Andrew sat on the floor in his home. The room dusty and dirty, and don't forget smelly. The whole place smelled of death and rotten things. Dark stains on the floor as well as his clothes that still seemed fresh in his mind but were weeks old by now.  It was the afternoon, the sun still high in the sky, but the room was as dark as it could be. All the windows were closed and locked, any traces of light filtering through were small.

He knew sooner or later someone would be suspicious. He remembers telling many of their fellow neighbors and friends that the family would be gone traveling for awhile. Now it was only a matter of time before they came knocking to try and discover what was really going on. Taking a deep breath he thought of other things to try and take his mind off of the painful reminder in the next room. It was time again, and knew that once night fell he'd have no choice but to go out and satisfy the desire he felt in his throat.

"Why can't time just go faster?!" He whispered impatiently to himself as he brought up a hand to grip the charm hanging around his neck.

The journey to Edoras had been a particularly long one, just one disaster after another to the point where Brenna had seriously considered just turning back and making her way back to Lake-town with her cart as full as when she’d left. First, Hetty, the family horse, had died. It hadn’t completely unexpected, she had been an old nag after all and so lazy it was a bogging miracle if she moved so much as an inch forward, but everyone had thought that the she’d had a few more journeys in her yet. Turned out they’d all been wrong and she’d all but keeled over then night before Brenna was due to set off. It’d been an entire extra day’s work to find a replacement and, when the replacement had been found, the price to simply loan the dratted thing for the journey had been so high you’d have thought it’d been made out of gold. When Brenna had finally left Lake-town a day late, purse considerably lighter than before, and in a foul mood.

Still, the journey wouldn’t have been a disaster if it hadn’t been for the weather. Almost as soon as she’d set foot out of Lake-town, Brenna had found herself battling the elements: rain had lashed down on her for days on end to the point where Brenna had begun to forget what it was like to be dry, wind had whipped down from every side and there had been times when the cart had been dangerously close to overturning and spilling it’s cargo out in to the mud. The mud. Then there had been the mud. Thick, gloppy and smelly worse than a sewer, that had been the worst part of the journey; the wheels had constantly been getting stuck and Brenna found she spent more time up to her knees in mud, walking behind the cart and having to push the cart along just so it could move a few inches more.

It had only been when Brenna had been in sight of her goal that the rain had stopped.

Brenna supposed she should have been glad, should have been welcoming the sun like a long lost friend. But it was a little hard to feel grateful for a scorching, blazing sun that had dried everything within minutes and then threatened to set everything on fire within hours. Brenna had found herself longing for the rain.

She’d finished her journey though, she couldn’t afford not to what with this kind of market only appearing once every blue moon and it being too good an opportunity to miss, and she’d pushed on to finally arrive at her destination, sweating like a pig, coated in dust, grit clogging her throat and her eyes, bone tired and longing for bed. Only to find that all the beds in Edoras were taken.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise really, Brenna wasn’t the only trader who’d heard of the golden opportunity and made the journey, but, to the sleep deprived girl, it felt like the last straw.

She knew that, technically, the branch of her family that lived in Edoras would’ve taken her in without question but she didn’t fancy spending more time with family than necessary. They always thought that, because they were distantly related, they had the right to gawp at her openly and to whisper behind her back and ask her what happened again and again and again. They seemed to think that, because they were blood, they could do what everyone else couldn’t. No. No family.

So now she there she was, wondering round Edoras the day before market, covered in dried mud, reeking of sweat, and looking for a bed. She’d been eye up some of the houses, taking quick peaks inside to see if there were any that looked empty or belonged to a family desperate enough to take in a stranger for a few days. After about half an hour of searching, she thought she’d found one.

The house looked empty, abandoned and foreboding, even in the afternoon sun, and it had a strange smell that seemed to be creeping out of the cracks. The widows seemed to be bolted shut…. But Brenna couldn’t afford to be picky and a hole was better than nothing. She was pretty sure that she’d slept in worse.

With a quick look around to check that no one was watching what could possibly end up becoming a break in, Brenna darted forward and gave the door a shove.

Nothing happened.

With a snarl and a curse, Brenna drew her knife, doing her best to keep it from glinting in the sunlight. She shoved it where she guessed the latch would fall. Nothing, drat. Another try.

There was the sound of splintering wood and the door swung open.

Andrew was lost in his thoughts as he closed his eyes going through different memories he had with his family. One of those great memories was his birthday when his mother had given him the charm. He remembers the way the star had shined in the light, her voice telling him that upon the thousands of stars in the sky, this one was his. It was the reason he loved to go out at night and look at the stars.

Refusing to cry he took deep breaths and just as he stood he heard a noise from outside the door. Fear and panic gripped him hard. What should he do? He didnt think someone would actually try to break in! Looking around frantically he ran to the darkest corner of the house. He was breathing so hard he felt that his heart might burst out of his chest.

As the intruder continued to try to break in her looked at the door leading to the next room and prayed with all his might that they wouldn't go in there and see the horror that had fallen upon his family. Finally the door burst open and Andrew prepared for the worst.

The room stank.

That was the first thing Brenna noticed.

As soon as she walked through the door the fetid air hit her in the face and made her retch. It wormed its way through the barrier of her scarf and pushed itself into her nose, forcing her to breathe it in; it curled round her tongue and left the taste of it lingering in her mouth; it pricked at her eyes and made them water. Reeling backwards and gagging, Brenna pulled her sweat soaked scarf down around her neck and pulled in huge gulps of fresh air, trying desperately not to vomit. She failed, emptying the contents of her stomach on to the side of the house.

Leaning against the doorframe, making sure she stayed far enough away from the opening to avoid the smell, Brenna wiped her mouth and cast a quick glance around to check if anyone had witnessed what had just happened. No one even looked her way and those that did quickly pretended they hadn’t. Good. She sneered at them, baring her teeth in a parody of a smile.

Now that she’d had some time to recover from the initial shock, Brenna’s brain was working overtime. She recognised the smell.

Death. It smelt of death, of rotting flesh, of decay, of neglect, of the cloying, sickening smell that never signaled anything good. Perhaps what was more worrying was that, underneath that smell, there was a hint of another. The metallic smell of spilt blood. It smelled like someone had been killed. It was something Brenna had smelled before, in the shadier districts of the old Lake-town, coming from some of the houses that everyone knew to avoid.

Normally Brenna would have turned her back on the place, normally she would have walked away and pretended she’d never even thought about going in in the first place. But this wasn’t normally and Brenna needed a place to sleep and rest and change in preparation for the market the next day; there was no way she would be able to do business sleep deprived and stinking.

Pulling her scarf up once more, more for protection against the stench this time than anything else, Brenna clasped her knife, which she had never let go of, slightly tighter, adjusting her grip. Slowly and cautiously she stepped back inside, bracing herself for the smell, and looked around to see if she could locate the source.

Nothing, she made her way further in. Some stains on the wall but still nothing.

She froze.

There was someone in the shadows. A boy.

Andrew held his breath the moment the door burst open. He wrapped his arms around himself to keep from shaking. The moment has come, the moment someone finds him and kills him because of all the evidence he never bothered to clean up. Because he was the only one still alive in the house.

Blinking harshly against the light entering, he watched the figure take a step inside only to run back out and get sick. He tilted his head slightly and tried to sniff out what she had smelled but couldn't. His thoughts of reason being that staying in the house so long made him used to the smell.

He continued to watch her with scared eyes as the girl looked around the room. He was completely frozen when her eyes landed on him. What would she do to him? Would she kill him? With his hiding spot unable to hide him anymore with the sunlight that started filling the room, he looked around before running as fast as he could into one of the rooms and locked the door. He took deep breaths unable to keep the frightened whimpers that escaped him quiet.

The boy, who’d seem to have frozen when Brenna’s eyes landed on him, seemed to gather his wits about him. He seemed to panic, looking around the room as though for an escape, before he bolted. Brenna recoiled as the boy darted from where he was partially hidden in the gloom and into one of the other rooms. There was the sound of a latch falling.

Brenna moved far enough into the room to be able to close the door (no one wanted the neighbours sticking their ruddy noses in where they didn’t belong) but didn’t go any further than that. She didn’t want to get to go charging in before she knew more about the situation and how much danger she was in. She wasn’t ruddy stupid. Instead she stood stock still, listening carefully for any sound coming from the other room and gripping her knife slightly tighter, making sure there was no way that’d she’d lose her grip on it if the boy turned out to be a nutter and attacked her out of the blue.

Nothing.

Satisfied that, for now at least, the boy wasn’t going to burst out of the room he’d locked himself in and shank her, Brenna allowed some of her mind to go through all the information she’d gathered about her current situation.

She’d caught a glimpse of the boy as he’d darted out across the room and Brenna thought back to it now trying to work out if he was much of a threat. He’d been smaller than her, at least that’s what it’d looked like in the gloom, so it was likely he was a few years younger than her (boys always got their growth spurts later than girls and he definitely hadn’t had his) and didn’t look like he’d be much a challenge in that department (although Brenna knew from her own experience not to underestimate the small ones, she’d seen children smaller and younger than the boy take down men twice their size). He’d also been covered in what looked like dried blood.

It hadn’t looked to be his.

And the house smelt of death.

Brenna felt like she was begin to understand the situation.

The boy and his family had been attacked. Someone had come in to the house and attacked the family, most likely killing them all if the stink was anything to go by. The boy had escaped somehow, hidden or been out when the killer came to call. Or maybe the killer had taken some sick pleasure in leaving one survivor. That would explain the amount of blood on his clothes and the fact that some of it looked eerily like spatter marks. Must have been there when they died. Anyway, whatever had happened, the boy had obviously gone in to shock. Why else would he stay in this stinking hole? Certainly wasn’t for the décor or the atmosphere. Also explained why he ran. Probably thought it was the killer coming back to finish the job.

So the boy wasn’t a threat. Quite possibly crazy but Brenna was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to try and hurt her and, if she was right about what had happened, even if he did attack her he was in no state to do much damage.

But did she want to stay in a house where the family had been murdered? It wasn’t ideal, Brenna could admit that, but she’d been to the Lake-town slums and she’d seen a ton worse than a few rotting corpses so she wasn’t too bothered about that. It was only for a night any way and the smell wasn’t bothering her so much either. And she really needed to sleep.

With that in mind, Brenna finally made her way in to the house, keeping her grip on the knife. Just in case.

She stayed away from the door the boy had disappeared behind; she wasn’t going to go looking for trouble and she wasn’t going to poke a wasps’ nest. If the boy wanted to come out he could but otherwise she was going to leave him be.

Andrew kept shaking as he hid in the farthest corner of the room. Who was she?! Why was she in the house?! Listening carefully he could hear her move further into the house. He could imagine her thinking the worst and preparing to kill him.

It seemed to get worse now so Andrew looked around for something sharp. Finding only a glass object he threw it to the ground and found the sharpest piece. Taking it he drew it across his wrist, whimpering in the process, and brought the bleeding cut to his mouth. He knew it wouldn't satisfy the craving or desire, but at least dull it a bit to stop the shaking and give him a bit of strength and energy.

He remained focused on his wrist as he closed his eyes for a moment. After a few minutes he finally pulled away and licked at his lips. Ripping a piece of cloth from his shirt he wrapped it around his wrist to stop the bleeding.

Why wouldn't the girl leave already?! The sooner she left, the sooner he could go back to wasting away his life. He then wished it was dark so he could jump out the window that was covered. Then he could run and hide in Fangorn Forest until she was gone.

With a grunt, Brenna shrugged off her heavy pack and let it drop to the dirty floor with a thud. Her jacket and over-shirt followed quickly after and, after some hesitation, her scarf followed them. Divested of her sweaty garments Brenna paused, cocking her head to the side as she listened for noise from the other room. Satisfied that there didn’t seem to be a peep coming from behind the closed door, she began to toe of her boots, stretching like a cat as she did so. She wasn’t picky about keeping clean, had never really seen the point of prettying herself up like a doll, but she had been looking forward to an opportunity to wash for a long time and she couldn’t wait to finally scrub all the grime from her journey off her body.

With a sigh Brenna bent set down her knife on top of the pile of clothes…

And froze.

There’d been the sound of glass smashing.

It’d come from the other room.

Cautiously Brenna rose from her crouch, knife still firmly held in her hand. She slipped silently towards the door and pressed her ear to the door. Nothing that she could make out.

Drawing back, Brenna placed her hand on the door and gave it a light push. It wasn’t locked.

With a vicious kick, Brenna shoved the door open before jumping back out of harm’s way. Nothing happened. Weird.

She moved closer and peeked through.

It was such a pathetic sight Brenna would have laughed if it hadn’t meant letting her guard down. The boy was crouched in a corner like a frightened child; in his hand a sharp shard of glass glittered menacingly in the paltry light sneaking through the cracks in the shutters; around his wrist a bandage slowly stained red with blood. He looked about as threatening as a drowned kitten and twice as pitiful, even the knife-like shard of glass did nothing to make him look like he was capable of defending himself. Speaking of the large shard of glass clutched in the boys’ hand, it looked like the bugger had tried to arm himself and had got hurt in the process. Good.

Part of her just wanted to stick a knife in the boy and have done with it, leave him in the house with what were probably the corpses of his family and pass the night in undisturbed sleep. But she couldn’t do that, no matter how much she might want to. No, she didn’t think she could kill a young boy in cold blood just yet. She’d just have to disarm him instead… And maybe knock him out and tie him up if he continued to prove troublesome.

Tightening her grip on the knife, something she seemed to have been doing a lot of in the past hour, she levelled a glare on the boy, carefully angling her face so that the light hit it and showed it in all its glory. It wasn’t a tactic she usually favoured, preferring to keep her face hidden at all time, but she wasn’t going to go back to the other room just to get her scarf and besides, Brenna thought that the shock of seeing her face might discourage the boy from any further action. Or at least shock him so much that he stayed frozen and mute the whole night.

“Put the glass down, boy.” She snarled “I ain’t gonna be asking again.”

Andrew was in the middle of wiping the blood from his mouth when the door was kicked open. He cried out in fear and pushed himself against the wall as much as he could. Seeing the knife in her hand made him more fearful. He wasn't ready to die yet! Why did this all happen to him?!

If only he had stayed home that night and didn't sneak out to stare at the stars, if only he had never done it in the first place. Then none of this would be happening, his family would be alive and he wouldn't be a monster.

Andrew watched her with fearful eyes as she took another step towards him, stepping into the light. When her features became visible he froze. Was she like him? If so she was good at not letting the light affect her. Maybe she escaped from someone or something? Andrew's eyes went from fear to sympathy.

It took him a moment to realize that she had said something to him, and followed her gaze down at his hand that held the bloody piece of glass. Slowly he loosened his grip and let the glass drop to the floor, a tiny piece breaking off as it hit the ground. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something. But no sound came out. Instead he bit his lip looking at his wrist. The shaking coming back even harder.

Brenna nearly threw the knife at the boy when the look in his eyes changed. She wasn’t a fool, she’d spent long enough pulling dirty deals in blackmarkets to be able to tell when someone was scared by just looking in their eyes and this boy, well this boy wasn’t scared. He had been, of course he had been because who wouldn’t be scared of a stranger who’d just knocked down your door and started waving a knife around? An idiot that’s who. An idiot with a death-wish who’d been dropped on their head at birth. No, he’d been scared to start off with but he wasn’t scared any more.

He hadn’t been scared since she’d stepped forward to show him her face.

There were normally three standard reactions that Brenna came across when someone caught a glimpse of her face and each one annoyed her in its own special way and made her want to scream.

The first reaction, and the most common by far, was all out disgust; the bugger would stare at her for a good few seconds before their face crumpled into the same look they’d give a dog’s turd stuck to the bottom of their shoe. Brenna wasn’t exactly sure what they thought she’d done to get the scar but they must have thought she deserved the blasted thing for them to look at her like that. She’d seen streetwalkers get kinder looks than that particular look of revulsion. Or they weren’t thinking so much about how she’d got it and more about how ugly she looked in which case Brenna felt they should be able to hide their disgust until they were at least out of her eye line. It wasn’t like she needed to be reminded that she looked worse than a dead orc.

Then there was the second reaction, the one where they stared for a good few minutes before they realised they were staring and proceeded to through what they thought were sneaky glances in her direction. That reaction was just plain insulting and Brenna often wondered why people thought that, because she was ugly, she must also be so stupid that she wouldn’t notice all the looks she was getting. She always made a point of catching those kinds of people’s eyes just so she could teach them a lesson about being polite.

And finally there was the last reaction, the reaction that Brenna hated the most.

When people looked at her with pity Brenna often found herself fighting the urge to rip their eyes right out. She didn’t want their pity, she didn’t need it. She didn’t deserve their pity and they most certainly didn’t deserve to choose who should be pitied and who shouldn’t. Did she really seem like such a weakling that she needed people to feel sorry for her? Did she really look that pathetic? Brenna hated feeling weak and these people just drove home the point that that was exactly what she was: a weakling of a girl who hadn’t been able to defend herself when she’d been attacked and who probably still wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.

Brenna hated being pitied and there was the blasted boy, looking at her with sympathy pouring off him like he’d bathed in the bloomin’ stuff.

The tinkling of glass hinting the floor brought Brenna back to the present.

The boy had dropped the shard. Good.

“Good boy. See, no one ‘as to get hurt here. No one at all. In fact, I’ll tell you what’s a good idea: I’m gonna take all these nasty sharp things away from you and go in to the other room for a kip while you stay in here. As long as you don’t try to kill me we don’t ‘ave to see each other ever again! By mornin’ it’ll be like I wasn’t even ‘ere.”

With that, Brenna moved further in to the room, not lowering her knife in case the boy made a grab for the glass again. As she bent down to pick up the first shard she noticed the boy was trembling and his mouth (and his wrist for that matter) was covered in blood. It looked like he’d hurt himself.

Brenna moved on to the second shard, still not taking her eyes off the boy. He really didn’t look well.

Brenna let out a frustrated huff before leaning back on her haunches and pushing her hair out of her eyes. Glowering a little, she focused all her attention on the boy. She wasn’t completely heartless and the sod, he was probably only still a child, was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“You’ aright, boy? You’ve got a little…” She gestured vaguely to her mouth.

(I feel so bad with my short replies..Never really good at super long replies XD)

Andrew flinched when she started talking again. Her closeness to him made it even more difficult to not attack her and try to drink her blood. When hearing that she would be going to the other room, he became fearful again. Fearful because he didn't want her to go into the wrong room and find the bodies of his family.

As he watched her pick up the pieces of glass, he knew he should answer her and keep her from getting angry or impatient with him but he just couldn't find it within himself to speak words. After not speaking or make any noises for weeks it felt too easy and comfortable to start again. So instead all he did was violently shake his head to try and tell her that she should stay in here. Of course he knew she wouldn't understand because a simple shake of his head gave no real answer or explanation to anything. By now he was freaking out unsure how to communicate with her or show her that she should just leave and choose another house. It was like having a battle inside his own mind.

He realized that she must be staring at him like he's insane and kept himself still. That's when he got an idea. It probably wasn't one of the greatest idea's he'd ever had but it was the only solution he could come up with at the moment. Without wasting anymore awkward and uncomfortable silence, he took off the bandage on his wrist and scratched at the cut to make it bleed again. Closing his eyes for a moment he inhaled the metallic scent that now smelled sweet to him, and used the dripping blood to write a message on the floor.

"YOU SHOULD NOT STAY HERE"

Putting his wrist to his mouth he licked off the blood before tying it back up with the cloth and glanced at the girl. He then remembered that she had told him earlier that there was blood on his mouth and quickly wiped at it hoping he got all of it. He then proceeded to watch her with careful eyes. Eyes that pleaded with her to just move on and not ask any questions. But with all the "luck" he's had lately he knew that just the opposite would happen and even more issues would come crumbling down atop him. It was like he was floating in a sea of problems and disaster and depending on this moment he could either drown more than he already was, or get eaten by the shark that has been surrounding him since the moment it all started.

(Lol, it’s okay. I normally feel guilty because my replies ramble on for ages without doing much Sorry for the wait by the way, never been so busy in my life.)

Now that her attention had been caught Brenna found it hard to look away. Her first glimpse of the boy, when he’d fled from the room like a startled fawn, hadn’t given much away and up until now she’d been too focussed on other things, first on the shard of glass in his hand and then on the blood surrounding his mouth and wrist. Now though, she had the chance to examine him more closely.

The first thing she noticed was that he was young, younger than her at least. True, he was taller than her but so was everyone else and he had that lanky, half-grown look that all young boys had. It was almost as though they didn’t quite know what to do with their bodies, bodies which had somehow grown overnight and which they no longer had any control over. With their legs that were suddenly a lot longer than they used to be they resembled new-born colts. Baldr would be reaching that age soon. He’d still been ten the last time Brenna had seen him…. The last time Brenna had seen her brother had been…. the last time she’d seen him… it’d been months ago…. Months ago, just before Brenna had set of on a trading trip that had taken her all the way to Bree. She hadn’t been home since then. She’d been back to Dale and Laketown but she hadn’t visited her home, hadn’t seen her family. If Brenna were being honest with herself, she missed them. A lot. It had been far too long since she’d seen them last.

But Brenna wasn’t in the habit of being honest with herself.

The separation was probably for the best, especially for young Baldr. When she’d been younger she’d coddled the lad, made sure he lacked for nothing and done her best to make sure no harm came to him. In other words, she’d done her best to keep him from seeing what the world was really like, tried to keep him from seeing cruelty and the pain that made up most of it. Not that there’d been any point in the end, Smaug had seen to that. Before Smaug, Baldr had been a sweet and innocent boy, a ball of energy and happiness that bounced from one event to the other. After Smaug he’d become quite, haunted, unhappy, his eyes open to all the horrors of the world. He’d seen reality and how cruel it could be. He’d seen his sister, watched her become a monster. There was no point in trying to protect him anymore…. But Brenna could still try, she’d could protect him by letting him experience the world without her there to act as a barrier, without her there to act as a filter. She could protect him by keeping her distance.

That and she was a selfish little cow and she couldn’t bare to see her brothers face whenever he caught sight of her, that look of disgust and horror and fear and pain and so much more. It hurt to even think about it so Brenna did what she always did: she ran.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, Brenna returned to the present and to the boy who reminded her of her brother.

It seemed like she’d missed a lot in her jaunt in to the past.

The lad had written on the floor.

In blood.

His own blood.

Quite obviously he’d gone looney.

It wasn’t all that much of a surprise, Brenna supposed. The smell and the obvious destruction showed that, without a doubt, some kind of violence had taken place in the house and the boy had most likely witnessed it. Quite frankly, Brenna was impressed with the fact that he wasn’t a blubbering mess in the corner of the room ‘cause most of the people she’d seen in a similar state had gone completely mental and started blabbing about voices in their heads and snakes on the wall. Not that Brenna had much experience with looneys, she didn’t have enough patience to deal with normal people let alone people who were a few apples short of a fruit basket.

She was tempted to follow the advice he’d written on the floor, to pack her things and leave the house, to not look back and never think about the past hour for the rest of her life.

And yet…. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to turn and leave, not when the connection she’d made between the lad and Baldr, a flimsy connection that shouldn’t have counted for anything, told her to stay and keep the young boy safe.

She just couldn’t leave not matter how much of a looney he was. If the worst came to the worst she could always shank him if he tried to jump her.

With a sigh Brenna settled herself on the floor

“Look here laddy, I ain’t leavin’. I don’t bloody care if you want me to, I don’t have anywhere else to stay and I need my beauty sleep. You can slit your wrists all you want, you can even write on the walls in your own muck, but I’m stayin’ and, considerin’ your ‘pparent slashy tendencies, I think I’m goin' to be safer if I stay here where I can keep an eye on you. Wouldn't want you creepin' in and cut my throat would I?”

After all, there was no reason to let him know she actually cared about his wellbeing.

Andrew's face fell and stared at the floor as he curled up not sure what to do anymore. He knew he couldn't tell her the truth, she'd probably kill him then and there. But in his current state of mind, it probably wouldn't be too bad considering what he did. Then he could be with his family. The family that he had killed without even knowing. His mind flashing back to not feeling well and spending most of the day in bed before stumbling his way into the living area where they all were eating their supper. Vague pieces came back to him and he cringed at the sight of seeing his mother fall to the floor, his father already gone, and his little sister running to hide. He didn't want to hurt them, but something inside of him just took control.

His family was the reason he hasn't fed from anyone since. He could feel the fatigue and energy leaving his body more everyday as he just sits in the house doing nothing but drown in his own agony and pain. He wished his mother was still here to hug him, to chase away all the darkness and bring back the warm light that once touched his soft skin.

Knowing he had no other choice, he stood up and slowly reached for the girl's hand. Taking her wrist he slowly tugged on it upward to get her to stand and painfully made his way to the only room that had a closed door. Andrew's shaking was increasing every second as he stood in front of the door, his hands clenching and unclenching. Trying to find the courage to open the door, the door that held his darkest sin. Behind that door held the only reason Andrew looked and felt the way he did.

Shaking his head and backing away from the door he took a deep breath and pointed to her then the door. Trying to tell her to open it and see for herself why she shouldn't stay in the house. He kept his head down as tears started to make their way down his face and onto his shirt.

Brenna watched as the boy’s face fell, obviously disappointed that she had decided to ignore his pleas for her to leave him be. It didn’t really surprise her, if she had been in his position she wouldn’t have wanted to spend time with the deformed freak who ignored warnings she’d written in her own blood. Still, it was a little irritating that he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact he wanted her gone, most people put a little bit of effort in to pretending they didn’t resent her presence. Wasn’t like she wanted to stay all that much either so there was no need for him to be so bloody rude about it.

Scowling, Brenna shuffled backwards until her back made contact with the wall of the room. She slumped back, resting her head again the boards and stuffing her hands in to her pockets, trying to make herself comfortable. Something told her that it was going to be a long night.

Just as she finally manages to make herself as comfortable as it was possible to be given the circumstance when the boy finally moved.

She flinched when touched her wrist, unused to human contact and tempted to rip it out of his grip, but she managed to curb that particular instinct, sudden movements would do her no favours if he meant her harm. She rose as he tugged her up and then followed him to a door, deciding to cooperate until she knew what the boy wanted from her.

As they stood in front of the door, a door Brenna hadn’t actually noticed until the boy had taken her to stand right in front of it, she noticed that he was trembling, shaking even. Whatever was behind that door frightened him, Brenna wasn’t sure why he’d lead her there but whatever was on the other side of the door frightened the living daylights out of him. She watched as he released his grip on her hand and backed away, gesturing to her and then pointing to the door. He wanted her to open the door…

“What’s the matter, boy? What’s got you so scared?” Brenna saw the boy had started to cry “What’s behind the door, boy? What’s behind the door?”

Andrew watched her with fear as she stood in front of the door and stared at it. He only shook his head, his vision becoming blurry from the tears. He slid down against the wall and curled in on himself. He hand curling themselves into his hair and let go of all the hidden tears. He finally started to cry, and felt ashamed and embarrassed doing so in front of a total stranger.

He only pointed to the door again, his hand shaking like the rest of his body. He could just imagine the look of horror on her face when she opens it to see the dead corpses that were his family.