore. It’s better to leave old wounds like those scabbed over. Ripping them off and chance them getting infected wasn’t worth it. No, he just needed answers of some sort. Something and this sadly was the perfect escape plan.<br/><br/>“I’m trying to find Whitewood. Granddad wasn’t exactly super helpful by sending me a map with a big red dot on it.” If he rolled his eyes any harder he might have lost them in the back of his skull as he passed the map to the man. Was it still alright he called him Granddad? It wasn’t like he’s seen him in years. Did he even think of a fucking disappointment as his grandson anymore? His own daughter didn’t seem to have any problem abandoning him, why would he? No. That’s David. That’s what David would tell him, has told him. He wouldn’t have invited him to the damn funeral otherwise. Sent him the keys to a home that was apparently his now. A home his own mother who has avoided his existence for years now had left him. Was this all an elaborate joke? Or was it another lie his father told him?<br/><br/><br/>He didn’t know, and honestly at this moment? He didn’t have the energy to think much more on it.<br/><br/>Riley couldn’t see the man’s face as he held the map up looking at it on the roof of the four-door, compact car. The poor silver thing dented and more than a little worn. Though despite all it’s flaws and imperfections It did what he needed of it and that he was grateful for. He owed that nurse more then he might ever be able to repay. And an apology for asking her to mind her own fucking business. Who knew it was the kindness of a stranger that would give him the tool he needed to get out. If he believed in some greater force that would look out for him. He’d say someone up there was trying to do right by him. If this all turns out to not be some cruel joke at the end of the day. He might have to reevaluate his opinion.<br/><br/><br/>He almost lost himself in his musings once more, vaguely aware of the soothing calm that started to nudge at his tired muscles. Gently trying to untangle the nervous knots he had let his gut twist itself into. It was the voice of the mechanic that pulled him back to the moment, making him shift his gaze back to him as he shook off the familiar tug. “Who’s your Granddad? I’ve got some relatives out that way.” He said conversationally, as friendly as one of those smiley face t-shirts.<br/><br/><br/>That took him a moment if he was honest. More than he should have felt comfortable with if he was even more honest with himself. “Aaron Cross.” How quickly the man yanked the map out of his line of sight made every defensive instinct in his body switch into overdrive. Flinching back from the window as he quickly leaned back down to get a good look at Riley. The way he examined his every feature as if committing every line and slope to memory made a cold sweat prickle down his spine once more, making him acutely aware of how his dull grey t-shirt clung to his back. Itched against him. “Um…”<br/><br/><br/>“You’re Mira’s boy?” He asked. Riley could have sworn there was a hint of excitement in his tone as he looked at him with an intensity he wasn’t quite sure he was comfortable with. The man’s brown eyes wide. The surprise at least lessened the intensity to them, though it did little to lessen the defensive hunker Riley had fallen back into. Like a cornered cat against the armrest. Dully aware of how the edge of the cup holder dug into a healing bruise painted along his right hip. The dull ache grounded him as much as he would hate to admit it.<br/><br/>“I….Yeah? That’s my Ma…So, what?” An edge taking to his tone, puffed up and ready to bite. Though instead of being met with hostility, he saw what had to be the oddest sight he’s witnessed in a while. He smiled at him. Not that polite, friendly smile he had shot at him this whole event, but a warm, excited smile. As if he was some long-lost relative that’s come to meet him at the bus station. Or whatever other Hallmark moments he could come up with. This felt as surreal as that if he was honest. Though no sooner was the smile there was it tempered by a sympathetic frown that tugged at the light lines in his brow.<br/><br/><br/>“I’m sorry about, well, you know, what happened. I knew her.” He said, before straightening back up to return to looking at his map again, pulling a pen from his overall pocket. “She was a good woman. I’m sure your grandfather will be happy to see you.” He added, the scratching of pen on paper cutting through the chirping of birds, he now just aware of how quiet it was. Let alone the fact he hadn’t seen another car drive by the entirety of this conversation. The wind rustling the leaves in the tree’s dotted around the station.  Had he seen anyone on the drive? It had to have been an hour or so since he turned off the interstate onto this bypass, and now that he thinks about it, he only passed one other car going in the opposite direction. That feels odd. “You’re on the right track though. You just need to drive a little farther.” He said half folding the map and passing it back through, pointing at the park he made in blue pen. He had drawn a long blue line from where the blue circle he assumed where they were was, little farther down the marked bypass, before it curved off into the green and into the middle of the red circle. He has drawn two circles inside themselves inside it.<br/><br/><br/>Riley couldn’t help but think it’s an odd way to mark the spot. An X would have worked, wouldn’t it? “It’s a pretty old map, there is going to be a road that forks off to the right in about thirty miles from here. Keep on going down that road and cross the covered bridge.” He said looking Riley in the eye. He jabbing his index finger firmly in the middle of his circle markings. “Stay straight and don’t turn when you come to the three-way fork. That’s very important, stay straight, cause it’s real easy to get lost.” He added firmly. “Just keep straight and you’ll make it to the outskirts of Whitewood. If I remember right, your mother’s home should be a left, and two rights once you hit the main road. It’s a dirt road you can’t miss it. If you drive past a wood bridge over the river you’ve gone too far.” Riley was nearly floored by the rapid barrage of information, his head swimming.  “You got about an hour, hour and a half drive in all.” He added smiling at the dizzied brunet. “Though before you go, let me top you off.”<br/><br/>“No, that’s-“<br/><br/>“It’s on the house! I owe your mom a favor or two.” He chuckled. “I might as well pay it your way.” Before Riley could protest the man was already off, he caving with a sigh as he popped the gas tank flap. He doubted arguing with this man was going to get him anywhere. The human embodiment of a giant lab. Pushy but friendly. He took a deep, steadying breath before letting it go with a long sigh. It wouldn’t be until he was a good fifteen minutes away with a full tank, a bag of jerky and chips sitting the passenger seat and a bottle of water in the cup holder would he stop to even wonder.<br/><br/><br/>How did he know he was going to his mother’s home?<br/><br/><br/><br/>It was around two hours later that the broad-shouldered man was able to escape the confines of his car. The resounding crackle and pop of his spine as he stood, stretching his arms above his head. He silently swearing to himself that he was never going to make ten plus hour drive like that ever again. “Fuck.” He groaned, bending over to touch his toes. Taking advantage of it to pull on the lever next to his seat that popped the trunk. It was when he circled around to the back of his car did he take in the property. It was a blind, tired sort of haze that got him across the well care for bridge. Crickets filled the air with their song as the sun started to sink behind the tree line. Those trees. White. Their bark was many different shades of white. Grey and white stood out against the deep brown of others. Though what stood out most to him? Their shape. They were thin, spindly things. Taller than they were wide. That in itself wasn’t that odd. It was how they grew, come curved, like a bent knee. As if they were kneeling. Giants kneeling before someone. Who, Riley couldn’t guess. Among these kneeling giants, other’s curled, bowed, twirled. There was two not far from the wooden home before him that twined and curled around each other as if he had caught them dancing together, only to halt when his baby blues fell on them.<br/><br/><br/>They were shocking, dramatic and so beautiful he didn’t know where to look first. Fresh, deep green grass covered the ground, it looked neatly trimmed, as if someone had cut it only this morning. It made the stone drive and walkway stark grey and brown against it. The dense forest cast the yard in shadows as the sun continued to sink. A slight chill blowing in from over the nearby river nipping at his bare feet and arms as the sun bowed its way out of the day. For a minute, a profound sense of disbelief and fear clawed at the little bundle of hope and excitement that dared to latch itself instead of fading back into the bitter black. Was this really his life now? His gaze falling upon the home before him. It was big, bigger than one person would need, but it was beautiful. Long curving flower beds, as tranquil as they were lovely, manicured bushes, and breathtaking white, dull purple and blue flowers starting to bloom on either side of the cobblestone walkway that matched the drive he parked in before the large garage. The home itself painted such a soothing sage green as if it’s made to blend into the land about it. It was soothing as the unfamiliar sounds about him, of the forest and world bustling with life. The sounds of the river dancing just at the edge of his senses.<br/><br/><br/>That fear of what is going to happen when this is pulled out from under him. He knew, he knew there could be no way she would leave this to him. A house this big? She had to have had another family, maybe more kids, a husband or partner, he didn’t know. Then the disbelief. Why would she? They hadn’t talked since he was eleven. Not a phone call, a letter not even a damn postcard. Why would she leave him this, all of this? The fear of it finally being confirmed beyond his father’s own words that she didn’t want him anymore. That she started up a new family and decided she didn’t need the reminder of what a mistake the first marriage was. While part of him hoped. Hoped this was his now, that he could still be loved. That she cared about her mistake.<br/><br/><br/><br/>“What am I? Seventeen?” He growled at himself running his free hand through his hair, raking out the tangles with a firm tug. God if he was any angstier over this bull shit, he might as well grow his hair out and start wearing all black again like he had in his teens. God, why did he ever think being that Edgy was cool? On the bright side he at least he didn’t fall into that Vampire fad. It was bad enough he almost fell into that whole Wiccan thing that swept through his middle school. Witches? God those kids were dumb, but he has to admit, everyone was a dumb teenager, his just included shacking up with an older guy first chance he got. He shook his head as he pulled the silver key from his pocket, moving toward the double wood doors. There was no point worrying. All he knew was he needed a drink and a shower. Hopefully, She had the first, and the water was on for the second. He’ll worry about the rest in the morning.<br/><br/><br/>This soul-searching can wait until the sun was up and he probably had a bottle of something or another in him to dull the painful edges of the truth. He was free now, and out here in the woods? David would never find him. He was free and he was going to have to figure out how to live with that.<br/><br/><br/>The taste heady and woody against his tongue as he tilted the bottle back. The burn on the amber liquid having numbed to barely noticeable about thirty minutes ago. The warmth of the shower having cooled from his slightly flush skin. The hint of the green apple shampoo and soap still clung to the air. It felt good to no longer smell of him, he might have scrubbed off a layer of skin in the process, but he felt clean, renewed. His clothes were going to need the same treatment, but damn it was refreshing to not smell him on himself anymore. He’s going to hate that cologne for the rest of his life, and he knew it. Though the smell of green apples, soap, and whiskey? He can live with that. The flowery potpourri sitting in dishes about the home was also a nice change. It was funny, but that damn potpourri brought back so many memories as well. Of a large, gentle, fluffy mass of white and reddish brown. That big Saint Bernard who always seemed to smell of cloves and lavender, much like his mother. Damn, he did miss that dog.<br/><br/><br/>He had long abandoned the crystal whiskey glass he had found on top of the wooden liquor cabinet in the kitchen. It had blended in with the wooden cabinets and furniture quite well. The garnet accents a vivid contrast. He supposed they did have something in common after all. At the very least a shared love of a nice drink if how well stocked the cabinet was anything to go by. He dragged his long fingers through his still damp hair, leaning his head back against the couch. This wasn’t the only piece of furniture by far. There were packed, open boxes all over he found. All marked in sharpie as either clothes, pictures, books and all the sort. One he could see from his spot was<i>Random shit</i>. Though while so many personal things were gone, furniture remained. This couch. It was a large brown leather couch, it had been bracing against his bare back when he had sat down. Taunt, tired muscles having shivered at the first contact of leather against his warm back. The warmth that the blue plaid, plush pajama pants offered was welcomed separating him from the once cold couch, now warm as he hadn’t moved since he cracked open the bottle. The drink having numbed both his mind and his soul in a way he could call a familiar haze. Numbing the insecurity, the fear, the dull ache that still shot through his ribs and hips. Healing bruises a vivid fingerprint against his skin. Bruised ribs weren’t the worst thing, but they were a pain in the ass. The other bruises and aches? They would fade as they always have.<br/><br/><br/>He was about to take another pull from the nearly half-empty bottle when his lazy gaze caught the pale moonlight pouring in through the large, wood framed window to his right. Part of him was just tempted to going back to his thoughts, his drink and his far-off stare at the cold fireplace. Though something nudging at him. Tugging at him had him unsteadily rising from the comfortable haven that had been the couch. It takes him longer then he would like to admit to steady himself before he shuffled across the cool, hickory flooring. Being careful to avoid the rug as his unsteady steps lead him to the box. It was like many others around the room, a simple brown cardboard box, though it was the only one unlabeled. He set his bottle down next to it as he crouched down. Pulling open the half-open flap. He flipping it open to find a small glass jar full of…salt? It was salt, right? He held it up to eye level, squinting at the white crystal-like grains. It had to be. There were similar jars inside, labeled it strips of tape. Mugroot, Chimera venom, Madrick bark. He pulls out a box of colored chalk, boxes of incenses, candles of varying size and color. Piling them all beside the jars before he came upon what lied at the very bottom. A fair, tan leather bound book peering up at him. He quirking a dark brow as he reached inside, warm, unsteady fingers pulling it out. It looks worn, opened and fondled so many times that the leather could barely resist it.<br/><br/><br/>He flipping it open to find multiple signatures inside. Some he couldn’t even decipher what sort of script it would be, while others in such flourish they were rendered illegible. Though there were two that had those glossy, baby blues attention. His grandmother’s name and his Mother’s were the freshest signatures of the bunch, the ink darker than the rest. It piqued his curiosity at the least. He precariously balanced on his toes as he flipped through the pages. Potions, charms, curses, Creatures, Basics, spells and more. These words scrawled largely on the front of predominately blank pages before they gave way to pages filled with words, drawings, diagrams. His aimless flipping stopped, a tug at his chest nearly flooring him. It was as if someone grabbed his hand, stopping his absent turning with all they had. His blurry gaze clearing as he took in the first line.<br/><br/><br/><b><i>You should have your Familiar present throughout this ritual and spell, as the work you put into this spell will bind you and your familiar closer if they witness it.</i></b><br/><br/><br/>Familiar? God ma, what the hell were you into here? Magic, curses, spell. Did you seriously think you were some sort of witch? He snorted amused as he let his gaze sweep over the crisp, yellowing pages,<br/><br/><b>Needed:<br/>
<br/>
<i>Vanilla incense<br/>
<br/>
Sage incenses<br/>
<br/>
Cinnamon incenses<br/>
<br/>
Pure, rock salt<br/>
<br/>
Red, and black chalk<br/>
<br/>
Red, black and white unscented candles.<br/>
<br/>
One Athame.</i></b><br/><br/>His gaze slid over to the pile he made next to the bottle. He had all of that…He glanced from the book to the items and back. It’s not like he had anything better to do. It’ll be something to say he’s done and come on, what did it hurt to pretend there was such a thing as magic? He could laugh at himself later. Cause even with magic, he really fucking doubted there was anything or anyone that wanted to be around him. He shook his head, snapping his bottle out from the center of the pile, knocking his head and the bottle back to take a few centering gulps before dragging the back of his wrist over his lips, his stubble scratching against his skin.<br/><br/><br/>Why the fuck not? It wasn’t like he had electricity or anything anyhow. He was also probably a little too drunk to go sifting through his dead mother’s possessions to find a good book to read.<br/><br/><br/>It was with that thought that had him back on unsteady feet. Pushing and pulling at furniture as he made room in the middle of the living room. His grunts and the shifting of couch legs against the floor was all that cut through the dull rush of the river and the chirping of crickets and the hooting of owls.  He huffed as he rolled the rug the coffee table had been sitting on, pushing the rolled, weighty material off to the far side against the couches he had to push off to the far walls of the room.  If he was going to do this, he’s going to do this. It was with this odd flash of resolve that he had him back on his hands and knees, the tab of a box of chalk held between his teeth as he crawled backward making black lines in the shape of a large square. He assumed by large they mean nearly big enough for a grown man to lay in. Well at least him. A five, ten man was good enough to use for this he imagined.  He was going to need the space anyway. It took him a moment before he connected the last black line. The next came the red chalk, fishing it from the box. It was a diamond next. This thought he doubled checked by looking at the open book he had placed off to the side beside the whiskey bottle he had abandoned next to it. Okay, it was a diamond, but he had to make sure a point is crossing outside it. Simple enough. At least it sounded simple enough. He had himself back up on his feet for this one. He starts from the far end, facing towards the leather couch. He starts the point on the inside edge of the square, drawing it towards the fireplace, bringing this point over the edge before going over and bringing it back. His unsteady feet careful to not smudge his lines. An odd soberness falling over him in his efforts.<br/><br/><br/>Next came the arch. The black chalk back in hand. He dances over the lines as he connected the far-left corner of the square facing towards the fireplace, passing its peak through the point of the diamond and brought it to the opposite neighboring corner of the square. The chalk vivid against the wood even in the moonlight. Part of him worried if it would stain, while the other questioned why it mattered? If it was his own, who did he have to answer to if one of his drunken antics left a little stain? Nothing a little sandpaper or cleaner couldn’t fix. What was next?<br/><br/><br/>Right the actual drawing part. Okay, maybe he wasn’t sober enough for this part. “Isn’t magic supposed to be easy or some shit?” He muttered, placing the box down outside the markings, taking the red one in hand as he crouched, catching himself from falling over as his head swam at the quick motion. “Whoever started to use the words ‘just like magic’ to describe something easy was a fucking liar.” Added snorting at his own comment. Great, he’s talking to himself now. Focus.<br/><br/><br/>What’s it matter if he did or didn’t? This was for a giggle. He could draw a dick in the middle of all of this if he wanted. Why did he need to take any of this seriously?<br/><br/><br/>He shook his head as he leaned forward on the balls of his feet. Red chalk in hand as he drew the phases of the moon. He really did remember shit from Earth science, he had to glance to the diagram on the yellow page more than once as he was trying to remember what order it was, let alone what some phases looked like.  He squints at the notes near this step. Binding runes? Why would you need that, what was that even?<br/><br/>Jeeze Ma, you were really into this, weren’t you?<br/><br/><br/>It was as he finished the lines of the new moon did he glance back, only for his eyebrows to raise nearly into his hairline. Animal’s essences? Seriously?! Where would he find that? You know what, why the hell would he need that?! This was starting to feel like the set up for a horror movie and that did not bode well for any man that identified as anything but straight. The only thing that would make it worse is if he was a person of color. That would mean he’d end up dead before he even finished drawing all of this. Though what was this for? The notes said to bind a familiar, but don’t you need shit to pile in the middle when you want to summon something? Isn’t that what they do in the movies?<br/><br/><br/>His heckles were on edge as he glanced around the room as if expecting someone with a machete to come around a-Oh god, why did he have to think about that?! He’s alone in a house in the middle of the woods…that had a lot of windows. God if that didn’t just make the whole ‘I might be walking into a horror movie’ thought even better. It was this examining search that his eye fell upon something he had set outside the box. He tiptoeing over the lines as delicately as he could manage as he picked up a bottle. All it continued was a single large, curved fang. Okay, now he was sort of concerned that she got Saint in the divorce. The fang was large, impressively so. It had to be three inches long. Though for the life of him he couldn’t guess what it came from. He glanced from the diamond to the fang and back again.<br/><br/><br/>In for a penny might as well be in for the pound.<br/><br/>It was that thought that encouraged him to pop the cork and shake the fang out into the center of the diamond, taking the jar of salt with him as he had crossed the room to return back to his work. The circle took him the longest, he does his best to keep it from looking like some sort of oblong shape. Or at the last, not a mutated one. He’d bet if there was such a thing as magic there was probably a big warning label of not doing half of this while drunk. Or at least not half drunk. Or would that be common knowledge, like not driving while drunk? Next came the triangle. God this was tedious. He should have grabbed a damn spoon for this.<br/><br/><br/>Next came the candles, as carefully as he could manage. He places the white on the right point where the diamond and square meets. Next came the black to the far left. While the red? He placed at the bottom point. Taking one incense from each of the boxes he had fished out, and the small stone stands. First was the vanilla he lit of the black. It a sweet, subtle thing that curled and danced. He gently blowing out the flame before placing it between the circle and the diamond near the white candle. Next came the cinnamon on the red one, placing it near it. Then finally came the sage, on the white, where it and it’s stand took it’s black nearest the black.<br/><br/><br/>The scents heady, a little cloying and oddly comforting all at once. The thin tendrils of smoke dancing about the space as an odd, amazing tingle traveled across his skin. He never felt so centered, so…alright, as he did in this moment yet all at once nervous, suffocating. As if he was one step from it all falling apart and he wasn’t sure if he could pull it back and he had no idea why that should frighten him or clutch his heart so in a vice. That alone had him reaching for the bottle. Taking a deep, almost drowning drink. Okay yeah, after this some food and a shit ton of water. The whisky has to be getting to him.<br/><br/><br/>“Okay, what’s next?” He coughed, dragging his hand across his lips before picking the book back up, balancing it on his arm as he looked down at the words, his bottle in the other hand. A sense of security, and safety it gave him was not something he wanted to analyze tonight.  Okay so next is the wordy, chanty part. Fine, okay, he can do that. He’ll say the magic words, be alone and laugh at his drunk ass putting this much time and effort into nothing. He’ll then eat, drink some water and probably pass out on the couch. He’ll save questioning his mother’s sanity for the morning. His dad might have been right about one thing after all. He pulled in a deep breath before letting it out, one more time before finally he looked back down at the words, letting them come free of his lips;<br/><br/><br/>"'Once alone, born apart, Together, we are a single heart.” Oka,y that’s cute, and corny. Whoever wrote this was clearly a romantic. “Bound by magic, light, and Sage, Live together through our Age. Bound by salt, flesh, and Fire, may we share the same Desire.” Is this a romance poem? It’s really feeling like a poem made to try and seduce someone. “Brought together by the gods, let us never be at odds.” Or maybe a draft for wedding vows? Well, when the hell else would he get a chance to say some? See something new every day and all that optimistic shit. “Sealed together, you and I. While one lives, the other shan't die. So Mote it be!....Pft!” He snickered, bringing the bottle back to his lips sipping from it, before he pulled back laughing a bit. “Mote…”