Part 1: Denial - Episode 17

“What… what was that?” Elias croaked timidly. In turn, sighed as he murmured, “Be careful.” He crept in the direction of Hope’s cabin silently, whipping around at the slightest peep coming from the seemingly endless woods around him.

Elias knocked lightly on Hope’s door, pausing for a short moment waiting for her to open it. It had been a second, but Hope did indeed open the door, smiling as brightly as ever. “Come get your groceries,” she said happily, reaching for several plastic bags.
Taking the bags from Hope’s hands, Elias apologised sheepishly, “Uh, we’re a few feathers short today… sorry. We couldn’t get them all because I got really sick.” Elias laughed nervously as Hope’s face dropped, and yet a lingering remnant of pity seemed to be present on her complexion.

“Can I have the groceries back then, please?” She remarked, to which Elias shook his head in surprise: “What?! No, we’re out of food. Can we please just have this? We have, like, 90% of the payment,” Elias pleaded. “Elias, I’m sorry–” Hope folded her arms defensively, “--but you need all of the payment… You know I actually need to pay real money to get this stuff?”
“Wait, does that mean you have contact with The City District? Can they help me get home?” The way Elias’ eyes lit up with hope and imagination made William… feel something. Worried? Sad? Pitiful? 

“No,” Hope apologised, “I’m sorry, but I need the payment.” As she spoke, William watched the hope drain from Elias’ eyes. His shoulders slumped, his posture shrank. “We’re three feathers short of the payment,” William remarked, glaring at Hope.
“Ugh–there’s an actual business behind this, you know? Can’t sell dreamcatchers and charms that are only half made,” Hope spat.

“If we only have 90% of the payment, then give us 90% of what we paid for. And what we earnt.” William straightened his posture, folding his arms, a trick his father taught him to assert dominance in a situation. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be Lloyd’s messenger boys? We nearly die every time we come out here. 

“Fine,” Hope shrugged, handing them two bags, filled with food, vegetables, cans, water bottles, among other basic necessities. “That’s not 90%--”
“Leave it, Elias, it’s okay,” William murmured as he turned on his heel to the door, Elias following him closely.

Trudging along the muddied path, William audibly exhaled, shaking his head, briefly murmuring a few words to himself. And yet, without warning, his steps faltered as he coughed up a bout of bloodied phlegm, falling to his knees. Elias spun around immediately and a look of terror instantly took hold of his expression. “Are you okay?!” he yelled. William gritted his teeth, shaking his head as he clutched his wound. “Up! Let’s go, I’ll take the bags.” Elias took a hold of William’s shoulder, aiding him up, taking the bags.

As the pair burst through the door of Lloyd’s cabin, William’s teeth were gritted; his jaw was clenched and tears stung his eyes. “Show me your wound,” Elias ordered, to which William complied, lifting his shirt to reveal the wound, although shallow, spanning diagonally across his chest, down to his hip. A sickly grey undertone was present around the wound, a mix of blood and black goo oozed out of various points. “I don’t know anything about first-aid! You got this… weeks ago! When we first met, shouldn’t it be healed by now?” Elias cried, running his fingers through his bleached blond hair. 

Scrambling to the bathroom, Elias tore open the cabinets, searching for that small, red box.

As he found it, he entered the room to find William sitting against a wall, visibly in pain as tears streamed down his cheeks, his glossy black hair shimmered in the sunlight peeking through the windows. “Here,” Elias offered,  holding a glass of water and a small pill–antibiotics. As William took the medicine, Elias unwrapped a small bandage, bandaging up the wound, looking as sickly as ever. 

. . .

“So how did you get power here? Seriously, we're so far from The City District, it's amazing,” Elias chuckled lightly, leaning against the round wooden table. “We didn't, but I utilised the magic from Thy Bad Habits. The generator…” Lloyd began, stopping and starting as he searched for the right words, “It's only existed for about five years, I've been here nearly ten.

Its magic powers the generator, that's why the generator is so unreliable,” Lloyd murmured, “magic isn't a trustworthy source, it fluctuates–” he raised a hand “--but it isn't fairytale magic,” he corrected himself, “it's more so… a source of power and strength to Thy Bad Habits itself.”

William overheard Elias and Lloyd’s conversation, fiddling idly with his bandages, grimacing at the pain.