The voices have always followed Rory.

In the beginning, their presence didn't really interrupt her days. She heard the voices; a few words here and there and occasionally she would catch glimpses of decaying skin and blood in the reflections of store windows or loitering in the shadows.

Looking back, they had always been there, but at a distance, watching and waiting.

Rory didn't know why they were there or what they wanted, and at the time she honestly didn't want to know. As long as they didn't bother her, she didn't pay them much mind. She was perfectly fine with whatever strange arrangement they had going.

But, somewhere along the line, their relationship shifted. An invisible film had been removed, and their presence was amplified. Suddenly, the incoherent words became screams and cries of agony longing for their past lives, and other days they were curses and threats, promising Rory's demise and damnation.

They became more and more frequent, filling her waking day soon and nights, not even sleep giving any relief because they have long since planted themselves in the crevices of her dreams.

The first nightmare had scared her to the point of waking up screaming and crying. She remembers her brother rushing into her room and gathering her small body into his arms, stroking her hair and trying to get her to breathe with him. She remembers telling him about the voices, and the look he gave her was enough for Rory to never mention them again.

And she hasn't.

+++

Rory promised to have dinner with her brother tonight. He liked to make it a big ordeal which meant she could kick her dreams of an early night to the can. Rory loved her brother, she really did, but since she moved out he's been on her case more than usual. With it being that time of the year again, she isn't surprised.

It's not long before Rory is standing before the door of her brother's home, the aforementioned living within walking distance of campus.

When they were younger, the siblings would walk to campus and work on their homework together in the courtyard. She remembers them laying out in the grass, blanket spread out with their textbooks, watching the actual college students work and pretending they were cool adults as well. Rory remembers being glad that they lived within walking distance. Now, it only feels like a way for Ayden to guilt her into visiting.

Rory stands in front of the door. She should go in,
or knock, but she finds herself reluctant to do anything. The door grows bigger and bigger, looming over her,and whatever lies on the other side threatens to spill out. She can see darkness seeping out of the seams and cracks on the door.

Rory opens the door and it's just a door.

Not much has changed since Rory had been here last, which was only last week, but she couldn't help but feel out of place standing in the familiar, yet unfamiliar living of Ayden's living room. Or rather, her living room? It was their childhood home, afterall.

Ayden took over the lease in his place and continued living here, to which Rory never understood. It wasn't long before Rory moved out on her own, to her brother's disappointment. She had given the excuse that she was in college now, and had to start being more independent. Ayden, having no reason not to believe her, let her go.

The truth was, Rory didn't like how the house that felt so big when she was little, suddenly felt so suffocating. This house stopped being a home a long time ago, ever since that day. No matter how much her brother rearranged, the memories still seeped from the walls and ceilings. They clouded the air, demanding to be remembered. Even now, the walls feel like they're caving in, trying to get closer to Rory threatening to reveal their secrets.
Rory doesn't let them fall, though. She has to keep them up.

After moving out, her brother once mentioned how he missed how they used to eat together and how he wanted things to go back like how they used to be. Rory knew things would never be like how they used to be, but she still felt guilty for shutting her brother out and started visiting him for dinner every once in a while. It didn't take long for it to become a weekly routine for the two.

After exchanging greetings, the two settle down at the dining room table with their food. The seat next to Rory stays empty and she tries not to think about it.

They eat in a comfortable silence for a little bit. Rory hadn't realized just how hungry she was as she digs into her food. In a while, she knows she'll end up throwing it all up. For now, she reveals in Ayden's pot roast.

Ayden peers over at Rory from behind his frames and she tries to avoid his gaze. Rory knew her brother, knew he loved to beat around the bush. They've done this dance so many times, she knows how it ends. She dances along anyways.

"How are you?" He asks.

"Fine," She replies.

"How are classes?"

"Okay," She answers, having to hold herself from biting her lips, a bad habit she's picked up.

"How was work today?" She debates lying to Ayden, but knowing him he probably already knows everything.

"It was too late, she had already made some deal.." Rory admits. Ayden purses his lips, the way his face doesn't hide his disappointment, the way the forced patience seeps from his movements remind Rory of Dad so much that it almost elicits a sick laugh.

"They're not gonna be happy about this," Ayden warns. He sets down his silverware, the circle on his palm peeking out from his jacket sleeve.

"Not if you don't tell them," Rory mutters. What's worse than working with a narc? Being related to the narc. "Maybe if you actually went out with us, you'd understand."

Instead of reacting like Rory anticipated, Ayden suddenly asks, "What happened to your hand?" Rory didn't expect that question. She tucks her hand into her sleeve, suddenly conscious about the marks. Though healing, they were still quite red and ugly.

"Are you... did you..?" Ayden seems to struggle to ask his question, but Rory instantly picks on what he wants to say. She sets her utensils down as well, appetite immediately forgotten. "You think I did this?" Rory challenges.

"Am I wrong?" Ayden doesn't back down.

"You are, actually." Rory scoffs. He isn't completely wrong. She hurt herself, but not her hand. She's not going to tell him that, of course.

Like how Rory knew her brother, her brother knew her, but he didn't fully know her. He knows that she's creeping further and further away from him, their weekly dinners being their only connection these days.

He knows that even though he's not there to run into her room at night and hold her crying figure after a particularly bad nightmare, and that even though she doesn't talk about them anymore, the nightmares still haunt her sleep. He knows that whatever she's dealing with is something that he doesn't understand.

Rory simply stares at her brother. Ayden was smart, and has always been really perceptive, more than other humans. Like a person can be sensitive to emotions, a person can be sensitive to things of the other realms. Everyone has a range to what they can see and understand. He knew that something was up.

But Rory can't tell him. She can't. She can't drag him down more than she already has. Her lips so badly want to spill everything, but she can't. Rory can feel her heart pounding against her chest as she overthinks. Her thoughts become hazy and she can feel herself starting to slip away. She can't do this, not now.

Rory is standing up to leave before everything, including the contents of her stomach spewed everything. She needs to get away; from her brother, the empty chair, this house.

She is standing on the porch when Ayden hangs in the door. His face is somber as he watches his sister, used to her erratic behavior. Instead of trying to stop her, he instead says, "You know that it's coming up, right?"

Of course she knew, how could she not when the red 'x' on her calendar stares in her face everyday. She couldn't remember much, but she would never forget that day.

"They're going to come visit as well, they're gonna want to see you." He says cautiously. "You... Let me know if you need anything, okay?" All Rory can do is give a weak nod before she leaves.

As she walks, she can feel the walls crumbling down behind her. She was supposed to keep the walls up, but it's always Ayden picking up the pieces. Ayden, all that she has left, and it still hurts to look at him.

That night, Rory dreams of red.

A deep, velvety red. It covers the skies and surrounds her, whenever she tries to move, it grows thicker and thicker, becoming harder and harder to walk through.

In front of her, a crudely drawn eye is painted on the ground in what appears to be blood. In the middle of it lies a body, his body. Rory has to reach him before it's too late, she has to save him. She tries to move forward, but with each step, she sinks lower, and lower until she falls and tries to crawl towards him. She sees a crow, its eyes glowing red and its caws ring like laughter.

"This is your fault," the demon laughs,"You don't want to lose someone else, right? Time is ticking, Rory." Eventually her body gives up, and she lets the red consume her.

She wakes up with a violent sob. The dream is already fading, she can't remember it, she can't remember anything from that time. She can't even remember his face, But yet, she remembers the way his blood pooled around his body.

Hot tears stream down her face from frustration.
Flinging off her blankets, she scrambles to the other side of her room where she picks up a photo frame from her desk. It usually lies face down because most days Rory doesn't want to think about it. But right now, she doesn't want to forget.

The photo shows three smiling kids, they all share the same dark hair and brown eyes, even share the same crooked grin. As she holds the photo, she lets herself fall onto the floor, curled up into the fetal position. She holds the frame close to her face, and she stays like this for a while.

Through her watery vision, Rory focuses on the boy in the middle, visibly taller than the other two. He looks normal and happy. She wants to remember him like this, so she commits every detail of his face to memory. She won't forget. She won't forget.

+++

Friday rolls around, meaning that Rory's only class for the day is her music study class. This is easily her favorite class, not only because it was an independent study and she could essentially do whatever the fuck she wanted, but because she actually enjoyed music.

In the incessant noise that is Rory's life, music is the only place where it's quiet. It's the only place Rory could simply be. No intruding thoughts, no constant voices, only Rory and the song. Music is her safe place. And it's why she decided to major in it.

Rory enjoys all forms of music, but playing music was what interested her the most. She never could settle on one area; moving from guitar to piano lessons, to teaching herself how to play the drums, she wanted to learn them all. Her younger days she leaned more towards the vocal arts, involved in many school choirs and holiday programs. But it wasn't long before she realized her true love lied in the string instruments. The viola to be exact.

When it came time to choose what instrument she wanted to focus her studies in, Rory knew it had to be the viola. Her interest in instruments was always feeting, but she had yet to tire of this one.
She sets her case down on the table in front of her and stands there for a moment.

Her fingers gently gaze along the plastic exterior of the case. It's the same one she's had for years; faded black, beat up and full of scratches and general wear and tear from time. Random stickers are littered all across the surface, also fading and some peeling up at the edges. It was probably time to get a new case, and a new viola at that, but the young musician wasn't quite ready to let this one go.

For her final music exams, she had two performances. One orchestra concert for her music ensemble class and one solo recital for her independent study. Both of them are less than a month away, but yet Rory hasn't even picked out her solo piece. She was supposed to use this time and this free practice room to make any kind of progress. But honestly, classes are the last worry on the girl's mind.

Leaning back in her chair, she stares up at the ceiling. It's full of little specks of color, randomly sprinkled about. An old memory returns to her.

"Who are you?" Rory asked one day. Asta languidly leaned back against the couch, legs folded and arm rested behind Rory's head.

"How did you get that mark?" Asta asked instead.

Rory stared down at her hands, at the black circle decorating one of her palms and tried to remember. But, it's empty. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn't find an answer. The spot where the memory should be is empty. Rips and holes litter Rory's memories, the timeline in Rory's head incongruent.

When Rory doesn't say anything, he leans in closer, to the point where his lips almost brush Rory's ear, "Maybe you should start there."

She has since learned what this mark means, and the consequences and risks that come with it. The Circle represents fullness and cycles; what begins will end and will begin again. But where did she begin?

And that is when Rory remembers that she is meant to be alone. She's always known this, but this time there's a painful ache in her heart. It grows bigger, and bigger, until the little musician hunches over herself with her knees up to her chest.

The practice rooms are wonderful because they are small, with no windows, and virtually soundproof so as to not disturb any of the adjacent rooms.

So, there was no one to hear the sobs that encompassed the girl that day.