𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎 || ❝And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you, and I'd choose you.❞ ||
↳ 𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 a murder machine, a coffee addict, and their dysfunctional family attempts to sav...
Home - Matthew Hall "0:35 ━❍───────── -5: 32, ↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺
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DARKNESS IN THE black heavens, nothing but the moon and the stars filled the void, illuminating the night sky. The full moon glowed beautifully, attracting the utmost attention amongst its peers.
The wind blew softly, a cool breeze caused the curtains to sway gently. Through the window and the thin curtains, the orb of night peered through, a spotlight dimmed the kitchen.
Number Five blinked around the room, obtaining the ingredients he needed to create his perfect late night snack. While clutching the peanut butter in his left, and the metal butter knife in his right, the floor suddenly creaked.
He paused his movements, his ears perking up as he was alert. He gripped the knife tightly and listened carefully. Another creak from the floor board. He swiftly swung around, pinning the stranger on top of the kitchen counter.
The hostage let out a surprised yelp, being caught off guard from his quick movements. Five gripped the knife and drew it closer to the stranger's neck.
"Geez, man! What's your problem?" The stranger remarked angrily. Though, aside her from fury, her volume was hushed, as if she didn't want to be found. Five stilled for a moment, realizing that the voice belonged to a girl.
"You shouldn't have a snappy mouth when someone's holding a knife against you. You'll just raise your chances of getting your throat slit." Five snarled, skimming the weapon lightly on her skin. The cool metal sent a shiver down her spine.
"Who are you? And what are you doing creeping out in the middle of the night?" He interrogated, his tone demanding. "Do you have a death wish?"
The girl shifted into the light, revealing herself. The celestial moon casted light upon her youthful face; her innocent— yet frightened— eyes stared back into his dark green ones.
Number Five's mouth ran dry, a lump forming in his throat. His heart skipped a beat, slowly getting lost in her bright eyes.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that? What are you doing out in the middle of the night?" Number Eight redirected the question back. He dismissed her questions, his hold on the knife loosened, eventually releasing her. He took a few steps back, recollecting his thoughts.
"You know, you shouldn't greet people with a knife to their throat. It's unwelcoming." She reproached, leaning against the counter and rubbing her throat.
"I don't need to greet people with a warm welcome." Five spat back bitterly. "They're usually dead before they can even say a word." He chuckled lightly.
He inspected the girl, unable to figure out her name. He never acknowledged the people who lived in the mansion, let alone remember their names. "Which one are you? airhead, jitter-box, squid brains?"
