DISCLAIMER: this is was the ending that I decided to separate from chapter 1. So, now the series is fully focused on Glaser and Soul.

***

Under the bright sun and cloudy sky. Away from the police combing the area and news crews. The blood no longer glistens; it has dried and caked onto his face and hand—the same one he used to pull out her heart. He finds a windowless brick house in an open area of the woods. The myriad-colored abode, no bigger than a tool shed, is engraved with moving faces of people who all look terrified. One brick depicts an elderly woman’s face shifting from shock to tears. He knocks. The door opens; a woman dressed in a white robe greets him.

“My beloved Michael Douglas, you have returned to me. What news do you bring?”

“She is dead,” he tells her, presenting the heart. She plucks it out of his hand. Michael Douglas is right. After centuries, she is dead. How many have died along the way, just for this moment? So many that she could fill up five graveyards.

“Will I return now?” he asks.

“Not yet. I need to know, did you kill an innocent witch?”

Michael frowns before he speaks, and she raises an eyebrow. She can already guess what he is about to say. Still, she waits.

“Yes,” he says despondently.

She shrugs—no reason to fret over collateral damage.

“How many?”

Watching him count, she realizes six months, crossing paths with so many witches, not all of them murdered. The number should be low enough for one hand, she hopes. He does.

“Five.”

She sighs in relief. Michael has intelligence almost equal to a five-year-old. However, at that age, a child is the most malleable. At a time when they want to be around their mother. Where the child loves to get praise from their mom. The raven-haired witch knew this; not a day goes without a sense of pride. Even when he fails, her faithful Michael never stops until he succeeds. Despite being a murderer, she finds morbid charm in what he does. Sometimes, there is a feeling of Michael being the child she never had. It is why the punishment he will receive will not be harsh. After all, it is a festive mood. Even a parent spares their child then.

“Penance shall come later.”

After squeezing the heart—her hand opens; it floats off into the house.

“For now, it is a celebration. Then preparation, for another hunt.”

She smiles at him. Some of the bloody flakes break off to fall toward the ground from his.

“It is time to return now, my beloved Michael.”

Michael strips off his clothes to unveil sewn-on muscular arms stitched to a large chest. Runes blacken his upper torso, which turns into carvings found on his wooden stomach. Runes are running down his muscular legs. There is no crotch. She smiles, looking upon Michael Douglas; he is a fine creation and notes a few repairs she must do to him. He will need a new face.

She steps back into the house, putting some distance between them, enough to let her stretch out her neck and slither it on the ground. Locks of her hair push leaves and twigs out of her way. She coils around Michael from the stomach up, getting him nice and snug. She kisses him one last time before dislocating her jaw, letting it open wide. All at once, she gobbles him up, leaving only his feet sticking out. Her face turns a deathly dark purple. Her veins protrude; beads of sweat roll down her cheeks; an excess of saliva pours off her bottom lip. The muscles in her mouth push him down her throat in one go. Her sweaty face returns to normal. Her neck now resembles an overgrown tumor. The boulder that is Michael Douglas goes down easy. As she gulps him down, he grows smaller. Smaller and smaller. Until it was like he was never swallowed.

She recoils her neck back into place, and her skin sags. A hand cloth floats towards her; she grabs it and wipes the sweat off the folds of her neck. Closing her eyes to enjoy the familiar taste of ginger and cocoa. She flicks her wrist—the door closes. The house vanishes.

— THE END —

DISCLAIMER: this is was the ending that I decided to separate from chapter 1. So, now the series is fully focused on Glaser and Soul.

***

Under the bright sun and cloudy sky. Away from the police combing the area and news crews. The blood no longer glistens; it has dried and caked onto his face and hand—the same one he used to pull out her heart. He finds a windowless brick house in an open area of the woods. The myriad-colored abode, no bigger than a tool shed, is engraved with moving faces of people who all look terrified. One brick depicts an elderly woman’s face shifting from shock to tears. He knocks. The door opens; a woman dressed in a white robe greets him.

“My beloved Michael Douglas, you have returned to me. What news do you bring?”

“She is dead,” he tells her, presenting the heart. She plucks it out of his hand. Michael Douglas is right. After centuries, she is dead. How many have died along the way, just for this moment? So many that she could fill up five graveyards.

“Will I return now?” he asks.

“Not yet. I need to know, did you kill an innocent witch?”

Michael frowns before he speaks, and she raises an eyebrow. She can already guess what he is about to say. Still, she waits.

“Yes,” he says despondently.

She shrugs—no reason to fret over collateral damage.

“How many?”

Watching him count, she realizes six months, crossing paths with so many witches, not all of them murdered. The number should be low enough for one hand, she hopes. He does.

“Five.”

She sighs in relief. Michael has intelligence almost equal to a five-year-old. However, at that age, a child is the most malleable. At a time when they want to be around their mother. Where the child loves to get praise from their mom. The raven-haired witch knew this; not a day goes without a sense of pride. Even when he fails, her faithful Michael never stops until he succeeds. Despite being a murderer, she finds morbid charm in what he does. Sometimes, there is a feeling of Michael being the child she never had. It is why the punishment he will receive will not be harsh. After all, it is a festive mood. Even a parent spares their child then.

“Penance shall come later.”

After squeezing the heart—her hand opens; it floats off into the house.

“For now, it is a celebration. Then preparation, for another hunt.”

She smiles at him. Some of the bloody flakes break off to fall toward the ground from his.

“It is time to return now, my beloved Michael.”

Michael strips off his clothes to unveil sewn-on muscular arms stitched to a large chest. Runes blacken his upper torso, which turns into carvings found on his wooden stomach. Runes are running down his muscular legs. There is no crotch. She smiles, looking upon Michael Douglas; he is a fine creation and notes a few repairs she must do to him. He will need a new face.

She steps back into the house, putting some distance between them, enough to let her stretch out her neck and slither it on the ground. Locks of her hair push leaves and twigs out of her way. She coils around Michael from the stomach up, getting him nice and snug. She kisses him one last time before dislocating her jaw, letting it open wide. All at once, she gobbles him up, leaving only his feet sticking out. Her face turns a deathly dark purple. Her veins protrude; beads of sweat roll down her cheeks; an excess of saliva pours off her bottom lip. The muscles in her mouth push him down her throat in one go. Her sweaty face returns to normal. Her neck now resembles an overgrown tumor. The boulder that is Michael Douglas goes down easy. As she gulps him down, he grows smaller. Smaller and smaller. Until it was like he was never swallowed.

She recoils her neck back into place, and her skin sags. A hand cloth floats towards her; she grabs it and wipes the sweat off the folds of her neck. Closing her eyes to enjoy the familiar taste of ginger and cocoa. She flicks her wrist—the door closes. The house vanishes.

— THE END —