Chapter Text
“Is it going to be like this all summer?” Neil asks Nicky, his tone dripping with fatigue. He had endured what seemed like endless weeks of the Foxes’ utter disharmony, ploughing through practices foiled by fights and halted by hindrances. It made him almost miss Millport’s mediocrity - at least there they knew how to get along. The practice had ended when Seth, for the fourth time in two weeks, decked Kevin across the face after Kevin commented on his weak passes. Personally, Neil agreed — Seth seemed to find it way too difficult to fight off defenders and pass at the same time, and it seemed to be hurting the team. Evidently, Seth didn’t take it very well.
“Y…es. It kinda gets easier. At least it’s not boring?” Nicky shrugged, with a large black gift bag tucked behind his back.
Neil dropped his uniform in the laundry baskets (despite being unable to actually sweat), checking his locker to secure it, before turning around to find Nicky in his space. He put a hand up to shove him away, but was met with the bag in his palm.
"This is for you," Nicky said. "Andrew said you don't have anything appropriate for where we're going. He told me what size to get you, and I picked it out. Trust me, it's awesome."
Neil stared at him. “You didn’t forget about our party, did you?” He did, in fact, forget about the party. He had been so focused on going back to his room, where his plush, warm coffin awaited that any thought of Andrew’s welcome celebration had slipped his mind.
Here." Nicky hooked the twine handle over Neil's fingers. Neil watched him do it, trying to remember the last time someone gave him a gift and coming up blank; he certainly believed that vampirism wasn’t much of a gift. The fact that his first, real gift came from Andrew Minyard was something that stirred deep acid in his stomach. Nicky misinterpreted his discomfort as suspicion and laughed. "No catch. It's more for us than you, honestly. We can't be seen with you in public if you look like a raggedy hobo. No offense." He waited a beat.
"Neil?"
"Thank you," Neil said, keeping his voice even. “It… means a lot.”
“What, me calling you a hobo?”
“No, idiot-”
“Just kidding.” Nicky grinned, ruffling his curls. "We'll pick you up at nine, all right? You should probably nap until then, since we'll be out all night. We've got all the right contacts to keep the party going until dawn." Nicky grinned and gave Neil's hair another, very gentle tug.
"Speaking of, ditch them tonight. Your contacts, I mean." Neil’s stomach did an awful turn.
“Shut up.” He shut Nicky down.
“Well, they’re not exactly a secret. I just didn’t realise they were fashion lenses.” Fashion seemed like such a ridiculous term in this sense. When had Neil ever used those lenses for fashion? “Brown - how boring can you be?”
Neil frowned. “I like brown - it’s my natural colour,” He says truthfully, thinking back to his vampiric mother’s eyes before she got turned. Brown eyes, ginger hair, tan skin.
“Well, clearly not.” Neil scowls. Not anymore. “Also, Andrew doesn’t like brown.”
“I don’t care about what Andrew likes,” Neil shoots, irritated.
“Neil,” Nicky says pleadingly, taking Neil’s hands in his. “Trust me. Just take them out. Please.”
“I’ll think about it.” Neil diverts, looking down at the ground.
“Okay,” Nicky whispers, before huffing out a chuckle.
“What?” Neil asks.
“Nothing,” Nicky huffs, looking down at Neil’s hand. “I just forgot how cold you always are.”
♱
Neil looked down at himself, unable to gauge his appearance. He clutched at his hair; he couldn’t see his full head, but he knew that his hair was rejecting the brown hair dye. Even the strongest of bleaches couldn’t fight off his utterly indestructible vampire genetics - if he didn’t improve his consistency, he was going to be right back to blood red in the roots, and his secret would be revealed.
He huffed. One final step left - by far the most daunting. He couldn’t help the way his stomach swam slightly as he lifted his hands up to retrieve his contacts. He blinked a couple of times, letting his eyes water and adjust to their absence, before he flushed his lenses down the toilet.
He gathered his clothes and left the bathroom, but when he turned into his bedroom to drop them off he found Andrew’s group waiting in his living room. A bitter smile crossed his face – Andrew had picked his lock again. Neil kept his mouth closed as he ran his tongue over his fangs, imagining what it would be like for him to sink them right into Andrew’s collarbone, as painfully as possible. Would he cry? Would he beg? Neil wouldn’t know. He’d have to settle for the possibility of kicking his boot into Andrew’s face.
He put his laundry into the bottom drawer of his dresser, which he'd decided to use in lieu of a hamper, and turned to see Andrew in the doorway to the bedroom. Andrew lounged against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, studying him. Neil came closer, studying him right back, focusing on the lack of expression on Andrew’s face.
“Sober tonight?” He asked, folding his arms. “Do you understand the terms of your parole, or do you just not care?”
“Don’t care.” Andrew clarified, still staring at him. “It’s a special occasion.”
“Mm, I feel so spoiled,” Neil hummed. Neil couldn't leave with Andrew in the way, so he stopped as close to Andrew as he dared and waited for Andrew to move. Andrew did, but only to reach out for Neil with one hand. Neil tensed as Andrew's fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, but Andrew only wanted to pull Neil's head down. Neil followed Andrew’s stare and found what he was so entranced by.
“They’re blue,” Neil confirmed. “Surprised? Disappointed? Give me something here, Minyard.”
“Another bit of unexpected honesty,” Andrew shrugged. “Any particular reason?”
“Your cousin asked me very, very nicely. You might want to try it sometime.”
“I don’t ask, so you should quit the wishful thinking.” Andrew paused. “Don’t wear those contacts again.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I told you - and because I don’t want you to.”
“It’s not all about what you want, is it?” Neil laughed.
“Of course it is,” Andrew deadpanned. “That’s why we’re here.” Neil huffed.
Andrew gave him one last onceover, and finally let go of his neck. “We’re going.”
Nicky perked up as the two stepped into the living room, but his happy expression faltered when he got a look at Neil. "Oh, man. Neil, you clean up good. Can I say that, or is that against the rules? Just - damn. Aaron, don't let me get too drunk tonight."
“Nicky, shut the fuck up,” Andrew said venomously, lighting his cigarette and taking a drag.
“Roger that,” Nicky sighed.
Andrew put his lighter away and left the room. Kevin and Aaron followed. Nicky waited with Neil in the hall while Neil locked the door, the others having already gone to the car. “Can I ask you a question?” Nicky said finally after a bit of silence.
“Was that the question?”
“Is that your real eye colour?” Neil freezes.
“Yes,” he said truthfully after a while. “It is.”
“It’s just so…” Nicky looked at them closer. “Bright? It just seems so unnatural.”
“Well, it is my natural colour,” Neil clarifies, his cheeks burning a bit. “I’ve just… got a recessive gene, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Nicky breathes. “I guess. You’d look pretty good with some eyeliner though. Black suits you.” Black suits all dead people, Neil wanted to say. A shame such a joke would be lost on Nicky.
♱
Columbia was a long drive, which wasn’t helped by the traffic. Neil still wasn’t very used to cars; he stabilised himself by clutching onto the materials of his baggy black jeans, and breathing hard through his nose. He wasn’t quite sure if vampires could actually vomit, but he wasn’t willing to test the theory.
“Neil?” Nicky asked nervously after a while. “Do you get carsick?”
“No,” Neil said firmly. “I don’t.”
“Please be sure,” Nicky pleaded. “Andrew will kill both of us if you throw up in his car.”
“It wouldn’t be your fault,” Neil says, irritated.
“He’d kill me for letting it happen,” Nicky says shakily.
“I haven’t eaten,” Neil assures him truthfully. “There’s nothing to throw up. It’ll be fine.” He distracted himself from vomiting by counting the extensive list of things that could possibly go wrong that night. He personally peaked at Outcome #20, where he got too hungry and went on a murderous rampage, crippling and killing hundreds of clubgoers. (That one was particularly haunting.)
When the car's headlights first started flashing over exit signs for Columbia, Nicky motioned over his shoulder at Neil. "Wake Andrew up, will you? Preferably without touching him."
“Huh?” Aaron roused at the sound of Nicky’s voice.
“Wake Andrew up, I need to know which exit we gotta use.” Aaron reached around Neil and prodded Andrew’s shoulder, provoking an immediately violent reaction. Andrew wrenched his elbow into Neil’s diaphragm, hard. Aaron snapped his head over Neil’s head.
“Exit,” He shot at Andrew.
Andrew used Neil to brace himself, looking through the window. “Not yet. It’s the exit with the Waffle House.”
“This is South Carolina," Nicky said. "Every exit leads to Waffle House. Still breathing, Neil?"
Neil’s injury had remedied itself in seconds, but the nausea in his stomach was more intense than ever. “Yes,” He confirmed through clenched teeth. “I’m fine.” He couldn’t stop himself shaking, and the multiple heartbeats in his eardrums weren’t helping. He could hear the blood pounding around the veins of everyone in the car, and it wasn’t doing anything but muddling him around.
But out of all the heartbeats, one was quicker, outside the rhythm. It came from next to him. He turned to Andrew, who was watching his own hands tremble. “Nicky,” Andrew started.
Nicky glanced back. In the fractured lights of the night, he couldn’t see Andrew shake, but this must’ve happened frequently enough for him to know what time it is. “We’re almost there.”
“Pull over.”
“Andrew, we’re on an exit ramp,” Nicky said concernedly.
“Now.”
Nicky pulled over on a dangerous shoulder, breaking hard enough to rock them all sideways. Offended cars blared their horns at them as they passed by. Andrew shoved his door open, leaned out of the car as far as he could, and gagged into the weeds along the roadside. Neil heard his heartbeat quicken and slow, his blood rush against his head as he heaved onto the pavement, his body shaking with the effort.
“Where are your crackers?” Nicky asked when Andrew stopped gasping.
“He took them all,” Kevin confessed.
“All of them?” Nicky gasped, horrified. “Jesus, Andrew.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Andrew snapped, before gasping again. “Water.” Kevin handed it to him quickly, and Andrew used it to wash his mouth out onto the roadside, before capping it back up and using Kevin’s headrest to pull himself back into the car, closing the door. “Drive.”
Their first destination was Sweetie’s, an overly vibrant theme diner. It was too late for dinner, but the parking lot was still absolutely packed. Nicky dropped them off at the door while he scouted parking, and while they waited to be seated, Andrew detoured to the salad bar, grabbing packets of crackers and munching his way through them one by one. “In public?” Aaron hissed, watching his brother crunch through the last packet and collect the wrappers in his hands. Andrew blinked at him for a second before the host came, leading them to their table. Nicky joined them a bit later, and the rest of them (save for Neil) passed the time by chatting about some menial topic.
Their waiter came after some time, and as soon as they stepped near the table Andrew shoved the handful of wrappers into the pocket of their apron. Neil stared, scandalised, but the waiter didn’t seem to notice nor care. “What can I get you all this evening?” He asked jubilantly.
“The ice cream special, please.” Nicky replied, just as pleasantly. Neil looked around - everybody at the table seemed to register that Andrew’s action didn’t happen. Neil shook his head, staring into space until the humongous mountain of ice cream came to them, accompanied by cutlery and a mass of napkins. Nicky passed out the bowls and spoons, serving himself and Aaron. Kevin gave the special a disapproving look. Neil looked over at Andrew, who was shaking uncontrollably, his face cradled in his hands.
Kevin held out an orange pill bottle to him, rattling it. “Take them.”
“Put those away before I shove them down your fucking throat, Day.” Andrew threatened venomously, albeit muffled by his palms. He sucked in loud, cold breaths, shuddering before he looked up, scattering the pile of napkins to reveal transparent packets full of yellow powder. He ripped open two bags and dumped them into his mouth. Neil finally understood – he was going through withdrawal.
Nicky poked Neil. “Try the ice cream, you’ll love it.”
Neil shook his head – all human food, no matter how seasoned or sugary, tasted like paste and concrete to him, tasteless - occasionally bitter - mush that was a waste of stomach space. He sat, wishing that he was in his room with something real to feed on.
It took Andrew another minute before he relaxed enough to start eating, ploughing his way through what must have been five pounds of ice cream special. By the time he finished eating, he seemed perfectly fine. When the bill arrived, Andrew pushed it Aaron's way, and Aaron clipped a small stack of twenties to the check. Neil looked back as they left, seeing first the people taking cracker packets from the salad bar and second the waitress pocketing the money they'd left her.
Eden’s Twilight was an incredibly short drive from Sweetie’s, and Neil was quite sure Andrew had taken him to a goth club. It was a two story, ebony building a couple blocks from the main road. Neil watched the line of people waiting to get in, all of which were undoubtedly better dressed than he was. Most of the men wore leather, half the women in corsets, and almost everybody was in buckles or some kind of chains. Neil was understanding why his outfit was so elaborate.
Andrew’s group bypassed the line completely, Aaron configuring some sort of complicated handshake with the bouncers, which seemed to magically grant them immediate access.
As soon as Neil stepped into the club, he almost staggered to the floor.
Large, vibrant lights of unnatural colours glided across the room in spotlights. The place was crowded with tables, around a dance floor playing music so loud it shook the room. The DJ was on his own platform, with speakers taller than Neil lining the walls, blasting music so hard he could feel the bass crunching his bones. Neil followed Kevin to their table, helping Andrew clear away the cups and drag some extra chairs to comfortably fit all of them in there. Soon after, Andrew pulled him away by the collar and dragged him to the bar to order.
Three bartenders were on staff, but Andrew seemed to refuse to be served unless it was with a specific one. When he finally made it over to them, he flashed Andrew a smile that indicated familiarity. “Back so soon, Andrew?” He looked to Neil, giving him a lookover and a grin. “Who’s your friend here?”
“Nobody,” Andrew brushed him off. “It’s the usual for us.”
“And for you, fresh meat?” The man asked.
“Anything,” Neil shrugged. Drugs only majorly affected vampires when they were in the blood of their victims. Neil wasn’t planning to eat tonight, so he’d be able to take anything he wanted. The most he would feel was a pleasant buzz that would put him slightly out of order. He looked to Andrew. “You pick.”
“Don’t be difficult.” Andrew huffed. “Just pick one.”
“Ah…” Neil thought for a moment, before landing on the first cocktail that entered his mind. “Bloody Mary.”
“Coming right up,” The man said, pushing away to complete their orders. They didn’t have to wait long before he came back with a tray of drinks, pushing Neil’s Bloody Mary toward him. Andrew led the way back through the crowd, easily holding the tray with one hand while he used the other one to push people out the way.
When they came to the table, Nicky yelled their cheers as they all drank as one. Neil made an attempt to chug down as much of his Bloody Mary as possible, pressured by Nicky to keep past with the fast drinking of all the others. His drink tasted like piss, of course - but anything that wasn’t blood tasted bad. The consistency was interesting, though. He hadn’t had anything but blood in a century.
When he got up to help Andrew with the second round of drinks, he thought about switching to straight vodka to see what the consistency was like, but he was handed another Bloody Mary before he could say anything.
Andrew’s packets from Sweetie made an appearance. Andrew waved one under Neil’s nose in invitation, but Neil hesitated. He handed them out equally between the rest of them, even Kevin indulging.
“Cracker dust,” Nicky explained as he ripped his packet open. “Heard of it? Tastes like sugar and salt and gives you a little rush. Sure you don’t want in?”
Neil couldn’t taste human food at all, so the sugar appeal was lost on him, as would be the ‘little rush’ that the crackers gave them. He shook his head. “Not tonight,” He waved them off, the possibility not completely lost. Nicky shrugged.
“Suit yourself.” He made to throw another packet down, before he paused, patting his jeans. “Shit, where are my keys?”
“Are you serious?” Aaron deadpanned. “You lost your car keys?”
“Did I leave them in my bag?” Nicky asked, referring to the small black bag he’d brought, which carried the packets of crackers. “Neil, can you look in there for a second? I need to make sure I didn’t lose them.” The bag was closer to Neil than it was to Nicky, so Neil didn’t mind. He turned his full attention to the bag, rummaging around for a minute or two before he came up with them. “Here,” He tossed them to Nicky, who gave him a grateful smile.
“Thanks - Drink with us if you won’t dust with us? Drinks are on us, after all.” Neil shrugged a sure. “Down the hatch on three - one, two, three!” Neil knocked back his shallow shot of Bloody Mary, sensing the mistake he’d made as soon as the drink hit the back of his throat. Through the bitter taste of the cocktail, he could feel the grainy texture of dust on his tongue, leaving a wicked aftertaste reminiscent of wet concrete. He gagged, with no choice but to swallow.
Neil made to get up, but Andrew slammed him back down in place. “Just noticed, did you? Idiot.” He told Neil venomously. “I lost my keys -” he imitated Nicky in a falsetto, high-pitched tone. “Oldest trick in the book.” Neil had never felt more stupid in his entire life. Nicky, who was rightfully burning with shame and averting Neil’s eyes, had basically done a look-over-there gimmick, and Neil had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. For so many years as a predatory vampire, it was astounding how easily he became prey.
"Did you think you were safe here?"
Neil wrenched his hand out from under Andrew's, but Andrew gave his head a warning yank. A bolt of heat went down Neil's neck. Neil hissed in pain and went still, fearing if he moved too suddenly, he might do something irreversible.
Andrew slid out of his chair and leaned against Neil, using his weight to press him down while he checked Neil's eyes. Being a vampire, of course, the dust wasn’t meant to affect him very much at all, and he was more than strong enough to push Andrew off. But Andrew seemed to have connections in here, and how much trouble would it cause if Neil ragdolled him against the wall, MMA style? It simply wasn’t an option.
“Almost there,” Andrew said cluelessly. “Give it some time and it’ll really hit. Go and have some fun - the night is still young, after all.” Andrew and Aaron tossed him around between themselves to dizzy him a bit, before he was thrown onto the dancefloor in a whirlwind of vibrancy. He could feel the drugs pulsing through him, loosening his mind a little. He was good enough for now, but he still wasn’t thinking straight. And all the human bodies meshing and moshing in the lights, the sweat glistening off their bodies as they bumped to the music – like a feast – wasn’t helping in the slightest. He had to get out of there if he knew what was good for him.
He pushed away from the dancefloor, ready to run, but arms from a taller figure hauled him back - he looked up to find Nicky. It was a struggle, before Neil momentarily lost his restraint, using his claws to run bloody lines down Nicky’s arm — a grave mistake. The smell of the blood under his fingernails heightened his senses; he could hear every heartbeat in the building, and it was driving him mad. He had to get Nicky away from him, before he did something he would regret. He shoved Nicky away from him using his unnatural strength, dashing away to the fire exit, shifting the lever forward and letting the cold, fresh air blow in his face, cooling him down from the hot, human atmosphere of the club.
He could still hear the heartbeats, like a hammer in his head, pounding and drumming his restraint to pieces. He was getting hungrier, more ravenous. He could feel their heartbeats, the blood in their veins, passing through the lungs and back to the heart again, the valves pulsing, the arteries working. He was getting madder by the minute.
He sucked breaths in gulps, feeling the sounds close in on him. It hadn’t been this bad since — well, that was beside the point.
The heartbeats were escaping his head, pulsing his body into shaking uncontrollably. Was it the crackers that turned him into this ravenous beast? Or were these instincts already there, simply waiting to be exemplified? He shoved himself upright, stumbling forward into the night, down the alley from Eden’s, where there was no light to cast upon his shame. The sky was darker than ever, cloaking him in its stygian light. He meshed with the shadow of the midnight, hidden in the darkness of dusk. He sat on the steps leading in, ducking his head down in an attempt to gather his last bit of sanity, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t worth it to conduct a massacre in Eden’s Twilight over a bit of greed.
“You alright, man?” Nathaniel heard a voice behind him, freezing in place. He threaded his hands in his hair and pulled, forcing himself to keep his head down.
“Leave me alone.” Neil commanded, not looking at him.
“Are you sure?” The unfamiliar voice asked, coming closer in janky, uncoordinated movements. “You seem like you’re having a bad time.”
“I’m fine,” Neil assured harshly. “You need to go. You must go.” The desperation was bleeding into his voice. “There’s - there’s something wrong with me. I’m sick,” Neil pleaded. “You need to go away.”
“You’re sick?” The idiot repeated, sounding even more confused, and even closer. “Do you want me to go get someone, one of the staff or something?”
“No!” Nathaniel yelled. The last thing he needed was one of Andrew’s acquaintances to find him in such a state. “No - no, you can’t! Go away!” He shouted, muffled as he shoved his face into his knees.
The man drew closer, and suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder—
♱
When Nathaniel came back to himself, he found himself with a paintbrush in his hand, standing in a pool of red paint. His pale canvas was below him. Since when was he a painter? He chuckled out loud, at the ridicularity of the situation. Ridicularity - was that a word? He’d been alive for two hundred years, he’d had to have picked it up at one point. He chuckled again. First a painter, now a literary genius - well done, Nathaniel, you’re two for two!
He tried to walk forward, before stumbling as he nearly tripped over his canvas. “Sorry about that,” He mumbled under his breath, before blinking and giving the canvas a good look. It was quite misshapen, wasn’t it? Where did he buy it again — in fact, did he even buy it himself? Was it a gift? No, he never got given gifts. He nudged the canvas with his foot, trying to scope out the shape of it. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the canvas gave a pained moan.
Now, Nathaniel wasn’t much of an artist - but he was quite sure that canvases didn’t moan. Or groan. Or feel pain. Nathaniel blinked, and blinked and blinked, before he found it wasn’t quite a canvas he was staring at. The closer he looked at it, the more that he was quite sure that it was a dead body. So then, what on earth was the paintbrush for?
He looked to his right hand, and found that the paintbrush was abnormally large. Perhaps that was because it wasn’t a paintbrush at all - it was actually an arm that he’d ripped off the body. Ah, dear. So he supposes that it wasn’t red paint after all - indeed, what artist only uses red? It seemed to be blood, actually.
As he pieces the puzzle together, Nathaniel is quite sure that he just killed a man.
His first move is to dispose of the body - but what makes it quite difficult is the certainty that Nathaniel just accidentally - vicariously, but still accidentally - took a boatload of drugs. “So much in his blood,” Nathaniel groans as he uses his strength to drag the man’s body to the massive waste bins outside the club. If he were sober, he’d dispose of it with some more care, but under the influence of alcohol and dust and whatever his victim took, all Nathaniel can muster is opening the bin and dumping the corpse in there to rot. If he was lucky, Eden’s staff would take it all to an incinerator before they looked at what’s in it. He shuts the bin up, wiping the blood off his mouth with his sleeve, jankily making his way round to the exit at the front, using the wall as support. It’s a difficult effort, especially considering that his limbs didn’t quite feel like listening to his brain that day. He was almost home free until he felt a hand swipe him by the back of his shirt and slam him back into the eyesore of the club.
“Well, look who it is,” Nathaniel laughed in a slight slur, looking Andrew in the eye, trying to fix his dilated pupils into some sort of a glare.
It must’ve worked, because Andrew replied, “Ungrateful. Those drinks were expensive.”
“I’ll pay you back in punches.” Nathaniel offered, shrugging.
“Sure you will. Feel free to plot your elaborate revenge on me, I won’t lose any sleep over the thought of it.”
“Don’t sleep,” Nathaniel slurred. “I’ll kill you.”
"Will you?" Andrew asked. "Will you do it yourself, or will you pay someone else to handle the mess? You certainly have enough money to outsource it to a proper hit man. One wonders what a no-one like you is doing with such a fortune."
“I found it on the sidewalk,” Nathaniel laughed at his own joke.
“Very funny,” Andrew says joylessly, “but now I’ll have some truth out of you.”
“I’m an incredibly rich orphan.” Nathaniel said truthfully, but the statement sounded so ridiculous out loud he couldn’t help his hysterical laughter, shaking with mirth.
Andrew narrowed his eyes. “What did you take?”
“Cracker dust,” Nathaniel huffed, trying to shrug but his shoulders wouldn’t do it right, too out of sorts from the drugged blood. “Administered by a very blonde-”
“Cut the jokes. What the fuck did you take, Josten?” Andrew demanded.
“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel apologised with a hazy grin, holding his hands up weakly. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“On purpose?” Andrew repeated. “Did somebody give them to you? Did you get spiked?”
“Not…” He meant to continue the sentence, but his tongue was becoming too heavy for him to speak. Even his body was too heavy now - Andrew was holding him up against the wall at this point.
“What?” Andrew demanded again. “Not what?”
Nathaniel couldn’t take it anymore. The music was too loud, and Andrew’s angry voice at his ear didn’t help matters. He felt himself slump against the wall, letting the drugs lull the bass into gentle thumps in the back of his brain, muddling his thoughts into long gone worries. Andrew turned into a mosaic of colours, and his demanding voice became one with the music, a rhythm twisting itself into a lullaby. He heard pieces of voices around him, but they were absorbed into the music, as Nathaniel let himself slip away, back into the darkness.