"Damn it all…"
Vicnan wiped the tears from his eyes and stood up. A long silence followed, broken only by the sound of his footsteps and the faint rustle of fabric. He put on the suit that had rested on top of his mirror and examined himself. Staring back in the reflection was a man with slicked-back hair, dark as a raven. It contrasted sharply—like day to night—with his pale, fair skin, though he had no idea what the concept of "day" truly was.
"Three in the morning, and I'm sure as hell not going back to sleep anytime soon."
Vicnan grumbled under his breath while looking at the Roman numerals of the large analog clock on his nightstand. He had to clock into the Agency at five, meaning he had two extra hours—granted to him by his benevolent nightmare anchor.
The thick fog that covered the city at night had lifted, leaving only a faint mist in its absence, signaling that day was soon to come—or at least what the world had decided was day. In truth, there was no sun to tell people when to wake. The sky was perpetually set in the dead of night, the only light coming from the fragmented moon that never left its place.
Might as well grab something to eat.
Vicnan put on a black overcoat, wrapped his neck in a dark-blue scarf, and stepped outside. The antiquated side of New Bordeaux was always a sight to behold. The city was split into two factions: contemporary-leaning and antiquated-leaning. As their names suggested, one side preferred technology and modern ideas, while the other lived more simply—like people had in the old days before the moon was split.
What to eat…
Vicnan walked down a dark street, both hands stuffed into his coat pockets. He'd had a grim morning, and he didn't want it to sour the rest of the day—though the mere idea of work was dreadful enough. He'd gotten the weekend off, a rare privilege that earned him the envy of his coworkers. The last thing he wanted was to walk into the Agency with an empty stomach, a troubled mind, and a group of irritated friends.
Ah, I'll just get donuts for everybody. Two birds with one stone!
Vicnan smiled and continued down the street, this time with purpose. He made his way to a little spot tucked into an odd corner of the city, illuminated by a pale glow. Bright yellow light shone through its windows, signaling it was open for business.
"Good morning, dearest Vivienne."
Standing by the bakery door was a woman with dark-blue hair cascading to her shoulders like waterfalls. She was pale, though not as pale as Vicnan—few were. But comparing anyone to him was hardly fair, considering his anemia.
"Mornin', Vicnan. Got a light?"
Vicnan smirked at her. He'd always been fond of Vivienne—in truth, most people were. She was a rarity: someone untouched by the Oneiroi. She had never experienced bliss or dread, making her as normal as one could be in this world.
"Depends. Got an extra for me to light?"
Vivienne laughed and reached into the breast pocket of her work clothes.
"Cheap bastard. Here."
"And here's your light."
Vicnan placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it, standing beside her before handing back the lighter. She lingered on it for a moment, then ignited her own cigarette.
"You know, Vivienne… we've been good friends for a while now."
Vivienne looked up, met his gaze, and smiled—before blowing a large cloud of smoke directly into his face. He waved it away quickly.
"No, you can't get a discount. My God, you're pathetic."
"I recall it's always you who bums a lighter off me."
"And I recall you always steal a cigarette from my pack. You do know you get paid more than me, right?"
Vicnan coughed, patted her shoulder, then flicked his cigarette onto the curb and stepped on it.
"Touche, Viv. But now it's time to earn your keep!"
He slapped her on the back and laughed as he entered the bakery, Vivienne following behind.
"All right—the usual, I suppose?"
Vivienne stepped behind the counter, washed her hands, and reached for a tray.
"Actually… just two boxes of chocolate donuts."
He pointed at the boxes behind the glass display. She scoffed.
"Tryna feed a damn army? Don't you live alone, Vicnan?"
"Well, yes. But I'm clocking back in at the Agency today and wanted to bring a little surprise."
Vivienne stared at the boxes, her eyes shifting upward. In her violet gaze sat a blend of concern and irritation.
"Why don't you just quit the damn Agency and help me run this joint, Vic?"
"You know I can't do that."
A grim silence filled the air, broken only by Vicnan's small cough. Vivienne may have acted like she hated him, but the truth was the opposite. She knew exactly how dangerous cleansing the city of Phantasmal's was—even if Vicnan was only a support agent.
"Besides, you know how Ingrid is. Fool wouldn't sleep a peaceful night if I wasn't there to close his wounds."
"Well, whatever."
She placed two boxes on the counter and tapped numbers into the register without looking at him.
"Typically I'd charge you extra for stealing my smoke, but since you're buying these for a good cause, I'll cover it."
"My benevolent queen."
"If I'm queen, then you must be the world's worst jester. Damned bum. Besides—I know you didn't choose to wake up at three in the morning."
She looked at her feet, then back up at him.
"Vivienne… thank you. For everything. Truly."
After exchanging a smile and wave, Vicnan stepped out of the bakery in a far better mood than he'd entered. He noticed her cigarette lying on the ground next to his, still faintly glowing orange.
I'll be damned if I carry these boxes all the way there myself.
Vicnan reached into his coat and pulled out a pocketknife. Flicking it open, he pressed the blade to his index finger, pricking it. The blood didn't pool or drip—it rose. It levitated into the air, separating into two discs as thin as paper and as wide as his palm. They clotted into a dark crimson.
The first disc moved beneath the first box and lifted it. The second did the same with the other box. The blood melted around the edges, two lines tracing along the bottoms of the boxes and curling slightly up the sides to form braces.
"It should be time now."
He began walking down the street, hands in his pockets as two boxes floated near his shoulders. The mist had fully vanished, leaving the streets illuminated only by lamplight and the moon. More footsteps joined his as people left home for school and work. He was off to work as well—though most associated his line of work with death, thanks to its high fatality rate.
Vicnan didn't care. He continued toward the main office of the Phantasmal Eradication Agency, bearing gifts.