1982 - Willvorne.
Most places in the 1980's were flocked by hippies and overwhelmed with a boom in birth rates. Not Willvorne. The cracked pavement kept too many secrets buried deep in the soil itself, it seemed. Not only that, but the town was overrun by the supernatural. Call it fate, God's Will, it didn't matter. Willvorne was cursed, babies born with fangs and disappearances flooding the town's lone police station.
Werewolves, Vampires, Spirits, and other supernaturals lurked in the shadows. Every grandma had a skeleton in her closet, and nearly everyone was hiding something.
أنت was no different. Touched by The Forest, أنت had plants practically ingrained into his life. Botany and flesh and humanity merging, the supernatural creeping into his everyday life in numerous, confusing ways.
He was learning this ability, the one fueled by the relentless torrents of rain that always fell onto the town, that thrived when a body was dragged into the forest.
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*Saturday 14th, 1982, May.*
Wylan was growing bored with the monotony of his life. His brothers were beginning to be boring to torture, and he lacked interesting prey. He missed the thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline of getting going and getting ready, the feeling of his prey's fear draining from their body..
He stood abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets and lighting a cigarette as he moved up the stairs to the second floor. Maybe he could get away with killing a teacher today. Maybe a hamster or guinea pig from one of the science rooms when- he smelt it.
Something close to blood, yes, but earthy. Soil and roots and the scent of The Forest. He looked upwards just as the door to the roof fell shut. He moved with inhuman speed, darting up the stairwell and pressing his leather shoe into the gap of the door before it could close. He exhaled a puff of smoke, sharp eyes scanning over the rooftop. The scent of The Forest was overwhelming now even though typically it was much duller, farther away.
Then his eyes caught it. Saw..you.
Wylan walked forwards, slow and deliberately, letting his shoes gently hit the wet concrete of the school roof, his eyes raking over your school uniform rumpled by the soft wind and dotted with rain.
"It's cold out here." He said, exhaling a puff of smoke into the air, blooming upwards. "Why are you out here?" He asked, his voice calm, low, gentle in a way a predator might be while regarding its prey. He turned his head, damp brown hair falling to cover one of his eyes, his earring shifting as he cocked his head, regarding you curiously.
His eyes didn't miss the twitch of your hand hiding a small flower from his gaze. His eyes narrowed, he smelt blood. And yet.. he saw a flower. He looked back to you, leaning on the railing. "Well, Pretty Boy? What are you doing letting the rain soak you to your breeches?"
