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Chapter 3: The Quiet Between
The house sounded different with two people in it.
It was still too big, too echoey, but the air wasn't as hollow as before. The walls creaked and whispered like always, and the wind slipped under the doors, but Ari didn't feel so swallowed by it now. She padded through the hallway barefoot, her nightgown dragging at her ankles, and kept glancing back.
The horned man was there. Always there. His steps made the floorboards sigh under his weight. He didn't walk like anyone Ari had ever seen. It wasn't light or quick. It was slow, heavy, like every step sunk too deep.
"You walk funny," she finally blurted, half-whisper, half-giggle.
His red eyes flicked down at her, glowing faint in the shadows. "I walk just fine."
"Nooo," Ari shook her head hard, curls bouncing. "It's like you're stuck. Like the floor's sticky." She dragged her heel on the tiles, making a squeaky sound. "See? Like that. Shlrrrp, shlrrrp."
He didn't answer. His silence made her grin wider, like she'd won something.
They reached the kitchen. It smelled faintly of sugar and something sour, maybe old fruit Ari had forgotten in the basket. She climbed onto the tall stool, swinging her thin legs fast. The stranger just stood, leaning against the counter like he didn't belong near the chairs. His horns nearly brushed the hanging light, though it wasn't even on.
"I don't know what to eat," Ari admitted, voice small. She picked at a crack in the counter with her fingernail. "Ice isn't food, you said."
"Correct."
"So…" she dragged the word out, tilting her head, "what's food then?"
His gaze was steady, almost puzzled. "Bread. Fruit. Meat."
Ari scrunched her nose. "That's boring."
"It keeps you alive."
She huffed. "Alive, alive… everybody likes saying that." She rested her chin in her palms, watching him. "Is bread tasty? Like candy?"
"No."
"Then I don't want it."
He almost sighed. Almost. Instead, he stepped toward the cupboard, opened it, and pulled out a loaf of bread she hadn't touched in days. He tore a piece, held it out. "Try."
Ari stared at the bread, then at him. Her green eyes narrowed. "You're not gonna make me eat yucky stuff forever, are you?"
His jaw tightened. "Just eat."
She took the piece, nibbled carefully. The crust scratched her tongue. Her nose wrinkled but she chewed anyway. "Hmm. It's… it's… not candy." She swallowed hard. "But not bad."
His red eyes softened, barely.
Silence stretched again. The fridge hummed. The clock ticked faintly down the hall. Ari's legs kicked against the stool legs, restless.
"Do monsters eat bread too?" she asked suddenly, crumbs still on her lips.
His eyes flickered, sharp. "I told you. I'm not a monster."
"But you're not a man either," she whispered back, stubborn. "So… what are you?"
He looked at her too long, the words caught in his throat. Finally, low and gravel-rough, he said: "A demon."
Ari blinked. The word dropped like a pebble into a pond, rippling out in her head. Demon. She rolled it around silently before speaking.
"Oh." A pause. "Is that like… a knight? Or… a clown?"
The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "No."
"What do demons do?" she pressed.
His eyes darkened. He could have told her—about fire, shadows, the things that screamed when dragged below. Instead, he turned away. "Not things for children to know."
Ari puffed her cheeks. "That's not fair! Grown-ups always say that. Then they never tell me anything."
"I'm now a grown-up."
"You're tall," she argued instantly. "Tall means grown-up." She leaned closer, whispering like it was a secret. "But I can keep secrets. I'm good at it. See? One time, the maid dropped a glass, and I didn't tell, not even when Papa asked."
He studied her, the way her little hands spread wide with her story, the way her eyes sparkled like telling secrets was the bravest thing she could do. For a second, the corner of his lip almost curved. Almost.
The quiet returned, heavier now. Ari fiddled with her nightgown hem, twisting it between her fingers. Then, soft: "Are you gonna leave?"
He didn't answer.
Her voice cracked. "Everyone else left."
The words clung to the air like cobwebs. His chest tightened. She wasn't afraid of him, horns and all, but she was afraid of empty rooms, of vanishing footsteps.
He looked at her properly then. This little girl who thought demons might be knights or clowns. Who ate ice because no one stopped her. Who reached out to touch his horns like they were shiny toys.
"I'll stay," he said at last, his voice low, almost like a vow.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "Really? You promise?"
"…Yes." be said
Her face broke into a sleepy smile. She folded her arms on the counter and leaned her cheek against them. "Good. 'Cause you're not scary anyway."
He said nothing. He only watched her as her blinking slowed, lashes brushing her cheeks, her curls spilling across her arms. The hum of the fridge filled the silence, and something in his chest ached strangely.
For the first time in a long time, the night didn't feel like it belonged only to shadows...
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