Chapter Text
“Dear Boris,
Love has left me barren. I have lost my husband, not 5 months after our marriage.
I know I have always asked you to return home and you have stayed in your post.
But now I don’t believe I can live with our house, once full of joy, empty.
Please come home. I need you.
Your brother,
Bendy”
The train rattles over the tracks, jostling Boris as he reads over his brother's letter for the nth time. His face is drawn up in worry, his brows pinched and ears hanging low. Over the 9 hour train ride he had not slept once, his mind flooding him with the images of what might happen if he was too late. All he had with him from 3 years in his service was a single briefcase full of his contracts and official documents. That and the clothes on his back; his formal uniform in dress blue that was tight on his arms and made him feel like a fake. The ideas it held made him feel small even when he owned his stripes and medals with pride. It was the least dirty outfit he could find on hand as he rushed to leave. A week ago the wolf had received it on the front line, and he should have left right then. But he had grown unappreciative of his brother's letters over the years, allowing himself to idle as he thought he'd always be there for him to respond to when he got around to it. He should’ve been more grateful, more attentive to Bendy.
Two days ago, after several days of feeling like something was horribly wrong, Boris finally picked up the letter and read it through. It was horrifying. Especially in light of a letter he had received only 3 weeks ago; an update about Bendy’s marriage. It was pages long detailing everything from what Bendy had worn on their latest day out to a suit he was making for his spouse. That letter had made Boris so happy, knowing Bendy had found such a perfect match. Even if he couldn’t be there to see it himself. A point of regret that the wolf had never fully gotten over. There were a great many things he had to miss due to his military enlistment such as his older brother meeting his spouse and every one of his performances.
In truth he was hiding within his position, a sheep in wolf's clothing. He enjoyed the anonymity of his rank, how he could blend into the people around him and become no more important than the next man. No one spoke to him outside of orders, his silence was seen as focus and not an inability to socialize. It’s what pushed him to join the military, feeling out of place in a small town that had never understood him. He only wished he did not have to leave his brother. So every time Bendy asked him to come home, he’d lie. I’m sorry but I’m needed here. I love you, I’m sorry. For years. He had been so cowardly that he had betrayed his brother. But he couldn’t go back there, back to being a someone. The military was safe, he could hide. No one needed him, and he could fade away. He was happy watching his brother through his letters and newspapers about his performances. His brother had been all alone when he met his love, all alone on his wedding day, and now all alone when he lost his love.
The man beside Boris coughs loudly into a tissue, as he has done every couple of minutes through the long train ride. He had greeted Boris kindly, shaking his hand and thanking him for his service, before he sat down. But as the ride had progressed he shoved Boris further and further into the window, kicking the wolf’s briefcase at times. It was a distraction Boris welcomed no matter how annoying it was as his mind was running itself in circles of guilt. He tucks the letter away, folding it with care into his breast pocket. He instead focuses on the scenery outside the window. Rushing past are large dull fields of wheat and dry grass that curve into the horizon like scars on the earth. The phone lines had stopped miles ago, leaving the drab view untainted by the innovations of modern man. The train will stop in the port of Inkwell soon, within the hour if he guessed correctly. He recognizes these fields from his childhood and from the train ride that took him from Inkwell years ago. He’ll be home soon.
There's an impending sense of dread that floats over him during the duration of the ride. Fear for his brother, Fear of returning to this place, and fear of not going back to the army after this. As selfish as that was. He didn’t belong here.
This was the weight Boris carried until the train rolled into the station and he shakily stood to his feet. He turns away from the window, desperately keeping his last few moments of his own peace, before his worry overpowers his fear and he rushes past the other passengers. Bendy doesn’t deserve to wait on him any longer. He ignores the shouts of outrage from behind him as he weaves through the crowd of travelers, stepping onto the old cobblestone platform before his own nerves can stop him. Weight descends onto his shoulders as the once familiar smell of fish overwhelms his nostrils. Tall, pointy buildings stand like mountains in the distance, Inkwell. It’s only a short walk now. Boris adjusts his grip on his briefcase and walks forward.
The cobblestone of the train station is soon replaced with a dirt pathway interspersed with chunks of gravel. His laced up boots make heavy footprints in the loose dirt, their steel-toes weighing them down. Boris is quiet on his walk into town, but his mind is racing. He will be seeing his brother for the first time in years and it is under the worst circumstances. He should’ve visited for the wedding.
As he steps into the little town the stones fade back in, smoother than the ones at the station, worn with time. Bendy has always adored the quaintness of this town even as he traveled all over for his performances, the demon had always returned to this village. The Darling household was huge and when Boris was living there it had always felt like a void sat in the bones of the house that he could never fill. Many rooms sat empty and when the sun shined into them it still felt cold. Boris had tried to ask Bendy about it but his older brother never felt that emptiness the wolf did. Maybe he did now.
He stood in front of it now, its pillars likened to prison bars. The household ate the world around itself, shadows from its walls covered over buildings and moss sunk under the base boards. It's made of reddish- brown brick and covered in ivy, the green bringing some life to the exterior. The town square was only a block away so there was a slight bustle from the townspeople. A fishmonger walked behind Boris rolling his cart roughly over the stones with a rattling cough. There was a warm lamp light that shone in a window in the upper left of the building, Bendy’s room if he was remembering correctly. Without another thought Boris walked into the house, pushing open the door without preamble.
“Bendy? Where are you?” His voice is rusty from misuse, even from before the train ride over. He sets down his briefcase inside the doorway, stepping forward onto the hardwood floor. There is no answer. Boris feels a great dread as he paces around the house, calling for his brother. His boots make clean clicking noises as he walks, disturbing the perfect quiet of the home. There's things he doesn’t recognize, pictures of people hanging in the hallway he doesn’t care to look at right now, posters from Bendy’s shows, new furniture. It all goes past him in a blur as he throws open every door and searches every room. Coming up on Bendy’s sewing room he feels tears building in his eyes, this is the last room. Had he been too late?
The room is empty of life but endlessly full of fabrics. When Boris was still living here his brother had a wall taken down when he ran out of space in a single room. It is the only room in the house Boris felt was a home. It was cluttered and you’d probably get a stray needle stuck somewhere in your clothes before you left as they hung from half-sewn projects on clothing lines. Sheer fabrics partially covered the windows painting the sun light an array of colors. A large closet stood proudly in the back of the room, coming off the back wall by about a meter and stuffed to the brim. On particularly bad days in Boris’ childhood when he was still small he’d curl into the closet floor, surrounded by his brother's creations. Bendy would find him in the morning and sing him back into the waking world. The closet was more comfortable than his own bed even when he had no blanket. He’d unlikely fit now.
He wasn’t here. Boris’ breath picks up now and he feels himself losing control of it. He stumbles over to the windowsill, grasping it through a fabric for comfort. His head feels too heavy and he leans forward until it hits the window. Boris’ claws come out with no care, leaving holes in the fine fabric. Where is his brother? Bendy please, oh god please. Tears are free falling down his face leaving cold trails through his fur. He opens his eyes uselessly, looking out into the backyard. And that's when he sees him. Bendy is hard to see from this distance, and through his tears, but he is sitting down in front of an old willow tree. Alive. Boris gasps and a large smile cracks his face in half. He wasn’t too late!
Boris turns tail and runs, carelessly toppling over a mannequin. He squeaks as he falls over with the thing and quickly stands back up to his feet. Boris grabs the mannequin with care, righting it again. A beautifully embroidered suit covers the model, red swirls and music notes cover every inch tastefully. Other colors intersperse the red making it a technicolor mural of life. The undershirt is ruffled and light but hidden by the long trench jacket around it. A pair of matching pants is on a nearby stool, needles stuck inside of it. It's gorgeous, and not Bendy’s size. Boris swallows. This must have been the suit Bendy wrote to him about. He leaves it as he runs away down the hallway. The room echoes with the door slamming shut and descends back into quiet. It has been untouched for a month now and gathers dust. As do most rooms in the Darling home, their master neglecting them. The sun streams in through a large window beside the dummy, illuminating a shining gold embroidery right over the breast pocket; “My love.” There is a vacuum of darkness around the thing as the room lays back down for slumber.
“Dear Dead Darling,
It has been 27 days now since you have left me.
Do you remember how I begged you to stay home that day?
Did you hear me cry out for you as you left into the night?
I hope more than anything you receive these letters wherever you are.
I hope you are happy with yourself and you and your family rest peacefully.
I hoped to have our own family, you know?
Yours Forever,
Bendy”
The willow rustles around him and its spindly branches reach out to him with help of the wind. If he closes his eyes he can imagine his love sitting beside him again and he lives in that delusion for as long as he can and he next opens his eyes. Like now as he reads his latest note, all he feels is the emptiness of the world around him. Bendy curls around himself and pushes his body as close as he can into the dirt below him. His horns scrape against the round gravemarker he lays in front of. Bent over the grave on his knees, the letter lays below his face, ready to be buried shallowly with the rest of them. His claws grab at the stone in front of him and over several weeks he has started to leave marks on both his body and the stone. His formerly pristine nails are now jagged and catch on his mourning veil every chance they get. It is the blandest outfit he has worn in decades and he can't bring himself to care. He felt stripped to the core, nothing left but a hollowness.
“Bendy!”
Recognition tugs on his mind, he knows that voice. It's faint, far away and Bendy nearly dismisses it for a trick of the mind but it comes again. Louder than before, rapidly closing in.
“Bendy!”
Is that..? Bendy’s eyes widen and he leans up onto his thighs, wincing as the sun burns his eyes. He gazes out into the field before him, looking back at the house, and there he is. Boris. He’s finally home. His little brother is rushing over to him, tripping over roots as his eyes never leave Bendy’s form. Bendy’s legs weigh him down as he tries to stand, numb from his extended time sitting, but he forces himself to his feet. A moment later Boris comes barreling through the willows vines and right into his brother. The wolf squeezes Bendy into a hug and picks him up off the ground so he can better nuzzle into his brother's shoulder. Bendy cries out with a muted joy, the first smile in weeks forming on his lips as he hugs his little brother back just as fiercely.
There's a wetness that sinks into the demon's shoulder, Boris must’ve been crying. Bendy rubs his back, enjoying the warmness of their embrace. Bendy wants to speak but all that comes out are half-formed words and soon sobs. This moment of happiness quickly slinks away from him just as it arrived and his grief swallows him again. He can’t even greet his brother properly, how pathetic. An emptiness yawns open beside the pair and they both feel it. Bendy knows its shape, knows how it used to light up a room, knows its terrible jokes. But Boris doesn’t, he just knows something is missing that he’ll never be able to meet.
There's nothing to say except, “I’m sorry, Bendy. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” They headed inside an hour later after Boris pried him from the grave site so he could eat. The wolf cooked a small pot of bacon soup, Bendy’s favorite. But the devil didn’t take a bite, all he could do was sit and breathe in the scent. Boris sat beside him the whole time, quiet. There was nothing else to say. Nothing to get through to his brother not immediately. So he was determined to stay by his side until he was ready to speak again. A horrible thought crossed his mind, would Bendy ever sing again? Boris looked at the side of his brother's face, eliciting no teasing remark, no flicker of recognition from the other. Boris felt sick.
And on life went.
This went on for a week, meals left uneaten or half done. The veil and dark black suit Bendy wore slowly staining with dirt and mud. He refused to change no matter how hard Boris pleaded. He had always hated black for countless reasons. Childish things like how it washed him out. And an awful fear of the death black represented. Which makes this seem even more like a cruel trick of fate. He won’t change, what does it matter if he takes care of himself now. His life is gone. Maybe if he allows himself to rot he’ll join his love in the ground.
And everyday Boris finds the demon at the willow tree, head bent low and crying. It is the worst Boris has ever seen him. The wolf has even taken to sleeping outside of Bendy’s room to keep him from leaving in the middle of the night to visit the grave. The downside being having to hear Bendy cry himself to sleep. The days have been grim but at least Boris hasn’t had any reason to travel into town yet. But it seems today that the town had seen reason to come to him. There's a knock at the front door that resonates through the empty house and scares Boris out of his skin. He was just about to go out and get Bendy before it sounded.
He swallowed nervously and walked up to the door. Boris breathed out a huff of air before putting on an air of calm, a frown resting on his face. His hand rested on the doorknob for a minute before the knock sounded again, harsher than last time. It shocks the wolf into opening the door only to be greeted by an unwelcome face.
The little greenish blue imp stood on the porch in between two large worker bees. The imp, the town's auditor and contract examiner, was holding a thick book in one hand. The two bees were police and their batons hanging ominously at their sides. All three figures were scowling at Boris. It was Stickler. What was he doing here?
“Captain Darling? You’re back from the military?” Stickler drawls and from anyone else it’d sound like an honest question but the words matched with the imp's steadfast stare dispelled that honesty. The auditor never actually looked mad, just frustratingly blank that made Boris’ already poor people reading skills shiver with fear. He didn’t look mad, but your mind would fill in the expression automatically. Stickler doesn’t wait another second, nodding to the guard on his left who then brute forces their way into the home. Stickler walks forward, gazing around the house with his beady little eyes. He continues, adjusting his glasses, “Where is Mr. Darling? We’ve left him a sufficient mourning period but now business must be discussed.”
One of the Honeybottom bees positions himself like he’s about to walk up the stairs uninvited. Boris quickly stands in front of him and tries to summon any force that earned him his military position. He at least succeeds in making the cop step back, Boris looks down at Stickler, “What’s the meaning of this? My brother is unwell-”
“Yes, Yes, we know about the unfortunate death of Mr. Darling's dear husband. This is the very reason we’ve come,” Stickler says, now tapping a single boney finger on the spine of his accounts book. His face is still unnervingly blank and his voice monotone. There was nothing human about him. His nasally voice rings again, “So we must speak to the head of the household. There is a debt to be paid.”
Boris swallows feeling at a complete loss, he has no idea what the auditor is talking about. Had Bendy gotten himself into trouble when he was gone? He lets none of this show on his face, he hopes, and gestures at the parlor, “Then you can speak with me. I am the head of house in my brother's stead while he’s recovering.” He hated referring to Bendy’s grief like it was an illness that would pass, knowing it might never leave his brother fully. Stickler hums and flips open his book, fingering through the pages until he finds the one he's looking for. The room is silent as the group waits for the imps call, it’s almost impressive how such a small figure can leave them all quietly panicking. The auditor reads with his nail under the words and eyes squinted. After a second he suddenly slams the book closed, letting the noise echo in the hall. Stickler nods to his men and then Boris.
“I can accept this,” He says simply, marching his way to the parlor like he already knows exactly where it is. Stickler is framed by his Honeybottom guards who stand like silent sentinels by his side. Boris walks behind them in his own home and feels a sense of dread creep up on him. He looks out a window on the way there, seeing his brother curled under the tree like always. Boris frowned as he saw it. Maybe Bendy didn’t even recognize the days passing, as everyone he’d spent under the willow. They leave the window and Boris tries to screw his head back on again. He’d do this for his brother, even if interacting with others often felt like he was pulling teeth.
The parlor is cold and dusty like nearly every room in the house now, both brothers having no time or will to clean. He regrets that now as he sees Stickler pointedly wipe his finger, with an appalling screech of skin, on a side table. It comes up dirty of course and the imp rubs it with his other finger letting out a noise of disgust. Boris grimaces. Stepping out from behind the bees he steps up to a couch on one side of a coffee table. He quickly pats it off, waving his hands at the dust cloud coming from it. He offers it to the three men before walking to the opposite couch with a barely constrained sneeze. Stickler takes the seat, jumping up onto it, but the bees stand behind the couch.
Dust plumes out from under Boris as he sits down and he purposely ignores it, though the others had noticed if their deadpan expressions said anything. “Ahem, Uh Stickler.” Boris speaks, voice straining to sound clear, “Stickler, what do you wish to speak about?”
Stickler nods his head, opening his book across his lap and focusing his vision on it. Boris feels glad that he isn’t going to be subjected to that look any more. There's a nasally snort then words, “I’m sure you’re aware of your brothers arranged marriage?”
Arranged marriage?? Boris thinks, his neutral mask breaking into wide eyes and an open mouth. Stickler glances up and catches this look, raising an eyebrow and turning back a page with a sigh, “I supposed I was assuming too much of you, My apologies. Yes, your brother was arranged to marry his spouse, they both owed a great debt to the Devil.” The Honeybottom bees shift behind Stickler, uncomfortable at the mention of that demon.
Boris goes pale. He knew his brother had a deal for his music, just a mystery investor he was assured when Bendy first told him. It had been over a decade now, a decade of Bendy owing the Devil. How could Bendy do this to himself!? Stickler has his finger paused in his book waiting for a response. Boris clusters the first words that come to mind, “Why did the Devil want this marriage?”
Stickler smacks his lips and licks his finger before carrying on down the page, “He didn’t. He came to both houses, looking to finally cash in as both had lost their use for the Devil.” Boris feels that awful guilt creep up on him again, what if his brother had been taken to hell and he had no idea? The wolf’s claws dig into the plush couch below him and he stares vacantly ahead at the imp. Stickler carries on uncaring, “ But an idea was proposed, by the spouses brother. See, he also owed his soul. But unlike his brother he had come up with something to entreat the Devil.”
The story might’ve sounded mystical or like a fable if Stickler wasn’t reading it off like it was an article about weather. Boris glanced at the wall beside him, there was no window but he knew Bendy was somewhere past that wall. The fact his brother had kept this from him made him want to scream. The officers both looked down at Stickler, listening like they hadn't heard this story either. Boris wanted them to go away, this wasn’t some piece of intrigue, it was a private matter.
“The brother suggested that if they had become useless due to dampened powers, or in Mr. Darling’s case, flying too close to the sun and daring to challenge the Devil himself, they could find someone new,” Stickler said, eyes still on his thick ledger. Boris internally groaned, Of course. Boris is never leaving this house ever again, no matter how much he hates this place. Stickler flips the page, “Of course, this didn’t interest the Devil either. But Mr. Darling's spouse added onto it. Wouldn’t the Devil want someone with their powers, something only the twins possessed?”
Twins, powers, goddamn contracts. Boris clung to the ideas so they wouldn’t go right over his head. He couldn’t focus on all of his questions as the auditor wasn’t stopping, almost ranting by this point, “This time the devil paused, he asked how it was possible. But before they could answer, it dawned on my boss. Sometimes he can make up his own terms, I was rather proud. He said he’d take their first born, in their stead to continue to pay off their debt.”
Nausea shook in Boris’ stomach, if things had stayed the same… He would’ve likely never met his nephew or niece. It would have been pried from his Brother without preamble, into servitude. Boris blurts, “Why would they agree to something like that? Why would my brother agree?”
“It was a desperate plea, I knew, I thought everyone saw that. But of course the Devil took it with glee, forever blinded by pride,” Stickler says, closing his book with a snap. “The twins agreed, hoping for more time, intending to draw it out as much as possible. But little did they know the Devil caught them, insisting he’d only take the deal if he could choose the bride.” Stickler flips his hand around in the air, his cufflinks slinking up and down his thin wrists. He looks almost exasperated by having to explain this. “Your brother, however, didn’t have a choice. Didn’t even get to argue-it was hell or marriage.”
A rage bubbles up inside of him, he was sure Bendy actually loved him, absolutely. If not because of his intense mourning then because of the piles of letters Bendy had sent, detailing their time together. But he was being used, for his children no less. He didn’t even have a real choice. It made the wolf’s blood boil. He spoke, this time his voice shaking with concealed anger, “So you still are owed these children, correct? Why don’t you ask the other twin? My brothers suffered enough.”
The bees exchange a look followed by a bitter chuckle from Stickler. “I’d love to be done with this just as much as you, but the entire family died within a week of each other, Mr Darling’s spouse being the last alive before his fate.” The imp finishes the sentence with little preamble and a look down his nose at the other.
Of course. Bendy hadn’t lost just one but every member of his new family. Bendy had detailed the others in his notes. His husband's brother, cousin, and grandfather. They had been there for him in Boris’ stead and the entirety of the demon's support system had been wiped out in a short period. Boris sits forward on his chair, “What happened to them?”
Stickler shrugs hands thrown up, glaring right at the wolf, “Not my prerogative. What my job does constitute is debt payment. So, what will be done? Your brother's soul is still needed, or a suitable replacement.” Boris feels himself shrink into his seat, his hands hanging together in front of his chest. He had never been one with words, he doesn’t even know how he’s going to navigate this. All Boris knew was that his brother wasn’t going to be put through anything else, not while he’s around.
But what did he have to offer? The power was the only thing the Devil had wanted, his brother had almost nothing to do with it. Which meant that Boris has even less value to them. The green-blue imp sat across from him but it felt like he sat on top of an insurmountable pyre of which his hopes and dreams burned. The distance between them yawned open as Boris fought to find something, anything, to say. But then a phone rings, the auditors if he were to guess as it played an awful earworm of a song, which is confirmed by the imp picking his phone out of his book. Which is an oddity Boris decides not to contemplate. Stickler answers the phone and silently listens to the other line for an agonizingly long minute. His face doesn't move as he listens but an air of annoyance starts to choke Boris.
Stickler clicks the phone off with a long nail then jumps off the couch, holding his book in one arm. There's a quick, excuse me one moment, before an elevator from that could only be from hell appears in the middle of the parlor. It scorches the floor around it and smoke floats off of it at an alarming rate. It sinks back into the ground when Stickler steps into it, taking its smoke but leaving the marks on the floor. Stunned, Boris vacantly looks at the stains before realizing he's just been given ample time to think. The wolf leans forward onto his knees, cradling his head. The two officers watched the room, still standing behind the opposite couch. But Boris couldn’t even feel the normal nervousness he felt around others, his entire mind running on overdrive. What could he do?
Almost 20 minutes later the elevator appears again with a whoosh that makes the wolf jump out of his seat. Stickler steps out of the elevator, his face for once broken into a grimace. Walking straight past the coffee table the imp steps in front of Boris. He barely comes up to Boris’ knee but he looms over the wolf. The auditor says, “Are you good at tracking?” The imps eyes look over Boris’ long nose and tall ears.
Boris answers easily, knowing the answer without much thought, “Yes. I’ve been tracking my whole life.” Only after he said it did he worry that he shouldn’t have told Stickler that, why was he asking this?
“Then we have the beginnings of a deal, Captain Darling.” Stickler says, adjusting his glasses with one hand. He seems to be quietening his own annoyance back into his monotone expression. He scurries back to the couch with his bees stationed behind it. Boris felt hope rise in him, could he really get Bendy out of this? The imp waves his hand around, snorting briefly, “I just received news that the twins have escaped hell. They are hidden somewhere in limbo, we believe.”
Limbo? You could escape hell? Who are these twins? Well, Boris thinks, If they worked for the devil they must be tough. Which doesn’t bode well for Boris, as he’s sure he knows what Stickler will ask of him now. He can’t even question why me? Without fear of losing the deal. Boris looks away, “I assume you want me to find him?”
The auditor nods his head, flipping open his heavy book again, the thing perched precariously on his knees. The pages furls open to a blank one and Stickler summons a quill into his hand to begin writing. “We have been after those twins for years now, so they are well worth your brother's soul should you find them,” He begins drawing out his words as he writes them down. Boris feels a small smile form on his face, finally something working out. Sure this will be hard but at least it’s possible. Almost mumbling to himself the imp continues, “But… the adopted debt from the twins family as next of kin still needs to be paid for. Their souls pay most of it but the child promised still would remain unpaid.” Ah. There it is.
Of course that wasn’t enough. The devil's deals are never fair. Boris leans in towards the other, trying to catch the imps eye. He tried to sound determined when he spoke but his voice came out soft, “What can I do?” Stickler doesn’t look up but raises a single eyebrow.
It seems like he’s contemplating as his writing has ceased and he was stroking his chin. Suddenly the imp snaps his fingers and points his quill at Boris. “Another wedding. To a woman of our choice, and you will owe us your first born. Not nearly as powerful as a child from the Kettles but it will do,” The auditor looks proud of himself for thinking of this plan, writing it down simply on his page. Boris should’ve seen this coming. The wolf hangs his head, grabbing onto his ears and pulling. His knee bounces but he doesn’t reject the deal. He can’t. Eyes open wide and staring at the floor Boris comes to the realization that he has no choice but to say yes. In a grim twist of fate he mirrors his brother from all those months ago.
Boris nods his head, still holding it in his palms, “I accept.” With a flash of fire a golden contract appears on the table between them. And with a flick of the imps fingers the quill floats over from his hand into Boris’. The wolf looks up, his hands sliding down his sweat-dampend face, and grabs the quill out of the air. He forms a fist around it, crushing the soft part of the quill. All Stickler does now is watch him, his face uncaring and form unmoving. The two HoneyBottom bees lean into the glow, forever familiar with it due to their own contracts, unease and pity fill their faces.
A pale light streams in from the windows, reflecting light off of the dust particles in the air. The house is empty and too large, even with people here. But even now Boris dreads for when it’ll be filled with noise, the noise of his bride to be. Would she be forced into this like he was? Boris swallowed and brought pen to paper, the drag of the quill was covered by his heavy breathing. Boris’ signature was bland and simple, but it seemed to stretch across Boris’ vision like a funhouse mirror. It mocked him as the contract rolled shut and slinked over to the auditor. The wolf let the pen go and floated away as well. A tug constrains his heart and he feels something leave him as the contract is shut into Sticklers book. His soul belonged to the Devil until his job was done. Boris held his chest in vain absently, stock still.
“Very well, we shall have the wedding within a week, “The imp says, jumping off the couch again with much more calm than the last time. The officers move as well, sensing the meetings end. Stickler doesn’t turn around as he speaks, “Then you will track down the twins.” He nods then steps out of the parlor, knowing his own way out.
Boris sits in that room for almost half an hour, gazing blankly at where the contract was on the table and imaging its weight. Then he stands up and then languidly moves through the house to the back yard, hunched in on himself. Bendy needed him right now.