Hellfire ✞ a.f.i.

4: palms

  
Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long years
Stole million man's soul an' faith

Sympathy for the Devil; Guns N' Roses

Lavender trenches have bloomed underneath Eden's sleep-deprived eyes. Her head sinks deeper into her pillow and her ceiling grows farther and farther away. She wishes she could simply melt into her mattress and stay here forever.

The petrifying, nightmarish images continued to plague her sleep last night. However, this is the first morning in several days that she hasn't woken up screaming and grasping at the flesh of her neck. She supposes this is somewhat of a win, comparatively speaking.

That damned broken glass. Those damned flames.

She inhales deeply, allowing her eyes to close for just one more moment. She knows Michael will open the shop for the two of them. She usually takes readings by appointment only, anyways. Walk-ins are so rare nowadays. People are more suspicious than they used to be. They need a reason to have their palms read.

With a much-too-intense-level of effort, Eden heaves herself from underneath her comforter. She strides over to her closet, deciding that she should probably play upon her image to the tourists. She picks out a flowy beige cardigan that cascades down past the backs of her knees, partners it with a tight black undershirt, and cream-colored denim pants with an elastic waistband. Comfort over anything else. The sheer lacy material across the hem of the cardigan traces her soft skin as she walks.

She pulls her flaming hair back away from her face into a high ponytail. She grabs an old headband and pulls it over her neck to capture the remaining flyaway hairs. A clatter of a few necklaces as she decorates her neck and chest with the costume jewelry. A twinkling as she adorns each pinkie finger and thumb with delicate rings. She pulls a small over-the-shoulder burlap purse across her body.

She considers herself presentable enough, especially for the likes of Vegas tourists.

With one last tousle of her ponytail, she heads downstairs, stopping briefly to snag a cheese stick out of her minifridge as an unsatisfying breakfast. Hopefully Michael has everything under control.

Turns out he hasn't had to control much of anything.

Michael smiles at his best friend warmly as she peers through the beaded curtain, gently taking the string cheese apart.

"Anything crazy happen?" Eden asks softly, rubbing her left eye to rid it of the last dusting of sleep.

He leans against the front counter, shrugging his shoulders.

"Just a teenage couple who looked at the sage and cleansing displays. Nobody else has come in, but we also just opened, so, that could change, I suppose," Michael says kindly, but quickly averts his eyes.