Angela has realized that for the first time in months, she has nothing planned. No social function to attend, no gala to organize, no charity event to head or sponsor
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*The lights are off. They are always off. He doesn't allow himself or anyone else to turn them on. It is a full moon tonight, it gives everything an eerie silvery glow. He moved a few things out...out of there and into his father's old headquarters. Just in case. Just in case of what? Anything. Plan B. Always have a Plan B...and escape...Mother had taught him that. He's been acting erratic and shrill, he knows that has probably garnered some attention. It isn't like him to be so completely unsociable and he knows that. He can't help it. It is all he can think of. He runs a hand through his increasingly thinning hair and his had shakes when it comes back with a clump of the dull grey stuff.*
It may seem odd to any servant to find the Lady of the estate traversing the vast expanse of garden that separates the guest house from the main house. Especially when they consider how Angela normally summons her son as opposed to visiting him. But wagging tongues are not welcomed in the Morningstar estate and the hired help know better than to openly voice their observation.
When Angela arrives her eyes narrow in suspicion at the structure before her. The energy signature of her son is different and warning signs are beginning to flash in her mind. She doesn't knock, doesn't bother to announce her presence. Her son would know she was there.
*He knows she's outside. H can sense her energy signature.
He can feel her coming closer.
His heart clenches, ice cold in his chest. He doesn't know what to do. He can't move. He's frozen in place from simply not knowing what to do. This is the woman who taught him everything he knows. He doesn't know what to do now. She didn't teach him anything about this. He's not sure if she knows what THIS even is.*
In the doorway she stands, the moonlight outlining her silhouette, her shadow stretching ominously along the floor.
Angela doesn't know if she should be irked or pleased that her son isn't doing anything to acknowledge her silent arrival. Feigning ignorance is a strategically wise decision during moments of confrontation. But she’s no longer as familiar enough with the lad to know if he is just pretending or is truly unaware.
She no longer knows him as well as she did when she was first showing him the joys of using his gifts. She blames this on her first husband.
“Michael,” she calmly calls out, hands resting at her sides to display she was not hostile.
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When Angela arrives her eyes narrow in suspicion at the structure before her. The energy signature of her son is different and warning signs are beginning to flash in her mind. She doesn't knock, doesn't bother to announce her presence. Her son would know she was there.
He should.
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He can feel her coming closer.
His heart clenches, ice cold in his chest. He doesn't know what to do. He can't move. He's frozen in place from simply not knowing what to do. This is the woman who taught him everything he knows. He doesn't know what to do now. She didn't teach him anything about this. He's not sure if she knows what THIS even is.*
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Angela doesn't know if she should be irked or pleased that her son isn't doing anything to acknowledge her silent arrival. Feigning ignorance is a strategically wise decision during moments of confrontation. But she’s no longer as familiar enough with the lad to know if he is just pretending or is truly unaware.
She no longer knows him as well as she did when she was first showing him the joys of using his gifts. She blames this on her first husband.
“Michael,” she calmly calls out, hands resting at her sides to display she was not hostile.
For now.
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