Gypsy Truths

That’s no fun either.

Sanctuary is depressing. All the fun was happening when Idun was taunting us. I want her to wake up and play some more.

It seems as though Caroline is truly trying to rehabilitate the broken monster who tried to break her. Simpletons. Gotta admire their heart, even if it does make them fools.

Leaving Caroline to suffer through delivering her punishment, I move back into the room with Idun. But…Vancetto Van Helsing slices Idun’s head off, and it rolls from the case.

He grabs her head by the hair, shoves it back in the case, locks it, and turns to walk out, never acknowledging me. This ruse is no fun.

I want people afraid of Violet.

Then the wars will start and I will conquer the world!

Oh! Pretty pony! Oh, no, wait, that’s Vance’s ass walking out of the room.

Like a haunting spectrum, I follow him all the way out, and he turns to face me at last.

I grin.

He glares.

“Keep sewing her together. See if Violet doesn’t find a way to lock you to her at all times.”

“I just want to play with her,” I assure him. “A little bit,” I add, pinching my fingers together.

He doesn’t look impressed. Only Violet impresses him.

He hates Marta, so I love him.

Oh! It’s Hammer Time!

“Unreal,” he mutters, walking away as I tear up the dance floor in a way Violet never could. “I mean it, Anna. No more fucking around.”

I bet the vampire would let me play.

In the next blink, I’m in the room with him, and his eyes widen marginally to prove I’ve startled him.

He quickly shoves his phone in his pocket, pretending he wasn’t watching Idun scream.

“She screams pretty, doesn’t she?” I ask him, knowing he’ll get it.

He pulls his phone back out and shows me some…weird diagram.

“I’m not watching Idun TV. I’m searching for the box maker, since Violet is never going to stop worrying about the bloody potential villain,” he states in a tired tone. “You’re supposed to be helping with that search.”

“I can stare at it too,” I tell him as I salute him, and I dart to his side, staring at his phone just like he was. “How’s this helping?”

I look up to find him glaring at me like I’m a problem. I definitely taste ire.

“So much power wrapped up in one unstable, lunatic monster. It’s not fair,” he says very seriously.

I grin, feeling flattered. I love that they think I’m crazy. It’s my favorite thing to be.

It’s especially flattering to hear it from the vampire they all find exceptionally psychotic. It’s like Christmas on the lips.

I’m so much better than Violet, even if she is my favorite-ever person.

“It’s a pretty drawing. Reminds me of the inside of my old box,” I tell him, shuddering at the lonesome, dark memories.

The vampire jerks upright, staring directly at me like I’ve somehow intrigued him. I grin and jut out my chest, since that’s clearly what’s caught his attention.

His eyes are on mine instead of my chest.

Such a sweet vampire.

“The inside of your old box? Do you know what those markings mean?”

“Dun dun dun!” I call into the air, holding my arms up.

His eyes go black.

“Sorry,” I lie, pulling my arms down, mocking a sheepish Violet expression. “Seemed like the tension was mounting and I couldn’t help myself.”

“Damn it, Anna, what do these markings—”

“It means the kraken ate the dragon and had a fat-toed ogre baby,” I say with complete seriousness, not wanting to upset him again.

He looks twice as angry.

“Or it means the box maker made another box like mine, and that was the design used to form it. It’s similar, but very different at the same time,” I carry on, rolling my eyes. “Hardly seems as powerful as us.”

He stands abruptly, passes through me, and doesn’t even so much as look back.

“Rude much?” I call out.

I drop and rise, landing in the wolf’s lair. Red Riding Hood’s head is mounted on the wall—oh, no. Never mind. That’s just Violet’s cape hanging on a hook.

And this is Sanctuary, not Emit’s house.

I see it now. Got confused, since I came here looking for the wolf, but I should have known. They barely even use their own homes these past three decades.

Emit’s back is to me, but he stiffens, and he turns and looks over his shoulder, while he finishes up compiling a tray of food.

Fucking savage, I tell ya.

He gives me a bored look. “Violet’s going to salt you when she sees you. Fair warning.”

“I know. I can hear her thoughts. She can’t hear mine. We’ve got a wonderful relationship that way,” I tell him, smiling as I lean up on the counter. “Want to have some fun?”

“Not falling for it,” he says as he passes through me.

They never feel my salt. It’s such a beautifully masterful design I crafted all on my own. I’ve not only survived with Violet, I’ve thrived.

She’s mine.

I’m hers.

They’re hers too.

Trailing him, I duck just outside, spying on Violet from behind the grill. Emit moves toward Violet and Damien, carrying that lovely little snack out there.

She’s domesticated all of them.

It’s sad.

So sad.

Damien is lounging against a willow tree, as he reads a book aloud to Violet, while she almost sleeps. Her head is in his lap, and his hand is resting on her stomach.

Vance comes walking up, and I spot the vampire whispering in his ear. What’s this juicy morsel? Is the vampire up to a scheme? Can I help?

From my peripheral, I see Emit taking a seat next to Violet on the ground, and his leg slides across hers, as he puts the tray between them.

From savage wolf to picnic provider.

Travesty.

Utter travesty.

The sex deviant is reading some sort of risqué story, at least. Not something dull and serious. She hasn’t sucked the life out of him yet.

They all turn their glares to me at once, Violet included.

It takes me a moment to realize I’ve drifted to be right in the middle of them.

Just before Violet can salt me, I disappear.

I’ll catch up with her at the store in a bit. She’s got to handle the nightshift. I’ll apologize about sewing Idun back together.

Again.

Really, though, that monster is disappointing. I thought I was going to get to have eternal fun ripping her apart. Instead, she hides and cowers, after all her years of puffing out her chest and staring down.

Knock her down one peg, and she’s a broken puppy just taking the shit.

From bully to crybaby.

I spot Shera, as she bends over a table at a bar, and I idly glance around. I was searching for the baby. How’d I end up at a bar?

Jasper’s drinking! He’s just a baby!

Oh, no. That’s right. He grew up. Sort of.

I keep forgetting that.

Wait, why is he sitting in the corner like a total creeper and staring at Shera over the rim of his beer? That’s not his face he’s wearing. I know it’s him, though. He hasn’t figured out how to change his eyes yet.

He’s barely been able to figure out how to change faces. He got stuck in one that wasn’t his since his thirteenth birthday and just recently figured out how to remedy that.