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[url=https://youtu.be/tmozGmGoJuw][sub][color=white][i]ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ
ɪ'ᴍ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴇᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ
ɪ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀsᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ[/i][/color][/sub][/url][/center]
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For many, sleep is a welcome respite from life, from responsibilities, everything. They simply shut their eyes, then wake up the next morning, fully-rested and ready to face another day. Julian, however, often finds his dreams plagued by visions of men with heads of animals and voices like thunder. The air around him burns like hellfire, a dry, crackling heat that seeps right into his bones. These tall and terrible beings… their talons close around his neck, pressing deep enough through skin to draw blood. It hurts, and he wants to beg, cry, do anything at all, but there isn’t a breath he can spare when he feels his throat collapse and overflow with warm, viscous blood.

He finally wakes up tangled in bedsheets, skin clammy with sweat, and an ache in his jaw from a night of grinding teeth. Another day, another nightmare. Back when he was younger, Miriam would rush into his room when she heard him screaming; she’d stroke his hair, coo to him in a soft, comforting voice until he calmed down again. She stopped doing that after Julian gave her a nasty cut across the arm one night with the knife he kept under his pillow. And so, he avoids sleep as much as he can, filling his belly with straight black coffee to keep the sandman at bay. But for all his restraint, he’s not infallible, and he still has to sleep every now and then.

It’s easier, [i]safer[/i], he thinks, to fall asleep in school. All those people around him act as a shield of sorts. No one could attack him in broad daylight without drawing attention to themselves, and he wouldn’t be asleep long enough to dream. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looks over to the clock on the nightstand. 12:49 A.M. — the glowing LED states. Julian must’ve been truly exhausted to let himself sleep that long. It’s a little strange that Miriam didn’t come to wake him up, either. He reaches up to run a hand through his hair, but stops again, glancing at the bandages wrapped around his right palm. Part of it has grown dark with blood. Still fresh, from what he can tell. Frowning, he gives his hand an experimental flex. A lance of pain shoots through his arm as he does so, though he doesn’t react beyond a slight clenching of the jaw.

Julian swings his legs over the side of the bed, and pads over to the ensuite bathroom, while unraveling the bloody gauze from his hand. The gauze is quickly discarded. Twisting the tap on, he holds his hand under the water, palm side up. At first, the water that swirls down the drain runs red, but eventually, it turns clear. It’s an easy enough matter for Julian to disinfect and dress the cut again; it’s almost become part of his daily routine, by now. Regardless, he was going to have to rest a bit, take it easy with the rituals, at least for the next week or so. Miriam would surely be upset if he died from something as mundane as a festering wound.

At the thought, Julian can’t help but chuckle. It would certainly make a statement if after all these years, that was how he died. The look of Miriam’s face when she realised that the apothecary was going to fall to ruins lest she found someone else to help her spin straw into gold… Julian could only imagine. Still, it would be nice if he was the one who came out victorious at the end of all this. Miriam never saw him as her child, only as the one who would save her from a disappointing life. Many times, he had thought about choking the life out of that woman, and taking a deep, satisfying breath afterward just to spite her.

Peeling off his sweat-damp clothes, he steps into the shower. As always, the water is frigid, just the way he likes it. Soon, the pounding in his head fades into a more manageable thrum, though there’s still a slight tremor in his hand that refuses to go away. [i]God, he needed a smoke.[/i] Once he’s completely dried off, and his teeth brushed, Julian starts to pull on a fresh set of clothes. It’s very much along the lines of his usual fare – a faded green sweater, jeans, sneakers – nothing special.

As Julian sits back down on the bed, his phone begins to buzz, [i]‘MIRIAM’[/i] flashing on the screen in bright white letters. For a moment, he contemplates answering, but in the end, he just lets the call ring out to voicemail. He wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with her right now.

[i]“Hi, Jules. It’s me, Aunt Miriam. Forgot to let you know that I’ll be out of town until tomorrow morning, so I’m gonna need you to drop by the apothecary soon. That new girl is holding down the fort, but I want you to help me keep an eye on her, okay? Make sure there’s no funny business and all that. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you!”[/i]

When the voicemail ends, Julian lets his eyes fall shut, and breathes in deeply. Leave it to Miriam to run off on such short notice. Sometimes, he had to wonder if the apothecary was that important to her at all. Of course, she left him no room to argue the matter either. Far from being a question, it was an [i]order[/i], one that would undoubtedly have consequences if he chose to ignore it.

Standing up once more, he starts to gather his things, depositing them into the canvas bag he always used. His grimoire, however, stays in its hiding spot in the dresser beneath his clothes. The recent upswing in magickal activity in town has left him a little on edge, as it did many others. Where there were witches, there were hunters, and much like sharks that have caught the scent of blood, they were nothing if not efficient.

With his bag slung over his shoulder, Julian makes to leave the house, though not before grabbing a granola bar from the fridge. Homemade, of course. Aunt Miriam loved baking. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was decorated with kitschy touches — floral wallpaper, ceramic lamps shaped like animals, yard sale paintings, and so, so many doilies. Julian’s room, on the other hand, was curiously immaculate. The walls were painted beige, and unadorned apart from a painting Miriam had insisted on hanging over his bed. If nothing else, it served as a facade of normalcy. After all, no one who lived in such a quaint, lovely house could possibly be a witch or warlock, could they?

Hekate’s Crystals & Curios is only a ten-minute walk away from the Driscoll residence. Julian lights up a cigarette on the way there, and stomps the ashy remains into the curb when he reaches the apothecary. The bell above the door jingles as he steps inside, lips curling into a practiced smile when he spots a familiar face.

[b][color=d3bcb7]“Hey, Nyx. Sorry I’m late. Hope it hasn’t been too busy.”[/color][/b] Shrugging, he circles around to where Cynthia was, and leaves his bag on a shelf under the counter. Julian even lets out a tiny huff of laughter as he does so, almost like he’s embarrassed. [b][color=d3bcb7]“I might’ve, uh, overslept a little.”[/color][/b]