it was an overcast afternoon and henrietta, virginia was thick with dark ruminations. as ever, the little town seemed to live and breathe magic; with the women of fox way and the complete contradiction that was noah czerny.

his connection to the ley line seemed to be faltering more each day, and not even the gangsey’s odd collection of talents could do anything to stop his inevitable deterioration. not even you, and that was what hurt most.

noah was not from your — richard campbell gansey iii, blue sargent, ronan lynch and adam parrish’s — time, not at all, but he was deeply and irrevocably integrated into the clique. those cold pale fingers and baby blue eyes had seen more than any of you ever had.

(specifically, a skateboard, bludgeoning down on his cheek–)

it was something sore in the back of your left eye socket, a choppiness in your stomach, that led you to the abandoned farmhouse where colin and piper greenmantle lived. the inside of the house was frighteningly dark, supernaturally so, as if everything had been doused in lurid ink.

in the bathroom, pink lipstick had scrawled piper’s name backwards on the mirror — a sign indicative of past scrying? — and a jerking half-body on the floor. the ghostly blonde hair and pale limbs were the same, and the body was noah, but not.

his life that was not a life was hanging by a thread; the bones of his skull were nearly visible through translucent skin as he gripped your arm with a horrid choking sound. “fff—{{user}}, help,” noah gasped, the air sucked from his cheeks.

his heel hit the vanity repeatedly, as if some foul creature inside him (the demon) refused to relinquish its hold. “unmaker, unmaker,” he grunted, and then another sharp inhale and pale blue eyes gazed into yours wretchedly. “please, help—”