Noun; a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details.


End of January


Maka's pencil dangles precariously from her fingertips as the drone of her teacher nurses a drowsy kind of warmth behind her eyes. She blinks rapidly, but it doesn't keep her eyelids from slipping closed, and she feels the pencil slip further from her grasp.

She starts awake, head snapping up, and she sees the pencil fall from her fingers; it flips once in mid-air before stopping abruptly a couple inches from the ground. It takes biting her lip to not speak, though she shoots a look at Soul. He lifts a hand, and she fights to keep the amusement from showing on her face, snatching the pencil before anyone can see.

Ten minutes later, when the bell rings, her head is tipping forward again, and it takes several shakes of her head to chase off the sleepiness clouding her mind. Soul waits by her desk as she packs up her things; after the spider attack last month, he changed his clothes to something other than the garish yellow and red combination, although the black hoodie and matching jeans remind Maka of a shroud.

"You're sleep-deprived," he says as they walk out into an empty hallway and a yawn bubbles on her lips.

"Well-spotted." Another yawn robs her retort of her intended sarcasm.

"And this is only us only going out to meet Kid three times a week," he continues. A light dusting of snow covers the tops of the school buildings and the roofs of the cars in the school parking lot while clouds overhead promise more snow later. "What's going to happen when we're going out every night?"

"I'll manage."

"Managing is not the same thing as a solution."

"It's for less than a year," she says as they weave through the school parking lot. "When the DWMA closes the rift in October, we'll be able to slow down."

Snow crunches behind Maka. "Close the rift?"

She whirls around, recognizing Black Star just in time to keep her fist from nearly smashing in his nose. "Do you know how close you were to getting your face broken?"

"Hello to you too," he says. "What does 'close the rift' mean?"

"Nothing, just sounding out a sentence for an essay." Maka pulls her car keys from her pocket.

The look in his eyes remains unconvinced. "It looked like you were talking to someone."

"Well, that's concentrating for you." They reach the truck and she unlocks the driver's door. "Do you want a ride to the diner?"

"Not today." Black Star's suspicion drops temporarily and he bounces with a barely contained glee. "Sid is taking me to the DMV for my driving test, so in a few hours, I will be a fully qualified driver."

Maka high fives his raised hand. "I would wish you luck, but I know what you'd say to that."

"No need for luck when you've got hard work riding behind you." Black Star pumps his fist and smoothes back his hair, which is dyed a relatively mellow violet with a greyish hue. "You up for milkshake celebrations at seven?"

She wavers in answering, and sees Black Star's expression fall. "It's not that I don't want to," Maka says quickly. "AP testing is coming and I'm already swamped."

"It's not even February." The doubt on his face is back. "You can't even spare an hour for dinner?"

"I'm taking four AP classes." She tries to stick to truth as much as possible to keep the lies from piling up. "We're in finals mode all year long."

Persistence continues to be Black Star's strong suit. "Then why don't I bring the milkshakes over?"

There's a knowing look in his eyes the longer it takes Maka to answer.

"I'm going to be out," she says finally.

Hurt now joins the skepticism on his face. "Doing what?"

"I can't tell you." Lies taste rancid on her tongue, and it's too much of a risk to start telling stories to one of the people who can go to her father. "I do promise it's nothing close to whatever you're thinking."

"And what should I be thinking?" he shoots back. "After last year, I'd thought things were finally changing, and it's like you're half-gone again."

Patience is not something Maka has in spades lately, but she makes an effort to hold onto the little she has, especially since she knows he's not wrong. "Being away is not something I'm doing on purpose, like last time," she says. Any excuse she thinks of falls flat. "It's out of necessity."

"And what kind of necessity is that?" He crosses his arms. "Or is that something else you can't tell me?"

She hedges for a moment before sighing. "It is."

"Fine." A sharp ring sounds from Black Star's pocket, and he begins to move away. "That's probably Sid."

"I'm free tomorrow after school," she offers.

"Sure." Black Star gives her a wave without looking at Maka. "See you tomorrow."

Maka watches him walk away, feeling Soul move next to her. She waits for his commentary, but instead a soft coolness nestles in the palm of her hand, and he says, "Not telling the truth doesn't make you a bad friend."

"Thanks." She smiles and closes her hand against the feeling but sighs again as she opens the truck door. "Doesn't keep me from feeling like one though."


Spirit stops Maka on her way out of the house. "You've got another postcard."

She lets her hand drop from the door knob; news of her mother is simultaneously repulsive and tempting, though it's the latter that wins out everytime.

He waggles a postcard and an open envelope at Maka as she enters the living room. "I got a letter too, so don't feel too special." His voice is teasing in that way he has when he's trying to hide his real feelings. "She wants to know if I'm hiding cards from you."

"Well, you can let her know I got them," she mutters. Although she had given Tsubaki's words real thought after the spider attack, the closest she had gotten to acting on them was telling Spirit about the first postcard. "She has no right to be accusing you of that."

"I think it would make her happy if you told her that."

"Why are you okay with this?" Maka blurts out. "She left us. You should be angry."

Spirit rubs his chin before he answers Maka, lowering the hand holding the postcard. "I'm not okay with it," he says finally. "I don't think your mother is going about this the right way either, but then again, I'm not sure if there is a right way to act about something like this."

"Anger eats away at the good things," he says after another moment. "I think your mother got caught up in that feeling, some of it for good reason," he admits. "But you are my good thing in this and your mother is trying to make amends so I-"

The rest of Spirit's words are cut off as Maka crushes him in a hug.

She fights the stinging in her eyes and tucks her head in the crook of his neck as he returns her hug, though she still has to wipe furiously at her eyes when she steps back and takes the postcard from Spirit's hand.

"Thank you for telling me about the card." She looks down at the postcard, a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it this time. "Though I still don't know what to say."

"Hello and thank you are good places to start." Spirit pats her shoulder.

"Thanks."

"See?" he says. "You've got it down already."

She rolls her eyes, though she smiles, and gives him another hug. "I've got to get going, but I'll be back by eleven."

"Say hello to Black Star and Tsubaki for me."

A prickle of guilt gnaws in Maka's stomach at that, but she nods. The lies are in place for a reason, she reminds herself, though it does nothing to lessen the feeling. "I will."


"Do you mind that I'm there?"

Maka glances to Soul. "There for what?"

"For conversations like with your dad and with Black Star." It makes him squirm to bring up, but as someone who becomes uncomfortable with confiding in others even in imaginary conversations, he needs to know.

Maka, however, seems surprised. "You always find yourself in another part of the room or house anyhow."

"Yeah, but I can still hear things," he says, wiggling his hand. "Feel things."

"I know there's not much of a choice in it, but I trust you," she says after a moment. "Which is a choice."

Guilt makes it impossible to meet her eyes. "I trust you too."

"Glad we're on the same page," she says lightly. "Considering we're going to be in each other's head every night till Halloween."

He makes a noise of agreement at that, and they fall into a gentle kind of silence. The falling snow mixed with the setting sun throws the world into a gauzy light, giving it a fragility that looks like it can be shattered with a single blow.

It's the same way he feels, cracked to the point of fracturing irreparably. His fingers tap an impatient beat against the car seat (or they would have if he were alive, he just gets met with the feeling of going through something solid now.) Training to become a reaper necessitates a closeness the whispers would have kept him away from, a closeness that is as natural as it is frustrating.

It's what their relationship could be if there wasn't something fundamentally wrong with him; he no longer wracks his mind over whether it stems from some innate flaw or the fact he's supposed to be a poltergeist by now-the whispers are there and they haunt him until he imagines giving in, but then the self-disgust kicks in and he finds his mind again.

He cannot bear being looked at as remotely human when his thoughts tell him otherwise.

Soul imagines sucking in a breath, the air filling his lungs, and letting it out slowly. When he thinks about the whispers, he begins to spiral like some morbid self-fulfilling prophecy, and he refuses to let that happen today.

"Are you okay?" Maka's words are hesitant as she looks over at Soul.

"I'm fine." Looking at Maka directly is a mistake; she's mesmerizing in all of the subtle ways, like in the way her nose scrunches when she asks a question and how the tips of her hair catch the fading light.

"You're somewhere else, even when you're here sometimes," she says, pushing a stray hair back in place. "It's been happening for months." She's not accusatory, and he couldn't deny the truth even if she were. Her hand wavers, as if to reach out. "I still mean it when I asked you to stay for everything."

(This is the part where he trusts her words, vomits his mind, and prays she doesn't run screaming from the mess.)

Soul nods. "All right."

Their gaze lingers on each other, the closest he'll get to touching her now that they're training to be a reaper and direct possession is strictly prohibited by the DWMA.

Maka looks back to the road. Her hand returns to the steering wheel. "Okay."


Kid and Marie are waiting for them at the edge of the forest clearing that has been their meeting place with Kid for the past month; shadowing Kid on his runs throughout his territory as a reaper (the most southern point being Moricio, they'd learned) was little more than learning how to possess weapons by possessing one of Kid's pistols over and over for Soul, though learning to compact his soul into something that tiny had been a challenge in the beginning.

Meanwhile, Maka had learned to discern between ghosts and poltergeists, particularly when the poltergeist was in the early stages of decay, and use her perception abilities to determine where groups of poltergeists may be concentrated.

"After they lose so much of their soul, they stop acting rationally and become unusually paranoid," Kid had told them. "It's easiest to reap them then, but that's also when they start banding together."

The paranoia bit hadn't been comforting for Soul to hear.

"How are you feeling?" Marie steps forward, rubbing her hands together and pulling her coat closer to her. The snow has stopped falling, but there is a thick layering of snow on the ground.

"Ready," Maka answers while Soul stays quiet. If he had a body, he'd be ready to throw up, which he supposes it's a blessing he doesn't. "What do we need to do?"

Marie smiles. "Your month of observation is up and Kid says that you're identifying areas of poltergeist activity on your own now," she says. "Which tells me you're ready to move forward."

Maka blinks. "On our own?" The confidence on her face falters slightly. "What about the spiders and thing we saw?"

"There's been no sign of any more spiders nor whatever you saw," Marie says. "There's never complete certainty, but with how small Orcus Hollow is, it's likely the creature moved on."

"And there's only so much you learn by seeing," Kid answers, stepping forward. "Experience is the best teacher, although I will still be nearby."

"If you need an extra few days, that's perfectly fine," Marie adds.

"No, I'm ready," Maka says quickly. She glances at Soul. "Are you?"

Until now, Soul's decision to become a reaper hadn't felt real, too far away to picture. He sees it very clearly now.

Distantly, he feels himself nod. "Yes."

"Excellent." Marie claps her hands together once, and gestures to the familiar, dilapidated shack behind them. "Shall we?"

A pair of hands grabs his shoulders as Maka moves ahead with Kid and Marie. Patti's face pops into view. "So how do you feel about finally becoming one of us?"

"Absolutely thrilled." Soul shrugs out from Liz's grasp and turns to face the two ghosts.

"You might do all right if you put your mind to it," Liz says, eyeing him in the same way that she did when they first met. "Just don't choose a lame weapon or I'll be embarrassed when we double team."

"Is that your way of giving me your stamp of approval?"

"Tentative approval," Patti says, pushing in. "Gotta pick your weapon first before you're official."

"Perfect," he says as Maka pokes her head out of the shack.

"You coming?" she calls.

"On our way," Liz answers.

"Reaping won't be that hard," she says as they head towards the shack. "The poltergeists and other creatures around here aren't as bad as they are in some places."

The inside of the shack is rather crowded with three people in it; Soul shrinks back from Maka, who comes dangerously close to him as Kid opens the door that rests in the wall on the other side of the shack.

Soul is still disturbed by the darkness that the door opens to, but not as much as the first night that he saw it. The long, dark hallway is a hallmark of portals to the DWMA, Kid had explained-it's the same as the one that Soul and Maka had traveled down in Moricio and how traveling reapers are able to move from one side of the country to the other within the day.

They emerge in a long hallway with striped carpet and doors to portals marked with various cities and countries; after the surreal appearance of the Death Room, it had surprised Soul that the rest of the DWMA resembled an ordinary office the first time Kid had taken them to headquarters, but it's not the strangest thing he's seen since he died. Marie nods at the person passing by and leads them down to the elevator at the end of the hallway.

The elevator is the only thing other than the Death Room that borders on fantastical; completely made of glass and at least twenty feet wide and twice as tall, the walls of the elevator are lined in rows of open mission briefings with details of monsters, demons, and particularly dense hordes of poltergeists that the local reaper cannot handle on their own. Soul watches as the mission three rows above his head disappears-how people on different floors of the DWMA manage to take the same elevator at the same time is still a mystery to him.

Meanwhile, Marie gives a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness, the mission board hasn't been touched in over two weeks."

Maka looks at Marie. "Can't you tell reapers where to go?"

She shakes her head. "For one, we don't have many traveling reapers anymore. Most of the reapers who take open missions are reapers who have extra time, which is also scarce these days."

"Secondly, the DWMA is leaderless," she says as the elevator opens. "We have teams in charge of different regions that meet to make decisions on urgent issues, but for an organization like ours, it's inconvenient to use a hierarchy."

A large lobby stretches out in front of them; at the far end of the room lies a pair of double doors and a sign above them labeled "Weapons Registry." Next to the doors is a long counter where sits an old woman with the longest fingernails Soul has ever seen.

Marie pauses for an instant, and Soul watches her smile widen to the border of fake as she straightens her shoulders. "Let's go."

"Miss Maud." Marie's voice is filled with a false cheeriness as she approaches the counter, the rest of the group stopping a few feet behind her. "Having a good night so far?"

The old woman fixes the group with an unimpressed gaze. "Been stuck down here all day so I don't know how good it is." Her voice is surprisingly smooth for a woman whose skin resembles an accordion.

"A shame." Marie's tone holds none of the sympathy it has when she's actually sorry. "But I've got a new reaping pair that might liven up your night," she says brightly.

Miss Maud raises an overly plucked eyebrow. "Filing paperwork is livening up my night?"

Next to Soul, Patti whispers, "Miss Maud is in charge of all the weapons at the DWMA, if she doesn't like you, then you don't get one."

On his other side, Maka frowns. "That doesn't seem very fair."

"She was the abilities perception recruiter for the DWMA for the last forty years," murmurs Kid. "They started waning about eight years ago so she got placed in charge of weaponry."

"But my hearing didn't." Miss Maud's stare is more steely than Azusa's and she lets the huge pile of papers in her hands fall onto the counter with a plop. "I'm tempted to take away those guns of yours."

"Weapons are the property of the reaper until they are no longer active," Marie says hastily. "Kid meant no harm, he was only explaining who you are to our new reaper."

Kid nods rapidly.

"Uh-huh." Miss Maud turns her eye to Maka and then to Soul. "Odd pair you make."

"It's the ghost thing." He can't stop himself from speaking-sarcasm has never been something he can resist.

The scowl on Miss Maud's face grows deeper, but Marie intervenes before the old woman can answer him. "Unlikely pairs often make the best reapers."

"Hmph." Miss Maud sniffs. "Well, the night isn't getting younger."

"And that is as close to the stamp of approval that you're gonna get," says Liz as Miss Maud shuffles away and disappears into a door behind the counter.

Maka scoffs. "She couldn't really say no."

"She could." Marie places her elbows on the counter and rests her face in her hands. "Back when more reapers were around, but I don't think she'd hesitate much now."

"Try to make it quick." The door closes with a groan as Miss Maud returns, holding a large key ring that holds at least twenty keys. She hands the ring of keys to Marie, but doesn't let them go. "And remember, I go back and check that everything is in its place when you leave."

Marie's smile widens ever so slightly. "I would never forget it."

Miss Maud looks at her for another moment before releasing her hold on the keys. Marie gives her another smile, more genuine this time, and turns to Soul and Maka. "Let's go."

Soul gives the old woman one last look as he and Maka follow Marie to the weaponry doors. There's something he likes about her, despite her mannerisms.

"You pretty much have your choice of all the weaponry," Marie says as she unlocks the doors. "But I would recommend against picking something you don't know how to use."

She holds a door open for them. "I'll give you some time to decide and check in with you in a bit."

The door falls shut as they step into the room and take in the weaponry. Every kind of weapon Soul has heard of and plenty that he doesn't recognize is lined on tables and cabinets in a room that stretches out at least half a football field long.

Maka takes a step forward, speaking finally. "This is a...lot."

"That is a word for it." He examines a pair of spiked gauntlets on the table closest to him. "Where do we even start?"

"I guess I can start with this side and you can start with the other?" Maka suggests. "We speak up if we find anything?"

"Fine by me."

They work in silence for several minutes; Soul drifts up and down the rows slowly, examining each weapon and imagining how he would condense his soul into it. There are none he finds that he can accept possessing on a nightly basis; weapon possession is not the same as human possession-it is inherently cold and he exists in a small, dark space that is highly uncomfortable to be in. Meanwhile, Maka had been warm-he felt grounded in her mind and could feel the ripple of her laughter when she laughed-

He cuts himself off, despite protest from his mind that doesn't come from the whispers, a fact that he doesn't care to contemplate.

"How am I supposed to fit my soul in these?" he asks, gesturing to a pair of hook swords. They're from China and several hundred years old, according to the label above them.

Maka puts down the crossbow she was holding, and heads towards Soul, raising her eyebrow when she sees the hook swords. "I guess you can just split your soul in two."

He grimaces. "Sounds pleasant."

"I'm sure Stein can patch you back up."

"I don't think he's ever been to medical school."

Her shoulders move in a half-shrug. "My dad said he tried to perform dissection on him once."

They start going up and down the rows again. Soul lingers at a fire lance, but eventually he moves on, passing on every weapon after that. When they come to the last of the tables, Maka turns to him. "What about this one?"

She holds up what looks like a long hollow metal tube with a small rounded blade attached at the end.

"What is that?"

"Scissors," she says, reading the label. "They were used by Roman gladiators, apparently." She inserts her arm in the tube and waves it around in front of his face. "I think this is how you use it."

He leans away. "I think I'll pass."

A smile bubbles on her lips. "Fine." She puts down the scissors and steps over to the cabinets, pointing to an ancient looking sword with an ornate handle. "How about this?"

"There is no way I'm letting my soul inhabit this thing," Soul scoffs, eyeing the sword. He doesn't see what makes it worth the name Excalibur. "It's old and rusty and has no sense of style at all."

"We're almost through the whole room." Maka frowns. "You weren't this choosy and you didn't complain this much when you possessed me."

He has never been so intensely grateful for the fact he is dead and therefore cannot blush. "Firstly, those were life-and-death situations," he says, keeping his head down to muffle his words since his voice fails to hide anything from Maka these days. "And secondly, that would have made me an asshole."

"This is coming from the same person who called my ankles fat last week."

"I apologized," he reminds her. The way he brushes past Maka as they continue down the wall of cabinets, not quite touching but well past the line of too close, is something he should not be doing, had expressly forbidden himself from doing, but the whispers are only a low buzz and he has never been good at listening to himself, the thrum of Maka's soul calling to him like a song.

"Only once." She rolls her eyes but a smile curves her lips.

"I'm sorry again." Soul pretends not to notice how she leans in ever so slightly towards him and turns his attention back to the weapons resting on hooks behind the glass. "Your body is nice," he mumbles in a low whisper.

"My body is nice?"

His head snaps up and the life he only recently remembers flashes before Soul's eyes; he hadn't meant for Maka to hear him and by the way surprise traces her face, eyebrows lifting into her bangs, she hadn't expected for him to say anything like that.

Denial will bury him; confession most likely will as well but perhaps she'll take some small token of mercy on him. "Yes," he admits quickly. "It's-" Soul searches for a word that will not incite his early return to the afterlife. "Substantial."

"Substantial," she repeats, eyebrows disappearing further in her hair.

"Yes." His mind, always whispering and murmuring in his ear even when he doesn't want to hear anything, is silent. His hands gesture limply to Maka and then to him. "Solid."

Maka's face, usually so readable, is masked. "And that is what makes it nice?"

"Only one of reasons." His tongue moves faster than his brain for once and regret descends upon him like a guillotine. Maka's mouth quirks in confusion while her eyes light with curiosity; nothing can be done to salvage the sinking ship he has launched himself on and the only thing he can do is sink along with it. It takes all of his willpower to not fade into nothingness as he mutters, "There are many things that make your body nice."

She does not answer immediately and when she does, Maka is staring down at the weapon label in front of her. "I see." Her voice has turned squeaky for some reason and her face almost seems flushed but he knows it's only the shadows cast by the lamps lining the walls. She clears her throat. "Mind sharing one?"

At this, his mind switches back on and floods Soul with dozens of suggestions. There is not one among them he can deliver along the lines of strictly platonic feelings and all he can do is gape blankly, mouth ajar.

Maka moves without warning, pushing her face so close that he is unable to hide from her gaze. "Well?" she asks.

Being able to now pick out every tiny fleck of gold in her eyes renders Soul frozen in addition to his sudden muteness; he's left his body a long time ago but the memory of his heartbeat roars loudly in his ears.

Finding his voice is a simple task that takes him too long to do. "I-"

"Hey there!" Marie pokes her head into the room. "Decided yet?"

Maka jumps, pulling away. "We're just narrowing it down from the ones we picked."

"Another few minutes then," Marie says, rapping her fingers against the door. "I should be done with the paperwork by then."

They both hear the hidden plea in her voice. "We'll be ready by then," Maka assures her.

She twists back to Soul, keeping space between them, which leaves him with a vague sense of disappointment. "Well?"

"There's nothing good here," he says, lifting his hands in exasperation. "Are you comfortable using anything we've seen?"

Maka cedes the point with a reluctant tilt of her head. "How about a gun like Liz and Patti then?" she says. "You're used to it and I know how to use that."

He wrinkles his nose. "Used to doesn't mean I'm okay with it."

"What's wrong with a gun?"

"They're cold and small," he says, eyes on the collection of spears in front of him. "And I don't feel human then."

There's a pause from Maka. "So a bigger piece of metal then."

He's grateful she doesn't mention the latter part. "Exactly."

"Something like this?"

The scythe Maka points to is less flashy than other weapons, but it's eye-catching in its own way. Its blade smiles at them in a jagged grin of red and black, handle entirely made of silver. A red eye with a pupil of ebony stares at them blankly from the juncture where the blade and handle meets.

He studies it for a moment. "The eye is questionable, but it's better than anything we've seen so far."

Maka opens the cabinet, taking the scythe and hefting it in her hands. "It's not too heavy either," she says, spinning it once. "I used to be a baton twirler in middle school and freshman year before I got kicked off the team."

"What got you kicked off?"

"Inappropriate use of my baton on a bully," she answers.

He snorts. "So you've got fighting experience, too."

"You've heard what my dad has said about my record," she says. She holds out the scythe. "Big enough for you?"

Soul's fingers skim over the surface of the blade, his reflection staring up at him. His eyes are the same shade as the blade. "Let's give it a try."


Maka stands in front of the shack, scythe in hand. She fans herself, hot despite the cool breeze flowing through the forest. The dark uniform the DWMA gave her is thick, and promises to be a nightmare to wear in the summer. "One more time."

Soul nods, disappearing in a flash. His reflection appears in the middle of the blade. "Am I wearing clothes this time?"

A blush crawls up her face. "Nothing yet."

Patti throws back her head in laughter while Liz says, "It takes a while to get weapon possession right."

He scowls at them. "Why didn't this happen before?"

She shrugs. "You weren't using your bond then."

"I want to file a complaint." Nothing shows below his shoulders, but Soul still had panicked and separated from the scythe when he first possessed it at the armory-it'd taken a lot of coaxing from Maka to get him to try again.

"Miss Maud doesn't take those."

"It's getting close to nine." Kid has his hood over his head, which he put up after the old woman had called out his comment. "We should get going."

He hands Maka something that looks like a watch, though she sees a small virtual map on its face when she looks at it. "This is a layout of Orcus Hollow, from the town limits to Moricio."

"Push this one after you reap a poltergeist," he says, tapping a black button on the right side of the map. "It lets the DWMA know that there is an area that should be cleansed and purified." He points to a tiny silver button on the map's side. "If you push this, it'll send a distress signal to myself, Marie, and Azusa."

She looks up. "Are you leaving now?"

"We'll stay for the rest of the week to make sure that you're settling in," Kid answers. He withdraws his pistols and Liz and Patti move in sync, vanishing as they reach him. "We'll take this side of the forest," he says, gesturing to one side of the forest. "You can take the other and we'll meet back here in an hour."

She nods; previous runs with Kid had shown that covering all of Orcus Hollow and the surrounding forest in one night is impossible, but patrolling sections of the area in a constant cycle keeps the poltergeist population under control.

The forest hums with a subdued sense of life as Maka walks along one of the trails that are a secret to everyone except natives of Orcus Hollow. There's no sign of the dark, glowing outlines of poltergeists nor of any of the other creatures that cross over from the rift.

"It's quiet." Soul echoes her thoughts as the trail begins to circle back.

"A rare thing." Their bond is stronger than it is when they're separate, strong enough to send thoughts to each other. However, it's not as tangible or immersive as when he possesses her; it leaves Maka with a restless feeling, like something is missing.

She doesn't mention it, choosing instead to quicken her pace. The snow from earlier has piled up in small drifts as it continues to fall in soft swirls around them, and the sounds from earlier when they were walking up the trail have faded, drowning the forest in an unearthly feeling.

It's not an uncommon sensation, considering their business, and she ignores it until a low groan sounds through the forest.

Maka freezes, head snapping to where the groan came from. Her eyes scan the brush and the spaces between the trees carefully, and she eases forward slowly.

Anything?

She shakes her head, knowing Soul will see her. There are no signs of a poltergeist anywhere, but she's seen the creatures that cross over from Abeyance: ghost-white scorpions the length of her arm, mice made of bones and little else with blood red eyes, poisonous frogs that burrow under the earth and spit globs of venom.

This noise doesn't sound like any creature Maka has encountered, but she still moves cautiously as she edges off the path and into the trees. Briefly, the thought to call Kid crosses her mind, but she dismisses it quickly.

Whatever is out there groans again, closer this time. It doesn't sound angry or defensive, but like the creature that's making it is in pain. Holding the scythe to her side, Maka picks her way through the forest, the groaning becoming more frequent and louder until the trees give way to a large clearing.

Her eyes scan the area, but Soul is the first to see it. "There."

She looks to where he points, and feels her mouth fall open. "Oh."

With the pitch-black mushrooms sticking out of its back and sides, part of its rib peeking through its skin, and bone-white antlers arcing towards the moon, it's obvious the giant moose is not one of the living.

The beast is at least ten feet tall and twice as long; it would be close to impossible to take down on her own, but it looks like something else beat Maka to the punch. She covers her mouth with her sleeve as she approaches the beast, where it lies on its side with its stomach splayed open.

The moose croons mournfully at the sound of her footsteps, but it doesn't attempt to defend itself or run away, moving its head to gaze at Maka. She stops in her tracks, swallowing hard. The other creatures from Abeyance always had a hateful stare that persisted even after Kid killed them, but the moose has a startlingly gentle look in its eyes.

She lowers the scythe, stepping back and studying the moose's wound without examining what's oozing out of the moose too thoroughly. Its fur is the color of dried blood and an inky liquid drips from the edges of its ripped flesh. It has a foul and familiar odor to it that turns Maka's stomach.

"Not all of the creatures that cross over from Abeyance are naturally malevolent." Kid's voice makes her jump. He enters the clearing from the same place that Maka came. "I sensed the creature as I was returning to the shack," he says to her unasked question. He looks at it with a tinge of regret. "It's a shame."

She tilts her head at his comment. "You've never said that about any of the other monsters."

"Not all the scientists at the DWMA agree, but some believe Abeyance used to have life of its own before the witches took over," Kid answers, eyes still on the moose. "The witches' presence changed these creatures, but they're not like the other things that come across the rift."

"Seems like one of those other things got to it." Maka points to the black substance trickling from the edges of the moose's wound.

Kid's eyebrows furrow at that and he takes out a small vial from his cloak and collects a couple drops of the liquid, capping it carefully. Stowing it back in his pocket, they stare at the moose in silence-it's long since stopped groaning and its breathing is labored, although its eyes still crackle with life.

Finally, Kid speaks. "Can you do it?"

She doesn't have to ask him what he means.

Maka's finger tap against the scythe's handle. Are you okay with it?

I am. Soul's reply is immediate. Are you?

Maka meets the moose's eyes; its gaze is starless with the kind of darkness she has never feared.

"Yes," she says, stepping closer. "I can."