And a killer.
It was only in that moment he realized he had taken a life.
The troll.
Monster or not, he had killed that troll.
They had souls, right? They were a person? Troll-person?
Shit.
That… wasn’t a great feeling.
Life or death, yes, he had needed to defend himself and Day and Sariel but—his hands shook. God, he was shaking all over now. He grabbed the edge of the counter to steady himself, his chest heaving. Every breath burned, the bathroom was too small, his lungs tight, and his ears rang.
Fuck.
Ohfuck.
Was this a panic attack?
Why did it feel like dying?
Isn’t that what everyone said?
Seymour locked eyes with himself in the reflection and tried to remember everything he’d been told about anxiety and breathing. Inhaling slowly through the nose, some bit about waiting to feel one’s belly expand. He also did his best to be rational and remind himself that what he’d done was necessary to protect his own life and those of his friends.
Not just friends either.
His newfamily.
It had been a long time since Seymour had anyone to care about—like, really and truly care for. He thought about his mother and all that he would have given if it could have saved her life, to see her smile and hear her laugh just a little longer, to spend a single moment more being with her and hugging her tight.
And his father.
The man he had never known but still grieved, who everyone spoke of so highly and yet was a stranger to him. Seymour still wasn’t sure if he really missed him for any right or sound reason and, fuck, was Seymour supposed to die soon anyway? Who would miss him? Would he be like his father with no flowers and just be a pile of dirt with nothing to leave behind but lots of questions and, yes, a literal shit ton of money, and a stupid key?—
Oh.
The key in his pocket.
The chimes…
Holy shit.
Seymour raced out of the bathroom, breathless and frantic. “Hey! Hey!” He saw Day was still sleeping, so he tried to quietly hurry out to the kitchen to find Sariel. His heart pounded away at light speed, but he kept his voice hushed now as he grabbed Sariel’s arm. “Hey! The jingle jingle!”
Sariel, who had been in the midst of preparing what appeared to be scrambled eggs, blinked owlishly at Seymour. “Pardon?”
“The jingle jingle sound the crystal made.” Seymour bounced. “Zolrya said those were bluebells, right? And those are the flowers that grow whenever faeries come through into this world?”
“Yes.” Sariel frowned. “Why?”
“I heard ’em when that damn squackin’, squawkin’, uh, the badonkadonk whatever ran off and all those other assholes showed up.”
“I do not follow.”
“Hearin’ bluebells mean you’re about to die ’cause the faeries are comin’ to whoop your ass. Like, they came over here, right? I’m pretty sure I heard ’em too when we went to visit that crazy ass circus. So, why did we hear ’em over at the Inferno?”
