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Endings and beginnings
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 12:52 pm
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Lucinda bustled around the bar, her excitement barely contained
as she wiped down tables with swift, practiced motions. The soft
hum of chatter and clinking glasses filled the space, but her
thoughts were elsewhere—on Donovan. Tucked safely in her bag in
the back room was the gift she'd carefully chosen for him, a
gift that would jumpstart to what she hoped be fame.
Life hadn't been easy for her, especially after being kicked out
the moment she turned eighteen, but tonight felt different.
Hopeful. Bright. Because of him.
She worked tirelessly- and had moved in his place to have a roof
over her head. Things seemed to be going well, and on track. Her
soft blonde hair was tied neatly back.
It was their anniversary, and she fully intended to elevate
their band, Endless Dreams, to the top. Wrapping up her work,
she quickly clocked out, clutching the heartfelt gift of her
lyrics. With a determined smile, she headed toward the
restaurant Donovan had suggested, anticipation building with
each step.
It almost seemed as though her nightmare of a life was a distant
memory. The last time she was home, she struggled to retrieve a
book her father had deemed important—a family heirloom her uncle
attempted to set ablaze. She managed to leave with it, and a
photo with whatever she could in a back pack.
This marked the beginning of her journey—a carefully crafted
path to happiness. Despite its bumps and red flags, which she
chose to overlook, she believed she was forging her way toward a
better life.
She had hoped for a different outcome. Instead, another
nightmare arrived—this time, a breakup.
At first, it was exhilarating. She had given a heartfelt gift,
and everything felt warm and promising. But then came the
warning sign:
"We need to talk."
Those four words sent her heart plummeting into the pit of her
stomach.
“I can’t do this anymore- I think we should break up..”
The words told made her blood run cold.. her mind processing
what was said in shock.
She finally spotted her backpack sitting beside him—the very one
she had when she left home. He picked it up and handed it to
her. She stared at it for a moment, then looked up and quietly
asked, "Why?"
Donovan sighed deeply.”you really want the reason why?” He asked
as she clutched her backpack.
She opened her bag to inspect its contents: the book she had
taken with her, some clothes—more accurately, the ones Donovan
had managed to make fit—but nothing of real value.
She almost didn’t hear Donovan—the rabble of excuses tumbling
from his lips—until something stuck out. Yuma.
“I think I’m in love with him,” she heard, the words slicing
through the noise like a blade. Her heart squeezed unexpectedly
at the confession, an ache blooming she couldn’t ignore.
Her mind reeled, flipping through memories like brittle pages:
every whispered secret, every stolen glance that now seemed too
intimate, too deliberate. That’s when it dawned on her—he had
been cheating on her.
Donovan’s voice broke her spiraling thoughts, his tone
defensive, layered with a twisted justification. "You never
really saw me, Lucinda. Always too caught up in your own world,
never noticing when I needed you. That’s why it happened. It’s
not just me—it’s because of how distant you’ve been."
The words hit harder than the betrayal itself. Somehow, he’d
managed to twist the narrative, laying the shards of his
cheating at her feet.
The anger she felt surged, her eyes narrowing with
determination.
"Give me the gift back," she demanded sharply, her voice
trembling with restrained fury.
“"Consider it a parting gift, something you can't return. Think
of it as a farewell token. And there's no need for you to come
to band practice anymore; it's already been decided—we're
letting you go. But honestly, maybe that's for the best. Writing
music is where you truly shine. Well the only place you do.” She
heard.
The sharp gasp he uttered when she hurled water into his face
echoed in the room. Her heart fractured in ways she never
anticipated.
"I’ll make you regret it," he spat, the words hollow and
brittle, an empty promise. She grabbed her keys, tearing the
apartment key from the ring, and flung it at him with trembling
fingers before storming out.
Reaching her car, she faltered, her steps heavy. Tears welled
up, blurring her vision as she pressed her hand against the
bridge of her nose, desperate to hold herself together. She
needed space—somewhere quiet, distant from the chaos.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, she deliberately ignored
Donovan’s furious figure bursting from the resteraunt , his rage
ignited by humiliation's sting. With a sharp turn, the tires
screeched against the pavement, her heart racing as she sped
into the night, leaving behind what was once her beacon of light
and hope, now reduced to embers.
After an aimless drive beneath flickering streetlights, she
pulled into a dimly lit liquor store. The small bottle of
whiskey felt weightless in her hand, purchased without thought,
a quiet rebellion against the ache within.
Eventually, she arrived at an abandoned, crumbling building, its
fragile structure a reflection of her own unraveling. Safety was
irrelevant here. The silence wrapped around her, offering a
sanctuary where her thoughts could finally exhale.
Sitting amidst the decay, the whiskey’s warmth battling the cold
emptiness, tears traced silent paths down her cheeks. She
whispered into the void, her voice trembling,
"It’s no use... I’m just... burning out."
“What am I doing to do?”
As she moved, the backpack she carried—shifted slightly, its
contents unsettling. The book tumbled out, its worn cover
glinting faintly under the dim light, as if beckoning her with
an otherworldly allure. A chill danced down her spine,
compelling her gaze to lock onto it, unable to resist the
magnetic pull of the mysterious tome.
Her fingers drifted across the book’s rough cover—slow,
uncertain. The buzz of alcohol swam warmly in her veins, turning
thoughts soft and slow, like smoke curling in candlelight.
She opened it, not carefully, not exactly. Just... curiously.
She’d never really been able to read it. Not fully. She’d seen
her father buried in its pages, lips moving, eyes dark.
Sometimes, she’d catch a word. Or think she had. The letters had
always danced, shifting like oil on water.
Always slipping.
But now… they almost held still. Or maybe she was just drunk
enough to understand them.
She laughed—quiet, lazy. Her lips curled around it like she
wasn’t sure it belonged to her.
Reaching into her pack, she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper
Donovan had never bothered to remove. Found a pencil too. Her
hands were slow, but steady enough. She scratched the symbol
onto the paper, squinting at it.
“Blood, huh…” she muttered, the word slurred with something
close to amusement.
No hands. She liked her hands. She’d need them. Instead, she
pulled up her pant leg and nicked the side of her thigh with her
blade—just a little. Just enough. The drop welled, fat and red,
then slid onto the page.
She leaned over, swaying slightly, voice dropping to a low,
sing-song whisper.
“A wish I have… and a deal I make…”
The text shimmered. Inviting. Expecting. She blinked hard. Her
mouth moved before her mind caught up:
“Let my name burn bright and loud,
Beyond the ash, beyond the shroud.
Carve me into myth and lore,
So when I’m gone, I’m something more.
O’ end of ends, do hear my cry—
Let me live, though I must die.”
The words hung heavy in the air, floating there, realer than
breath.
For a moment, nothing. Just the paper. Just her pulse in her
ears.
Then-Light.
The symbols stirred. Glowed. Twisted. They moved like they were
breathing, like the page itself had woken up.
Her breath left her in a slow, stunned exhale. A small, dizzy
laugh slipped out after it.
“What the hell…”
She wasnt sure if she was hallucinating- or if it was real in
her state.
—
The book didn’t open; the room did.
Letters unpinned themselves from the page and rose like ash in
reverse. Ink unspooled into fine, black filaments that found her
wrists, her throat, the soft skin at her temple—tattooing
constellations that moved. The air cooled. Sound stepped back.
Her phone, face-down on the floor, recorded only static.
Something vast leaned through.
When it arrived, it did not crash. It fitted.
A breath that wasn’t hers drew slow and sure through her lungs.
A second pulse threaded her own. For a brittle instant the
weight of it should have shattered her—most vessels do.
She didn’t shatter.
A low, amused hum curled in her skull, like a choir singing
behind a wall.
*“Lucinda,”* the voice said—her name shaped as if he’d owned it
for years. *“You pronounced it correctly. That’s rare.”*
A pause, as if tasting the edges of her wish. The whiskey. The
ache. The line about living and dying.
*“Clever girl,”* he went on, and there was the smile you don’t
see, only feel. *“Your blood. Your words. No borrowed tongues.
You called the end of ends and asked to be seen beyond the
ash.”*
A soft shh, not kind—claiming.
*“Steady. Shoulders down. Breathe with me.”*
Ink filaments tightened, then melted into her veins, leaving
only a prickle of cold. Her vision trimmed to a pin of bright;
then widened, crisp as winter.
*“Most crack under my weight,”* he murmured, pleased. *“You
hold. Interesting.”*
The book on the floor shut itself with a polite click.
*“I am the first shadow,”* the voice said, casual as a
confession. *“The last gate. You may call me Apocalypse if you
need a mouthful.”*
Another beat, silk over steel.
*“You asked for legend. Loud and bright. I can oblige. Every
door you’ve been denied will forget it was closed.”*
A fingertip of frost traced her collarbone from the inside. The
promise tasted like iron.
*“Understand the arithmetic, little star: for something to
blaze, something must end. You invited the end into your
house.”* A lazy, dangerous warmth. *“How fortunate for you that
I am an excellent guest.”*
The lights flickered back. The room remembered its sounds.
Inside her, the shade smiled.
*“Now,”* he said, pleased that she was still standing, *“shall
we begin?”*
—
Lucinda felt an indescribable sensation—not an intrusion, but
more like a gentle knock at the door of her consciousness. For a
fleeting moment, she was detached from her own body, as if it no
longer wholly belonged to her. An involuntary breath filled her
lungs, beyond her control.
Her next breath felt more as if she was breathing with whoever
was with her.
Then came a voice—deep and resonant—calling her name.
Her gaze drifted across the aged ceiling of the old building,
the echo of that voice lingering in the stillness. A tense
unease crept into her shoulders as she wrestled with the
unsettling question: What had she just done?
Her lips parted slightly, releasing a soft sound before closing
again. Gradually, her shoulders eased, and her eyes fluttered
shut, absorbing the strange sensation. A brief exhale prompted
her eyes to snap open once more.
Then came the compliment.
It was as if he could read her mind. His introduction unfolded
with striking clarity, revealing who he was. Her eyes widened
subtly in response.
A soft tingle danced across her skin that brought a shiver, as
if brushed by an unseen fingertip. His words resonated deep
within her, carrying a profound sense of understanding.
“Begin?...” she murmured at last, her body relaxing more. Her
gaze shifted to the remnants of the whiskey, a fresh memory of
Donovan—his breakup—flashing in her mind. Her lips tightened
into a firm line.
The allure of open doors and the promise of shining fueled her
resolve. She would bring him down, forcing him to watch from
below.
Tilting her head slightly, a few strands of blonde hair drifted
over her face.
"Yes..." she finally said, her voice steady and her eyes sharp
with purpose. "As Dad would say, 'You only have one life—so
better make it count,' right apocalypse ?" A soft laugh slipped
from her lips.”unless you don’t mind me calling you apoc?” She
asked softly.
—fin—-
The smile in her head lengthened—felt, not seen.
“Apoc if you like,” he murmured. “Names are architecture. Keep
my full one behind your teeth when there are ears.”
A quiet pause, like a hand settling on her spine.
“Now. Wash the salt from your face. Dress as if your name
already matters—nothing loud. Black that eats light, or red that
remembers fire. Take the book.”
The air thinned, charged.
“Go to the nearest room built for beginnings—the open mic, the
talent hour, the bar with the cheap neon guitar in the window.
Stand at the back. When the host shuffles cards, their voice
will catch. A string will snap. The room will hush. That silence
is mine. Step into it.”
A cool fingertip traced her wrist from the inside.
“Before you leave, ink your name over your pulse. A vow needs a
place to sit.”
His tone warmed, dangerous and amused.
“Understand the arithmetic: I do not make. I end. I will end
their indifference. The rest is your breath.”
A soft, satisfied hum.
“Walk, Lucinda. I’ll carry the weight.”
-fin-
Lucinda seemed to understand—the weight of his full name
lingered in her thoughts. Her gaze drifted to the book, then
seamlessly to her backpack. As her fingers tucked a loose strand
of hair behind her shoulder, an idea ignited.
"The night’s still young. Enough time to change... a few
things," she whispered to herself as she grabbed the book. She
knew places that did talent, but it was left in the late hours.
“Ink my name?..” she murmured to touch her wrist. Lucinda
furrowed her brow.. her , voice steady yet tender, "I,Lucinda
Ravencroft,vow to weave your name into the tapestry of my soul,
where each heartbeat hums a melody of eternal devotion.”
Swinging her backpack over her shoulder, she slipped her phone
into her pocket and made her way to her car. Settled inside, she
quickly tapped on her phone, her fingers dancing over the
screen. "Yes, definitely," she murmured, compiling a list. She
needed a temporary place, somewhere she could get ready quickly.
A rundown motel seemed perfect.
Her mild detour—a side quest—led her to a 24-hour store.
Navigating the dim aisles, her hand brushed along products until
it paused in the dye aisle. Purple—not quite black. Red didn’t
feel right; that was her father’s color. She grabbed what she
could and nearly headed out, pausing as she passed the built-in
hair salon. Digging into her wallet, she stepped inside.
“We're just about to close,” a voice called out.
“I’ll give you a hundred if you cut my hair right now,” she
replied to the shorter woman with green hair tucked neatly
behind her ears.
The woman considered, then sighed. “Fine. A hundred it is. What
do you want?”
It took a little while. Her hair was cut, but she planned on
dying it herself.
She had an image in mind and she wasn’t going to waste time.
Back at the motel, Lucinda worked quickly. She applied the
purple dye, watching the vibrant hue seep into her freshly cut
strands.
>>
As it set, she laid out her clothes, choices she had that
Donovan left. After some sorting and finding what looked good
she finished her hair before dressing.
The transformation felt almost complete. In the dim bathroom
light, she traced bold black eyeliner around her eyes, steadying
her hand despite the adrenaline. Finally, she coated her lips
with black lipstick, pressing them together to seal the look.
She stared at her reflection, a faint, determined smirk curving
the corners of her mouth.
“Not bad…” she murmured. Her hand ran over the tattoo on her
neck. The lullaby that was etched in her skin as a reminder a
few months ago.
She was on the verge of success—that tantalizing sensation of
having something just within her grasp. With that determination,
she decided to head to a bar. She wasn’t exactly sure what she
was seeking, but there was an undeniable pull toward something
that simply felt right.
The neon guitar in the window, she would step inside.
She stood at the back, heart pounding in quiet tandem with the
soft murmur of the crowd. The host shuffled a stack of cards,
his voice steady until—a pause. A catch in his throat, sharp and
quick. A string somewhere snapped, a faint metallic twang
swallowed by sudden hush.
Lucinda stepped forward.
No guitar slung over her shoulder, no instrument cradled in her
hands. Just her voice, raw and steady, rising into the fragile
silence like dawn chasing the dark. A single note unfurled,
clear and unwavering, cascading into melody.
Conversations stilled mid-sentence, glasses paused mere inches
from parted lips, suspended in the charged air. Heads turned
with subtle precision, curiosity etched into every face—eyebrows
raised, eyes narrowing to capture the unfolding moment.
It struck with a force that stirred reflections of past
wounds—both inflicted and endured.
Only after the final note did she hear it: the applause. It
felt- nice.
The subtle wink, the lopsided smile. She took it in. She slid
from the stage after- thirsty.
“Vodka- make it with ginger ale and cherry.” She said before
leaning back. The thrill of getting that attention without
Donovan felt exhilarating and she was basking in it.
—-fin—
The line outside the club curled like smoke into the cool night
air, but Adara Lennox didn’t wait long. She slipped past with
her friends, their laughter trailing behind her like sparks.
Inside, the place pulsed with neon and bass, though her outfit
drew almost as many stares as the music—electric-blue top
hugging her frame, mini skirt cutting daringly above the thigh,
leather-heeled boots that clicked sharp confidence with every
step. Her dark hair with those blue streaks framed her face like
wildfire contained, her black lipstick sealing the edge to her
allure.
She found a spot near the back with her crew of college guys,
teasing them mercilessly as they set up for their turn at the
open mic. “Try not to blow the speakers this time, yeah?” she
joked, earning groans and laughter.
But then—silence.
The host announced the next performer, and the crowd shifted. No
guitar, no piano, no backing beat. Just a girl with violet hair
and a mic in her hand. She opened her mouth and sound poured
out, raw and fierce, like a confession sung directly into
Adara’s bloodstream. The air tightened, drinks half-lifted,
conversations dissolving. Even the neon seemed to dim,
spotlighting the girl as her voice cut straight through the haze
of the room.
Adara blinked, stunned. Then the corners of her mouth curved
into a slow, approving smile. She joined the applause that
thundered when the last note broke, her hands stinging from the
force of her claps.
“Holy shit,” one of her friends muttered.
“Yeah,” Adara said, eyes still fixed on the purple-haired
singer. “I’ve gotta meet her.”
She didn’t wait for protests. Boots striking the floor, she cut
a path to the bar where the singer had leaned, ordering
something sharp and sweet. Adara slid in beside her, casual but
electric.
“Vodka and cherry, huh?” she teased lightly, then tilted her
head with that familiar mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “I’m
Adara. And after what you just did on stage, I think the least I
can do is buy your next drink. You mind if I join you while my
friend's play?” she added with a hopeful look.
--Fin--
*"The hush that met your first note wasn’t chance, little
star—it was an ending.
I trimmed their chatter, stilled the clink of glass, and let
indifference die. You stepped into the quiet and wore it. Well
done.
The weight of that small mercy sits with me now. I will shed it
later.
The blue-flame girl approaches—Adara. Sparks at her heels, iron
in her spine. Say yes to the drink. Do not explain yourself.
Smile with your eyes, keep your voice low.
While you breathe, I’ll smooth the room: the bartender will pour
a touch heavy without knowing why; the loud table will remember
they’re tired; the host will feel suddenly generous.
Three tasks, Lucinda:
— Learn who books this stage and ask their name.
— Leave yours last, written clearly.
— Listen for the one person who didn’t clap; they matter more
than the roar.
Forget the boy behind you. This is forward motion.
Walk. I’ll keep the water running under your feet.'* Apocalypse
voice a soft humming whisper in Lucinda's mind.
-fin-
Lucinda heard apocalypse gently press in the back of her mind-
his praise made her blush a little. It didn’t feel false- it
felt true- least for her it did.
She took a drink, trying to not look around for the girl he
spoke of. It felt.. like if she did - a secret would be given
away.
Her ears pricked at what he spoke of. A person who didn’t clap-
how would she know- and approach?
Then his response.. the brief thought she had.. she knew what he
meant.
His words seeped in, so much so that she barely heard Adara. A
genuine smile reached her eyes, sparking a fleeting
question—when was she truly happy? When had things felt real,
not just a facade? Her thoughts drifted to her family,
especially her father. The memory of his guitar playing and the
warmth of his voice effortlessly brought that smile to life.
“Oh totally- honestly- was wondering who books the stage around
here? Any idea?” She asked.. though- adara looked hauntingly
familiar. So she went with what she could.”and names Lucinda,”
She asked smoothly.
—fin—
Adara couldn’t help but notice the singer seemed a little
distracted, her mind elsewhere—maybe already drifting toward her
next gig.
But then Lucinda’s lips curved into the faintest smile, a
glimmer sparking in her eyes that struck something deep inside
Adara.
When the singer finally spoke—agreeing to her request—Adara’s
own smile bloomed wider. She tapped one of her black lacquered
acrylics against the bar top, trying to recall the name her
friends had mentioned. “Umm… I think, though I’m not a hundred
percent sure, it’s Andre. The big guy with the dreads over
yonder.” She pointed him out.
“Nice to meet you, Lucinda,” Adara said warmly.
Before she could add more, someone jostled her hard from behind,
nearly pitching her into the other woman. She gasped, catching
herself against the bar. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” she
snapped, eyes flashing at the two men elbowing past. “Wait your
turn—I was here first.”
Shaking her head, she reclaimed her space at the bar and leaned
closer to Lucinda with a quick, conspiratorial grin. “Guess
chivalry really is dead.” Then, tapping the counter again, she
flagged the barista down.
“Make that two more of whatever she’s having,” she ordered,
nodding toward Lucinda’s drink.
"So, you looking for a band or are you planning on being a solo
artist?" She couldn't help but ask.
--Fin--
Andre.. her eye travelled to the man that handled the books.
She made a mental note, right before hearing addy making a
sound from being jostled. She braced for it, feeling addy’s body
against hers. Her arm reflexively around her waist.
An annoyed look settled briefly to change back to grinning.”not
really- just happen to run into assholes.” She said loud enough.
She couldn’t help it, she *wanted* them to hear. She drank was
left of the alcohol as she let addy go.
“Band- making one.” She said short and simple. The new glass
would be sat down, a small taste. More alcohol than normal.
Things seemed to get a little quieter- easier to hear.
“"What about you, Addy? Just a music appreciator?" she asked,
her fingers tracing the curve of the glass, eyes fixed on the
people and the stage. One leg crossed elegantly over the other
as she spoke.
—fin—
Adara’s lips curved at the casual nickname, a spark of amusement
flickering in her eyes. Addy, huh? She could get used to that.
“I guess you could say that,” she admitted with a laugh. “I’ve
kind of been a groupie for years—first my friends’ band, and
then the one my brother’s always hung around.” She leaned her
elbow on the bar, nails tapping in rhythm. “Ever heard of R&R?
Rage and Retaliation?”
Her grin widened, proud but teasing. “My brother doesn’t
actually play in it, but he’s basically their shadow. Handles a
lot of the photoshoots for his boyfriends who are in the band.
Though, between you and me…” She dropped her voice just enough
to sound conspiratorial, “…I’ve always thought Asher’s voice
could hold up just fine on stage. He just doesn’t believe me.”
A shrug, then she tilted her head with a sly smile. “I sometimes
end up giving them fashion advice too—stage clothes, shoots,
gigs. Can’t help myself. If they’re going to scream rebellion,
they should at least look good doing it.”
She glanced back at Lucinda, grin tugging playful at her mouth.
“So yeah—guess I’m a music appreciator with a little bit of…
creative input on the side.”
--Fin--
Lucinda listened intently for a moment before her gaze drifted,
settling on someone unexpected. His arms were casually crossed,
a striking contrast to his typically polished appearance,
rendering him almost unrecognizable.
Reeves. Her eyes widened in brief surprise.
"R and R, huh? That's a clever play on words. The first time I
heard it, I thought it stood for rest and relaxation," she joked
lightly.
"The lead singer has an incredible voice," she admitted. That
CD, however, didn’t last long. The moment Donovan heard that one
song, it mysteriously disappeared. She suspected he trashed it,
though he claimed he accidentally broke it while switching CDs.
“Honestly, that’s impressive,” she murmured. “Photography is an
art in itself. I may be partial to music or tattoos, but
capturing a perfect moment? That’s remarkable,” she added with a
chuckle.
A subtle pang stirred deep within her—a reflexive ache. She
found herself emotionally back at square one, starting over once
again. Shaking it off, she took a long drink.
“Well, good thing they have someone as fashionable as you. Mind
if I step away for a moment? I’d like to get myself on that
list,” she said.
She took a few quiet moments, signing her name exactly as she
remembered. Once done, she made her way back, catching a glimpse
from the corner of her eye—Jeeves silently observing, his gaze
fixed in her direction.
Yet, it felt like more than just a glance.
The other?there stood a man, towering as if larger than life,
leaning over someone much shorter, unmistakably exuding the look
of a rocker.
She would directly look back and smirk before she headed back to
adara. “Another drink bartender.” She said as she seemed to
think.
The two men stood out, making her wonder if she'd get to hear
them play—or how on earth she'd manage to form a band in time
for the battle of the bands.
—fin—
Adara laughed softly at Lucinda’s joke. “Rest and relaxation,
huh? I don’t think there’s a single thing relaxing about those
boys on stage.” She smirked, black nails drumming the counter
again. “But yeah, they’ve got talent. The lead singer
especially—his voice could cut glass.”
Her expression softened at the compliment, and she tilted her
head. “Thanks. My brother would be smug to hear you call
photography art—he swears half the work is luck, catching that
one moment before it’s gone. But me?” Her grin flashed. “I think
it’s genius. Not that I’d tell him that, or he’d never let me
live it down.”
At Lucinda’s mention of fashion, she arched a brow and leaned in
just a little. “And trust me, if those guys had their way,
they’d still be wearing the same ripped jeans and questionable
t-shirts from high school. I had to stage a mini-rebellion just
to get them into something that didn’t smell like their laundry
pile.”
Her laughter softened into a smile. “You stepping away to sign
up? Good. I’ll keep your seat warm,” she teased, raising her
glass in a mock toast.
Adara swirled the last sip of her drink, half listening to the
bartender clink glasses while Lucinda stepped away. Her gaze
drifted across the room—then caught on the flash of something
bright.
Blue hair.
The short rocker stood out like neon against candlelight, but
his posture betrayed him. Broad shoulders pulled tight, jaw set
just a little too rigid. When his eyes darted toward her, there
was the faintest flicker of nerves—like he wasn’t sure if he
belonged up there.
Adara’s lips curved in a grin. Without hesitation, she raised
both hands and flashed him two thumbs up, her nails gleaming
under the dim light. She mouthed a quick, exaggerated you got
this, letting her eyes crinkle with encouragement.
The moment he was called up, he straightened, stepping toward
the stage as if buoyed by her little spark of approval.
And when he began to play—
The room shifted.
Riffs poured from his guitar, raw and electric, the kind that
grabbed you by the throat and refused to let go. It wasn’t just
sound—it was command. Each note layered over the last, building
something impromptu yet seamless, like he was weaving a spell
out of strings and steel. Heads began to turn, conversations
dying down as people leaned in to listen.
Adara leaned her cheek against her hand, eyes glinting with
delight. “Well, hello Rave Masters,” she murmured to herself,
impressed. “Didn’t think you’d sneak up on us like that.”
Her gaze flicked back to Lucinda with a grin. “Looks like this
battle of the bands might actually be worth the price of
admission.”
--Fin--
The bar’s noise sat like a nail behind his eyes. High hats too
bright. Voices stacked wrong. Chuckles took the back stool with
his spine to the wall and let his breathing find a count.
When the emcee said “Rave,” blue hair hit the lights and a
guitar caught. The first riff came in clean—four bars to lay a
spine, then a climb that knew where it was going. His headache
eased a notch. He mapped exits on the offbeats, watched the
crowd lean as one organism, and kept still enough to be
forgotten.
He didn’t clap—he listened. The room remembered how to do that
for once.
By the last note he’d marked three things: the guitarist could
carry a room without shouting, the woman with purple hair at the
bar had a voice the silence wanted, and the bouncers had missed
a soft spot by the service door.
He stayed quiet. That was the work.
---
*"mmm—clever little star, you didn’t over-explain. good.
hush first, breath second, brag never. that’s how doors forget
they were doors.
now, sing along with me:
names first.
andre-andre—keys on a ring. ask for his calendar, not his
feeling.
write your name clean. paper remembers; people pretend.
eyes, not teeth.
you smiled the right way—let the room walk to you. keep that.
three beats, tap-tap-tap:
beat one — addy.
a tiny tribute, true and tidy:
“the blue pulls the lights forward.” there—stylist sees you;
stylist returns you.
beat two — rave.
when his strings go quiet, give him seven:
“you play like the room owes you.”
then, easy as a wink: “i’m building something. trade numbers.”
no pitch. no please. let the silence do the heavy lifting
(that’s me).
beat three — the giant.
drummer’s shoulders, shadow like a lighthouse. not yet. let him
watch you choose.
spine before blade; rhythm before roar.
when I thin the air—step there.
when I dim the clink—drink slow.
I will end their interruptions; you will end their doubt.
and hush, no looking back. forward is where your name sounds
brightest."* Apocalypse mused in a sing song tone.
—fin—
Lucinda's eyes widened slightly as she noticed a shorter man
stepping onto the stage. A hush settled over the crowd,
collective anticipation hanging in the air. Could he be her
second guitarist? The thought lingered as she realized they’d
need to discuss her leadership role if she wanted to recruit
him. If he wasn’t on board with that, they would at least have
to find common ground regarding the songs she intended to
create.
Adara’s words floated softly, Lucinda had to agree- it was hard
to not show some shock. Her gaze swept briefly over the crowd,
observant but unassuming.
Then his voice—a sing-song murmur, low and intimate, as if
whispered directly into her ear rather than within her mind. She
tilted her head, almost as though trying to catch something just
out of reach, then turned back. She remained poised and
inviting, her comfort easing the connection, guided subtly by
his presence.
Adara’s words resonated as she chuckled.”you have a good ear for
music as much as an eye for fashion.” She complimented once the
room died down. It was almost serendipitous when the flow
changed.
When rave got close enough the words that rang out. A breath
out, quiet again- a moment to let herself be heard again.”You
play like the room owes you “ a pause, enough to drink. “I’m
building something-“ she said her hand went to a napkin. She
wrote it down with her name to slide it over. “If you’re
interested in playing with me.” Short inviting- she didn’t want
to come off too strong.
—fin—
#Post#: 1191--------------------------------------------------
Re: Endings and beginnings
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 12:56 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Adara chuckled softly at Lucinda’s words, warmth flickering in
her eyes. “An ear for music and an eye for fashion? Careful, you
keep complimenting me like that and I’ll start getting a big
head.” She gave the singer a teasing smile, tapping one
lacquered nail on the counter. “But… thank you. Means more than
you know.”
Her gaze dropped when Lucinda slid the napkin across the bar,
her number scribbled in quick strokes. Adara arched a brow, lips
curving. “Bold move,” she murmured, amusement dancing in her
tone. “Guess I’m not the only one here who knows good talent
when she sees it.”
That was when Rave shifted awkwardly, hair falling forward to
shadow his face. “Let’s try jamming first—see how we mesh,” he
suggested, voice shy despite the fire he’d just poured into his
guitar. Adjusting the strap on his shoulder, he glanced at
Adara, giving her a small nod. “Thanks for the encouragement
earlier.”
Adara’s grin softened, her voice lowering. “You’re welcome. And
for the record? You killed it up there. Played like you eat
riffs for breakfast.” She winked and tipped her glass toward
him, eyes glinting with approval.
When he admitted he didn’t have a phone, she let out a surprised
laugh, not unkind. “No phone? That’s retro. I kinda like it.”
Shooting a glance toward Lucinda before returning to him, “might
I make a suggestion? keep it simple. Meet here tomorrow night,
same time. We’ll see if this little spark can actually catch
fire.”
Leaning back, she gave a playful wink, tapping her nail against
the counter once more. “Besides, I’ve got a feeling Lucinda’s
already working out your set list in her head.”
--Fin--
Lucinda overheard Rave talking about jamming—something familiar,
part of her usual routine. What caught her off guard, though,
was discovering he didn’t own a phone.
Masking a flicker of frustration with a bright smile, she
responded lightly, "Oh, sorry... how would I get in touch with
you?"
Meeting in person was feasible, but it meant a quick shopping
trip first. Fortunately, she had enough savings—left untouched
after Donovan kicked her out without claiming the funds she'd
set aside. Originally earmarked for new band equipment, that
money now needed to stretch further. Thriftiness was the new
mantra; second-hand would suffice.
"Sounds good. Just stinks that I don’t have a proper
drummer—yet," Lucinda teased. "Guess I’ll have to imagine that
for now." She scribbled the meeting time on her hand. While
technology had its perks, this situation nudged her back to
basics—black book style, off-grid, and less prone to any
potential leaks.
That and everything she had managed was under the endless dreams
socials.
—fin—
Rave shifted his guitar on his shoulder, eyes lowering for a
beat before he answered Lucinda. “I can… uh, call you from a
public phone,” he offered quietly, voice almost swallowed by the
crowd’s hum. His mouth twitched into something between a smile
and a grimace. “Cellphones and me don’t really… mix. They, uh—”
he rubbed at the back of his neck, mumbling, “tend to combust
around me.” The words slipped out so low it sounded more like a
joke than an explanation, but the flicker in his eyes suggested
otherwise.
Before the silence could grow awkward, he straightened a little
and nodded toward the far side of the room. “Met a drummer while
I was waiting earlier. Big guy. Think he could be a good fit.”
His lips tugged into a chuckle as he pointed through the crowd.
Sure enough, a towering, bald, dark-skinned man loomed above
everyone else, built like he could lift the entire stage if
asked. “Hard to miss him, right? Looks about eight feet tall.”
Adara followed his gesture, her eyes widening before she let out
a low whistle. “Damn, if he can keep time as well as he keeps a
presence, you might have just scored the jackpot.” She spun back
toward them with a sudden grin, her acrylics tapping out a
little rhythm against the bar. “And speaking of scoring…”
Her smile turned conspiratorial. “I know a more private place we
could practice—tonight, if you’re up for it. My brother and his
band use this garage, but it’s empty more often than not. If I
ask, I’m pretty sure we can borrow it without a problem.” She
leaned in, eyes dancing between Lucinda and Rave. “Beats trying
to fight for stage time again tomorrow. I could show you both
the place after this.”
--Fin--
Lucinda heard the remark, her mind swirling with confusion.
Outside of summoning apocalypse. she had never even fathomed the
existence of the supernatural. So hearing the explanation made
her curious if he was just buying faulty phones.
“I don’t mind that- just.. was wondering how I could get a hold
of you is all.” She said warmly.
Down the way stood the same imposing man she had seen earlier,
towering above the crowd. "Well, I do mean to stand out—and he
certainly does," Lu remarked smoothly.
Then came the words that made her freeze. The other offer
granted her time—time she desperately needed. She didn't have an
instrument. She wasn’t sure if her uncle had kept her father’s
guitar all these years. And the one she did possess? It was at
Donovan’s—lost to her forever.
She kept aloof her hands in her pockets, one beat.. and another
as the crowds words simmered down.
“Could do it tomorrow?..mean- I would feel rude dropping in on
someone’s home unannounced- especially if it’s someone I don’t
know. Maybe ask if we can?” She said trying to not toss the
kind invitation- but it held truth in it.- she wrote and slid
the number Adara’s way.”and plus- still gotta talk to the big
guy and see if he’s interested. “She murmured.
She may of wanted this to go faster- but she knew being
unprepared and spontaneous at the wrong time- meant
consequences.
“But thank you- I really appreciate the thought.” She said
smoothly.”you got a big heart.” She added.
—fin—
Adara laughed softly, lifting a hand as if to ease Lucinda’s
concern. “Oh—it’s not somebody’s house. Just an old garage space
my brother and his band use. Kinda their turf, not exactly home.
But you’re right—it’s probably smarter to wait. Gives me time to
ask him first, instead of springing a surprise jam session on
him again.” Her grin turned sheepish. “Last time I did that, he
wasn’t thrilled about a crowd showing up unannounced.”
Rave followed her words with a thoughtful hum, his gaze sliding
back across the room. The tall drummer stood out as easily as a
streetlight in the dark, and something in the man’s sheer
presence made Rave’s pulse skip. He found himself staring longer
than intended before shaking it off. “I can talk to him,” Rave
offered suddenly, his voice quiet but steady. “Save you the
trouble, Lucinda. He… feels like someone I should be introducing
myself to anyway.”
The faintest crease tugged at his brow as he admitted, almost to
himself, “Strange, though. I don’t usually feel drawn to
people.” The thought unsettled him, but also intrigued.
He turned back to the two women, shifting his guitar strap
higher. “By the way—I play electric and bass. Got both guitars,
so… whatever sound you’re aiming for, I can help cover it.” His
lips quirked into a small, uncertain smile. “Guess all we’ll
really need is that drummer.”
--Fin--
“Ah... sort of their hangout?” Lucinda asked, her voice tinged
with familiarity. She knew that feeling all too well—memories of
desperately searching for a place to play resurfaced like faint
echoes, almost nightmarish.
Relaxing her shoulders, Lucinda felt a subtle ease as Addy
nodded in agreement to the idea of asking first.
“Mm… that tells me you’re spontaneous,” Lucinda mused softly,
her laugh light and genuine.”not always a bad thing- with the
right people.” She said.
She heard Raven claim he felt an inexplicable pull toward him.
Her brow arched slightly. Could this be the reason Apocalypse
had told her to keep her distance?
Then came the revelation of raves answer to her wandering
thoughts. The answer seemed to unfold naturally—he was
adaptable, ready to play whatever role the situation demanded.
A faint smile curled on her lips—this, she could work with.
Everything seemed to be falling into place, yet beneath the
surface lingered an undeniable sense of dread. It was as though
the other shoe hadn’t dropped just yet.
The feeling was unsettling. She took a sip of her drink, letting
out a soft chuckle.
“Good luck, Rave. Let’s see if you manage to snag the big guy,”
she said, raising her glass in a gesture of goodwill.
She watched him walk away- a soft breath out.
—fin—
Adara’s gaze followed Rave for a moment, then flicked back to
Lucinda, catching the soft breath that slipped past her lips.
She tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at her mouth.
“You know,” she said, nails tapping lightly against her glass,
“you called me spontaneous like it was a warning label.” Her
tone was teasing, but there was a spark of sincerity in her
eyes. “Not always a bad thing, right? Especially with the right
people…”
She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice so it didn’t
carry beyond the two of them. “So tell me, Lu—if I asked you to
do something spontaneous with me another night, would you say
yes?”
Adara’s grin widened, playful but edged with curiosity. “Could
be coffee at three a.m. Could be a last-minute show. Could be
just wandering the city till sunrise. You game?”
--Fin--
*“Ohhh, listen to her, little star…”* Apocalypse’s voice curled
in Lucinda’s mind like smoke, lilting and amused. *“She’s
dangling the hook, bold and glittering, waiting to see if you
bite. Spontaneity, she calls it—but really? It’s a test. A
measure of spark and daring.”*
There was a hum, a low purr that rose and fell like a lullaby
turned wicked. *“Say yes, Lucinda. Yes to the unknown, yes to
the pull. Don’t hedge, don’t falter—let her see you’re fire
enough to match her. The world rewards those who leap.”*
A pause, then softer, sing-song: *“Coffee at three, shows at
dawn, wandering until the streetlights die… do you hear the
rhythm? She’s asking if you can keep pace. And you can, can’t
you?”*
The voice almost chuckled, coaxing, sly. *“One yes now plants a
hundred seeds. Let her think you’re game, let her feel you’re
hers—for the night, for the song, for whatever comes. That’s how
doors open, little star. That’s how you win.”*
-fin-
Lucinda's words lingered in the silence, a faint blush
blossoming on her cheeks.
It was as if apocalypse felt her hesitation—her guarded
caution. The sting of past hurt was still fresh, unsoothed by
time.
When Addy leaned closer, Lucinda's eyes instinctively fell,
unable to hold her gaze. The nearness unsettled her, a delicate
reminder of Addy's undeniable allure.
Her thoughts churned, tangled in hesitation, uncertainty, and
fear.
Then, a gentle hum—a purr.
A quiet pull, an insistent tug, urging her toward something
beyond sorrow.
Then his voice turning into the sing song that was beginning to
grow on her.
Then- she gave in. Her smile seemed to turn to a mischievous
smirk. “Alright- I’m game.” Simple. For a night. But her lack of
trust still held.
She could enjoy adara- but deep down- she knew she couldn’t
allow herself to be vulnerable again.
—fin—
Adara’s eyes lit up the instant Lucinda said alright. The
mischievous smirk across from her only made her grin wider.
“That’s what I like to hear,” she said, warmth threading through
her voice.
She slid a few bills across the counter with a wink at the
bartender. “Keep the change.” Then, glancing over her shoulder,
she caught one of her friends at a nearby table and flashed them
a quick thumbs-up. It was her silent code: I’m good. Don’t
worry. They gave her a knowing nod in return, and that little
piece of reassurance settled in her chest.
Turning back, Adara rose smoothly from her seat, smoothing down
the hem of her jacket. Her smile softened as she extended her
arm toward Lucinda with an exaggerated little flourish. “Shall
we?” she asked, her tone playful but touched with genuine charm.
The glint in her eyes promised adventure—spontaneous, maybe a
little reckless, but never careless.
--Fin--
Luci looped her arm through Adara’s and strolled out, sparing
only a fleeting glance at the potential bandmates they left
behind.
Pausing briefly to grab her keys, a nagging thought crept
in—where would they end up? The idea of Adara discovering her
living situation was unsettling. Despite Adara's friendly
demeanor, Luci wasn’t prepared for that revelation just yet.
Pushing the thought aside, she flashed a mild smirk. “So, where
to?” she asked casually. “I’ve got a car—bit of a clanker, but
it gets me places,” she added smoothly.
—fin—
Adara let herself be tugged along, her arm linked comfortably
with Lucinda’s, when a flash of movement at the bar caught her
eye. Rave, still lingering near Chuckles, tilted his head her
way and gave her a quick thumbs-up—mirroring the same little
signal she’d given her friends.
Her smile curved wider, a spark of pride warming her chest. She
leaned closer to Lucinda as they stepped out into the night air.
“Saw that? My boy Rave just gave me the ‘all good’ sign.” Her
nails clicked lightly against Lucinda’s arm in emphasis. “Means
we’ve got ourselves a drummer and a guitarist in good hands.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully at Lucinda’s mention of the
car. “Hmm, car’s tempting—opens up options.” Her eyes glinted
with that playful spontaneity. “But maybe we don’t go too far
tonight. Something random. Could be fries at that diner across
the street, could be hunting down the weirdest thrift shop
that’s still open, could even be just walking till the
streetlights fade.”
Adara glanced sidelong at her, smile tugging mischievous again.
“You said you were game, Lu. Wanna roll the dice?”
--Fin--
Lucinda mused aloud, "Hmm... I don’t really mind the quirkiest
thrift shop," her thoughts drifting to the possibility of
stumbling upon a guitar that very night.
With a light chuckle, she added, "Not exactly hungry right now,
so we can keep walking a bit. Maybe grab some fries later and
find a park?"
Glancing up, she whispered softly, "The night feels amazing...
and the moon is out, absolutely beautiful."
She reached for Adara’s hand. "Let’s start on this street, then,
hm?" Quickly striding to the car, she retrieved an item, tucking
it securely inside her coat’s inner pocket—the book was too
important to leave unattended. From another compartment, she
slid out her checkbook, slipping it in as well.
"Just in case," she murmured softly.
After shutting the car door, Lucinda rejoined Adara, strolling
down the street, absorbed by the charm of various shops. Her
gaze lingered on the music stores they passed, unaware of where
this simple evening stroll might lead.
As they passed a dimly lit pawn shop, Lucinda’s eyes strayed—and
there it was. A guitar sat in the window, black with music notes
dancing up its side.
Her breath caught slightly. "Addy, in here," she whispered.
—fin—
Adara tilted her head, grinning as Lucinda mentioned thrift
shops. “Quirky thrift shop adventures? Now that is my kind of
spontaneity. Who knows—we might walk out dressed like disco
queens or with some random lava lamp that totally changes the
vibe of my room.”
At the mention of the park and the moon, her gaze lifted skyward
for a moment, the silver glow catching in her eyes. “You’re
right—it is beautiful,” she admitted softly. “Perfect night for
wandering.” When Lucinda’s hand slid into hers, Adara gave it a
squeeze, her smile widening. “Guess we’ll let the streets decide
where we end up, huh?”
She leaned casually against the car while Lucinda tucked things
away, eyebrow quirking but not pushing with questions.
“Practical and spontaneous. You keep surprising me, Lu.”
As they strolled together, Adara’s laughter bubbled low in her
chest as they passed another darkened shop window. “I swear, if
we find fries, a thrift shop, and a karaoke machine, I’ll
consider tonight a total win.”
Then Lucinda stopped, her breath catching as her gaze locked on
something. Adara followed the line of her eyes to the pawn
shop’s dimly lit window—and the sleek black guitar resting
behind the glass.
Her brows rose, lips curving into a slow grin. “Well, well. That
look on your face? Priceless. You’ve got it bad for this one.”
She tapped the glass lightly with a nail, tilting her head.
“Those music notes on the side? It’s like it already knows who’s
supposed to play it.”
Turning to Lucinda, her expression softened, playful edge giving
way to gentle encouragement. “You wanna go in? Check it out?”
Her grin widened as she tugged lightly at her hand. “C’mon, Lu.
Feels like the kind of night fate leaves a guitar in your path
just to see if you’ll grab it.”
--Fin--
#Post#: 1193--------------------------------------------------
Re: Endings and beginnings
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 12:58 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Lucinda blushed slightly. "What can I say..." she murmured. Her
last guitar hadn't been exactly what she wanted, and to make
matters worse, Yuma had done things to it that marred its
appearance. But this one—it felt just right.
The tap, and the question. She felt the tug, her eye almost
afraid to tear away. Afraid the prize might vanish.
Upon entering, the rich aroma of incense enveloped her senses.
It lacked the typical musty scent—or as her father fondly termed
it, the "scent of history"—that she associated with most
pawnshops. Her gaze wandered over the eclectic assortment
adorning the shelves: glimmering healing crystals, a dust-laden
Christmas platter long absent from any festive table, and an
array of witch costumes, their fabric whispering tales of past
enchantments.
Her hand slid on a pretty necklace, a soft blue gem set in, a
box like image surrounding a flame. She would take it her
holding up to Adara’s neck.”looks cute.” She said smoothly.
She intended to take some time.. and try to not look too
desperate for the guitar.
—fin—
The incense curled like smoke-thin fingers, winding around
Lucinda’s senses. Just as her hand brushed the necklace against
Adara’s throat, his voice hummed low in her ear—no one else’s.
“Oooh, little magpie… trinkets and strings, glass and song,”
Apocalypse crooned, tone lilting as if mocking a lullaby. “But
your eyes… your eyes betray you. Not the gem. Not the flame. No,
no… it’s that black-note beauty in the window, isn’t it? The one
singing your name before you’ve even struck a chord.”
The whisper coiled tighter, warm and smug. “Shall we call it
fate, hm? A gift placed in your path. I do love gifts…
especially ones that beg to be claimed.”
A pause—soft laughter like the brush of claws against silk.
“Imagine it, Lucinda. Strings beneath your fingers, a stage
beneath your feet, the crowd howling your name. A band, a
battle, a crown of sound and fury. You could have it, if you
dare.”
The words lingered like perfume, sing-song and taunting, but
threaded with temptation. “So tell me, little songbird… will you
take what’s yours? Or leave it for someone braver?”
—fin—
Adara tilted her head when Lucinda held up the necklace against
her neck, the cool blue gem catching the dim shop light. She
grinned, eyes sparkling as she leaned into the gesture. “Oh,
Lulu… you’ve got a good eye. I do look cute, don’t I?” she
teased, giving an exaggerated little pose like she was modeling
on a runway.
Her grin softened as she brushed her fingers over the pendant.
“Seriously though—it’s gorgeous. Suits you more than me.” Still,
she stole another glance in the nearest cracked mirror, smirking
at her own reflection.
When her gaze landed on the tiny price tag dangling from the
chain, her brows shot up. “Oof. Well…” She rocked back on her
heels, lips quirking. “Maybe if I live on ramen for a week. Or
raid my brother’s fridge when he’s not looking.” Her nails
tapped against the tag, considering. “Worth it, though. Some
things you just don’t walk away from.”
She slipped her arm through Lucinda’s again, tilting her head
toward the back wall where the guitar sat in quiet promise.
“Speaking of things you can’t walk away from…” her smile turned
sly. “Still pretending you’re not desperate, or are we gonna go
claim your new baby before someone else snatches it up?”
--Fin--
Lucinda's smile softened, warmth blooming as an unfamiliar
sensation gently enveloped her, subtly intertwining with her
senses. Her grip loosened slightly—she could hear him, as if he
were right beside her, his voice brushing against her ear. Her
head tilted slightly, caught in the moment.
His voice resonated within, chiding her for distracting herself.
He called her out—the guitar. Of course, she wanted it. Her
fingers trembled briefly as she observed her own stance.
Inside, his words wove delicately through her thoughts,
whispering about fate, about a gift placed in her path. He loved
gifts, he murmured—the way he said it made her blush.
Was he hinting at destiny?
Adara’s chatter about price and ramen faded into a distant hum.
Lucinda’s mind drifted, captivated by fleeting
visions—shimmering stages, dazzling lights, the allure of fame,
and the magnetic pull of attention.
His last question felt like a challenge, brought out of it with
the last sentence from adara.
“Some things you just don’t walk away from.”
Lucinda felt the arm slip in hers, and heard her mention it..
the guitar- calling her out like apocalypse did.
“You’re right.. I want it..”
Admitting not to just her.. but to him.
“I’m taking it.” She said to stride.
She approached, her hand trembling slightly before finally
making contact with the electric guitar's frame. Carefully, she
lifted it off the stand and slid the strap over her shoulder. It
fit perfectly. Her eyes inspected its sleek body—almost
flawless, with only a few minor scuffs that lent it character.
She could handle that.
Running her hand smoothly over the polished surface, she took a
deep breath and turned toward the clerk. "How much for this
one?" she asked.
"$1,200," the clerk replied with a nod.
Without hesitation, she pulled out her wallet, and pulled the
credit card out.
The guitar was hers.
She felt a sense of satisfaction.. closer to her dream.
—fin—
Adara watched the moment unfold, her grin widening as Lucinda’s
resolve finally surfaced. “That’s my girl,” she murmured under
her breath, eyes shining as she saw her stride up to claim the
guitar like it had been waiting for her all along.
While Lucinda handled the clerk, Adara wandered back to the
display case and plucked up the blue-gem pendant she’d admired
earlier. “Guess we’re both walking out with something we
couldn’t leave behind,” she said with a wink, sliding the cash
over without so much as a flinch.
Fastening the chain loosely around her neck, she glanced back at
Lucinda, who stood with the guitar strapped over her shoulder,
looking like she’d already stepped halfway onto a stage. Adara’s
smile softened, genuine pride mingling with mischief. “Looks
damn good on you, Lu. Like it’s been yours this whole time.”
She slipped her wallet back into her pocket, then leaned an
elbow on the counter casually. “So—now that you’ve got your new
partner-in-crime…” Her eyes sparkled as she tilted her head.
“What’s next? Wanna keep wandering, test out our spontaneous
streak some more? Or head somewhere quiet so you can get
acquainted with your shiny new baby?”
Her grin curved, playful but inviting. “Dealer’s choice, Lulu.”
--Fin--
*Ahhh…*
The sound unfurled in Lucinda’s mind like velvet smoke, curling
low and intimate. *There it is… the hunger finally admitted. Not
to her. Not to the clerk. To me.*
His tone dripped satisfaction, a predator savoring the moment
prey steps willingly into the snare.
*You see now, don’t you? Fate isn’t polite. It doesn’t knock. It
places gifts in your path and waits to see if you’re bold enough
to take them. Most people flinch. Most people walk away.*
A soft chuckle purred, low and knowing. Not you. Not tonight.
He lingered in the hush between her heartbeat and the ring of
the clerk’s words, savoring the swipe of the card, the claim.
*Black body. Notes etched like whispers of destiny. Scars that
make it sharper, truer. It belongs in your hands because it
already carried your name in its wood. Mine too. You felt it,
didn’t you? The pull. The inevitability.*
The voice softened, sing-song, taunting and tender all at once.
*Keep it close, Lulu. Cradle it like the weapon it is. Tonight
it’s just strings and wood. Tomorrow? It’s a blade. A crown. A
stage lit in firelight. With every chord, the world will hush
and listen.*
A pause, then a final purr against the inside of her thoughts.
*And you won’t be alone when it happens. I’ll be there—always in
the hush between the notes, always in the thunder after the
applause. Enjoy your gift, little songbird. You chose well.*
-fin-
The weight of his words made her blush- as the purchase was
finalized. It felt like she had just stepped into something
larger than herself,
something destined.
She could still hear the satisfaction in his voice, lingering
like the aftertaste of something sweet and dangerous.
Why did it feel so good? Why did she feel this magnetic pull,
like the world had shifted into place? His chuckle echoed in her
mind as she moved to let Adara handle her own purchase, the
sound of it almost seductive in its quiet insistence.
Lucinda’s fingers tightened around the guitar strap. This is it.
It’s mine, she thought, the instrument now glued to her shoulder
like it had always been a part of her. But the voice—it felt
like an intrusion and an invitation all at once. It made her
pulse quicken with something between anticipation and fear.
His words echoed again: You won’t be alone.
Her face flushed bright red at the thought. Alone? No. Not now.
Not with this. Not with him. It felt as though he was promising
the world, of the way her voice would be heard. It felt like an
apocalypse of its own: an end after a song when the music died
down, but a beginning too.
A promise of something lasting.
She let out a shaky laugh, catching Adara’s glance.
“Clearly,” she said, her voice soft, trying to shake the
lingering feeling his words had left.
“Not gonna lie… both sound like fun,” Lucinda murmured.
Lucinda’s thoughts of playing, of writing—of losing herself in
the music was creeping in.
“you know anywhere with good food and a quiet spot to play?” she
asked, her fingers already itching to find the rhythm. Music was
her life, as natural as breathing. Without it, she felt like she
might burst.
She needed to play. Apocalypse hadn’t just gifted her an
instrument. It had lit a fire in her.
—fin—
Adara caught the way Lucinda held the guitar like it had fused
to her, the flush on her cheeks impossible to miss. The shaky
laugh, the way her voice dipped soft—it all made Addy’s grin
melt into something warmer.
“Food and a quiet spot to play, huh?” she echoed, drumming her
nails lightly against the counter. “Well… my place isn’t fancy,
but it’s got both. I’ve got a guest room too, if you’d rather
not haul yourself back out tonight.”
She leaned closer, her voice dropping into something teasing but
gentle. “Don’t worry—I’m not the type to lure you over just to
spring something on you. I actually like taking my time,
especially when it comes to women I’m attracted to. Getting to
know them, letting things… build. That’s more my speed.”
Her gaze softened, but a sly curve still tugged her lips. “So
really, all I’m offering is four walls, some takeout, and a
chance to see what that new guitar can do without an audience
breathing down your neck.”
She tipped her head, eyes catching Lucinda’s with playful
challenge. “So, Lulu… you trust me enough to test that fire in
my apartment?”
--Fin--
#Post#: 1194--------------------------------------------------
Re: Endings and beginnings
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 12:59 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Inside her pulse, the voice purred—warm, wicked, delighted.
Apocalypse's voice coming in sing-song tones.
*Mmm, there it is—click, claim, chord. You didn’t just buy a
guitar, little comet; you bought your next tomorrow. Feel it?
The hum under your ribs? That’s not nerves—that’s ignition.
Go on, say yes to the girl with the soft grin and the sharper
eyes. Four walls, hot food, quiet room… perfect weather for a
first spell. No crowd, no ghosts—just you, wood, wire, and want.
Play. Pluck. Let the neck learn your hands, let your hands learn
the storm. Start with a heartbeat—dum, dum—then ladder up the
frets until the room remembers your name. Write the first line
on her takeout napkin; make the second line dare you to sing it.
You’re not alone. You’ve got a voice, a blade, a body of
thunder. You’ve got a drummer in the wings, a bassist who keeps
staring at the floor and the stars at once. The door’s already
open—walk.
Tonight, eat. Tune. Name her. (The guitar, yes—claim is a kind
of magic.) Tomorrow, meet the boys and make the air honest.
But now? Say yes. Let delight be your discipline. Let joy be
your rehearsal. I’ll keep time; you burn.*
-fin-
Lucinda listened to the offer of a place to stay, a flicker of
nervousness stirring within her. The notion of having a secure
spot to sleep felt unsettling, an unfamiliar comfort she wasn’t
sure how to embrace.
She leaned in closer, her gaze drifting unintentionally below
Addy's face. Catching herself staring too intently, she quickly
turned her head, a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
Attraction lingered in the space between them—drawn by Addy’s
strong presence and sweet words. Yet, Lucinda struggled to
pinpoint what truly anchored her feelings.
His voice broke through her swirling thoughts, curling around
her hesitation and pressing against her desire to sing.. to
play.
That nudge was enough.
“Sure… I don’t mind. Might be a good way to practice,” Lucinda
replied with a steady voice. “Did you have a ride, or do you
need one?” she added smoothly. “I can follow if you do, or if
not—I could take directions.”
—fin—
Adara’s grin widened at Lucinda’s agreement, eyes lighting up
with something equal parts excitement and relief. “Perfect. I’ll
happily take a ride with you—saves me from begging a cab driver
to blast bad pop music the whole way.”
As they strolled toward Lucinda’s car, she slipped her phone
from her pocket and typed a quick message. Got a ride, don’t
wait up. Be good, Greg. She hit send with a smirk and tucked the
phone away again, slipping back into step beside Lucinda.
“Don’t worry, I travel light,” she teased, lifting her little
crossbody bag in demonstration. “Directions are easy enough—I’ll
give ‘em to you once we’re on the road.”
She glanced sidelong, catching Lucinda’s flushed cheeks even in
the dim light of the streetlamps. Adara’s smile softened.
“Thanks for offering, by the way. Not just the ride, but… the
company. Pretty sure this night just turned into one of my
favorites.”
With a playful nudge of her shoulder against Lucinda’s, she
added, “C’mon, Lulu. Let’s get your new baby somewhere she can
sing properly.”
--Fin--
Lucinda ducked her head at the nickname—Lulu, of all things—but
couldn’t hide the grin that tugged at her mouth. She brought
her key fob out to press it.
The car chirped once and blinked its headlights, revealing
itself under the streetlamp—a dented '06 Corolla with one
mismatched door and a stubborn rattle that started even before
the engine did. The passenger-side window was taped in the
corner, a badge of past misadventure.
She slid in to adjust her seatbelt before starting the engine.
It coughed to life with a reluctant groan before settling into a
rough idle.
As she pulled away from the curb, the car rattled its protest,
but Lucinda just focused on the road, the familiar hum of the
engine filling the quiet between them. The streets outside
started to grow quieter, the city lights fading into darker
stretches of suburban roads.
She’d started thinking about names for a guitar . Violet was
obvious—sleek, dark, maybe a bit too obvious. Maybe she should
go with something a little more unique. Clementine? Too sweet,
too soft. She could do Midnight—something with edge. She
chuckled at the thought of calling it Rockstar—couldn’t get more
on the nose than that.
Her thoughts drifted to the road again. She glanced over at the
mirror to the back seat, where her guitar sat , safe laying on
the seat. No matter what she called it, it would always be the
guitar she kept close.
A turn came up, and she followed the instructions was being
told, the tires humming steadily along the well-worn path.
The drive was easy after that, just a few more turns, each one
simple, well-practiced. Lucinda noted the green shutters on a
building up ahead, the exact one Adara had pointed out.
She slowed to a stop in front of it and killed the engine, the
car giving one last rattle before going silent. Lucinda sat
still for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring out the
windshield at the familiar scene.
>>>>
^^^
The drive had been comfortable in its own way, a quiet journey
marked by a series of casual instructions and turns, each one
taking her closer to where she needed to be.
She waited for adara to let her in after sliding out and guitar
in her hand and backpack on her back.
She had her whole life with her- but she’d never tell Adara
that.
“So- what you thinking for food?” Said Lucinda as she walked
in.. her eye taking in the room.
—fin—
“All right, next left—yeah, that’s the one. Then straight for
about four blocks. Green shutters, can’t miss it,” Adara had
said during the drive, pointing out the turns in an easy rhythm.
She leaned back in the passenger seat, relaxed, letting the hum
of Lucinda’s rattling Corolla wash over her without judgment. At
the taped-up window, she only grinned. “Adds character. Every
car’s gotta have a story, right?”
When they pulled up, Adara hopped out and motioned Lucinda along
with a little flourish. “Welcome to my humble abode,” she said
as she unlocked the door, stepping inside first to flick on the
lights.
The living room opened up warm and inviting—not fancy, but
lived-in, comfortable. A soft couch faced the TV, dotted with
throw pillows in mismatched but complimentary colors—deep teal,
mustard yellow, and a bold patterned one that looked like it had
been rescued from a thrift shop. A woven rug sprawled across the
floor, grounding the space, while a couple of quirky framed
prints hung crookedly on the walls, giving the room eclectic
charm.
Against one wall, several framed photos drew the eye: one of
Adara with Asher, both laughing mid-moment, her acrylic nails
flashing as she tried to block his face from the camera; another
of the two siblings standing side by side, arms linked in
mock-seriousness like they were posing for an album cover. And
among them was a larger picture: Adara and Asher with their
father—a distinguished gentleman with striking gray-blue eyes
and European features, his presence calm but commanding. The
contrast between him and his children was clear, but the bond
radiating from the photo was undeniable.
The kitchen stretched just beyond, open-concept with a breakfast
bar dividing the space. Counters weren’t pristine, but not
cluttered either—plants in bright ceramic pots, a fruit bowl, a
small stack of dishes in the drying rack. Warm light above the
sink softened the edges of it all.
Adara dropped her keys in a little tray by the door, then turned
with a grin. “So—food. I’m good with options. We’ve got the
classics: pizza, Chinese, Thai… or I could make us something
quick if you don’t mind waiting. What’s your craving, Lulu?”
Her eyes flicked to the guitar case, a spark of excitement
there. “And don’t worry—I’ve got plenty of space for you to plug
in once you’re ready to let her sing."
--Fin--
A soft hum threaded through Lucinda’s thoughts the moment the
lights came up—approval, pleased and purring.
*Mm. Good room, the voice crooned. Warm couch, crooked frames, a
rug that begs bare feet. This isn’t a trap, little star. It’s a
stage—quiet, safe, yours for the taking.*
A beat, like a fingertip tapping time on her pulse.
*Two hungers to feed tonight: the one in your stomach, and the
one in your hands. Start with something easy—no fuss,
one-handed. Noodles. Dumplings. Fries you can steal from her box
and laugh about. A playful lilt. Ask her what she craves. Let
her host. Let yourself be cared for.*
The hum brightened when her grip tightened on the strap.
*Now—your new one. Don’t overthink the name. She’ll tell you
when you play her, but… “Nocturne” would wear that black well.
Or “Coda,” if you want a promise you’re writing yourself out of
old chapters. A soft chuckle. You can try them on like lipstick
until one feels right.*
A gentle nudge toward the amp corner that isn’t there; the
suggestion shifts, unbothered.
*Unplugged first. Let this room hear your voice before the
electricity does. Thumb the strings, breathe with her neck, find
where she wants to sit under your shoulder. One verse. One
chorus. Nothing brave—just true.*
Another purr, pleased, as Adara moved through her own space with
easy grace.
*Tell her what you want: “Takeout and a test drive.” Ask if
she’s got a chair near the kitchen light, someplace you can lean
and play while the food’s on the way. Invite her closer. Let her
watch your hands. Let the night be simple and honest and yours.*
A final, velvet push:
*Enjoy this. You are allowed to. Order something messy, name the
guitar out loud, and play until you forget why you were afraid.*
-fin-
Lucinda listened intently, the surrounding hush allowing his
quiet presence to seep in once more.
She swallowed thoughtfully, a new idea surfacing. "Mm...
honestly, I crave a lot of things—dumplings, noodles, comfort
food," she said smoothly. Tilting her head slightly, she added,
"What do you crave?"
The names he mentioned floated forward like delicate suggestions
meant to linger.
"And maybe... a little test with my baby. Do you have a chair
near the kitchen light? I'd like to see her better," she said,
her eyes glinting with curiosity.
His final words felt like permission, a quiet affirmation
resonating between them.
"I can play... at least until the food arrives," she said,
placing her pack where she felt comfortable.
Once directed, the light flickered on. Her dark beauty gleamed
with hints of purple, a stark contrast to its pitch-black hue at
first glance.
"Oh, so gorgeous..." she murmured, her hand gliding over the
strings. Though an amp was needed to truly play, it felt alive
in her mind. A soft smile formed on her lips.
She shifted to hold it properly, feeling how natural it rested
in her hands. A strum, even without an amp, sparked words in her
mind:
"*I kept it closed as long as I could— That box beneath the
bed...*”
She paused.
"*Said I’d get around to sorting through the voices in my head,
But the hinges creaked like past regrets, And silence never
lasts.
One by one, the pieces spilled,
Like glass across the past...*”
"Mm... already sounding good," she murmured. "If we have an amp,
I could play and sing more, if you’d like while we wait?," she
added with a smile.
"Then we can eat and see where it takes us," she finished
warmly.
—fin—
Adara leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching Lucinda
cradle the guitar like it had been hers all along. That first
soft strum, the way her voice wrapped around those raw lines—it
tugged something deep inside Addy. She found herself smiling,
lips parted slightly in admiration.
“Dumplings and noodles it is, then,” she said finally, her voice
low, still caught in the spell of the moment. “Comfort food for
a comfort night.” With a small laugh, she tapped her chin in
mock thought. “Now hang on a sec…”
She slipped down the hall and came back lugging a medium-sized
amp, scuffed at the edges, a coil of cable slung over her
shoulder. Setting it down beside the chair, she plugged it in
with a flourish. “You can thank my friend Greg for this one—he
left it here after one too many jam sessions. Never came back
for it, and I wasn’t about to complain.”
Adara slid onto the couch, phone in hand, thumbs flying as she
ordered dumplings, noodles, and a little extra just in case. But
her gaze never strayed far, her attention pulled by Lucinda’s
presence in the glow of the kitchen light.
“That line about the box under the bed?” she said, chin resting
on her hand now. “You could follow it with something like… ‘All
the ghosts I thought I’d buried kept humming in the dark…’” Her
smile widened, eyes gleaming. “Or maybe ‘turning secrets into
songs, they carve their names across my heart.’”
She tilted her head, playful but sincere. “Not trying to step on
your art, Lulu—just… it’s already good. I can almost hear the
whole song begging to come out.”
--Fin--
“Mm who said your stepping.. everyone has words that they want
out.” Said Lucinda as she got things hooked. “And you’re right..
it’s itching to come out..” she said as she got ready.
A gentle strum, the beat slowly forming in her head steady, her
playing in a rhythm that made one think a mix of linkin park
with Evanecense.
Her voice continued, her mind forming the words.
*darkness came forth in a whispery dread.
My life is in shambles- at least in my head.
Just when I think all seems lost-
I grab a guitar and I sing at a cost.*
*My guitar is Pandora
And I’m what’s inside
My song is the Hope for those seeking light.*
She paused.”pandora.. that’s her name.” She said. “And I’ll
write this song - her namesake.” She said almost.. grinning.
“… I need to write it down.” There it was her hook- her first
song.
“Ah.. “ she gained a sheepish look.”pen and paper?… I don’t have
my notebook..”
Her in all her glory. The idea of rising from what she felt was
rock bottom- and her hope.. it fit.
—fin—
Adara sat transfixed as Lucinda’s voice rose, the mix of grit
and ache in her tone threading perfectly with the rhythm of her
strumming. The words hit like something raw but inevitable, and
when she declared the guitar’s name, Adara’s grin bloomed wide.
Pandora. Yeah, it fit—dangerous, beautiful, full of possibility.
“Pandora,” she repeated softly, letting the name roll off her
tongue. “She wears it well, Lulu. Damn well.”
When Lucinda’s sheepish request for pen and paper came, Adara’s
eyes lit up with a little spark of mischief. She rose from the
couch and disappeared down the hall for a moment, her footsteps
muffled against the rug.
“Notebook, huh?” she called back. “Lucky for you…”
She returned holding a small journal bound in real leather, its
cover etched with an abstract design that looked like rising
flames. She held it out with a flourish, nails tapping the
supple surface. “I’ve been saving this one. Never used it.
Seemed too good to waste on grocery lists.”
Adara pressed it gently into Lucinda’s hands, her smile warm and
unguarded. “Now it’s yours. For Pandora’s songs. For all the
ones waiting in your head. Every lyric, every line.”
She tipped her head, eyes glinting. “Think of it as a gift for
the start of something big. ‘Cause Lulu—watching you right now?
I know this is just the beginning.”
#Post#: 1195--------------------------------------------------
Re: Endings and beginnings
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 1:02 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
A low hum threads the room—the amp waking, the filament buzz of
kitchen light, the soft rasp of leather as the journal opens in
your hands. Ink-scent. Ozone. Possibility.
There you are.
You named her well. Pandora. A box that sings when it’s opened.
I told you I loved gifts—and look how they find you: a scuffed
amp that still purrs, a flame-etched book waiting to be filled,
a woman who brings both with steady hands and says stay.
Play, little storm. Don’t whisper—breathe the song out until it
fogs the glass.
Let the first page carry an oath, not a plan: the date, the
room, the way the kitchen light halos the headstock, the way her
(the one with the grin that slows your pulse) watches like she’s
heard this miracle before and still asks for more. Write it
down. Then carve the chorus where your ribs press:
> Open the box, let the ghosts hum low,
Turn secrets into songs ‘til the hinges glow.
If hope is the last thing left inside,
I’ll be the voice that won’t stay quiet.
Yes—again. Louder. Let the pick bite and the heel of your hand
mute the string just enough to make the heartbeat. Slide a
finger, bend the note where the word cost lands. Make it ache.
Make it true.
She’s ordering dumplings and noodles because comfort is also a
kind of courage. Take it. Eat, then play between
mouthfuls—grease-salt on your fingertips makes the page smudge
in the prettiest ways. This is what beginning looks like: messy,
hungry, alive.
Do you feel how the room leans toward you when you sing? Good.
Let it.
And when she offers a line, take it and twist it until it fits
your teeth. Let her be a witness, not a judge. You don’t have to
be alone with the box anymore; some doors are meant to be opened
with four hands.
One more verse before the knock at the door:
> I kept it closed as long as I could—
That box beneath the bed,
But silence cracked like winter wood,
And every hush I fed
Came back a choir in my chest—
No cage for what I am.
I’ll tune the bones, I’ll light the rest,
And sing until I stand.
Good. Again. Turn the dial a breath to the right. Let Pandora
tell the truth of you, and I will keep my promise: you won’t be
alone.
—-
Lucinda took the notebook that was given, she felt a sense of
thrill and excitement. “Thank you!”
She flipped it open to write down what she sang, her stopping to
seem to listen in her head and scratch out what didn’t feel
right.. refined and rewrote.
Then his voice curled around the silence as she was finishing
writing - the sound of pen on paper.
His nicknames to her seemed to grow.. little star, little comet…
little storm.
As she was writing the date in the corner,
Then his suggestion slid in- she continued figuring how it fit.
Spoken in word with the guitar rather than song.
*that box that was beneath the bed
Open wide for the stage instead.
All the pain and past regrets
All the ghosts I cannot forget.*
It would switch to chorus, her speaking of pandora’s box and
seeking light
It would shift to another verse the emotion in the voice
seeping her vunerability.
*Turning those secrets into song
Sing the truth that was boxed way too long.
If hope is the last thing inside
I’ll be the voice to keep alive.*
A breath and a chuckle. She would write more before she’d hear a
knock.
Food.
It was as if she was being told this was a safe place.
—fin—
Adara watched Lucinda bent over the notebook, the scratch of pen
on paper filling the room with its own kind of music. She felt a
little thrill just seeing her so alive, so focused—like the fire
that had been simmering under the surface finally had somewhere
to blaze.
When the knock came, Adara jumped up lightly. “That’s our
feast,” she said with a grin, sliding across the floor to grab
the door. She tipped the delivery guy with a wink and a generous
bill, then set the bags on the kitchen counter, the rich smell
of noodles and dumplings spilling into the air.
“Alright, Lulu,” she called, pulling cartons out and popping
lids with practiced ease. “Question one: chopsticks or fork?”
She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “And don’t worry, I
won’t judge either way.”
She ducked into the fridge, scanning quickly. “You okay with
water? Or—” she pulled out a carton and held it up, “I’ve got OJ
if you’d like. Meant to grab some beer earlier, but my friends
totally derailed me.” Her laugh was sheepish but easy.
Sliding the food onto plates, she carried them over to the
little table by the couch, arranging them in easy reach.
“Comfort food for a comfort night,” she said warmly, setting out
a plate in front of Lucinda. “Now, play me a little more after
we eat—and I’ll consider myself spoiled.”
--Fin--
“Chopsticks are fine—it makes it taste better,” she said with a
soft breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “Water is fine
too,” she added, her smile warm and easy. The woman nodded and
closed the menu.
With practiced grace, she picked up a pair of slender
chopsticks, their smooth wood cool against her fingertips. She
carefully separated them with a soft snap, then gently adjusted
her grip.
She then selected a plump dumpling, its delicate skin glistening
with a light sheen of oil. She squeezed the chopsticks just
enough to cradle the dumpling without tearing its fragile
wrapper.
She brought it to her lips, she took a small bite, the thin
dough yielding to reveal a burst of juicy, flavorful filling. A
few droplets of broth trickled down, which she quickly caught
with a slight tilt of her hand. She chewed thoughtfully,
savoring the blend of seasonings and the tender texture of the
meat and vegetables.
she grabbed a napkin to wipe it.
“Honestly- think I’ve gone a direction for my music- if I keep
going I could have the first album wrote out at least.” She said
with a thought.
The idea of covering each sin with a story of her own.
She was already mentally checking off each item: a draw-in, a
theme. "I'll definitely need to get the guys' measurements if
they choose to be in the band for sure with me—and figure out
what we'll be wearing," she muttered, jotting down notes in the
margins. She listed tasks to complete, estimated costs, and even
noted potential agents. It might have seemed like she was
thinking far ahead, but it helped organize her thoughts.
“So addy.. how did R and R come to be ?” Lucinda asked.”guess
I’m just curious.” She mused.
—fin—
Adara popped open her own carton of noodles, twirling a bite
around her chopsticks with practiced ease. She watched Lucinda
jotting notes in the margins of her new journal, that spark of
determination lighting up her face, and couldn’t help but grin.
“You’re already planning an album and outfit fittings? Damn,
Lulu, you don’t waste time,” she teased, but her tone was
nothing but admiring. She tapped her chopsticks lightly against
the table. “Good news is, if you need help with the fashion side
of things, you’ve got me. Styling bands is practically my side
gig at this point. I’ve had to stop Asher from going onstage in
his ‘lucky’ hoodie more times than I can count.”
At Lucinda’s question, her expression softened into something
more thoughtful. “R and R? That started with Asher, back in
senior year. One of his closest friends got kicked out of
another band—cruelly, too, right before the school’s Battle of
the Bands. Asher wasn’t about to let him just sit it out.” She
smiled, a flicker of pride warming her voice. “So he pulled
together a group, fast, just so his friend would still have a
shot. And they actually won. Stuck together after that, turned
into more than just a high school stunt.”
She leaned back in her chair, sipping her water before nodding
toward Lucinda. “That’s what I love about music—it can start
from something rough, unfair even, and turn into a whole family
if you let it.” Her grin tugged brighter. “And I’m guessing your
band’s about to get that same kind of story.”
--Fin--
Little star… look at you.
The thought slips in like a fingertip along a glass rim—soft,
ringing, sure. Ink on your hands, music in your throat, a box
under the bed torn open and turned into light. You name her
well. Pandora. A door and a dare.
Eat. Good. Fuel the voice. Chopsticks are just thin
batons—conduct your hunger, then conduct the room.
You’re already drawing the map without knowing it: verse,
chorus, spine. Keep going. Write the dates in that leather book
like constellations—first single, then an EP. One little stage
where the lights hum and the floor sticks under your boots. Ask
Addy to film it; let her frame you the way the world should see
you. Let her dress you in armor that looks like silk. Let her
measure you for victory. She’s safe hands, steady hands. A roof
that doesn’t fall.
(Do you feel that? The way your chest lifts when she says your
name. That is not a trap. That is a harbor.)
Little comet, little storm, make your list and make it bold:
Track 1: Box Beneath the Bed (you’ve already torn the seam).
Track 2: Pandora (name the hope and dare it to stay).
Track 3: Little Storm (the part of you that refuses to bow).
Track 4: Midnight/Matchstick (the moment the room catches).
Call the boys. Take their measurements. Not for costumes—for
myth. You are building a house of sound; dress it like thunder.
And Adara? Drift closer. Let the laughter at her table stitch
your edges. Let the quiet in her living room teach your
heartbeat a slower time. You can sing here. You can sleep here.
You can be held here and still be dangerous in the morning.
Hope means everything to me. It was once a name I wore like
sunrise; I lost it in a place without doors. Sometimes your
voice leans on a vowel and the air tilts—familiar—as if I’ve
stood here before, hand outstretched, swearing the world was not
done with us. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I only know
this pulse returns when you sing.
So: one more bite. One more bar. Plug Pandora in—let the amp
breathe with you. Give Addy the chorus again, a little louder,
the way it will sound when strangers start humming it in line
for coffee.
Then write two lines in the margin:
Book an open mic.
Trust the safe place.
I’ll be here between heartbeats, little star—nudging, never
pushing. Go on. Say the chorus to the ceiling and make the
ceiling answer.
——fin—
Lucinda chuckled. "Never do," she said as she listened to Adara.
"Senior year, huh? That's pretty rough," Lucinda added
thoughtfully.
"Yeah... honestly, I helped with another band for a long time,"
Lucinda admitted, her guard lowering slightly as she spoke.
"Back in high school, a year behind the seniors, I acted like a
glorified manager for Endless Dreams—of course, my ex replaced
their lead singer with me," she reflected.
"Who would've thought he'd kick me out now? Can't wait for that
first call: 'Hey, Luci Loo—what's the password for the
Facebook?' or 'Hey, Lulu—what's the number for Styles, the
agent?'" she said, taking another bite. "Starting to think his
words about calling that guy unhinged were probably a lie."
A press tightened in her chest, his voice echoing in her
ears—his advice, his encouragement. A soft blush crept across
her face as she recalled his words, burning with meaning.
Then came the mention of hope. Her gaze softened, speaking of
the feeling as if it were tangible, as if he had likened her to
this very essence.
After finishing her meal, she wrote down his words as a
reminder.
Later, she would plug in her guitar and let her voice
soar—singing of rising from the depths. The song, "Pandora,"
flowed effortlessly:
*My guitar is Pandora, and I'm what's inside,
Wounds turned to wonder with nowhere to hide.
My song is the Hope, and I’m still alive,
Still singing for those who just want to survive...*
The melody tapered off, and she scribbled the lyrics down,
exhaling softly. Somehow, as the song poured out, she felt she
had truly opened her heart through her craft.
—fin—
Adara set her chopsticks down slowly, giving Lucinda her full
attention as she spoke. The usual playful glint in her eyes
softened into something steadier, deeper, when she heard the
crack in Lucinda’s guard.
“Lulu…” she said softly, shaking her head with a faint smile,
“any guy who kicks you out of a band has got to be blind, deaf,
and probably brain-dead on top of it.” She leaned forward,
resting her chin in her palm, eyes warm. “If he calls you back
begging for passwords and contacts, you tell him you’ve already
moved on—because you have. You’re building something better.”
When Lucinda’s blush deepened, Adara didn’t tease; she just let
the moment sit, the weight of hope in Lucinda’s words tugging at
her own chest. She watched, transfixed, as Lucinda poured her
heart into “Pandora,” the lyrics raw and honest.
By the time the melody tapered off, Adara exhaled as if she’d
been holding her breath. She clapped once, sharp and bright in
the small apartment, then softened it into a grin. “That right
there? That’s the start of your story. Not Endless Dreams, not
the guy who couldn’t see your worth. This.”
She leaned back, letting her nails drum against the table. “I’m
serious, Lulu—you’ve got something powerful. I can already see
the lights, the stage, the whole crowd chanting that chorus with
you. And you know me…” Her grin widened, pride sparking. “I’ll
make sure you and your band look as fierce as you sound.
Clothes, image, all of it—I’ve got you covered.”
Adara tilted her head, eyes shining as she looked at Lucinda.
“Feels like fate dropped Pandora in your lap for a reason. And
maybe… fate put us in the same bar tonight too.”
--Fin--
The air seemed to shift as she closed her notebook, the last
traces of Pandora’s melody still vibrating in her chest. That
familiar whisper—dark, velvet-smooth—slid in like smoke curling
between her ribs.
"You feel it, don’t you, little star? That song wasn’t written
tonight—it’s been waiting. You only had to bleed enough to let
it through."
The weight of his voice carried no mockery this time, only that
dangerous, amused certainty that always made her pulse race.
"Hope," he murmured, the word drawn out like a prayer he
half-feared, half-craved. "You sang it as if you could hold it,
as if it were flesh and bone. Careful, little comet—hope is the
sharpest blade of all. It cuts deepest when you think it’s
saving you."
Yet there was warmth under the warning, something that wrapped
her shoulders in the same way Adara’s steady grin had. A push,
not a pull.
"But you should sing it anyway. Shout it. Make the world choke
on the ghosts you’ve turned to light. You think Pandora is
yours?" A low chuckle, dark but approving. "No, Lulu—she’s the
world’s now. You’ve already set her free."
The whisper lingered as her gaze caught on Adara across the
table, her warmth like an anchor in all the noise.
"And look at her. She sees you—not the scraps he threw away, not
the girl behind someone else’s band. She sees you. Security,
fire, hunger—if you’re brave enough to take it. Don’t waste
this. You’ve lost enough."
The last word settled sharp, but tender, almost mournful—like
the ache of someone who knew loss more than anyone should. The
echo of it trembled faint, a confession unsaid.
"Go on, little storm. Eat, sing, laugh. Fall, if you dare.
Fate’s waiting, and I won’t let you turn from it."
The hush faded, leaving only the clatter of chopsticks, the
scratch of pen in her notebook, and the way Adara’s eyes still
shone on her like she was something already worth betting on.
-fin-
The solitary clap echoed, marking not just acknowledgment but a
symbolic step into her future.
Adara’s words resonated deeply. To her, this wasn’t merely
progress; it was the dawn of a new chapter. The shadows of her
past—marred by nightmares and false friendships—were slowly
fading, left behind as she attempted embraced fresh beginnings.
It just took time.
It felt almost divine, destiny weaving her presence onto that
stage, cloaked in promises of reinvention. Her image, her
style—redefined. The girl who had always faced life alone was
now finding support. Then came his words—cryptic yet
profound—hinting at fate, invoking Pandora, and bringing herself
to the light.
"Mmm... as someone once said, I like gifts, especially the ones
that beg to be claimed. Pandora did that, and I couldn’t
resist." She mused, sliding her notebook closed with a finality
that lingered in the air.
His words reverberated through her, a subtle thrum beneath her
skin. Her lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but she reached
for her water instead, her mind racing.
What did he mean by that? The question settled heavily on her,
invisible weight pressing on her shoulders. His mention of her
guitar tightened her grip on its frame. He wasn’t wrong—Pandora,
her voice—it was meant to be heard.
Her gaze flicked to Adara, sensing an unspoken push toward
something greater, as if he knew Adara’s potential better than
she did herself.
Yet, what lingered most was the tone of his final word.
It felt... like he, too, had lost something.
“And Honestly it is possible this is fate.I do feel Sometimes if
we break its so we can hold more—more truth, more light… more of
each other. And if we’re lucky, the fall doesn’t scatter us, it
threads us tighter. No one has to rise alone."
“- and know you can always talk to me if you need to.. think it
should go both ways.”
The woman’s words echoed not only to Adara but also deep within
herself. This was something new—a bond forged from her
summoning. She saw him as more than just a source of advice and
encouragement. To her, he was a confidant, and she longed to
reciprocate in the best way she could.
—fin—
Adara listened, really listened, as Lucinda’s words spilled
out—woven through with vulnerability and quiet strength. The way
she spoke of fate, of breaking and threading tighter, tugged at
something inside her chest. Addy’s usual teasing grin softened
into a small, genuine smile, her eyes locked on Lu like she was
memorizing every detail of her in this moment.
“You know,” Adara said softly, nails tapping an idle rhythm on
her glass, “you sound like you’ve already figured out half the
things people spend their whole lives searching for. Truth.
Light. How to keep rising even when it feels impossible.” Her
voice dropped, low and warm. “You’re right, though—no one has to
do it alone. And I’ll hold you to that, Lulu. If it goes both
ways, then I’ll lean on you too.”
She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against the edge
of Lucinda’s notebook, her smile widening. “And for the record?
That’s one hell of a philosophy to build a band on.”
Glancing toward the clock on the wall, Adara chuckled. “Wow.
Didn’t realize how late it got—we kinda lost track of time.” She
stretched, rising from the couch before turning back toward
Lucinda with a warm, playful look. “Alright, here’s the deal:
I’ve got a couch that’s all yours if you want it. Comfy enough,
I swear.”
Her grin curved slyly as she added, “Or… we could share my bed.
Doesn’t have to mean anything—it’s just bigger, warmer, and I
promise I don’t hog the blankets.” She winked, tone teasing but
not pressuring. “Your call, Lulu. No wrong answer.”
--Fin--
#Post#: 1196--------------------------------------------------
Re: Endings and beginnings
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 1:07 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Amusement curled at the edges of the air, subtle as a shadow
bending around the lamplight. Lucinda could almost feel it—like
a chuckle pressed against the back of her thoughts.
“Look at you, little storm. Speaking of fate, weaving light into
words, and already someone offers warmth, comfort, a place
beside them. Creation has a wicked sense of humor.”
The tone was sly, smug, yet laced with something softer under
it—like watching a favorite play unfold.
“Adara’s couch, Adara’s bed… amusing choices, aren’t they? One
safe, one dangerous. Both hers. Both proof you’re no longer
standing in the dark alone. You asked for a sign you’re on the
right path? This is it, Lulu. Music, hope, love—all sitting in
your lap, daring you to claim them.”
The whisper sharpened, teasing.
“But don’t hesitate too long. Even Pandora’s box had no patience
for indecision. And you? You were never made to be safe. You
were made to burn. To sing. To love without apology.”
Then the voice softened, a rare crack in the smug veneer.
“Hope once burned brightest in my hands, and I lost her. I’d
trade eternity to hold her again. Don’t you waste what’s being
handed to you now, little comet. Not when someone already looks
at you like you’re her fate.”
The hush lingered, curling back into silence, leaving only a
faint, satisfied echo—like a smile never seen, only felt.
-fin-
“Not really—just an observation,” she said aloud, though her
mind added silently, *more like experience from the train wreck
that is my life, and my attempt to piece it back together.*
She blushed a bit at being told on how she was trying to build
up. Then the offer.
Apocalypse’s comment on creation as a tangible being. Her brow
furrowed briefly at his words before it would slide to the offer
given.
A soft breath out and a smirk.”oh… if I remember right.. wasn’t
it the guest bedroom you offered? Sly girl- not mean anything?
You asked a stranger to bed- me thinks there’s more behind it
than you can admit.” She teased.
Then the words of who Hope was to apocalypse burned in her soul.
Her eyes softened greatly at what he said.
“Just know I’m restless and wouldn’t want to waken a sleeping
angel such as you.”
While she understood what he said- she was still hurting.. but
it felt like he had been hurting for a very long time.
*while I get what your saying- it still hurts.*
Flashes of memories, Donovan leaning over- his compliments, his
speeches that sounded so passionate. When did he start getting
bored of her?
She banished it, realizing her mind wasn’t lingering on what was
better- what the future held.
Even her own thoughts urged her to move on—don’t dwell. If she
stopped moving and started thinking too much, she'd find herself
back in the pain and drowning in the negative thoughts lurking
just beneath the surface.
“But all in all- I suffer from insomnia- I am never sure when
I’ll get sleep. Last thing I’d wanna do is disturb you-
especially if you turn out to be a clinger.” She said with a
chuckle.
Reality was- with everything that had happened- to the pump up
from the bar. She still felt wired- like she was tired yet not
sleepy. What a day to not have her pills. She was sure Donovan
had sold them off- being the druggie he was.
—fin—
Adara blinked at the tease, her cheeks warming just a little as
she laughed. “Okay, okay—you caught me. Guilty of forgetting
about my guest room. To be fair, it’s… a bit of a disaster zone
right now.” She rubbed the back of her neck, sheepish grin
tugging at her mouth. “But yeah, that was what I meant. You’re
not wrong to call me out on it, Lulu.”
She pushed herself to her feet, stretching with a yawn before
nodding toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”
The guest room door creaked open to reveal what could only be
described as organized chaos. Clothes, shoes, and half-finished
accessories were strewn across the bed, spilling down to the
floor in colorful heaps. A couple of garment bags leaned against
the wall, and a sewing kit sat open on the nightstand.
Adara groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, see?
Explosion. Not all mine, either—half of this is stuff I’ve been
fixing or altering for my brother’s band. I really need to
organize this and drop off their new outfits for the upcoming
photoshoot.” She sighed, but there was amusement in her tone.
She turned back to Lucinda with a crooked smile. “Give me a few
minutes and I’ll clear the bed and the floor for you, promise.
Or—if you’d rather—you can take the couch. Either way, I want
you comfortable.”
Her voice softened, the playful edge dipping into something more
honest. “And… just so you know, I do feel attracted to you. But
I don’t want to rush you if you’re not ready. Tonight doesn’t
have to be anything more than good food, good music, and a safe
place to rest. Deal?”
--Fin--
The chuckle that always curled through her mind faltered this
time. Lucinda’s quiet admission—while I get what you’re saying,
it still hurts—slid under his armor sharper than he expected.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then the echo of his voice, lower,
rougher than usual.
“Still hurting… yes. That, I know.”
Images fractured across his mind, bleeding into hers like a
broken reel of film—fleeting, luminous glimpses. A figure woven
of starlight, hair spun from comets, eyes like twin galaxies.
Hope. She had been laughter echoing in void, fingertips tracing
constellations across his endless dark. A warmth he had never
deserved, but one he clung to like a starving thing.
And then—her fading. Light dimming, voice unraveling into
silence, fingers slipping from his grasp. He had held eternity,
and eternity had left him hollow.
His voice, when it returned, was quieter, threaded with
something raw.
“I once had a being like that, little star. Made of dreams, of
wonder. She was called Hope. My Hope. I loved her beyond
anything Creation ever carved into me… and I lost her.”
For a breath, the smug tone cracked, revealing grief older than
worlds. Then the veneer slid back into place, though thinner
now, his amusement edged with ache.
“So when you say it still hurts? Believe me—I understand. The
hurt does not vanish. It becomes the marrow in your bones. But—”
his tone sharpened, sly again, “hurt is also proof you still
feel. Proof you’re not hollow yet. And if you’re not hollow,
then you still have something to give… and to claim.”
A whisper, almost reverent:
“Don’t waste that. Don’t repeat my mistake. If someone offers
you a bed, a couch, a hand, a future—take it. Before the chance
fades like starlight.”
The hush lingered, thick with the ghost of his loss. And beneath
it, his laugh returned, faint, bitter-sweet, curling smugly at
the edge of her thoughts.
“Besides… if she snores, you can always kick her out. That’s
what mortals call compromise, isn’t it?”
-fin-
Lucinda felt memories- that wasn’t her own. The mental image
made her breath catch a little. Her eyes burned with the threat
of tears- only to be broken from his last line- a jab of snoring
and kicking her out if she was loud.In turn a soft snort that
turned into a chuckle. She couldn’t help it.
“Deal.. “ she said with a smile.”I can give a hand- least help
hang some the stuff up- and I’ve been here- tried tailoring a
dress that would fit me best- that did *not* turn out well.” she
said her hand running over Adara’s work. She knew what was best
for the night.. least for one. One night to let the events sink
in.
“Got good work here.” She said with a smile.
“And maybe.. another night we can try the bed together hm?”
Simple- middle ground.
—fin—
Adara gave the last pile of shoes a nudge out of the way with
her foot and dusted off her hands. “There we go—guest room,
semi-decluttered. Bed’s all yours.” She tipped her head toward
the hall. “Bathroom’s just across the way. Towels are clean,
promise.”
She paused, then her grin turned sly. “Hang on, I’ve got
something for you.” With a quick spin on her heel, she ducked
into her own room. A minute later she came back holding a soft,
well-worn nightshirt in deep purple. The fabric looked stretched
just enough to be comfortable, the kind of shirt that had been
broken in by countless lazy nights.
“Here,” she said, holding it out. “This one’s got history but
it’s comfy as hell. Figured you might want something to change
into, unless you’re the type who sleeps in leather pants.” Her
laugh was light, teasing but kind.
She gave Lucinda a little wave toward the room. “Go on, Lulu.
Claim your space. I’ll grab you some water and let you settle
in. No pressure, just comfort.”
--Fin--
In the hush that followed, Apocalypse lingered like the last
note of a song no one dared strike again.
Lucinda’s soft chuckle, the way she teased, the gentle promise
of “maybe another night”—all of it struck deeper than it should
have. For a moment, he wasn’t in a cluttered guest room,
watching her brush her fingers over Adara’s work. He was
somewhere else entirely.
A glimpse: starlight bleeding into a shape beside him. A laugh,
delicate as glass. A hand that had once brushed his jaw, just as
Lucinda now brushed fabric. Hope. His Hope.
And then—gone. Always gone.
The ache snapped him back. He tucked it away behind silence,
because to speak it again would make the fracture bleed.
Instead, he let the ghost of amusement curl at the corner of his
presence, like smoke rising without fire.
“Guest room or bed… even angels don’t argue when mortals offer
warmth,” his voice hummed faintly, dry but not unkind, threaded
with the echo of a smile.
But when Lucinda’s words whispered—while I get what you’re
saying, it still hurts—his quiet slipped jagged. A shadow of
pain crossed through, sharp enough to sting her chest if she
lingered on it too long.
“Yes. It hurts. Always. But perhaps…” the thought drifted,
brittle, “…hurt is just proof we are still tethered. Proof we
have not given everything away to the dark.”
He fell silent again, letting Adara’s warmth take up the space
he vacated. He preferred it that way. His role was not to
soothe, not yet. It was only to nudge, to keep her standing,
until she found the arms that could hold her where he no longer
could.
And still, beneath it all, a faint throb of longing pulsed with
every unspoken word. Watching Lucinda was like staring into a
star half-buried in shadow—familiar, unbearably familiar—and yet
so far from what he’d lost.
He stayed quiet, hurting, and hid it beneath that faint curl of
amusement that never reached the wound.
-fin-
Lucinda glanced around, ensuring everything was in order before
moving on, having offered help where she could.
Her bag rested on the chair by the desk, a lingering relic of
her past life, now accompanied by Pandora and a new notebook.
She had shrugged off her coat upon hearing Adara mention to
wait, but it wasn’t until she left that his words truly
resonated. Her hand instinctively moved to her chest, as though
she felt a sharp pain.
Turning her head, she noticed the shirt she offered and accepted
it with a soft smile. "Thanks, I will—and I’m definitely
borrowing the shower," she chuckled quietly. Accepting the
water, she wished her goodnight. Only then did she allow herself
to move.
Inside, she closed the door gently, exhaling a small breath as
she turned on the shower to mask her voice with the running
water. Stripping down, she stepped under the warm cascade, the
droplets mingling with her whispered thoughts.
“I know your pain isn’t the same as mine,” she murmured, pausing
to find her breath. “Yours is older, deeper perhaps—like a
shadow you’ve had to learn to walk with, or maybe never could.
Love like that isn’t easily soothed; it feels etched into your
very being since the moment you lost her.”
Her words flowed with the water, unburdening her heart.
“Mine is fresh, like an open wound, bleeding from places I
didn’t know existed. He promised me forever—then pierced me
straight through the heart.” She paused, a sad smile curling as
she reached for the shampoo.
“But pain’s funny, isn’t it? No matter how different the
reasons, it finds the same places to settle—the ribs, the
throat, that space right behind the eyes where it twists
memories into sharper edges. Mortal or immortal, it just hurts.”
She rinsed off, her resolve strengthening with each drop. “So,
just for tonight, I’m cutting all ties. Blocking him here,
giving him no reason to face me except on the stage. If fate
means to push me toward Adara… then I’ll follow. After all, fate
dropped you right in front of me. I took a chance—and here you
are.”
Lucinda lingered in the water’s warmth, her thoughts drifting
beyond the small bathroom. She traced invisible lines on the
fogged glass, her heart forging connections she hadn't dared
acknowledge until now.
“Apoc,” she whispered, the name tasting unfamiliar yet
comforting on her lips. It wasn’t just about chance encounters
or fleeting alliances anymore. Something more was forming—a
fragile yet undeniable tether beneath the surface.
Leaning her forehead against the cool tile, she found grounding
in the contrast. “You’re not just a silence in a heartbeat—or
the silence after the final note,” she murmured.
Her fingers brushed over her heart, feeling the faint echo of
intertwined beats with memories old and new. “Moments like
these,” she breathed against the rush of water, “they’re
ours—even if they’re brief. You’re not just a force that pushes.
You’ve been guiding me—and I haven’t ignored it, have I?”
With a steadying breath, she turned off the water, a silent
promise lingering in the steam-filled air: to embrace fleeting
moments, to cherish connections, however transient.
She grabbed a towel, drying off before slipping into the shirt,
its fabric smooth against her skin. Tugging her long hair free,
she wrapped it up, preparing to leave the bathroom and sit on
the bed, lost in thought.
—fin—
Adara chuckled softly at Lucinda’s thanks, giving her a playful
wave. “Shower’s all yours, Lulu. Don’t use up all the hot water
or I’ll know you’re secretly a villain,” she teased lightly,
though the affection in her tone carried more weight than the
joke.
While Lucinda was in the bathroom, Adara moved around the
apartment in quiet rhythm. She stacked the empty cartons and
tucked leftovers into the fridge, humming faintly under her
breath. The table was wiped down, lights dimmed to a softer
glow, and she slipped into her own pajamas—an oversized tee
paired with shorts—before running a brush through her hair.
When the water cut off, she padded down the hall, arms full: a
glass of water, her old but trusty hair dryer dangling from one
hand. She gave a gentle knock before easing the guest room door
open just a crack.
“Delivery,” she said with a grin, slipping inside to set the
glass on the desk. She lifted the dryer. “And figured you might
want this. Nothing worse than sleeping with half-damp hair.”
Her smile softened as she glanced at Lucinda settled on the bed.
“Get some rest, okay? You deserve it.” She lingered a moment
longer, then added warmly, “If you stick around in the morning,
I’ll make you pancakes. If you gotta rush though, just swing
back by around three and we’ll head to the garage later. Either
way—this is your space tonight. Sleep easy.”
With that, she gave Lulu a little wave and stepped back toward
the door, leaving her with quiet and a safe place to breathe.
--Fin--
He hadn’t expected her clarity—not this soon, not after only one
night of crossing paths. Most mortals drowned in grief for
years, decades, before they even tried to rise. But Lucinda? She
was already threading pain into purpose, already shifting toward
music, toward Adara, toward light.
It unsettled him. It reminded him.
Her whisper—Apoc—still clung to him like smoke. He hadn’t heard
his name spoken with anything but fear in ages. Yet she’d said
it softly, like it wasn’t a curse, but a tether. It fractured
open a memory he thought he’d buried: Hope, starlit and
laughing, fading away into silence he never escaped.
And now this stranger—this storm of a girl—was echoing her.
“Strange,” he admitted, voice low and amused in a way that
didn’t quite hide the ache. “One evening, and you already speak
like you’ve walked with me for ages.”
The shadows in the corners of the room curled closer, not
threatening, but steadying. His presence pressed against her
thoughts like a hand on her back—not pushing, not pulling, just
there.
“Maybe you don’t see it yet, little star. But what you call
Pandora, what you pour into song—” his tone deepened, carrying
reverence with weight, “—that is what I once lost. Hope.”
A pause, quieter, almost reluctant: “And tonight, hearing you… I
almost believe I’ve found a trace of her again.”
The words weren’t possession. They weren’t demand. They were
wonder, half-frightened, half-hungry, that one night could carve
such a mark.
“Do not mistake me—I am no savior. But if you choose to keep
walking this path, I will see that the silence never swallows
your voice.”
Then, with a flicker of his old grin, a note of amused warning:
“Just don’t expect me to sleep easy while you’re writing songs
that stir even the dead.”
-fin-
Lucinda noticed Adara entering briefly with water and a hair
dryer, a soft smile gracing her face. "Especially with hair like
mine," Lucinda chuckled. "Plus, I'd hate for the purple to ruin
your sheets—can’t say the same for the towel, though," she added
sheepishly.
"Pancakes sound amazing. Honestly, I'm not in any real rush
tomorrow morning," Lucinda replied softly, as she began
towel-drying her hair.
Lucinda retrieved a brush from her pack and started drying her
own hair with the hair dryer,listening intently as the door shut
and Apocalypse’s voice faded. A faint blush crept onto her
cheeks.
"Not going to lie—my father probably knew how much it hurts.
Their love was a timeless wonder, with ties so deep that the
phrase '’til death do us part' felt more like a suggestion," she
murmured.
She glanced up, her expression sincere. "I don’t mistake you for
a savior. If anything, I see you as a new friend," she said,
suppressing the fleeting thought, and a sexy-sounding one at
that.
"Mmm, I don’t expect you to. I know I have my sleepless nights,
too. Never did sleep right since I was a kid," she admitted
quietly.
After her hair was done, it began.
A buzz.
Then another.
And another.
Donovan was relentless—texting for information, passwords,
money—everything she had worked so hard on.
"And so it starts," she sighed, picking up her phone. Calmly,
she blocked his number. Then, with steady fingers, she drafted a
massive email: links, passwords, numbers, and a final, resolute
message—no more money. A definitive "fuck you" to end it all.
She hit send, blocked the email, and swiftly turned to her
profile. With quick, decisive actions, she crafted a simple
post: "Leaving Endless Dreams."
No explanations, no dramatic confessions about a breakup or
being kicked out. Her reason was clear and unapologetic—she
wanted to start her own thing.
She posted it, tagging the main community. Let them talk, let
the rumors swirl—it didn’t matter. She had no time for those who
thrived on gossip.
Because if there was one thing that would speak louder than
words on a screen, it was her music
—fin—
Her words stirred him—like a hand pressed against an old wound
that had never quite closed. Parents, love that stretched beyond
death, ties that couldn’t be severed. It scraped across the
memory he carried like a brand: a figure of starlight and
laughter, the one he had named Hope. A being he had lost long
ago, yet never stopped searching for in the shadows.
For a long beat, he said nothing. Just let the weight of her
actions—blocking Donovan, cutting the cord, reclaiming her
voice—settle between them like a victory drumbeat.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual, smoky
with something raw at its edges.
“True love never really dies.”
It was not comfort. It was conviction. A truth spoken as if he
had carved it into himself with centuries of grief.
He lingered in her silence then, as if giving her space to feel
the enormity of what she had just done—letting go of chains that
had dragged her down, raising her own flag for the first time.
And then, softer, as if watching her in this moment fractured
something open in him:
“You cut him loose with fire, not fear. That’s resolve, Lucinda.
That’s strength he could never chain.”
The faintest curl of a smile colored his tone, amused but
reverent. “Creation itself leans toward those who seize it with
bare hands. You did that tonight. You reminded me of something I
thought I’d lost forever.”
There was no teasing now, no smug hush. Just the deep thrum of a
presence that had lived through endings and still chose to
marvel at beginnings.
“Build. Sing. Write. Love.” His voice dropped to almost a
whisper. “Don’t stop now. Not when you’ve already burned the
past down to make room for more.”
-fin-
Lucinda let the quiet settle around her like a soft blanket, her
fingers still hovering over her phone. The words he had
spoken—quiet, raw, and without any trace of artifice.
She had always known she carried a fire within her, but hearing
someone else acknowledge it, as if they could feel it too,
stirred something deep.
She placed the phone down carefully on the table, her mind a
flurry of emotions she wasn’t quite sure how to untangle. There
was something about his voice—the way it resonated with the
weight of loss and the unrelenting push toward survival—that
touched her in a way she hadn't expected.
Her voice came out low, but clear, more vulnerable than she
intended. "I’ve spent so long holding onto something, convinced
that if I just... if I just tried harder, I could finally be
happy." She paused, her eyes flickering to the screen of her
phone. "I guess I was scared of the quiet that would follow once
it was gone."
She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, but there was no
real pretending at this moment. No masks, no distractions. Just
the truth sitting heavy in the air between them.
"But you’re right. I burned it down, didn’t I?" A small laugh,
barely audible, escaped her lips. "Not with fear, but with fire.
I think I’ve been carrying too many ghosts for too long. And
now, I just want to live, not just survive."
Her eyes softened, and her gaze went to the mirror that hung on
the wall across from her. "I don’t know if I can build something
as grand as what you're imagining, but I’m going to try. I’m
going to write and love and build, and I know that’s my
revenge.."
Lucinda’s fingers gently tugged at the covers, her body leaning
slightly back as if solidifying an idea id relaxing.
"Maybe for once, I won’t hold back. Maybe, I’ll finally start
being the person I was always meant to be."
A quiet, knowing smile, one that spoke of a kind of freedom she
hadn’t known in years curled on her face.
“Thanks," she whispered. "For being there. And being the push.”
Her hand went to the notebook.
“And I won’t- past will be in song.. think Pandora will open so
much more.. I’ll make an album- covering rage.. grief- loss… but
on the flip side- healing - understanding.. just make sure I
don’t get blown out.”
She would sit up a bit later, her lips moving silently. Her not
wishing to wake adara but to write music, and song.
Along the way- would she finally drift to sleep, her hand on the
pen, her book on her lap, she would slide over and hit the
pillow.
Somehow- the peace she craved entered with those words. From
someone who wouldn’t leave her alone.
—fin—
#Post#: 1197--------------------------------------------------
Re: Endings and beginnings
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 1:09 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Morning light filtered through the blinds, spilling golden
stripes across the apartment floor. Adara stretched as she
padded out of her room, tugging her dark hair up into a messy
bun that left a few strands curling loose. The air was quiet,
still carrying the faint echo of last night’s music and words.
She slipped into the kitchen, bare feet soft against the rug,
and pulled out the frying pan first. A flick of the stove, a
splash of oil, and soon the sizzle of bacon filled the air, rich
and savory. She swayed a little to herself, humming a tune under
her breath while she worked—something light, easy.
By the time she set the bacon aside on a paper towel, she had a
mixing bowl out, whisking flour, eggs, and milk together into
pancake batter. She tapped the whisk against the bowl, grinning
as she set the griddle to heat.
Feeling the stillness of the apartment, she reached over to her
small speaker and flicked it on. Soft jazz flowed into the
background, mellow and smooth, filling the kitchen with a calm
rhythm that matched her movements.
Adara’s nails tapped against the counter in sync with the beat
as she poured out the first pancake, the smell of vanilla and
butter curling into the air. She glanced toward the hallway with
a smile, half-expecting sleepy footsteps any moment.
“Better wake up hungry, Lulu,” she murmured with a chuckle,
flipping the pancake with practiced ease. “Because I don’t do
small breakfasts.”
She reached for the coffee pot, filling it with water and
scooping in grounds, pressing the button with a satisfying
click. The rich, earthy scent of brewing coffee began to mingle
with bacon and pancakes, sealing the kitchen in the comfort of a
morning ritual.
--Fin--
The scent hit her first—warm vanilla, crisp bacon, and fresh
coffee drifting through the apartment like a promise. Lucinda
stirred, one arm flung over her face, the other blindly reaching
for her phone on the nightstand.
Buzzing. Notifications. Her screen glowed with a flood of
reactions—likes, comments, reposts. Her post from last night,
Leaving Endless Dreams, had apparently struck a nerve.
She blinked into the soft morning light, the blinds casting long
shadows across her sheets. A small smile tugged at her lips as
she sat up, scrolling. She didn’t expect it to explode the way
it did.
But the comments rolled in.
“This hit harder than I expected.”
“Girl, what are you going through??”
“Leaving endless dreams?? You okay?”
Lucinda snorted softly and tossed the phone onto the bed. Her
mind was still tangled in last night—not the post, but the
conversation that followed it. One no one else knew about.
Somehow- she felt that she hit something real and true. She was
in a house.. the smell of pancakes. Her hand touching the
notebook- written with words and more.
Advice she heard from deep inside from a voice that wasn’t her
own.
She softly padded into the kitchen- everything where it was. It
definitely didn’t feel like a dream. “Morning.” Said Lucinda as
she walked to a spot to sit.
—fin—
Adara glanced up from the stove just as Lucinda padded in, the
soft jazz still humming low in the background. She grinned,
flipping a pancake with practiced ease before setting it on the
growing stack.
“Well, well, look who decided to join the land of the living,”
she teased, her voice light but warm. “Morning, Lulu.”
She nodded toward the table, where she’d already set out plates,
utensils, and a little dish of butter and syrup. The bacon sat
piled high on a platter, the steam curling up like an
invitation. A carafe of coffee rested in the middle, mugs
stacked neatly beside it.
“Sit, sit,” Adara said, waving her spatula like a conductor.
“You get first dibs before I start demolishing this stack
myself.” She slid another pancake onto the pile, then brought
the plate over, setting it right in front of Lucinda with a
flourish. “Pancakes, bacon, coffee—the holy trinity of
mornings.”
She leaned against the counter for a moment, pulling her own
hair tie a little tighter into her bun, before grabbing a mug.
“Coffee?” she asked, already reaching to pour. Her eyes sparkled
as she added with mock seriousness, “Warning: I make it strong
enough to wake the dead. My brother swears it’s a miracle cure.”
Adara slid into the seat across from her, setting down her own
plate. “So, Lulu—tell me. Did my guest room treat you kindly? Or
do I owe you an apology and a bribe in the form of extra bacon?”
--Fin--
Lucinda found a seat and settled in, chuckling at her own
remark. "Mmm, feels like a VIP—and I'm not even a star yet," she
quipped with a playful grin.
"Honestly, I'll take it. Coffee strong enough to wake the dead?
Even better," she added, smirking as she reached for her cup.
While plating some food, her voice caught her attention. She
glanced up, chuckled, and replied, "Oh, the room is fine, but
I'll still take that bacon."
“Least I managed to sleep this time,” she murmured softly to
herself.
Comfortably seated, Lucinda flipped through her well-worn
notebook, its pages filled with scribbled verses and melodies.
She paused over songs written the night before, her eyes tracing
the densely packed notes in the margins. As she absentmindedly
nibbled on her breakfast, a soft hum escaped her, shaped by the
rhythms and words etched on the paper.
“Oh—did you check if we could use that spot yet?” she asked,
ensuring her plans were in order. She picked up her fork, taking
a bite of her eggs.
Leaning into the rare moment of genuine peace, Lucinda savored
the comfort. She knew it couldn’t last forever—and the idea of
asking a stranger to stay, along with explaining why, felt like
it would be too much. She just met her- and if she was what
apocalypse was telling her last night? She didn’t want to fall
in the same steps that she had before with Donovan.
“Swear- you keep feeding me- will tempt me to stay for good.”
She joked a bit as she shoved the thought aside.
—fin—
Adara smirked at Lucinda’s joke, tapping her nails against her
mug. “Careful, Lulu—threats like that might just tempt me to
keep feeding you.” She winked before leaning back in her chair,
stretching out her arms with a yawn.
“Oh—and the garage? I was about to check in with my twin anyway.
Morning ritual. He gets grumpy if I don’t.” She slid her phone
off the counter, scrolling to his name with a fond little shake
of her head.
The call rang twice before a muffled, groggy voice answered.
“Addy… why the hell are you calling me this early?”
“Because, Asher,” she said sweetly, “some of us are productive
before noon. And I need a favor.”
He grumbled something incoherent, and she grinned. “Relax, it’s
nothing crazy. Just wondering if my new friend here could borrow
the garage for some band practice.”
There was a long pause on the other end, then a resigned sigh.
“Yeah, yeah. Just let them know I’ll need it by seven tonight.
Gotta run a few songs with the guys.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Ash—you’re the best.”
“Mm-hm,” he muttered, clearly already drifting back toward
sleep. “Don’t call me again before nine. Ever.”
“Love you too,” she chirped, ending the call with a satisfied
smirk.
Adara looked back at Lucinda, eyes sparkling. “There you
go—garage secured. Just have to clear out by seven so Asher and
his boys can do their thing.” She leaned forward on her elbows,
grin tugging wider. “So, Lulu… you ready for your first
unofficial band practice?”
—-
Lucinda raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curling on her lips
as she picked up her own mug, taking a slow sip. “First
unofficial band practice, huh?” she mused, tapping her fingers
lightly on the edge of the mug. “I’m assuming the ‘unofficial’
part means we’re not allowed to suck too badly, right?” She
joked as she leaned back, letting her gaze drift around the
room, her fingers absently drumming against the ceramic.
““Honestly, I hope the two of them like the vibe and keep
going,” she mused, her eyes scanning the scribbled pages filled
with potential band names. “I’m still jotting down all sorts of
ideas—names like ‘Velvet Horizon,’ ‘Echo Drift,’ and ‘Neon
Grove.’ Some really stick in a good way. I’ll just have to weed
out the ones that don’t resonate as much. “Bittersweet lullabies
and eternal slumber seemed to stick out the most on her list-
the two circled.
Her mouth formed in thinking before she would push it away some
to finish eating.
—fin—
Lucinda laughed as she trailed after Adara, coffee in one hand,
notebook tucked under her arm.
“Oh? Would not mind seeing a shirt like that..” she said before
walking with adara.
She stepped into Adara’s room and glanced toward the closet,
then back at her newfound friend. Her voice softened. “But
really… thanks. For offering. I didn’t exactly come prepared for
a surprise rehearsal-slash-wardrobe intervention.”
She took a breath, brushing a hand through her hair. “And
seriously thanks,” she gestured toward the closet with a smirk,
“—you’re out here making sure I don’t show up looking like I
stole laundry from a retired roadie.”
With a teasing lift of her brow, she added, “So yes,
please—fashion me up. Just maybe steer clear of anything
bedazzled. I don’t think I’m emotionally ready for sequins
before noon.”
After a little search did a loose shirt that hung off her
shoulder made her feel sort of right. The jean shorts felt
comfortable. The only thing she kept - her boots. She folded
what was left to tuck in her backpack before tugging on her
leather coat. She would slide her lyrics beside apocalypses
book zipping it up before grabbing her guitar.”what ya think?”
She asked giving a small turn.
—fin—
Adara leaned against the closet doorframe, arms crossed,
watching Lucinda emerge from the little whirlwind of clothes.
When Lulu gave the spin, guitar slung at her side, Adara’s grin
spread wide.
“Damn, Lulu… you pull off the off-the-shoulder rocker thing like
you were born on a stage.” She tapped her nails thoughtfully
against her arm, head tilted. “But you’re missing just a touch
of shine.”
She stepped over to her dresser, rummaged through a small
jewelry box, and pulled out a pair of thin silver hoop earrings
and a leather-braided bracelet with a tiny steel clasp. Holding
them out, she smirked. “Earrings, bracelet—subtle, but enough to
make the whole look pop. What do you think?”
Then she gestured lightly toward Lucinda’s hair, her grin
softening into something more mischievous. “And while we’re at
it—want me to style that mane a bit? Nothing crazy, just a
little edge. I can give you a messy half-twist, or some waves if
you’d rather. Or we can leave it wild and let it scream ‘don’t
mess with me.’ Your call.”
She tipped her head, eyes glinting. “Trust me, Lulu—sometimes
the right detail doesn’t just make the outfit, it makes the
attitude.”
--Fin--
Lucinda turned toward the mirror, eyeing her reflection with a
little nod of approval. The shirt, the guitar, the way it all
fit—it felt right. Like maybe, for the first time in a long
time, she looked like who she *wanted* to be.
She caught Adara’s eyes in the mirror and smirked. “Okay, yeah…
you were absolutely right. I look like I actually know what I’m
doing. It’s mildly terrifying.”
She took the bracelet and earrings carefully, holding them like
they meant something more than just accessories. “These are
perfect. Thanks, addy.” Her voice was softer now. “You’ve
seriously got a gift for this.”
At the offer to style her hair, Lucinda gave a small, thoughtful
pause, then grinned. “Alright, here’s the vision: wild, but
pulled back. Like, I want to look like I just walked out of a
hurricane and *chose* not to fix it—but on purpose, you know?”
She lifted her hands, framing her head with an exaggerated
gesture. “Controlled chaos. Hair that says ‘I didn’t sleep, I
write lyrics at 3 a.m., and I *will* out-sing your favorite
band.’ But also… like I can still see what I’m doing on stage.”
Sliding onto the edge of the bed, she glanced up at Adara with a
playful spark in her eyes. “Think you can make that happen,
miracle worker?”
—fin—
Adara’s grin lit up the room as she set her hands on her hips.
“Controlled chaos? Lulu, you just described my entire aesthetic
in high school.” She wiggled her brows, then grabbed a brush, a
couple of clips, and a small styling cream from her dresser.
“Sit tight, rockstar,” she said, moving behind Lucinda with a
dramatic little flourish. “Miracle worker, closet stylist,
personal hype woman—I’m a package deal.”
She gently brushed through Lucinda’s hair, careful and
unhurried, letting the strands slip smoothly through her
fingers. Then she gathered sections, twisting some loosely back
while leaving the rest free to tumble around her shoulders in
intentional disarray. Every so often she tugged a strand loose,
framing Lucinda’s face until it had that perfect balance between
wild and deliberate.
“Messy but magnetic,” Adara murmured, her voice low with focus.
“Like you just walked through a storm and dared it to do its
worst.”
Finally, she stepped back, biting her lip as she studied her
work in the mirror. “There. Chaos contained, but still loud
enough to make a statement.” Her eyes caught Lucinda’s in the
reflection, playful but sincere. “You look like the lead singer
of a band people will write about for years. And honestly? I
don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun playing stylist.”
She tapped Lucinda’s shoulder lightly. “Alright, Lulu—moment of
truth. You ready to see the hurricane you just commissioned?”
--Fin--
Lucinda’s eyes flickered to the mirror as she ran a hand through
her already purple-lavender locks, now styled with an
effortless, chaotic grace. The light lavender strands curled and
tumbled around her face. The whole look felt like she was
wearing the storm or more like the fire itself, it curling in
ways that felt like she’d light the way…if it glowed.
She turned her head, letting the waves of purple cascade down
her shoulders, and the sight was mesmerizing. “This... is
*everything*,” she breathed, taking in the way the loose, wild
strands contrasted against the softness of her natural color. “I
feel like the storm has already passed, but it left me with all
this crazy energy, like I could light up the night with just a
glance.”
Lucinda caught Adara’s gaze in the reflection, her eyes
sparkling. “You’ve *nailed* it. This is exactly the vibe I
needed—mysterious, yet untouchable. Like I could be the leader
of a rebel group,or the flame to light the way. The purple’s
already there, but you shaped it - almost like it’s got a life
of its own.” She smiled widely. “Honestly, I feel like I could
walk into any room and just own it now.”
—fin—
Adara leaned on the back of the chair, chin propped in her hand,
watching Lucinda’s reflection like she’d just unveiled a
masterpiece. A slow grin spread across her face.
“Damn right it’s everything,” she said, tapping her nails
lightly against the wood. “You look like you just walked out of
a storm and dared the world to catch up. Rebel leader, flame,
rock goddess—take your pick, Lulu, ‘cause you’re pulling off all
of it.”
She tilted her head, her grin softening into something warmer.
“And for the record? The purple was already killer, but the way
you wear it—” she gestured with a lazy wave of her hand, “—it’s
not just a look. It’s you. Confident, untouchable, alive.”
With a playful nudge to Lucinda’s shoulder, Adara added, “So,
yeah, you’re officially banned from saying you’re not ready for
stage life. One look in that mirror proves otherwise.” She
smirked, then grabbed her own mug of coffee from the nightstand.
“And when your band blows up, I’ll be the one smugly reminding
everyone I styled the lead singer’s first ‘controlled chaos’
hair.”
Adara stepped back from the mirror, still grinning at Lucinda’s
storm-born reflection. “Alright, Lulu, you’ve officially
outshone me in my own apartment. Can’t have that, can I?” she
teased with a wink.
She crossed to her own closet and tugged out a fitted black tank
with a splash of red graphic print across the front, pairing it
with high-waisted jeans that hugged her frame just right. With
practiced ease, she slid into a cropped leather jacket that
still carried the faint scent of old concerts and long nights.
At the dresser, she swapped out her hoops for a pair of jagged
silver studs and layered on a thin chain necklace, the kind that
caught the light when she moved. A quick touch of eyeliner
sharpened her already bold eyes, and she ran her fingers through
her hair until it fell in sleek, tousled waves.
When she turned back, she struck a mock model pose, hand on her
hip. “There. Now we actually look like we belong in the same
band,” she said with a laugh, eyes glinting as she grabbed her
keys and tossed them in her bag.
She gave Lucinda one last once-over, her grin curving sly.
“Alright, storm queen. Ready to go make that garage stage
yours?”
-Fin
#Post#: 1198--------------------------------------------------
Re: Endings and beginnings
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 1:13 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Adara leaned in easily when Lucinda pulled her close, flashing
the camera a quick, mischievous grin and a peace sign just as
the shutter clicked. When Lu looked up at her sheepishly, she
waved a hand like it was nothing.
“Mind? Lulu, I’d be offended if you didn’t post it. This is the
first look of the legacy—we’re setting the vibe right here,
right now.” She plucked the phone gently from Lucinda’s hand for
a second, squinting at the picture with a smirk. “Damn. We look
like trouble already. The fun kind, obviously.”
She handed the phone back, eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and
playful fire. “Go ahead, post it. I’ll even help get the socials
running if you want—branding’s half the game these days. A look
like yours? People are gonna eat it up.”
Adara tugged her jacket straighter, then bumped her shoulder
into Lucinda’s with a teasing grin. “Besides, if anyone asks, I
get full credit as your stylist-slash-hype girl. Gotta protect
my rep.”
Jangling her keys in her hand, she tilted her head toward the
door. “Hey, you mind if I drive? Lulu’s car will be safer parked
here in my neighborhood—it’s quiet, less chance of anyone
messing with it. I’ll get us to the garage and back, no sweat.”
Her grin widened, bright and excited. “So what do you say—first
post, first practice, first fire? Let’s make some noise before
Asher kicks us out at seven. Though knowing him, he'll be
curious and show up to check your band out," she added with a
wink.
--Fin--
Lucinda laughed, the sound light and genuine as she tucked a
piece of hair behind her ear, still riding the glow of the photo
and Adara’s energy. Her smile curved wide when Adara handed the
phone back, and she gave the screen one more glance before
nodding.
"I’ll post once the band name is figured out." She tapped on
her phone a bit, then paused. "And yeah, you’re totally welcome
on helping with the socials... but I want to be able to set it
up myself, once I figure out the band name. Bittersweet
lullabies definitely sounds good but eternal slumber does too.”
She said
As Adara bumped her shoulder, Lucinda bumped right back,
grinning. “Stylist-slash-hype girl? Deal. But if I end up in a
glitter jacket, we’re having words.”
At the mention of her car, Lucinda barked out a laugh and shook
her head. “Drive? Yeah, be my guest. My car wouldn’t tempt a
thief if you left it running with a sign that says *‘free money
inside.’*” She gestured vaguely toward the car. “It’s all
rattles and rust, and the radio cuts out if I hit a pothole. But
hey—she runs. Mostly. But totally prefer my car- blame it on the
fact that I kinda wanna control the music today.” She said
softly.
Lucinda tucked the phone into her pocket, then gave Adara a
small, warm look. “- and thanks, never thought I’d look this
good in my life.” She said with a soft smile.
—fin—
Adara tilted her head, lips quirking as she tapped her nail
against her mug in thought. “Bittersweet Lullabies… Eternal
Slumber…” she repeated slowly, rolling the words together like
puzzle pieces. Then her eyes lit up.
“Why not both?” she suggested with a grin. “Bittersweet
Lullabies of Eternal Slumber. Sure, it’s long as hell, but the
abbreviation? BLES.” She smirked, wagging her brows. “Kinda
catchy, right? Like, ‘Hey, have you heard the new BLES album?’
Totally sounds legit.”
She gave Lucinda a playful side-eye. “And if you want more
mystery, we just leave it as BLES and let people argue online
about what it actually stands for. Instant hype, free
marketing.”
When Lucinda gave her that warm look, Adara softened, leaning
her hip against the dresser. “Hey, don’t thank me for that. You
had it in you already, Lulu. I just… tilted the mirror so you
could see it.” Her grin curved wider, fond but still playful.
“But you’re welcome anyway. I’ll take my credit where I can get
it.”
Snatching her keys off the counter, she gave them a little spin
around her finger. “Alright, your car for the music, my driving
for the safety. You officially have permission to be my radio DJ
for the ride.” She winked, then added with a thoughtful hum,
“And maybe we should grab some coffee and donuts on the way.
Can’t exactly show up empty-handed when we’re trying to convince
people to join a band. Food bribes go a long way.”
--Fin--
Lucinda laughed, covering her mouth with the back of her hand
before shaking her head in mock disbelief. “*Bittersweet
Lullabies of Eternal Slumber*?” she echoed, one brow raised.
“Adara, that sounds like an emo poetry zine from 2007. Not bad -
But… BLES?” She paused, mouthing the abbreviation. “Okay, *that*
actually slaps.”
She leaned against the opposite side of the dresser, arms
crossed loosely, clearly warming to the idea. “It sounds clean,
and mysterious enough to be cool. Let the internet run
wild—people love a good acronym conspiracy. 20 bucks says
they’ll think we are some catholic band.” She grinned, tapping
her temple. “That’s the long game right there.”
Her expression softened again at Adara’s next words, and she
dropped her gaze for a second, a quiet warmth blooming in her
chest. “Yeah, well… it helps when the mirror’s held up by
someone who actually gives a damn,” she murmured softly. She
then looked up again, smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Still—you get extra credit for timing. I needed this more than
I knew.” A small admittance- a nudge of her truth showing
through.
At the mention of the car, Lucinda perked up a little, reaching
into her jacket pocket for her keys. “Alright, DJ duties
accepted,” she said with a mock-serious nod.
She turned toward the door, tossing the keys lightly in one
hand. “Coffee and donuts though? Now *that’s* the kind of band
leader energy I aspire to. Sugar, caffeine, and
emotionally-charged band names? We’re unstoppable.” She said
grabbing her things before going to the door
As she pulled the door open, she glanced back at Adara with a
grin. “Let’s go Rock out hm?” She said before getting out.
She placed her backpack in the back seat before sliding into the
passenger side. Her fingers instinctively reached for the radio,
fiddling with the cassette tape player. After a few moments of
adjusting and rewinding, a song began to play. The song felt
very personal and emotional- Lucinda settled to listen a bit as
she flipped in her own notebook.
_fin-
Adara slid in behind the wheel, tossing her jacket over the back
of her seat before starting the car. She glanced sideways as
Lucinda fiddled with the old cassette deck, a smile tugging at
her lips as the raw, emotional track poured through the crackly
speakers.
“Perfect DJ choice,” Adara said warmly, drumming her nails on
the steering wheel in time with the beat. “Sets the mood.
Emotional charge and all—it’s basically fuel for the band.”
They merged into traffic, the city buzzing around them. Morning
energy had shifted to late-morning chaos—horns blaring, people
weaving through crosswalks, the smell of street food faint
through the vents. Adara kept one hand on the wheel, relaxed but
sharp, weaving through the mess with the kind of ease that said
she’d done this run a hundred times before.
Halfway there, she pulled into a corner café, snagging a large
box of assorted donuts and a cardboard caddy with coffees.
“Can’t bribe a future drummer and guitarist on empty stomachs,”
she quipped, sliding the goods into the backseat with Lucinda’s
bag before getting back on the road.
The traffic thinned as they slipped downtown, the city blocks
shifting into older storefronts with weathered awnings and
graffiti-tagged walls. She finally eased the car to a stop in
front of a squat, brick-front garage tucked between a vintage
clothing shop and a tattoo parlor. Across the street, neon signs
buzzed from a 24-hour diner and a Chinese place, their windows
glowing with promise of late-night meals after long rehearsals.
Adara hopped out, balancing her keys and the donut box, and led
Lucinda up to the wide steel door of the garage. She jiggled the
lock and pushed it open with a grunt, the hinges groaning before
revealing the inside.
The space was exactly what a band’s practice spot should be:
rough but alive. The far end held a makeshift stage raised on
pallets, amps stacked neatly beside a couple of mic stands.
Posters and stickers were plastered across the walls, layered
over soundproofing foam that dulled the echo of the street
outside. To the right, a battered leather couch and a mismatched
set of chairs made up the “hangout zone,” their sagging cushions
softened by colorful pillows. A mini fridge hummed quietly in
the corner, next to a beat-up coffee table scarred by cup rings
and doodles in Sharpie.
And tucked away in the far corner, almost hidden, was a small
door completely covered in stickers and torn flyers—the
bathroom, legendary for being both functional and a disaster.
Adara turned, sweeping her free hand at the space with a grin.
“Home away from home—well, for Asher and his guys, anyway. But
for today? It’s ours. Welcome to your first band practice,
Lulu.”
She set the donuts and coffee down on the table, her eyes bright
with excitement. “So… what do you think?”
--Fin--
Lucinda leaned back in the seat as the car rumbled to a stop,
fingers still lightly drumming against the lid of her coffee
cup. She glanced up at the garage with a soft exhale—equal parts
nerves and anticipation. The place had that perfect kind of
grime: lived-in, not forgotten. Real. Her kind of place.
“Looks even better in daylight,” she said, half to herself, her
gaze drifting across the diner’s neon glow across the street.
“Smells like bad decisions and good memories. Definitely
rehearsal material.”
She turned toward Adara, smiling as she reached back to steady
the donuts. “A+ snack run, by the way. This is how bands are
made—donuts and noise.”
Then a thought struck her, and she paused, her fingers
tightening slightly around the cup. “Hey, uh… minor hiccup.” Her
smile turned sheepish as she looked back over at Adara. “We
never actually settled how we’re *getting* Rave and big guy
here. Like… neither of us texted, right?”
She bit her lip, thinking, then added, “we never spoke to big
and tall- and Rave’s phone situation looked… let’s say, *in
flux*.” She hesitated, remembering that fleeting glance, the
weight behind Rave’s carefully chosen words about meeting
halfway. “I gave him my number, though. Just once. He might’ve
tucked it away. If he still has the napkin, maybe…”
“Mean we did say we’d meet at that bar and head here.” She
mused. “Just don’t know if big and tall can fit in my car.” She
said realizing it. “But they can follow- well if either got a
car.” She said with a sheepish look.
—fin—
Lucinda’s phone buzzed on the table, the number flashing
unknown. “i think we're about to find out if Rave kept that
napkin.” adara said with a grin.
She waited for Lucinda to swipe to answer and put it on
speaker. A pause, then Rave’s voice came through—soft, a little
shy, but steady.
“Lucinda? Hey. Uh… sorry it took a minute. I couldn’t dial
myself—electronics and me don’t mix. Phones don’t last long
around me. Trip had to hit the numbers for me.”
There was a faint shuffle on the other end, his voice dropping
lower. “I didn’t lose your number, though. I kept it. Just…
needed someone else to push call.”
Another pause, the background noise of a city street carrying
faintly through. “Anyway… me and Chuckles—we’re already heading
toward the bar. Safer to meet there first before we go anywhere
new. He… he likes steady routes.”
Adara leaned closer, her grin audible in her voice. “Copy that.
We’ll double back to guide you to the garage, with coffee and
donuts—bribery works wonders.” She hesitated, then added with a
laugh, “Quick logistics question though, Rave: you and Chuckles
got a ride to follow us in? Or do you think you’ll both fit in
Lulu’s car? I mean… Chuckles looks like he’d need his own row.”
Rave hesitated a beat before answering, his voice easing into
something almost amused. “Trip’s got a truck. Big enough for
Chuckles, so… we’re covered. He, uh… just said he wants to swing
by and pick someone up on the way.”
In the background, Trip’s voice chimed in with a laugh. “Relax,
it’s nothing shady. Just a friend who owes me a favor. You’ll
see.”
Adara shot Lucinda a look, brows raised, a grin tugging at her
mouth. “Mystery plus coffee, huh? Alright, fine—we’ll meet you
back at the bar and convoy it to the garage. Just don’t make us
regret trusting your definition of ‘friend,’ Trip.”
Trip’s chuckle came through the speaker, easy and confident.
“Scout’s honor. See you soon.”
The line clicked off. Adara picked up the donuts and shook her
head with a laugh. “Well, storm queen—guess we’re about to find
out just how colorful Trip’s circle really is.”
__fin
Lucinda listened quietly, a soft smile forming as Rave
spoke—tentative but genuine. When Trip’s voice chimed in,
lighthearted and warm, she shook her head, chuckling under her
breath.
As the call ended, she looked down at the phone for a moment,
thoughtful, then glanced up at Adara with a warmer grin.
“Well,” she said gently, taking the donut box with a small
laugh, “he kept the napkin. That counts for something.”
She grabbed her keys from the table, her voice light but kind.
“Rave sounds like he’s trying. That’s more than most bother
with, and chuckles comin means he’s interested.”
Heading for the door, she held it open, looking back at Adara
with a twinkle in her eye. “Let’s go collect and then We play.”
—fin—
The drive back toward the bar was smooth, the city humming
around them. When Adara pulled into the familiar side street,
she spotted them right away—Rave with his guitar case strapped
across his back, Chuckles towering like a lighthouse beside him,
and Trip leaning casually against a truck that looked like it
had seen plenty of backroads.
When Adara hopped out with the donuts, Rave straightened a
little, his guitar shifting against his back. His lips tugged
into a shy smile, and he gave a small nod.
“Thanks… for these,” he said softly, reaching for one of the
coffees like it was a lifeline. His fingers lingered against the
cardboard sleeve, almost hesitant. “You didn’t have to—but it…
it means a lot.”
Adara tilted her head, watching him with a grin. “Hey, if we’re
about to rope you into a band, bribery’s step one. Donuts,
caffeine, and the promise of chaos—works every time.”
That earned the smallest laugh out of him, quiet but genuine. He
glanced toward the street, then back at her, meeting her eyes
just long enough to let his gratitude settle.
“…I kept the napkin,” Rave admitted, almost sheepish. “Didn’t
think I’d get the chance to use it this soon.”
Adara’s grin softened into something warmer, less teasing.
“Well, good thing you did, huh? Looks like fate’s got good
timing.” She bumped her hip lightly against the side of the
truck, nodding toward the waiting ride. “Now c’mon. Let’s go
grab this friend of Trip's and get moving before these coffees
go cold. The garage isn’t gonna know what hit it.”
--Fin--
Chuckles had already given Trip the whole story on joining the
band in five words: “He asked. I said yes.”
When Adara crossed over with the coffee caddy, he accepted a cup
with a short nod. No donuts—she kept the box. He tipped the lid
tab back, then reached the second cup toward Rave, sleeve turned
to fit his grip.
“Thanks,” he said—quiet, steady.
He rapped the truck’s roof twice for Trip, then lifted two
fingers to Adara and Lulu: fall in behind. One small point down
the lane—straight shot, no sudden turns.
Seatbelt clicked. He slid the seat rail back, checked
mirrors—left, right, rear—twice. Trip pulled out. Chuckles
watched the convoy settle in the pocket he’d asked for, then
faced forward and rode silent.
He braced the coffee between his knees over the rough patches,
eyes working corners, storefront glass, cross streets. At a long
red, he tapped the door once—habit, not nerves—and nudged Rave’s
elbow with the rim of the cup.
“You’re good,” he murmured.
The route bent quiet. He signaled early for Trip, tapped the
dash—arrival. As the truck nosed to the curb outside a rowhouse,
Chuckles lifted a palm through the open window to hold the car
behind where it was.
“Pickup,” he said simply. Then he went still again, watching the
door and the street, silent as stone until Trip’s friend
appeared.
-fin-
Lucinda meticulously jotted down notes from the night before,
carefully writing the band's name both in full and as the
acronym: B.L.E.S. Each time the car hit a bump, she'd pause to
avoid smudging her handwriting. The rhythmic hum of the road
filled the silence until they finally pulled into the bar’s lot.
She slid out alongside Adara, greeting the men with a polite
nod. Her eyes drifted to Trip, leaning casually against the
truck, a smirk threatening to break through as witty remarks
danced in her mind. She reminded herself to stay courteous,
swallowing the jokes before they escaped.
They followed the truck for a while, to trip’s friends home.
Their caravan paused at a small house where Lucinda’s attention
was captured by a stunning woman in a vibrant, colorful dress.
“Mm… that dress is super cute,” she murmured under her breath,
absently doodling butterflies and crescent moons along the
margins of her notebook as the car idled.
Meanwhile trip would grin as he saw his fiancée coming in.”hey
beautiful.” He said seeing Titania.
“Rave this is my fiancée Titania. Titania - this is rave, the
one I told you about last night.” He said smoothly.
—fin—
#Post#: 1199--------------------------------------------------
Re: Endings and beginnings
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 1:17 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Adara leaned one elbow against Lulu’s car as the front door
swung open. Out stepped a woman who seemed to carry color itself
on her shoulders—dark-skinned and radiant, her rainbow dress
alive with roses and butterflies stitched in vibrant hues. Her
hair shimmered in streaks of teal, blue, and purple, catching
the light like spilled ink across water.
“Friend, huh?” Adara muttered under her breath to Lucinda, lips
curving slyly. “Yeah, right. Fiancée. That tracks.”
Trip’s grin only widened when Titania appeared. “Hey,
beautiful,” he said smoothly, his tone softening in a way it
rarely did.
Titania’s answering smile was radiant, and she leaned toward the
truck with teasing grace. “Hello back, love,” she purred, her
voice like silk as she punctuated it with a wink. Her fingers
trailed lightly across the door’s edge as if it were Trip
himself, before she slipped into the cab beside him, one arm
draping easily across the backrest.
Even Chuckles’ steady composure shifted, the faintest twitch of
amusement tugging at his mouth like he’d seen this dance a
hundred times before—and liked its ending every time.
Rave shifted his guitar strap self-consciously as Titania
climbed in beside him. The moment she settled, he felt
it—something thrumming in the air, magic that pulsed like music
against his skin. His hands threatened to shimmer blue, and he
clenched them in his lap to force it down. It wasn’t
frightening—it was calming, like stepping into shade after too
much sun.
“Uh—hi,” he managed softly, glancing at the roses and
butterflies patterned across her dress before quickly looking
away. “Nice to meet you.”
Titania’s smile softened as her gaze swept over him. “So you’re
the guitarist I’ve been hearing about,” she said, voice lilting
like wind through chimes. “Rave, right? Don’t worry—I only bite
if I’m hungry.”
Heat rushed to his face, but a shy smile tugged at his lips.
“…Good to know.”
Adara, watching all this unfold, shook her head in disbelief
before climbing back into the driver’s seat. She shot Lulu a
grin. “Our little band’s already shaping up to be something
else. If we don’t make at least the local papers, I’ll be
shocked.”
With the “circus” assembled, Adara started her engine, and
pulled in front of the truck to lead the back to the garage.
Adara killed the engine and hopped out first, stretching her
arms above her head as the city’s buzz softened into the hum of
the narrow street. “Alright,” she said, a grin tugging her lips,
“welcome to the little corner of chaos.” She gave the steel door
a shove, its hinges groaning as it swung open, revealing the dim
interior.
Titania followed gracefully, her rainbow dress catching the last
of the sunlight as she adjusted the strap of her small bag. She
gave a low whistle as her eyes swept across the space—the stage,
the amps, the sagging couch under its mountain of pillows.
“Mmm,” she purred softly, brushing her fingers across a
poster-plastered wall, “I like it. Has grit. Has soul. I can
feel it.”
Rave climbed out more slowly, tightening his grip on the guitar
case before stepping onto the cracked pavement. The moment he
crossed the threshold into the garage, his breath caught.
There was something in the air. Not just the faint scent of
dust, leather, and old coffee—something else. A quiet thrum
beneath the surface, woven into the walls themselves. He ran his
fingers over the edge of the doorway, the hair on his arms
prickling.
His magic stirred unbidden, blue shimmer itching at his palms
before he tucked them into his pockets. He swallowed, eyes
darting to the couch, the stage, the layers of soundproofing
that felt almost too deliberate.
“...This place,” he murmured, voice low enough that only Adara
and Titania would hear. “The people who use it… they’re not just
normal.” He didn’t sound afraid—just quietly certain, as though
the garage itself had whispered the truth into his bones.
Adara blinked, halfway through setting the donut box on the
battered coffee table, and glanced over at him. Titania,
meanwhile, only smiled faintly, as though she understood more
than she let on.
--Fin--
At the house, Titania’s rainbow swept the steps. Chuckles met
her glance with a respectful chin-dip, then climbed back in
without a word.
The garage felt different. He stepped in last, let the door thud
shut behind him, and stood a breath longer than the
others—cataloging exits, corners, the pallet-stage, the
stickered bathroom door, the way sound died soft against the
foam. The place hummed. Not bad—just awake.
He set his coffee on the scarred table, lifted the donut box
lid, and took a plain ring. Another he slid to the edge of the
box, within easy reach of where Rave would sit.
When Rave’s fingers twitched, blue itching under skin, Chuckles
moved without looking like he’d moved at all. He sat beside him,
one palm warm and steady on Rave’s knee, thumb tapping
once—here. The shimmer eased. He left his hand there,
anchor-light.
If anyone looked his way, he answered with a small nod that said
fine. Otherwise, he kept his peace, eyes on the room, weight
angled between Rave and the door.
---
The wolf slips through the dog door on silent paws—a flash of
wet fur, a shake, then gone into the back room. A beat later the
lock clicks; fabric rustles; bones reset with a low, practiced
grind.
Nathan walks out dressed, boots laced, black tee and jacket
thrown on like armor. Knuckles still pink, hair damp, eyes
sharp.
He stops dead at the sight of bodies in his space—coffee on the
table, donut box open, the pallet stage already humming with
other people’s heat. He does a slow sweep: exits, amps, cables,
strangers. Then his gaze finds Adara.
“Addy.”
One word. Loaded.
“What the actual fuck are you doing bringing strangers into our
den without a heads-up?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before moving—shoulders cutting
through the room’s hum. He slides two coffees off the amp, parks
them safely on the table, nudges the donut box away from the
pedalboard with two fingers. Switch check. Power strip. He
breathes in—sugar, leather, ozone, rain—and exhales like he’s
shelving whatever fight he walked in with.
“If Asher cleared it, you’ve got the room until seven,” he says,
voice flat, controlled. “House rules, listen once:
No drinks on the gear.
No filming.
Don’t open the back room.
If a neighbor bangs on the wall, you drop volume, not attitude.
You break it, you buy it.
And you treat my sister like the headliner she is, or you’re
out. Clear?”
He finally looks at each face in turn—measuring, not unkind. A
small, almost imperceptible nod when he’s satisfied nobody’s
about to trip over a cable.
“Good. Prove you belong in here. Play.”
He steps aside to a flight case, folds his arms, posture relaxed
but eyes alert. On his way past Adara, he drops the volume just
for her.
“Text me next time.”
Then, to the newcomers—dry as a match head, a sliver of wry
under the edge:
“Welcome to the garage. Don’t make me regret it.”
-fin-
Once the group was outside, they began to settle. Lucinda was
slightly surprised by the addition of Titania and Trip, pressing
her lips together to avoid appearing rude during the
introductions.
Looking up at the sound of chuckles, she asked, "I might want to
take some photos here and there for promotions. Are you two okay
with that?" she inquired, glancing at the band members. "And if
you guys don’t mind either… it’s something I’d really like to
push," she added sheepishly.
She noticed a faint glow around Rave's hands but thought nothing
of it. The woman had no idea who she had just brought into the
garage. Finishing her coffee, she reached for her guitar, wiping
her hands with a napkin, when the back door creaked open. Her
eyes widened slightly upon hearing Adara’s name.
A subtle wave of intimidation washed over her. The guy had a
commanding presence, one she could feel without effort.
That’s when she really studied his face—those striking, bright
blue eyes. Nathan—the former lead who'd been kicked out during
their high school years. He was a little older now, with a
wilder edge to his look. It didn’t take long to piece the two
together.
Lucinda listened as she continued to move and set up on the
rules.
The last one- sounded protective. Her eye softened in a way.
“You got it.” Simple forward, and the last one made her grip the
guitar some.
A soft breath out as she took control, not noticing a Hispanic
half naked man draping on Nathan.
*went running?* he asked to Nathan low-simple forward.
>>
““Hey, Addy! Nice to see you,” Alastor greeted with a wide grin
spreading across his face. He treated her like a sister, much
like Nathan did, always protective and watchful. His gaze swept
over the surrounding faces, sharp and discerning.
Catching sight of Chuckles and Trip, he quipped with a smirk,
“You two look like the opening line of a ‘walked into a bar’
joke.”
Trip’s arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared Alastor
down. “Care to share that joke with me?” he challenged, causing
Alastor to fall silent, his grin fading.
Lucinda’s eyes rolled reflexively at the interaction as she
turned to slide her book out, tucking another back in and
zipping it up. She revealed the lyrics and music she had written
down, her fingers tracing the notes with care.
Alastor’s gaze drifted, seemingly indifferent, until a faint,
familiar scent curled into his senses—his scent. His eyes
narrowed, scanning Lucinda closely. It wasn’t her mannerisms or
the way she held herself; it was something beneath the surface.
As she shoved a book back into her coat, his sharp blue eyes
caught the motion, lingering.
That’s when he felt it—an unsettling ripple, a shadow just
beneath her skin. Apocalypse.
His arms instinctively tightened around Nathan’s shoulders, a
reflex to finding out the ancient presence now inhabiting
Lucinda’s body.
—fin—
Rave froze when the half-dressed stranger draped himself over
Nathan’s shoulders. His pulse skipped; the air pressed close. He
didn’t have to see the change to know—something in his bones
screamed it. Wolves. His hands twitched, that familiar blue
shimmer leaking like cracks in glass.
Before he could curl them into fists, Titania stepped smoothly
into his space, her rainbow dress brushing his sleeve. Her
fingers slipped around his hand with effortless grace,
grounding, her touch warm in a way that wasn’t just physical.
“No need to be afraid,” she said gently, her eyes glinting with
more than color. “No one here is going to hurt you, little
spark.”
Rave’s breath hitched, but the shimmer calmed, folding back
beneath his skin. He gave the smallest of nods, grateful but
silent.
Adara, meanwhile, crossed her arms and gave both Nathan and
Alastor a flat, unimpressed look. “Correction,” she said firmly,
“I have one twin and two bonus brothers who happen to be his
boyfriends.” Her tone softened a little as she added, “I already
talked to Asher hours ago. He agreed. If he didn’t tell you
guys? Then he’s an idiot.”
She smirked, tilting her chin at Nathan. “I’ll clean up after.
And, oh yeah—I brought you those pants you’ve been whining
about. Consider it a bribe.”
The tension in the room cracked just a little at that, though
Nathan’s stare stayed sharp.
Adara turned back, gesturing between the groups with a sweep of
her hand. “Alright, introductions before anyone else freaks out.
That’s Nathan, and that’s Alastor. My bonus brothers. Guys—this
is Lucinda, Titania, Trip, Chuckles, and Rave.”
Rave caught himself, forcing his gaze away from Nathan’s cutting
blue eyes. Instead he dropped into motion, kneeling by an amp
and plugging in his guitar. The cable gave a soft pop as he
tested it, then he launched into a rapid-fire riff—sharp,
chaotic, alive. The sound filled the room, his answer to nerves.
When he finally let it taper down, he adjusted his strap and
muttered, “Alright. Let’s get this practice under way. But—” he
cut a look toward Lucinda, “if you want pictures, I’m putting on
my mask.” He lifted his chin slightly, guarded but calm. “I’ll
explain later.”
—-
Nathan’s eyes cut to Adara, then to the crowd, then back
again—blue and blade-sharp.
“Cool speech. I’m not talking to Asher right now,” he said
flatly, a low growl leaking out when Alastor’s arm tightened. He
didn’t shake him off; he simply leaned into the weight like
armor.
He caught the bag in one hand, popped it open, and snorted.
“Peace offering accepted. Pants acquired. Doesn’t buy you
immunity.”
He stepped past the couch, planted himself by the pallet stage,
and flicked a switch on the power strip. “House rules for my
space,” he said, voice even but iron. “No photos. No
livestreams. No background stories ‘by accident.’ You want
footage later, we talk first, we control angles, and we blur
whoever asks. If you need a mask, wear the mask,” a glance to
Rave, not unkind, “I don’t need faces to hear if you’re good.”
From the back of the room, Chuckles lifted a palm like a stop
sign at the first hint of a phone lens. “No pictures,” he
rumbled, simple and final. “Cameras steal your soul.” A beat.
“And they don’t focus on me anyway.”
Nathan’s mouth twitched—maybe a laugh, maybe approval. He jerked
his chin at the kit. “You heard him. Park it.”
Chuckles crossed to the drums without another word, settled in,
checked the hi-hat tension, gave Rave one steady nod.
Nathan turned to the guitar. “Alright, Spark. Warm-up was cute.
Now give me something you actually care about.” He folded his
arms, shoulders squaring, the critic and the conductor both. “I
listen first. Then I have opinions.”
Rave hit the first run. The room shifted. Nathan’s head tilted,
the hard line of his jaw easing as the riff caught flame. When
the break came, he exhaled through his nose—impressed, unwilling
to dress it up.
“Again,” he said, softer, already mapping harmony in his head.
“Then we build.”
-fin-
Lucinda’s fingers paused briefly, her gaze never straying from
the page. A wave of frustration crept in—figures, another
roadblock. Every idea involving Donny in the past seemed to hit
one.
One breath. Two breaths. That’s all it took to regain her calm.
“Don’t worry, Nathan. I wasn’t planning on taking photos
here—it’s beyond the point. You should understand that better
than anyone. It affects your image,” she said, her tone shifting
to a more professional cadence. “I’d never do that in a place I
don’t own or without using my own money.”
She turned her attention to chuckles directly.
“Alright, big guy, I respect that. Just keep in mind, I can’t
control the crowd. At Battle of the Bands, people use their
phones to record. Just play fast enough that they can’t catch
you,” she joked lightly. “I’ll add a note to discourage it, but
there’s only so much I can do.”
Trip noticed the tension in her shoulders, which seemed to ease
slightly with her words. “Just so you know chuckles sometimes
will take things litterly. So avoid metaphors and some jokes-“
he said softly.
“Noted.” Lucinda said with a rather hot blush after the fact.
Then she turned to rave.
“If you don’t want photos, that’s perfectly fine. Mask or no
mask, it’s always a risk. If you gotta shadow, then I get it.,”
she said honestly. “The fact that you’re even performing for the
public is brave enough. I know someone very close who battled
his own shadow until the very end. If we need to consider
tougher security, I’m more than willing to handle that. But
given the fact- means mask on during performances-“ she said
thoughtfully.
Inside, she was already scrambling to figure out how she’d make
it happen.
“I’ll just find another way to promote things. “ simple and
forward.
>>>She closed her eyes, as she often did before playing. Her
hand began to move, gracefully directing the melody on the
strings. If she strummed incorrectly, she didn’t pause; instead,
she seamlessly wove the mistake into a different tune, as if it
were an intentional part of the song.
Although Nathan remained silent, the expression on his face
spoke volumes.
She played once more, her hands dancing over the strings as her
voice soared. When the final note faded, she gently set the
guitar aside.
Alastor felt the waves of anger dissipate with each chord, as if
she had channeled her emotions into the music, releasing them in
the purest form.
Silently observing, his eye glimmered faintly as he settled
beside Nathan, the tension within him eased.
Though he was frequently at Nathan's side, her anger seemed akin
to Nathan's—justified, yet tinged with something distinct. It
felt like the fury of betrayal.
“Not bad- “ said Alastor with a mild grin.”no voice like
Nathan’s- but got grit.” He mused.
—fin—
Adara leaned back against the arm of the couch, arms folded,
eyes narrowing just slightly at Nathan’s clipped tone. “Mmhm. So
let me get this straight—Asher gives me the green light, you get
cranky about it, and now I’m in the hot seat?” She arched a
brow, voice laced with exasperated affection. “Do I need to
smack some sense into my twin, or are you just doing your moody
frontman routine again?”
Her gaze slid to Alastor, sharp but questioning. “And you—don’t
encourage him. Last thing Nathan needs is backup when he’s
sulking.”
Titania, perched elegantly on the arm of a chair, crossed her
legs and rested her chin in one hand. The rainbow folds of her
dress shimmered with every shift as she regarded the group with
amused detachment. “Oh, let them growl,” she said, her voice
like velvet. “It’s how wolves keep the pack sharp. Besides—” her
eyes flicked toward Nathan with an indulgent smile, “—a house
with too much quiet never makes good music.”
Rave stayed quiet at first, crouched low beside his amp, his
thumb running along the worn edge of the fretboard. But when
Lucinda’s voice rose again—rough-edged and raw with truth—his
fingers moved of their own accord. Not random riffs this time.
He picked up on her rhythm, adding subtle harmonics, layering
chords beneath her melody like scaffolding for her voice to
climb higher.
He didn’t overpower—he followed. His guitar spoke where she
breathed, filling the spaces with a pulse that seemed to carry
her lyrics forward instead of drowning them. The two lines
twined, weaving into something more complete.
When the last note fell into silence, Rave’s gaze flicked up
briefly, his hair falling into his eyes. “Your song…” he said
quietly, almost hesitant. “It’s got good flow. The words—they
pack a punch. People will feel it.”
His lips curved, small but real, as he adjusted his strap. “You
sing it, I’ll back you.”
The tension in the room shifted—not gone, but softened—as if
music itself had spoken the truce.
-fin
A scoff scraped out of Nathan before he could help it. “Moody
frontman routine? Please. I prefer ‘quality control.’” His gaze
cut to Adara, then slid off, jaw tight. “Asher can always use
some sense knocked into him; I make him spar when he forgets how
calendars work.” That was all he gave the canceled plans—one dry
line and a swallow that looked a lot like letting it go.
He rolled his shoulders once, then tipped his chin at Lucinda.
“Professional answer. Noted.” No lecture, no rehash—just a crisp
nod like a stamp of approval. Titania got a brief, assessing
look and the ghost of a smirk; Trip, a raised brow that said
behave. His attention landed last on Rave. “Good ear,” he said,
simple and true. “You listen first. Keep doing that.”
Behind him, Chuckles settled at the kit without a word. Two soft
clicks of the sticks—tck, tck—and he dropped a pocket that felt
like a heartbeat under the room. No flourishes, just a solid
spine: feathered kick, loose hi-hat, snare right in the pocket.
He watched Rave’s fretting hand and Lucinda’s right shoulder for
cues, shifting the dynamics when her voice climbed, pulling back
when she breathed.
By the time the last chord bled into the foam on the walls,
Nathan’s jaw had unclenched. He gave a slow clap, not
sarcastic—measured. “You’re good,” he said, the edge in his
voice dulled to something almost warm. He jerked his chin toward
the mics and amps. “Again from the top. I’ll ride levels. Let’s
see what it sounds like when the city hears you.”
Chuckles answered with a single nod and a soft thump-thump on
the kick—ready when they were.
-fin-
Her mind drifted—beyond the dim room, beyond the ghost of
Nathan’s gaze, the rhythmic heartbeat of Chuckles’ drums, the
faded setlist. She wasn’t there anymore. She was everywhere
she’d ever been broken and pieced back together.
Though she’d sung it before, this time it was different. This
time, she wasn’t repeating the lyrics. She was bleeding them.
It began low, almost a confessional murmur, before the melody
found its wings.
*I kept it closed as long as I could—
that box beneath the bed…
Said I'd get around to sorting through
the voices in my head…*
The words didn’t just emerge—they poured, thick with grit,
shadowed by memories she’d never dared voice. Each syllable was
a stitch pulled loose, unraveling the careful seams of her
guarded heart. Regret creaked under the weight of her voice,
silence shattered with every note.
Her voice wasn’t just singing; it reached. Like fingertips
brushing the unseen, searching for kindred souls hidden in the
dark, for hearts as fractured as hers.
*Darkness came forth in a whispery dread,
My life is in shambles—at least it is to me inside my head…*
A crack in her voice—a splinter of rawness exposed. She didn’t
retreat. That tremor was the truth, sharp and unpolished. It
made the song bleed.
>>>>
The chorus surged, a raw ember catching fire—
*My guitar is Pandora, and I'm what's inside,
Each note a confession I used to hide…*
She wasn’t in the room anymore. She was in the imagined
headphones of someone clutching their last thread of hope, in
the echo of speakers in lonely apartments, in the silent prayers
of the unseen. She was with them.
*Pages I ripped from a time I erased,
Echo in lyrics I barely can face…*
Her hands never faltered, though her heart did. Her voice rose,
fragile and fierce, like glass catching light. By the second
chorus, she wasn’t performing.
She was surviving.
*You call it a song—I call it survival.
Each verse is a journal, each chord a revival…*
Tears hovered, unfallen, but they lived in the trembling edges
of her voice, shimmering within each note like hidden
constellations.
*My song is the hope for those seeking light,
An anthem for hearts still fighting the night…*
And then—
Silence.
A sacred, hollow silence, not empty but full of everything she’d
laid bare.
Lucinda opened her eyes, breath ragged, like she’d sprinted
barefoot through shards of memory.
For a heartbeat, she was lost in that silence.
Alastor sat listening, the ache entwining with something darker,
something he rarely let surface. Her voice became a mirror,
reflecting the battles he fought in silence—echoes of choices
made, roads abandoned, and hearts left behind. Each note
unraveled the armor he’d carefully crafted, exposing wounds he’d
convinced himself had healed.
Flashes of the past surged: the weight of regrets, the shadows
of who he used to be, and the hollow remnants of dreams traded
for survival. Her song wasn’t just music; it was a confession
he’d never dared speak, a bridge between the man he was and the
man he worked hard to be now.
It left him raw, shaken, lost in a battle he thought he’d
already won.
>>>The silence would be broken by a man walking up. He smelled
of smoke and pine as he did so. A not so subtle grin on his face
and the sway of his hips. The first time he was early, Miran.
“Now that’s what I call music to my ears.” Said the man before
walking to Nathan to give his salute. The fox among the wolves
as Alastor often joked.
Lucinda flushed a little- now grounded back into reality. She
would push her hair back and slide the guitar off. She needed
something to drink, Alastor being the man he was vanished
briefly and handed some water bottles out of courtesy. Lucinda
taking it gratefully to drink it down.
—fin—
The last note of Lucinda’s song faded into the sound-dampened
walls, leaving behind a heavy, charged silence. The kind of
silence that hummed with possibility and unspoken emotion.
Adara stood near the stage, coffee cup cradled between her
hands, a proud smile tugging at her lips. “Not bad,” she
murmured. “Not bad at all.”
Rave, sitting slightly apart, let the lingering chord vibrate
through his hands. He was just starting to settle, to breathe
normally again, when the door at the back of the garage creaked
open.
A swirl of scents hit him first—smoke, pine, and something sharp
and wild beneath it. Then came the figure: Miran, moving with an
almost lazy grace, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. His
hips swayed as he sauntered inside, a sly grin playing on his
lips.
“Now that,” he drawled smoothly, “is what I call music to my
ears.”
The energy in the room shifted around him like water around a
stone. Rave’s breath caught. This wasn’t human, wasn’t normal.
Miran radiated something slippery and strange, like heat off
asphalt—an aura that slid past Rave’s senses, both alluring and
dangerous.
The magic in Rave’s chest twitched, reacting violently. Blue
light flared beneath his skin, sparking erratically. His fingers
twitched on the guitar strings, and an ugly, jagged note escaped
by mistake.
Titania, ever watchful, moved smoothly to his side. She placed
her hand gently on his forearm, her rainbow dress whispering
against his knee as she leaned close.
“Easy now, little spark,” she murmured, her voice flowing like
cool water over burning coals.
Then she began to hum—a soft, thrumming sound laced with subtle
magic. It wrapped around Rave’s senses, smoothing the jagged
edges of panic. His breath began to even out, the frantic glow
beneath his skin dimming back to a faint shimmer.
But before he could fully settle, the door swung open again.
The next arrival wasn’t sly or teasing like Miran. It came in a
rush of hurried steps and heavy emotion. Asher entered, his
usually immaculate composure frayed at the edges. His dark hair
was slightly mussed, his leather jacket half-zipped like he’d
thrown it on without a second thought.
The instant he stepped into the garage, the air shifted. Alpha
presence rolled off of him, powerful and unfiltered, filling
every corner of the room. Even without a word, everyone felt
him—the command in his very bones.
Rave nearly crumpled under it.
The force of Asher’s aura hit like a crashing wave, pushing down
on his instincts until they screamed. His breath hitched
sharply, shoulders curling inward as if to make himself
disappear. The blue shimmer beneath his skin exploded into
frantic sparks, racing along his arms like wild lightning.
Titania reacted instantly. She shifted, placing herself between
Rave and Asher, her humming deepening into a stronger, almost
melodic thread of magic.
“Stay with me, little spark,” she whispered, her words cutting
through the storm inside him.
Slowly, painfully, the magic began to recede. Rave clung to her
grounding presence, his breath evening out though his wide, dark
eyes stayed fixed on Asher with a mix of awe and unease.
Asher’s sharp gaze flicked toward them, his brow furrowing
briefly in concern, but he didn’t comment. His focus was
elsewhere—on Nathan.
Without hesitation, Asher crossed the room and stopped directly
in front of him. Gone was the commanding leader everyone else
saw. With Nathan, his voice softened, threaded with regret.
“Nathan,” he said quietly, almost a plea. “I’m sorry.”
Asher winced, his chest visibly tightening as he looked at
Nathan. He reached out, almost touching his arm, then
hesitated—uncertain if the gesture would be accepted.
“I didn’t want to miss it,” Asher said, his voice low and raw.
“The meeting with the other Alphas—it was called last minute. I
didn’t have a choice.” Finally, he let his hand rest lightly on
Nathan’s forearm, tentative but steady. “If I’d had any way to
refuse, I would’ve.”
Nathan’s breath caught, his shoulders rising slightly, but he
didn’t pull away. His posture was rigid, arms crossed like
armor, but he stayed perfectly still, listening.
Asher stepped closer, lowering his voice to something only
Nathan—and perhaps those with the sharpest ears—could hear.
“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured, earnest and almost
pleading. “Tonight, tomorrow, whenever you’ll let me. I’ll clear
the whole damn day if that’s what it takes. Just… don’t shut me
out over this.”
The tension between them was electric, raw and unfiltered, a
fragile thread stretched to its limit.
Adara clapped her hands lightly, breaking the moment before it
could teeter into an outright argument.
“Well,” she said brightly, deliberately shifting the focus,
“since everyone’s finally here, maybe we can channel all this
dramatic energy into the music before someone blows a gasket—or
bites someone’s head off.”
The fragile balance held, for now. The air hummed with layered
emotions: Asher’s apology, Nathan’s lingering hurt, Rave’s
barely-contained fear, and Titania’s quiet strength.
And beneath it all, the promise of what this band could become.
-Fin-
As the last vibrations of Lucinda’s song bled into the foam on
the walls, Nathan couldn’t pretend it hadn’t hit him. He didn’t
say it—he almost never did—but the tension in his shoulders
loosened a notch.
Then the door groaned. Miran slid in on smoke and pine; a beat
later, Asher crossed the threshold like a weather front. The
room tilted with his presence, and he came straight for Nathan.
Nathan braced on instinct, jaw set. But Asher’s apology came low
and raw, and it pulled heat out of Nathan’s anger the way rain
pulls steam from asphalt. He huffed anyway, because pride had
its rituals.
“Better have been a real emergency,” he muttered—voice rough,
not cruel. The set of his spine eased; he didn’t shake off
Asher’s hand.
Adara’s clap cut through, and Nathan rolled his eyes but let the
reset stand. “We’re waiting on Adien,” he announced, glancing
toward the entrance. “When he gets here, we run the set. ’Til
then—hang, listen, don’t touch the board.”
He stepped onto the pallet stage and dug a black strip of fabric
out of his pocket. The blindfold slid into place with practiced
ease, turning the garage into pulse and memory. Not a
performance—just a pulse check. He thumbed a few chords, found
the key of the room, let a verse of Loss Kicks Doors Open ghost
out and fade before it could turn into anything that would
count.
Down on the floor, Chuckles quietly moved between Rave and the
new arrivals, a wall without announcing itself. He rested a
steady hand on Rave’s knee—no fuss, just pressure and
warmth—then shifted half a step to take the alpha’s line of
sight off him.
“I’m here,” he said, simple as a vow.
When Rave’s breathing steadied, Chuckles lifted his chin toward
Lucinda—ready when she was, unhurried as drumsticks tapping on
his thigh. The big man didn’t crowd him, didn’t hover; he just
stayed close enough that panic had to go through him first.
Back on the stage, Nathan lowered the guitar’s volume, tied the
blindfold tighter, and aimed a dry smile in Asher’s direction he
couldn’t see. “Text Adien. Tell him he’s late,” he said, and the
tease lived where the apology couldn’t yet.
The room held the truce—thin, workable, full of promise.
—fin—
Lucinda blinked slowly, her expression clouded with confusion.
She couldn't shake the curiosity about the conversation
unfolding before her.
Rave appeared on the brink of losing control, his agitation
evident despite Titania’s efforts to soothe him. Lucinda’s brow
furrowed as she observed them, tempted to inquire about the
situation. Was these the ‘shadows’ that Rave was concerned
about?
Alastor took in her confusion and his startlingly blue eyes
hovered in front of her face.”he’s talking about a biker gang
*cometita.*” he said to see her eye widen just enough.”ah..“ she
said softly. She unhooked her guitar to let whoever in charge
hook Nathan’s up.
She was particular with pandora. Her guitar rested at her side
as Miran slung on the bass.
“*El infierno debe haberse congelado.* Adien last and not
Miran?” Said Alastor as he took his spot, As back up singer.
“*damare* Alastor.” Said the fox before his eye would travel to
the purple haired woman. He couldn’t exactly help it. She looked
hot enough, least for a fling.
“"So, Flower, what's your name before we start? It's not fair
not introducing the new friends, Nathan," he said, his eyes
sliding toward him.
Lucinda blinked, a half-grin spreading across her face.
"Lucinda. Closer ones are welcome to use nicknames—I don't mind
being friends," she replied smoothly.
“Rave, chuckles, the beauty covered in rainbows is Titania, and
her boyfriend trip.” She said her finger tracking.
She drank down the water and listened to the man play the
chords. He was no Zion- but he was good.
Lucinda observed the eye covering. She remembered images showing
the man - one in particular looking like he was snoozing. Miran
saw her expression to chuckle.”our lead got a little stage
fright- it helps.” He said.>>>
“So you made it a gimmick- not bad- definitely something people
would eat up“ she said with a chuckle.”my dad use to tell me mom
was like that- but she used to fall back as a way to not get
overwhelmed- somehow the crowds just ate it up. - they used
smoke to let her hide to catch a moment before she’d pop up
again-She would go behind their drummer and suddenly be the
other-side of my dad- so she never really stuck to one part of
the stage- it helped with the anxiety.” She said.”became a
gimmick people ate up.”
Miran paused a little at her words, the gimmick felt familiar to
him. “Creative- “ he said as he tuned.
“Mmhmm- sometimes you get limited due to things- but gimmicks do
pop up that way.” Said Lucinda as she flipped for her phone
briefly at a buzz since it was on mute. A small face and her
fingers flying just enough to type whatever back to putting it
in her pocket.
—fin—
#Post#: 1200--------------------------------------------------
Re: Endings and beginnings
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 1:20 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Asher dragged a hand down his face, the weight of the morning
still clinging to him. With a resigned exhale, he pulled his
phone from his jacket pocket and dialed Aiden’s number.
It rang twice before a deep, clipped voice answered.
“What?” Aiden’s tone was sharp, almost hostile, like he’d been
interrupted mid-battle.
“You’re late,” Asher said, trying to keep his voice neutral,
though the edge of Alpha authority slipped through. “We’re all
waiting.”
On the other end came a low, guttural sound that might’ve been a
growl—or just static from bad reception.
“Running behind,” Aiden finally said, the words tight. “Be there
when I’m there.”
And then the line went dead.
Asher stared at the phone for a beat, then muttered a curse
under his breath, shoving it back into his pocket. “Great,” he
said flatly to no one in particular. “That went… well.”
Across the room, Adara tilted her head, eyebrow arching high.
“Sounds like he’s in one of those moods,” she said dryly,
tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do we need to worry
about him showing up covered in someone else’s blood or just his
own this time?”
Asher didn’t answer—just gave her a look that spoke volumes.
Rave’s breath came fast and uneven, the air in the garage
suddenly thick with too much energy: Miran’s sharp fox magic,
Titania’s subtle hum of power, Asher’s overwhelming Alpha
presence, and now the lingering, distant storm that was Aiden.
It was like trying to breathe in a room where the walls were
closing in.
His hands trembled over the strings of his guitar, and a faint
blue glow began to spark under his skin, uncontrolled. Panic
clawed at him, threatening to overwhelm.
Then Chuckles moved without a word.
The towering man crossed the space between them and settled
beside Rave, his bulk a quiet, unshakable wall. He didn’t speak,
didn’t try to soothe with words. Instead, he simply laid a
large, steady hand on Rave’s shoulder. The touch was grounding,
warm and solid, a single point of certainty amidst the chaos.
Instantly, the storm in Rave’s chest eased. The oppressive
weight of magic and Alpha dominance faded, as if Chuckles
absorbed it before it could touch him. The blue shimmer beneath
Rave’s skin dimmed and finally stilled, leaving only the soft
rise and fall of his breath.
Rave let out a shaky exhale, leaning subtly into Chuckles’ hand,
his shoulders finally unclenching. “...Thanks,” he whispered,
his voice hoarse but sincere.
Titania, caught the shift—the way Rave calmed not at her magic,
but at Chuckles’ touch. A flicker of surprise crossed her face.
She slowly pulled back, letting Chuckles take over, her head
tilting, giving Chuckles a questioning, almost curious look, but
she didn’t speak. Instead, she stepped back gracefully and
crossed the room to where Trip was seated. As she sank down
beside him, her rainbow dress flowing like liquid color, she
leaned lightly against his shoulder with a small, enigmatic
smile.
Adara, oblivious to the subtle exchange, crouched down a little
to meet Rave’s eyes.
“Hey,” she said gently, her voice warm but practical, “if you
need a break, take it. We’ve got time before Aiden shows up to
smash something and scare the hell out of everyone.”
"Y-yeah… that's probably a good idea," Rave murmured, his voice
barely above the thrum of fading vibrations in the room.
He crouched by the amp, steady fingers moving with care as he
powered it down. The soft click felt final, grounding. With
deliberate precision, he reached for the cable and eased it
free, coiling it neatly before setting it aside.
Electrika—his beloved blue electric guitar—was treated like
glass in his hands. He ran his thumb once along the smooth curve
of her body, a small, private gesture of gratitude, before
nestling her back into the padded embrace of her case. The
latches snapped shut with a satisfying clink, a quiet promise
that she was safe.
Exhaling slowly, Rave stepped off the pallet stage. His boots
thudded softly against the worn wood, the room’s hum settling
now that the last note had faded. With his guitar secured, he
let himself drift toward the couch where Trip and Titania sat,
their easy, unspoken comfort a calming presence amid the
garage’s charged atmosphere.
Titania looked up as he approached, her warm smile immediate and
inviting. Trip shifted slightly, making room without a word.
Rave settled on the edge of the couch, his shoulders still tense
but easing by degrees as the familiar scent of Titania’s
perfume—floral and grounding—washed over him.
Her rainbow dress spilled like watercolor over the couch
cushions as she leaned subtly toward him, offering quiet
reassurance just by being near.
Rave kept his head ducked, fingers idly tracing the seam of his
jeans. His breathing evened out, the storm inside him quieting
enough that, for a moment, he felt like he belonged.
The garage was still humming with anticipation, but for Rave,
there was a fragile peace—at least until the next storm arrived.
And right on cue, the garage door groaned open again… and Aiden
strode in.
Aiden strode through, tying his long hair back with a quick,
practiced motion, his bright blue eyes sharp as they swept over
the room.
“Okay,” he said, voice cutting through the lingering buzz of
conversation, “so the online calendar still says seven p.m.
practice.” His tone carried just enough bite to make it clear
this wasn’t the first time this had been an issue. “If you
forget to update the damn thing, that is not helpful. I can’t
read your minds.”
Rave stiffened the moment Aiden crossed the threshold. His eyes
flared a stark, unnatural blue for the briefest heartbeat before
he forced them back to normal, lowering his gaze. There was a
scent clinging to Aiden—ancient, scaled, powerful. Dragon.
Faint, but unmistakable.
It wasn’t overwhelming like Asher’s alpha dominance had been,
but it was sharp and primal, hitting Rave like a live wire. His
pulse jumped, his breath catching as his magic sparked beneath
his skin, uncontrolled.
Titania noticed instantly. With quiet grace, she reached for his
trembling hands, her own touch warm and steady.
“Easy now, little spark,” she murmured, her voice a soothing
melody threaded with subtle magic. The hum of it wove through
his frayed nerves like silk, calming the storm inside him.
“You’re safe here. Breathe.”
Rave’s body eased by degrees, the glow beneath his skin
flickering once before fading, retreating like a tide pulled
back to sea. He exhaled slowly, clinging to the sound of her
voice and the comfort of her hands until his racing heartbeat
steadied.
Across the room, Aiden’s sharp eyes flicked briefly toward them,
curiosity flickering, but he said nothing. Instead, his mouth
twitched into a crooked half-smile as he set his guitar case
down near the amps.
“We’ve got ourselves a colorful bunch today, huh?” he remarked,
the hint of humor softening his tone. “Intros, Addykins?”
Adara let out a long-suffering sigh at the nickname but didn’t
fight it. She gestured to each person in turn, her voice brisk
but warm.
When she finished, she crossed her arms and gave him a pointed
look. “So… were you busy with your mature older lover again?”
she teased, one brow raised.
Aiden smirked, entirely unbothered. “You say that like it’s a
bad thing,” he shot back smoothly. “And no. I was at the tattoo
shop. Some of us have jobs, too.”
He flipped open his guitar case and began tuning with easy,
practiced motions, while Rave sat quietly beside Titania, still
grounding himself in her steady presence.
--fin
Nathan let the noise in the room fall away. He slipped the
blindfold on, found the mic by touch, and hummed a low note
until it sat steady in his chest. Fingers curled around the
stand, he breathed once—twice—and let the song climb out of him.
"I feel the gravity set in my bones,
Pain’s the only road I’ve ever known.
Whispered promises, paper-thin dreams—
Funny how truth never says what it means.
Led by the sugar of little white lies,
Left with goodbyes that don’t meet the eyes.
“She’s just a friend,” you said, hand on my face—
Turns out she was there to stand in my place.
And you wonder why.
Why I want to burn it all down, watch the smoke take the crown.
Why you toss love like a villain with a smile,
Leave my heart underfoot, scattered tile by tile.
Why now? Why me? Why pull me along
If you never meant any of it—never meant “we.”
His voice softened, a crack running through the last line. He
didn’t hide it; he leaned in.
Here in the wreckage, the world throws a stone,
My anchor is buried, six feet alone.
But broken and lost doesn’t mean I won’t mend—
A pack found the pieces and called me a friend.
New arms to hold me when the embers run cold,
A home where my name isn’t bartered or sold.
If fire must burn, let it cauterize clean—
Let the ashes make room for the life in-between."
He let the final note hang, then fade—nothing left but the thrum
in the floorboards and the breath in his lungs. He lowered the
mic, the blindfold still in place, shoulders easing as the quiet
settled.
—
Chuckles stayed beside Rave, big and calm as bedrock. He didn’t
crowd, didn’t coax—just let his hand rest warm on Rave’s
shoulder until the tremor under skin evened out. Then, low
enough to be theirs alone:
“Fresh air after?” A beat. “Or I’ll buy you dinner. And a
drink.”
His hand gave one steady squeeze. “Your call. I’ve got you.”
-fin-
Lucinda sat, intently listening to Nathan's words as they flowed
effortlessly. The lyrics resonated with her, yet one particular
line pierced through, standing out sharply:
“She’s just a friend, you said, hand on my face—turns out she
was there to stand in my place.”
It felt like Nathan was revealing something she hadn’t known.
Lucinda lingered longer than she intended, drawn by his voice
and the desire to understand him better. If Donovan had been
dishonest about their relationship and sleeping with Yuma, what
else had he concealed?
She recalled the fear that gripped her when Blaze and Donovan
warned her to keep her distance from Nathan. But even if it was
true years ago or not now- Nathan didn’t match their
descriptions. Instead of feeling threatening, he exuded raw
emotion, a vulnerability that laid him bare.
As the final note faded, her emotions swirled into something
more profound. Questions gnawed at her: How long had Nathan and
Donovan been connected? Was she unknowingly the other woman, or
had Donovan been unfaithful all along?
Turning her head gently toward Adara, she remembered being told
about a friend who got kicked out of a band. Realization
dawned—Nathan was that friend. Her lips pressed into a thin
line, questions lingering just behind them.
But instead of voicing her thoughts, she exhaled softly and
said, "That song—it hits pretty deep."
Alastor chuckled.”he knows how to hit in the feels, but- you
seem to know how to reach in the souls.“ he said honestly.
Lucinda could feel the ache in her ribs. She hated the feeling
she was getting. It meant even the things that seemed like the
relationship wasn’t totally terrible- was fake.
She took the compliment and smiled.”nice to know- means the
direction I’m going is where I want to be.” She said softly.
It was then a rough knock on the garage would sound. It was
heavy- almost recognizable as if whoever was on the other-side
may just force their way in.
>>>
A groan escaped Miran. "Not again—guess it’s my turn," he
grumbled, shifting his guitar aside and setting it down with a
sigh. He strode to the door, groaning softly as he opened it to
reveal a much older man standing with arms crossed.
"Y’know, I thought I told you guys to keep it down," the man
snapped.
Miran forced a polite smile. "Gary, we told you we were
practicing today—seven on the dot."
The man's face contorted with even more annoyance. "It’s Mr.
Ravencroft to you, and you’ve been practicing since three. Don’t
you think I’m entitled to some peace and quiet?" he retorted
gruffly.
Sensing the tension rising, Alastor calmly interjected, his
voice smooth and measured. "We should have informed you—we had
another band borrow the garage at three. They needed a place to
practice."
Lucinda froze the moment the man spoke. Her hands clenched
subtly, and her eyes dropped instinctively—an involuntary
response to the haunting familiarity of his voice, a voice that
echoed from her past.
Her ribs began to hurt differently- from trying to not breathe..
in a way trying to not be noticed.
—fin—
*****************************************************
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