"Blaine, don't frown so hard. You'll get wrinkles." Kurt attempted a light-hearted joke to elevate the suddenly heavy air that settled around the two men. He reached his elegant hand toward Blaine's eyebrows, the dark crowding of hair which furrowed fiercely together, and smoothed the worried lines away. Kurt found that he didn't like seeing him so frazzled and concerned. The raven-haired man closed his eyes briefly, an aura of fleeting serenity washing over him. Kurt's nail softly grazed across the dark brow and across Blaine's temple before settling on his scruff covered jaw.

He withdrew his hand with haste. It was entirely too intimate. Too close. Blaine's golden orbs opened, concern once again flooding his heated gaze.

"Kurt, we really should talk. In private. It's serious." Kurt tried to will himself to come up with a witty one-liner to ease the sudden tension. Nothing surfaced. The expression Blaine bore was dreadfully grave and it made Kurt shiver. The shoe was about to drop. Kurt didn't know why or how. But something was going on with him. The prior events with Frank, the dreams, his few and far between meetings with Blaine and now, the strange vision were all omens to some undisclosed fate. Kurt's gut clenched, butterflies eating away at his last remaining nerves.

Something was stirring deep beneath the earth. Something primal. And it was something that made Kurt's bones chatter in warning. As he stared at Blaine, he swore he could feel tremors at the balls of his feet. A cage was opening; its weathered hinges slowly but surely being pried ajar. What that cage contained was unbeknownst to Kurt. But whatever it was, it held power. An ancient authority, long ago forgotten, brewed deep in the undiscoverable depths. Whatever it was, it was collecting its strength. It's sycophants positioning themselves onto its lap as they jostled against each other for a minor taste of mortal power.

Kurt didn't know where these surges of thoughts came from. They were immediate and innate; never consciously being thought of. They merely inserted themselves into his stream of consciousness on their own accord. They started when he touched Sarah Wilde's journal and was transported into a seemingly other world in another moment in time. A flood of knowledge, long ago suppressed, had seemed washed over his brain. Thoughts that were likely not even his, collected in puddles, patiently waiting to be stepped in.

Visions, Kurt. The same dark voice whispered from the shadows of his mind. Trust them. Trust them as you will with the wolf.

Kurt was officially going batshit insane. He was sure of it. But he still trusted the voice that exposed itself within his thoughts. The same way he trusted Blaine without knowing him from a can of paint. He swallowed harshly, his adam's apple slightly dipping in the middle of his long throat.

"Sure, yeah. We can go back to my place. Away from...prying eyes and ears." Kurt finally muttered.

Kurt's hand settled on the brass doorknob to his apartment. No one had ever been to his apartment apart from himself and his landlord. It felt strange. He felt...severely exposed; the person who he was outside of the academy and public life laid bare before another person. The layers that Kurt constructed for himself slowly peeled away with the turn of the handle. He reluctantly walked in with Blaine closely at his heel.

" Oh, take your shoes off, please. I like to keep the floor clean. The wood is pristine. And original." Kurt smiled, sheepishly averting his eyes from his guest. Blaine obliged his request and scanned the room in earnest, a deep inhale breathing into his flared nostrils.

"It smells like you." Kurt blinked at the oddity of such a statement.

"Oh, thanks. It's Chanel number five. A classic rich bitch scent, right?" Kurt joked, an uneasy laugh erupting from within his throat.

"No..." Blaine paused, as if he trying to figure out how to mince his response. After a moment, resignation dawned on his face and he followed with, "it smells like the real you. Untouched by man-made chemicals that ruin the sense of smell."

Kurt snorted. "That's hilarious. Don't tell me you're a vegan or an anti-vaxxer or some preposterous shit like that." They both shared a laugh, letting the unsteady rapport build between them.

"No, I'm afraid I'm far too muscular to be a vegan. As for vaccinations...I'm not particularly a fan of measles or polio." Blaine continued the joke, but Kurt's mind wandered elsewhere. Like what it would feel like to caress and be held by the taller man's hulking, muscled embrace. Kurt blinked in an attempt for the steamy thoughts to dissipate themselves back into the abyss of his fantasies.

"You must have a thing for smells. I'm curious." Kurt licked his lips, surprised by how erotic this made him feel. "What do I smell like?" He looked up coyly at Blaine from under his lashes. Blaine's gaze bore into Kurt's own, not letting the fair skinned man escape from the intimacy that was currently taking place.

Blaine licked his dusty pink lips and they parted beautifully. "You smell like...honeysuckle. But not just any honeysuckle. The kind that gets caught in the crossfire of the morning dew with rain drops sprinkled delicately on their petals. Defying gravity as the humidity amplifies their aroma as the morning sky slowly breaks open with light. Oh, and touch of leather too, with subtle notes of roses." Blaine said it so matter-of-factly…like it wasn't an innately erotic and romantic message to convey.

Kurt was stunned. It was such a vivid picture that Blaine had painted. It appeared clear as day in his mind. He was flattered, slightly turned on, but ultimately overwhelmed by the stark details. Blaine hardly knew him. He was barely ever that close in proximity to Kurt to describe his seemingly inherent signature scent. His olfactory sensors must be on some serious Guinness World Records type shit, Kurt mused inwardly. Or perhaps his sense of smell is something entirely not of this world, the shadowed voice from before uttered. It continued to taunt Kurt with its obtrusive interjections. He did his best to ignore it.

"Well. I must give it to you. That's smoother than fucking velvet." Kurt paused, a smile playing at his lips. "Or are you velour?"

Blaine was confused, apparently oblivious between the two. "What's the difference?"

"Only any and everything. One is a luxury; an investment of quality. The other is a cheap imitation. A facade of the real thing. Which one are you?"

"One would only hope I am strictly the former, Kurt." Blaine's lips wrapped around the name in ways that stirred Kurt's emotions like no other had before. They stared at each other for a heated moment; each other eyes transfixed on each other's full lips.

Kurt was the first to break it. "So, what exactly did you want to discuss with me that had to be oh so private." He implored as he made his way to the couch, waving his arm to gesture Blaine to join him.

"I wanted to ask you something about your work. Why witches? Do you feel...somehow connected to them?"

"Like I said before, I'm interested in exploring the perspective dynamics of how narratives of witchcraft are imposed onto people, particularly women, who go against the societal grain so-to-speak."

"And what would say that precise element of perception is?"

Kurt stalled. He racked his brain for research points he had made in his academic papers. Once he had recollected enough of his work he replied, "Fear. The precise element is fear. Fear is a vehicle that often acts as a transformative process. It's responsible for, at our most basic instincts, survival. We fight, or we flee out of self-perseverance. All driven by the force that is fear." Kurt inhaled, preparing himself to disclose his academic truth in front of someone who seemed to be genuinely interested. "There's legitimately warranted fear, precisely the type I just described. And then there's the fear of witches. This particular type of panic exists outside of logic; it exists outside of mere self-preservation. It manifests itself in the desire to consume and to overcome people that are deemed as inherently fearful. A superimposed danger, with a distinct script of what is and what is not agreeable. The fear of witches is essentially an intricately crafted ploy to assume control. It's not really a fear of witches themselves but the influence that those in power would have to relinquish lest individuals, such as metaphorical witches, successfully overthrow their rules of social governing." Kurt's throat was dry. His spoken proposals always read like novels and left his tongue perpetually exhausted from twisting around too many words in too brief of time.

"That was...really fucking brilliant, Kurt." Blaine eyes shined in authentic praise which made Kurt's cheeks redden instantly. "Do you think witches are real?" Blaine was perched on the edge of his seat as if he was about to solve some unknowable mystery.

"Like wiccans? Of course they exist. Pagan religions are still practiced throughout the world today, Blaine. Surely you know that." Kurt had a feeling that that wasn't what Blaine meant. He just wanted to ignore the sinking he felt in his stomach.

"No, you misunderstood. I'm talking about full on Harry Potter, Hocus Pocus, magic and spell wielding witches. Do you believe that creatures such as they exist? And not just in the confines of narrow-minded people in power?" Blaine was deathly sincere. What was he trying to accomplish?

"Witches such as those don't exist, Blaine. They're merely concepts. Ideas. Fabrications made up by people who need to convince themselves of the threats to their social order via supernatural interference. An enemy that is ultimately to be snuffed out by flame. Hence the witch trials." Kurt's voice shook reluctantly, displaying the unease at which he felt at the current direction of conversation. The strange voice, the same one that beckoned his mind from the shadows, began to breathe to life. You don't really believe that, do you Kurt? You know it's not true. Deep, deep, deep down you know the truth. A bejeweled laughter sparkled in echoes that surrounded Kurt's mind.

"Kurt…" Blaine looked torn, his beautiful face twisted in consternation. His mouth opened and closed several times as he searched for the words to say. "There's a world of creatures out there that you know absolutely nothing about." Blaine's hands found their way to Kurt's, the rough calluses brushing up against small, smooth palms.

"Creatures? You sound like a cheesy episode of Supernatural or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The latter, by the way, is 90's excellence. Who doesn't love Sarah Michelle Geller?" Kurt laughed. Blaine didn't. The paler man sighed, exasperated at the unease at what he was being told. "Next you'll tell me vampires or werewolves exist to. You're a bit late for that trend. The twilight franchise died out years ago. Try fanfiction." He commented dryly, not sounding nearly as confident as he should have. His curt responses, riddled with biting one-liners, were a poor defense to his obvious discomfort.

"They do, Kurt. And you're one of them. You don't know it yet, but you're a witch. A true witch through and through." Listen to him, Kurt. The shadowed voice whispered against Kurt's ears once again. Kurt wanted so desperately to tell it to shut up. To lock it away in a box never to be opened again. Boxes were always tricky. So long as there are boxes, there will always be a host of curious Pandora's willing to open them. He knew this wasn't something he could compartmentalize. The necklace that hung loosely around his neck seared with a heated agreement.

Kurt blanched. And not because what Blaine was saying was so factually implausible.

But mostly because he truly believed what Blaine said with every ounce of his staggered heart.

AN: I hope you guys enjoyed the big reveal. This was super hard for me to write considering I don't know exactly what type of lore I'll be focusing on. Sorry if the whole "creatures" thing seems vague. I hope to have. Blaine answer all those questions for Kurt in the next chapter. As always, please favorite and review this story. Positive (or negative) critiques keep me going. Love 3