For the whole of his four years in Flight School, Vaughn has never participated in the Commemoration Ball or the Hunt Ball—though both were strictly part of the Season's protocol.

Simply put for the vulture: attending the balls and participating in them were two different issues completely.

Of course, as the successive victor for four years, he would have to show up, in the very least, for the crowning ceremony. False compliments and awful smiles were all part and parcel of the victory— naturally, which Vaughn found himself escaping from as soon as the ceremony was over.

Not that anyone noticed, really.

He was always alone.

_________________________________

Did you know?

Vultures are highly social birds.

___________________________________

"You. Me. Ball—eight?"

Lucienne turned to the falcon who had been tailing her all day long, raising a perfect brow in mock amusement. "Rude."

"Just admit that you were very taken by my looks."

"Mhm, very," The harpy eagle scoffed with a roll of her eyes. And then, upon noting the absence of a certain someone, asked. "Your prey?"

"Went to visit his sister," Dimitri shrugged. "Why do you care?"

"I don't," Lucienne replied indifferently, gaze fixed ahead instead of at her fellow predator.

"So...is that a yes?"

"For what?"

Dimitri groaned.

"The ball you escargot—"

"Which one?" Lucienne blinked. Then, narrowed her eyes. "Food is not an insult, Dimitri. You are so childish. Why did I even go with you last year?"

"I don't know maybe 'cuz I'm hot?" The falcon replied, as if stating the obvious. "Commemoration, by the way."

The harpy eagle frowned, confused. "You are inviting me to be your partner at the Commemoration Ball? It be raining dogs—do you hear what you say?"

"Yes," Dimitri sighed. "Forget it—"

"What? Is this some sort of upgrade? Hunt to Commemoration; à la carte to full course dinner?"

"Ah fuck, I shouldn't have asked you..."

"Big thing—Commemoration," Lucienne pointed out the obvious in a thoughtful manner, as if to provoke. "Are you courting me?"

She turned to the falcon, expecting a half-exasperated roll of his eyes.

Ah, but he was gone.

She was so sure that an invitation to the Commemoration Ball had certain romantic implications.

Or perhaps she was wrong.

_________________________________

For some reason, Io was to stay for at least another week in the infirmary. Under "probation", as Mrs. Goldfinch put it.

Io couldn't help but wonder about the choice of her words. How peculiar.

Nevertheless, it wasn't as if he did not enjoy his stay in the infirmary.

In fact, when class president Vijay Krishnan dropped by to hand him stacks of paper notes and three all-new textbooks that were a compulsory buy, Io dreaded the thought of going back to class.

His classmate would sit by his bed, narrating the events of the day in the most caring tone that the sparrow himself could not seem to manage. Then, Vijay would hand over his neatly-copied handwritten notes from the day's lectures (to Io's dismay, lecture-style lessons had already started) for the sleepy sparrow to copy.

"Oh, right—I forgot," Vijay paused in the middle of explaining something about the buoyancy principle in flight theory (this was where Io's limited attention span decided to end) to rummage in his book bag. "There's a letter for you. Miss Tenner gave out the mail during homeroom today, and it kinda was a big deal."

He smiled sheepishly. "I didn't get anything though."

"I'd send you something if we could actually mail to each other," Io piped promptly, receiving the letter with curious eyes.

He recognized his mother's handwriting immediately.

Then—he realized that the envelope was already open.

"Um..."

Vijay followed his gaze, proceeding to raise his hands in immediate defence. "Ah that—it wasn't me. I swear, it was already open when Miss Tenner handed it to me," His classmate explained. "Actually...all of the letters were..."

"Sorry," He added, looking down.

Io shook his head. "Oh no don't worry, it's nothing. It's not your fault at all! Thanks for handing this to me."

He smiled the kind of smile Pipa often did. It looked sort of like...a beam.

Io felt this tiny bit of responsibility as her friend. It seemed more like a duty. A duty he never had.

"Wasn't any trouble," Vijay nodded graciously, glancing at his Avian—a storm petrel—who had settled for the headrest of Io's bed as a good resting spot. "Nash was really worried about you guys. He came almost every day when you were...were..."

He lost his words.

Swallowed them, rather.

"That's nice of him," Io laughed, saving Vijay from an awkward topic. "I really couldn't tell he was worried when he came over yesterday, though."

The sparrow didn't mention the part with him being half-alive when he heard Nash talking to Mrs. Goldfinch.

"He was! Really," Vijay laughed softly, glancing around to check if he was disturbing anyone. "Which reminds me; Jiro, Nash and I chipped in to get you something from the store—"

The class president produced a strange looking cup from his bag. It was relatively huge for a cup. Or was it a bowl?

"—instant ramen. Jiro recommended this brand. He says it's really good and that you should try it...uh, he also said not to let Mrs. Goldfinch see if you're planning to eat it in the infirmary," Vijay relayed the message lowly.

Io burst out laughing.

"What? Um, I..." He was smiling. And for some reason, this smile he could not control. "No one's ever given me something like this before..."

The sparrow recalled the small pouch of berries that were once on his overbed table—and now, he fixed a strangely happy gaze at the bowl of instant ramen.

Was this what it felt like to have friends?

It was all very strange, and very new to the young sparrow.

"You guys bought it from the store? But...isn't that located near the Predator dorms?" Io asked all of a sudden—not curious, but worried.

Vijay waved his concerns aside. "Jiro's predator bought it with the money we chipped in. It was all good," He grinned.

Ah...Jiro's predator.

He had yet to thank him for being his guide during the games.

"I'm...I—" He didn't know what to say.

For all intents and purposes, 'thank you' just didn't seem to be enough.

Was it, ever?

Was 'thank you' ever enough?

"Just get well soon, 'kay? With only three of us at the table—one of them being Nash, so might as well be two—it gets a little awkward..." Vijay said with a glum smile.

Io suppressed a laugh. It didn't work.

"Nash! I bet he's still angry at Pipa for making that mashed potato joke—"

"—and us for laughing at it," Vijay finished his sentence.

The sparrow's heart beat quietly in its cage.

It was the quiet sort of happiness.

The kind that was often unheard, and always unseen.

________________________________

It had become a sort of ritual for Io to wake up after a nap to see something added to his overbed table. Somehow, it all contributed to the growing stash (secret stash) of food in his assignment box—which had, coincidentally, increased in load as the days passed.

The stash of food, which initially consisted of merely that bowl of instant ramen, had grown to consist of a bag of apple chips from cheerful Miss Tenner; a bottle of vitamins from a very (overly) worried Professor Callaghan; salty cookies from a very salty Nash; and a jar of peanut butter and jelly from Jiro.

The peanut butter and jelly had come with a thoughtful note:

I heard the raw baby carrots they serve at the infirmary taste stale and unappetizing ;_;

Presenting my very own jar of peanut butter and jelly to go with it ^0^/ dip the carrots in there and I promise they'll taste heavenly *-*

-Jiro

It was very thoughtful of him.

Io couldn't help but smile to himself at the thought of his friends, and all of a sudden—he wished for the remaining days in the infirmary to sweep by.

He began to think of his friends, realizing that just one hand wasn't enough to count them all. It was the first time his heart felt so heavy.

Perhaps before he knew it; there were things inside his cage that he never wanted to let go.

Perhaps sometimes, the things inside cages were meant to be locked up and protected—from the rest of the world.

The sparrow turned to Pipa, taking her limp hand.

It was cold.

He wondered if things would go just as Pipa said they would; that everything would truly be alright. And even if they did, what was 'alright'? Was that what he really wanted?

He wished she was here to answer him.

He wished someone was here. Anyone.

A stranger, even.

Io never really thought about the dying of fruits. Well of course he does know that they die.

Everything does; eventually.

But for once, the sparrow began to wish that berries had an eternal life to them. He wished they hadn't rot—or that he had actually woken up earlier to eat them, at least.

After all, his friend must have spent some time picking those berries...

Or Victoria must have, either way.

The very thought made him smile.

It would have been nice to have the berries back. For all intents and purposes, the stash of food—no matter how full or overflowing—felt all the more empty without it. As if something, or someone, was missing.

The room was quiet enough for his mind to speak and his heart to beat, but perhaps the time for thinking and feeling was to be kept for later in the evening—for someone had entered the room.

Gretchen Klein appeared behind the pair of heavy wooden doors, a single sunflower clutched carefully in her right hand.

She cleared her throat upon meeting his gaze and entered the infirmary with an awkward shuffle of her feet. Her Avian, a peacock, strutted in closely after her delicate sandals before Gretchen closed the door behind her with a soft click.

Io couldn't help but look surprised.

"What are you staring at?" His classmate scoffed, stalking past his bed to Pipa's. "I'm just here to check on a fellow Sorority. Is there a problem?"

The sparrow shook his head quickly. "No, no—of course not."

In all honesty, he was a tad bit scared of her personality.

But what mattered most was that she was here, after all. And that she did care for Pipa. Enough to come visit her with a sunflower in hand.

It was awkward, really—because Gretchen couldn't seem to find a vase for the perfect sunflower stalk she had handpicked personally and it irked her to no end that something so minor would destroy the perfection she had so intended. Io sympathised.

His gaze wandered to the glass of water on his overbed table.

"No," Gretchen had caught on rather quickly with a snap, and Io's shoulders fell.

"Why would someone even think of that?" The peacock frowned. "How can you put a sunflower in a dirty old glass? I don't understand."

The sparrow scratched the back of his head in a sheepish manner. "Um, well...I was just trying to help..."

"Oh never you mind," Gretchen rolled her eyes, whipping around to check if the head nurse was in. "I'll find a vase."

Io scrambled out of his covers. "I'll help."

"No, stay put!"

"But why?"

"It's just a vase!" She groaned, exasperated. "Ugh, sparrows—how social can you get?"

Io wondered if that was considered being social.

"But it's for Pipa," He pointed out where his intentions lay, keeping himself in check and doing his best to convince his difficult classmate.

The peacock clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Yes but you're a sparrow!"

Io didn't get it.

He didn't at all.

"What do you mean, Gretchen?"

She turned around; and if not for the sunflower in her hand, Io was sure she would have grabbed something to hit him. "You, tree sparrow!"

"Yes...?"

"I, peacock!"

There was a pause.

Gretchen sighed. "You're an average prey...I'm exotic."

"Just. Stay away will you? Don't talk to me," She warned, avoiding his gaze. "There's a predator who's interested in me, and he's even asked me to the Hunt Ball." There was happiness in her eyes. Then—

"But...but I can't..." She appeared reluctant. For a brief second.

"...pretend to be on bad terms with someone I know; even if they're an average, so just...just don't be my friend, okay?"

"Don't be my friend," Gretchen repeated; softer this time.

As if she was speaking to herself.

She left the sunflower on Pipa's bedside table—abandoned it, rather—and crossed the room towards the exit with her Avian following closely behind.

The door opened; then swung shut behind the girl with a feeble click.

It remained in the air for some time, as if the tension they had created was enough to lift and buoy the sound across its taut disposition before it could sink into nothingness.

The sparrow let out a disheartened sigh, getting up from his bed to fill his glass with fresh water from the pantry.

He then padded along towards Pipa's bedside table, picked up the sad sunflower and placed it into the glass.

To his quiet delight, the glass did not topple over; and the flower looked just slightly happier to the dispirited boy.

It was the first time someone had told him not to be his friend.

He began to wonder if this was how the other villagers felt when he was in elementary school. After all, Io had always been the distant one that existed in his own world.

But no, this was different.

Never had he disagreed to be friends with someone else; and it just seemed to incomprehensible to the young sparrow that he began to worry if the rest of his friends—prey, to be exact—thought so too.

He looked at Pipa.

Surely...not.

What of predators, then?

Would they want to be friends with prey?

For some reason, the answer seemed less obvious and more ambiguous than the one he had thought of from before. Simply because Io did not understand what it was like to be a predator, he deemed himself unworthy of deriving an answer for this particular question.

It would have been an uninformed conclusion.

And so his mind drifted, instead, to something closer.

Would Luka want to be friends with him?

It was a fairly simple question; and the simple answer would be, of course, no.

Luka was a golden eagle. Victoria—in all her majestic beauty and elegance—was levels above a sparrow like himself.

And then there was the other option; the one that proved itself more complex but endearing at the same time—yes.

Surely, by inviting him to the Commemoration Ball...and the small gift (yes, small but however small was itself sufficiently huge for Io) of course the eagle was inclined to know him better.

Then came the question of purpose and motive;

Why?

Why would he?

________________________________

[The eye]

For some life it always cries

The ever-present

Watchful skies;

Wanes above the midnight lands,

Broken hearts and

Broken hands.

In the night the sky is dead,

Forever gone, and never said;

Beware his wings of darkened shade

His watchful eye beside your bed.

The little absent, light would bring—

Ever present, phantom thing;

His dark, his light,

His broken wing.

________________________________

It took Io several nights; several dawns; several blinks, and several yawns to finally realize that he hadn't been getting enough sleep.

In all honesty, he found it particularly ironic—since he was, after all, cooped up in the infirmary with only one mission; and that was sleep.

Of course, Mrs. Goldfinch wasn't too happy when she found out about it. She had double-checked the medication prescribed to the sparrow and mumbled something under her breath (about how it was, indeed, medicine that made one drowsy) but all of this wasn't much of a big deal for Io himself.

The significance of this only came to light when Professor Callaghan dropped by on the day before Io's discharge to share with him several activities he had in mind for the 'revival' of the Astronomy Club.

"—always a better view, the lights go off in the east wing at about eleven while night classes go on in the west wing. Ah, wouldn't a midnight picnic be ideal, then? I was considering such a prospect before but now that we have one more member it feels much more convincing than having a picnic by myself...Tori?" Callaghan paused, looking up from his papers.

Io was staring out of the window.

"Iolani?"

The sparrow's head snapped to attention. "A—yes? Sorry," He smiled sheepishly, a tired look in his eyes. "I was distracted."

"Really?" Callaghan adjusted his glasses, shaking his head with worried eyes. "I don't think so. Have you been eating your vitamins?"

Ah yes, the ones that the professor had given him. Citrus-flavoured, how could he forget?

"Yes, of course," The sparrow lied, envisioning the bottle of vitamins (perfectly sealed) stashed away in his assignment box. "Um, it's nothing Sir. It's just...I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Ah, is that so?" Callaghan frowned—and even that itself appeared fairly elegant to Io, "Do tell me more."

Of course, the boy hesitated. He wondered if Callaghan would do something as bizarre as call upon the stars to lull him to sleep or make him recite the names of various constellations before he would never wake again.

"Are you having trouble falling asleep? Or perhaps...it's the nightmares?" Io crossed his arms defensively, slightly upset by the latter suggestion.

"I'm not eight, Sir."

Callaghan laughed in an awkward manner, embarrassed. "Ah, i-is that so? I mean, is that a problem exclusive to children?" His ears turned a shade darker. "I've been having a couple myself."

Io blinked, sitting up straighter. "You have nightmares?"

"...Sir," He added quickly.

"Uh, yes of course...but back to you," Callaghan cleared his throat stiffly, emphasising the importance of the second half of his statement. "What would be the likely source of your discomfort?"

The boy sighed.

"It's not that I have trouble falling asleep. I fall asleep pretty quickly...it's just," Io frowned. "I wake up in the middle of the night. It's been happening for the past few days... and sometimes it even makes me wonder if I ever fell asleep in the first place."

"For no reason at all?"

"No reason at all," The village boy nodded, thinking how silly he must have sounded to be brooding over something grown-ups themselves must have experienced so often. "It's fine though...I'll figure something out—"

"Ah, perhaps Mrs. Goldfinch has been checking on you in the middle of the night?"

Io was very sure Goldfinch had no responsibilities whatsoever as to check on a miserable patient especially in the dead of the night. Besides, she practically slept like a log in her office! Nothing could wake her up.

"Um...I guess you're right Sir," He responded politely, intending to direct the conversation somewhere else or at least end this topic—

"Well it makes sense then," Callaghan nodded knowingly to himself. "After all, if you wake up for no reason at all in the middle of the night, there's an eighty percent chance that someone is staring at you."

He had said this in a very casual and off-handed tone—so light-hearted that it caught Io completely off-guard.

"W-W-What? Staring?"

"Mm yes," The widowbird adjusted the slim frames on the bridge of his nose with an elegant finger. "Had a couple of experiences myself."

Io was quite sure that no one was supposed to be staring at him at night when the only two occupants of the infirmary was Pipa and himself but—

"Better be going," Callaghan said with a gentle smile, leaving the folder on his student's overbed table. "As the newly-elected president of the Astronomy Club, it would be your duty to look through the suggested plans and perhaps pick one for the upcoming session this Wednesday."

He checked his pocket watch.

"Ah—I have a class to go to now," Io thought it rather timely. "So then, until next time."

The professor waved kindly before making his exit, his Avian fluttering after him in a graceful manner.

He had no idea how little sleep Io would get that night.

Perhaps it proved to Io that speaking about troubled matters...

Didn't really help at all.

In fact, it made them worse.

_______________________________

[Io]

I kept looking at the door.

Well, it wasn't as if anyone would come bursting right through anyway...right?

Laughing nervously at nothing in particular, I turned to face Pipa's bed instead; forcing my eyes shut and counting sheep in the most useless manner.

I lost count somewhere along the way, and my eyes opened involuntarily.

It wasn't as if I was expecting a pair of eyes right in my face but nevertheless, I braced myself for it.

Nothing.

Nothing happened.

Oh...this was so silly.

Callaghan's so awkward, what would he know about waking up in the middle of the night? Why do I even believe him?

Ah but perhaps this isn't a matter about believing...rather, it's the words that I just can't seem to get out of my head.

After all, if you wake up for no reason at all in the middle of the night, there's an eighty percent chance that someone is staring at you.

Someone?

Just—who?

I fidgeted uncomfortably, turning once again to face the door of the infirmary.

Everything was so unsettling.

The air was so still.

It was an instinct—I think—that my mind reached out to Lyra. Or was it my heart?

Did it matter?

I was simply uneasy and scared. For what reason? Was that not obvious enough to me—who would want to be watched while they were sleeping?

Was that not...was that not unsettling?

Eyes—

Hm. Trust you to call on me now, when you're alone and afraid.

Lyra! I sat up immediately; clouding fear dissipating in an instant. You can hear me—

Yes of course. I am all well and fluffed now. Are you in the infirmary? She asked, voice slightly weaker than her usual quipped tone.

...Are you coming to find me? I hoped, turning to check on the door to Mrs. Goldfinch's office. Bother, I can't sleep at all. Mrs. Goldfinch on the other hand sleeps like mom on the weekends when she doesn't have to go out to the fields.

Just then, I remembered the letter that mom sent me. I hadn't looked at it since Vijay had kindly passed it to me because it would have been um, a little embarrassing if she asked whether I brought enough underwear.

She would have offered to send a couple over at any indication of a lack of undergarment supplies.

Stop thinking about your supply of undergarments. The last I saw, you had a decent amount, Lyra reminded promptly, and I wondered how she even saw them. I thought they were well hidden in the drawers—

Ah. It appears the windows are locked.

I caught a flicker of movement outside the window opposite my bed and went over to check. Indeed, it was. I waved at Lyra who was hovering in mid-air.

Stop waving and let me in!

I can't...Mrs. Goldfinch has the keys for the window locks—wait.

Then how does the person get in?

Did Mrs. Goldfinch always lock the windows?

It's...it's not the stranger from that time, is it?

The one who entered by the window—

Perhaps there was one without a lock?

He couldn't have entered through the door; it would have made a creak so loud that it would wake the entire world—no I'm exaggerating. It's still a possibility.

And of course, there was always the possibility that no one was staring at me at all. The professor might not know what he's talking about (as usual).

Won't you focus dear? Your thoughts are in a mess! Disorganized thoughts don't get through to me, you do understand that don't you? Lyra chided at the back of my mind, and I snapped to attention.

Sorry...um, I turned to the door. Do you think I can escape from here just for tonight?

Hm? Lyra landed on the windowsill, tired. A pity—that there was a window between us—because it had been long since I had touched her feathers. And why is that so?

I just don't want to stay here.

It was an instinctive desire; something I couldn't seem to explain.

Perhaps there was something I didn't want to see.

Fine then. As long as we get back before the Goldfinch notices, I find little issue with this...ah, but will you be barefoot?

Right, I had no shoes; only the slippers provided by the infirmary. I was also dressed thinly in the pyjama-like clothes that Mrs. Goldfinch had thrust onto me after I had woken up half-naked. And it was the bottom half, to be specific.

I guess just slippers. Hm, do you think she'd wake if I slipped through the door? It makes a loud creaky sound.

Well...you'll never know till you try. Isn't that what they always say? Lyra asked thoughtfully as I put on the slippers.

Who?

Other people.

...you mean Pipa.

Pipa is other people.

I pulled gently on the brass handle of the door, making a tiny gap.

Pipa is special other people.

Yes, well put. I have also warmed up to Sylvester. He is rather likeable. How is the girl, by the way?

Slipping (it was a bit of a squeeze) through the gap and closing the door as quietly as possible behind myself (it groaned very loudly), I paused to hear any footsteps.

No.

Everything was so still. Mrs. Goldfinch counted, as she was probably sleeping like a log.

But despite the stillness, the air felt different.

It was no longer unsettling.

Pipa isn't doing very well...I really hope she wakes soon.

Lyra flew round to meet me at the open corridor. Sylvey can barely talk either.

I thought you said you found him likeable, I blinked, walking quietly down the hallway without a particular destination.

Yes, he chirped a thanks when I pushed the water bowl closer so that he could reach it. It was a nice chirp, Lyra said admittedly as she landed on my shoulder.

You're so silly.

So are you, dear.

Just then, something surfaced in my mind.

Was this an impulse?

No—an instinct?

Yet another?

Just where did all these come from?

Let's go to the treehouse.

What? Lyra chirped with a jump, falling off my shoulder but saving herself in the nick of time with a flap of her wings. No! That's too far. Too risky. I merely thought you'd like a breath of fresh air—just for a minute or two!

Aw, I pouted, still going forward. But that's no fun. It's a nice night out, you see? The moon is pretty.

Oh skies. You're hopeless. You're not even listening to me, are you?

I walked on, entering the next building and descending the stairs.

Io?

It was strange how I still remembered the way.

But only to the treehouse.

Io...?

Ugh.

___________________________________

Ow—

See? Look here child, I told you we shouldn't have come, Lyra said with a huff, resting comfortably on my shoulder as I meandered through the west woods with twigs and grass poking at my feet through the cheap pair of slippers. How do you even recall the way to the treehouse? Mark my words if you lose your way now, I'm never going to forgive you—

Oh come on Lyra, I sighed. I've been there so many times.

Only three or four, she pointed out.

And many more in my dreams, I told her. It didn't take me long to spot the tree. There!

My Avian seemed impressed. Hm. I didn't think you'd actually find it.

I didn't reply. I was too caught up in the moment.

Picking up my pace, I approached the tree just like I did in my dreams—and I looked up. Just like in my dreams.

Ah...there was no one there.

My gaze lowered, disappointed. Heart sank, shoulders fell—

What's that over there?

I followed Lyra's gaze. Is that...?

No. It can't be.

A ladder.

I drew towards it.

No way...since when did—

Someone must have put it here, Lyra commented. She sounded strange; a mix between awe and worry. What if it's a trap?

It was handmade; the ladder.

Skilfully made out of firm rope passing through plank after plank of wood—small, but large enough for a foot—and secured by dead knots that supported its weight.

I think someone made this.

Well, great observation Sherlock. Way to go, pointing out the obvious, Lyra sighed. The craftsmanship is definitely amateurish.

I beamed, nevertheless. Who cares? They bothered to make this!

I stepped onto the first plank, testing my weight.

It held.

Hold on, dear. Are you sure about this? Why don't we take a while to—

The climb was fairly easy.

Io! Stop. Let me go up to check whether it's clear or not first, will you?

There's no one up there...

I was sure. I didn't know why, but I was.

I would have known if they were there—I would have felt it.

There was a hole in the treehouse that was for the trunk of the tree to pass through, and that was where the ladder dropped from. Still, I was able to squeeze through the gap between the wooden flooring of the house and the trunk of the tree and lift myself onto the platform.

I was in.

It was my first time in the house.

I couldn't seem to believe it; everything was too much to take in, as if this was the dream itself. There was a faded map on one of the four walls. It was a constellation map—this must be the one that Lyra was talking about. A table (a desk, to be specific...it looked like it had been stolen from one of the classrooms), snug in the corner. On it; a kerosene lamp and a matchbox. Ah, the sleeping bag.

There was more to it.

So much more that I could not put into words—what; how?

The moon was bright.

There was something about the treehouse that gave the impression that it was not abandoned.

The sleeping bag, perhaps?

Or was it the matchbox.

It was until I noticed I had missed something out, that it all seemed clear to me why I would think so. And it wasn't just because of the dream. It wasn't just a dream after all.

There was a notebook on the desk. At the very corner.

I opened it.

On the first page; staring right back at me, was my very own handwriting.

It was the note that I had written long ago.

The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?

My eyes widened but I was smiling. I had seen something. Because

Then, right below—in a penmanship that I did not know:

Yes. It is.

_______________________________

[X]

Through the unlocked window he came

As one, in flight; no one

Knew, not he, not him

Not the night that was dim.

Alas the bed lay

Empty with covers splayed,

He who came, fascinated by

The one who left;

Left without his prey.

But vulture did

What vultures would

Do in night and day;

To watch this late

That Fate would bid

For him to lay in wait.

__________________________________

A/N: In all honesty, I couldn't sleep after writing this chapter ;_; There's something about waking up at night to see something watching me that really doesn't make me comfortable :'D

I mean...doesn't everyone?

I hope o.o

-runs into the distance- Thank you for readingggggg~~~ -jumps off a cliff-

-Cuppiecake.