If hell could be a feeling, that was definitely what Mykayla was experiencing right now. Her arm was so painful she was thinking of just chopping it off.

The intense burning sensation when she stayed still was almost a breathing moment compared to the bone crushing pain that shot through her arm when she moved even the slightest bit. The nausea that hit afterwards made her world spin.

Not that all of that could stop her from climbing out of the couch she found herself in. She was momentarily confused from her surroundings, but then slowly a vague memory of Thomas carrying her on his back returned.

"Thomas?" She tried to call, but only cringed at the weakness of her voice.

No one answered.

With much difficulty and lots of minute long stops, Mykayla finally reached the kitchen, which was really only a few meters further. The house was open, with lots of windows and few walls between each room.

With wavering breath, chattering teeth and shaking feet she opened every cabinet there was to find in the humble kitchen. Until eventually she found what she was looking for. Salt.

As if her life depended on it, she ripped the clean bandage from her left arm. With help from the countertop, she glided down towards the ground where she opened the paper bag of salt. She smeared a greedy hand of salt over the open wound.

A hellish scream of pure agony filled the otherwise quiet house before Mykayla passed out on the kitchen floor.

It was only an hour later that her eyes opened again. Her pale skin was covered in droplets of cold sweat. The white in her eyes must've turned an unhealthy pink, going off by the burning sensations, and her body was shivering from the cold. Yet all Mykayla felt was heat and undeniable pain. No matter how terrible she must've looked, she was more awake and aware of her situation.

After scanning her surroundings, she took another hand of salt and pushed it once more in the wound on her arm. She hissed before hitting the ground with her right fist.

With her eyes closed, she took her time to breathe. In and out. It started out shaky, but the more she did it, the more controlled her breathing became. With every breath she took, the pain became more bearable. Until Mykayla could open her eyes again.

She was not done yet, not for a long shot.

"Now, where are you, farmer boy? And where is Luna?"

She walked in estimated steps towards the hall and up the stairs. With difficulty Mykayla reached the top of the stairs. Only a wave of dizziness held her from storming angrily into every room.

"If you're not here, I'm seriously going to start thinking about ways to torture you. Who lets a dying person alone in their house?"

Her usual moping kept her head from the pain that was starting to rise again.

"Distraction, that's what they call it," she grunted to herself, before opening the door closest to the stairs.

"Thank God, you weren't here. I did not need to see you pee," she huffed while limping to the next door with the help of the wall.

"Please don't let there be a sewing machine, I won't be able to take it if you had that for a hobby."

A hint of ridicule was present at her prayer. Instead she found an empty bedroom painted in a grayish tint.

"Of course, perfectly cleaned and no clothes scattered on the floor," she scoffed, yet a faint glimpse of a smile appeared at the normality of the man's bedroom.

She didn't have to check the bathroom upstairs to know Thomas wasn't there. Instead she went back downstairs and let herself fall back onto the comfy couch for a minute. Her heavy breathing and the burning fever had returned.

Once the dizziness had stabilized, Mykayla took a decent look at the wound on her left arm. It wasn't nearly as big as she thought. It was only a finger long and Mykayla was sure only superficial skin was hit by the knife. It wasn't the wound itself that terrified her, it was the knowledge she had about the soul-dagger that made her restless.

Dark red and purple veins made the knife wound look immensely more threatening. In rhythm with the pulsing pain in her arm, the color of the veins became brighter before it turned to a more transcendent red and purple. That part of her wound didn't look quite as healthy. It made Mykayla's head spin.

A soul-dagger wasn't made for living creatures, but for torturing dead souls. It couldn't be good for a living soul to experience the effects of a tool like that. Luckily, being obsessed with the supernatural had its advantages. Salt might be a terrible idea for treating a mortal wound, but it had its own effects when it came to extraordinary injuries. It was going to leave an ugly scar though.

A new shock of pain traveled through every nerve cell in Mykayla's body. She closed her eyes in reflex and bit down on her teeth before slowly breathing out.

"More," a craving gasp was all that was left from her voice.

Crawling over the ground, she reached the half-empty bag of salt, still laying on the kitchen ground. She covered her wound yet again with a handful of biting white grains.

"This is not going to be enough I'm afraid."

She sighed in relief when the pain subsided again.

"First mission," with the help of the countertop, she climbed up to her feet, "great, now I'm already quoting my sister." She rolled her eyes at the fact that Luna and Thomas were starting to rub off on her. "Whatever, they're not here. First mission: find an extra bag of salt because this little bit is not going to keep me sane."

With newfound spirit, and everlasting annoyance at everything and everyone, Mykayla looked for the only place she could think of that would have stacked food. The basement.

In lazy steps, she found the only door left in the house that she didn't inspect, mainly because the door looked more like a closet than an actual door. With careful steps she descended the stone stairs.

"Who doesn't have a light switch in a room with no windows?" Mykayla grunted, while she was struggling to feel the steps under her feet.

After twelve steps, she reached the basement ground and with that she also felt a switch against the wall.

"My God this man needs to learn how to build a house," she grunted irritated at the misplacement of the light switch. "Who puts their light switch at the bottom of the stairs?"

Mykayla turned around and all the irritation and annoyance that she ever felt for the farmer faded away. For the first time in her adult life, Mykayla was completely speechless. And for the first time in years, she needed a moment to comprehend what she saw.

"Oh, Thomas." Her voice was a soft, surprised whisper.