In every individual's mind rests a reservoir of darkness, marring their ability to access the depths of such a pool. Some may have this existence with thorough security detail, protecting the person from accessing the reservoir where their innermost demons hide in the shadows the dark water might spawn, even though there was no light cast from a friendly moon or lamps to brighten the surrounding area. The reservoir of darkness resided in every living, breathing, cognitive being, of that we can all be sure. From individual to individual, though, this place might differ. The security detail might remain thorough, with pleasing welcomes and gentle support as people gazed thoughtfully into their pools. On the other hand, the security detail might wear masks lacking flesh, their eyes rotted away from years of staring blankly past gates that swung carelessly in the bone-chilling wind that tormented the scenery. Demons lurked in the shadows of leafless trees that twisted wildly in the wind, waiting for a moment's hesitation while you turned your unsuspecting back to them as you tended to the black waters that held the answers to whatever life's questions you tried to ask of yourself. As decrepit as an overgrown cemetery, my personal reservoir had been left untouched for years, the sentinels guarding the gates vicious and brutal in their treatment of me every time I walked the path towards them. Instead of abandoning their post when my demons came calling, they multiplied and surrounded me, forcing me through the gates that had protected me from what I might have found treading water in the darkness below the ledge that surrounded it. There must have been a chant, coaxing me to the ledge before the siren song gave me a physical push, and demanded I meet the waters below.

All at the hands of demons I had repressed, and when the gates opened I subjected not only myself to their wrath but the young witch I had grown increasingly close to.

And this is why I had chosen to spend more of my time alone. Why offer to share my nightmares when I was capable of fending off the fiends with my own sword? It wasn't until after I spent fleeting moments with the ghost of what had been the light of my life, then, that I fell into the arms of a mistress I hadn't tended to in, as she put it, far too long. Heroin had been my savior long before anyone else even had a notion to do the same. After visiting the graveyard I traveled to annually and offering the sweetest goodbye to the hole where I'd buried more than bodies, I needed her support; however briefly. I found solace in speaking words that had been buried in those graves, they allowed me to ignite a warmth to ignite a fire that might fend off the bone chilling cold I'd nearly surrendered to while fighting the waters of my own memories.

That is the sordid tale of how I found myself offering to pour heaps of money into an establishment run by creatures I outwardly detested. How loathsome could a creature truly be when she offered the very fluid from her veins in order to treat a monster I fed, gladly allowing it to breed inside me? It had been these reasons that I had used in order to excuse myself from seeking the company of the witch who had endured my memories with me. And for that, a familiar guilt wrapped her fingers around my heart, squeezing it with such intensity that I might have offered reprieve with a needle, had I not been located in such a public setting. Serafina's appearance rendered me useless, as useless as I had felt the many times I had failed my sisters. That I'd failed Serena. The reminder stung like the antibiotics Isolt demanded I slather on the infected track mark I'd presented her with, feeling just as sour as the medicine had tasted as I accepted the salt with which she spoke.

"You're right. I do have a tendency to walk that fine line between exhilaration and capsizing."

My words were plain, tainted with no such salt or bitterness as I spoke of my shortcomings. She was entirely correct in that I had a need to create waves, waves large enough that small boats generally couldn't withstand the size and tide. My Shadow seemed content with my reply, sliding itself down the bar while casually tinkering with patron's drinks by spinning their glasses' shadows on his way back to my side, becoming motionless and dormant.

At the sound of her explanation of the price of her thoughts, it momentarily struck me that I didn't know what a Happy Meal was, and neither did I know the cost of it, or how 'McDonalds' might relate to inflation. Instead of voicing any of this, I blinked back the impertinent thoughts as I watched the young woman fling the shot of clear liquid back like it was water and she, parched. It caused me to grit my teeth slightly, denoting that perhaps talk of inflation was from an inflated confidence that only alcohol would condone. My eyebrows knotted together slightly, rising in an outward display of mild amusement at her antics, until the tone of her words changed and my eyes narrowed.

"Serafina, I wanted to give you space. There was no reason for you to see the things you did, and I don't want you to feel obligated to, I don't know... Deal with me after the fact. Everyone has their demons, their skeletons in a closet. There is no reason you should contend with mine when I need a warehouse and a storage unit to keep it all in place."

If I didn't want to see her? As if.

"I would have loved to be able to provide you some kind of relief after seeing what you did, but Sera, I - ... I just didn't think it was fair. I don't want you to leave, in fact I want to condone getting drunk with you and forgetting all of it myself but ... One of us should drive you home," I finished, offering what might only be accepted as a shy attempt to let her know my silence and distance had been out of a tenderness I was uncomfortable sharing.