𝕳𝖊'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕬 𝕳𝖞𝖆𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖍

{ Hebrews 12:1 }

Chapter 28's song: Sand Between Our Fingers By Comet Blue

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{ "So then, with endurance, let's also run the race that is laid out in front of us since we have such a great cloud of witnesses surrounding us. Let's throw off any extra baggage, get rid of the sin that trips us up." }
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The bleak gloaming sky extends across the northern hemisphere, and the tiny droplets of liquids pour from the opaque clouds. The noises of the infamous pitter-patter are accompanied by the small puddles on the concrete ground. The substance hits the glass windows of the upstairs bedroom of the last residence to the Callaway's manor.

Pitter

Patter

Pitter

Patter

Eventually, another sound is reverberating throughout the dead space. Not a word, no movements or energy to replenish the once invigorating atmosphere. The crackling inside of the burgundy bricked fireplace ahead of the person inside the hushed room. Their fiery golden eyes observe the orange, red, and yellow hues intermingle amongst each other, jovially infusing into each other. Sacrificing themselves to evolve into a harmonious particle: A cynical murky gas.

It once was a comfortable place to contemplate the magnificent colors. Now, it's a constant reminder of the grievous casualties. Last night was cast into disarray, the sudden turmoil of his affliction, the impotence, the desperation. His plead for his parents converted into the white noises of the two humans who could efficiently be capable of stopping that agony. They were unobtrusive to attend to the danger. They stood there, being bystanders to the destruction of their own provoking havoc.

The brief introspection simply generates a familiar sensation to formulate within his body, pervading in his mors, in his veins. His hands and his arms tremble in a subtle yet evident, expressing the smoldering emotions that are rattling his core.

Knock!

Knock!

A feathery sound ricocheted within the room, breaking every concentrated thought ripped from him. Without any hesitation, the unanticipated person starts to peel away the extensive drawn-out seal, having no authorization to do so. Their footsteps move closer to the demon who persists in studying the crimson and warm color of the fireplace. They eventually halt their actions once they are right next to the lad's shoulders.

"I..." A delicate voice glides from out of their mouth, lingering in the lugubrious exhibited in their tone. The discomfort in their body creates this awkwardness bubbling up in the air of the shared surroundings. The vacillation of whether to place a hand on his shoulders or to stand there and oversee their friend in anguish crosses the human's mind.

"Dinna say it." The monotonous Scottish accent is rudely positioned in such a manner to prevent the common terms from slipping out. Yet again, the tension continues to accumulate in every second passing them, seemingly to suffocate the woman to express her support. Wistfully, the human strives to search for a way to convey her condolences. "Well, Vince. This is a traumatic experience you're undergoing. I've never--"

"I dinna need yer human sympathy. Ah Umna (I am not) a mortal. I canna feel nor can I cry. Hence I would appreciate we discuss other problematic subjects than the death of ma parents." He announces, the elocution of his voice perks with solemness and dismissive. The Scottish man appears to comprise not one ounce of despair surging out of him. Or perhaps he surmises, that displaying frailty to mortals is an indication of having humanity? The woman--