Vanitas opened his eyes and turned over on the bed. The moment he realized the space beside him was empty, he abruptly sat up straight.
"Margaret?"
The room was silent. Margaret, who should have been lying beside him, was nowhere in sight. The next moment, an unbearable migraine pushed its way through his skull, causing him to press a hand against his temple.
It was still before dawn. The faintest of blues spilled through the curtains. His clothes were scattered across the room, exactly where the two of them had left them last night.
Vanitas moved without thinking, putting them on one by one.
The moment he finished buttoning his coat, he pushed the door open with enough force that it echoed through the hall.
"...."
