A/N: Okay guys, I really need to say this. I'm seriously thinking of deleting this story and coming back to it when I'm more enthusiastic. It was a mistake for me to start writing a story I wasn't fired up about even in the beginning, and especially for trying to write said story with two other unfinished works. I really don't usually start something and not finish it, but the story's not coming out right, characters aren't coming out right, and all that jazz. Maybe I'll tackle it again sometime, but for now the story has died in my mind. To make this adhere to rules, I'm going to post what little of the next chapter I've managed to force on to the computer in the long time I haven't updated. (It's pathetically short, yeah, but like I said: I'm not enthusiastic about the story.)
Unknown
They were in a comfortable living room. Lewis looked up to see bookcases lining the walls, except for one wall. That one wall had a hearth that had a fire crackling inside, and there was a chair facing it. The floor was carpeted, and there was someone in the chair.
"Are you still sure you want to know?" a male voice asked tiredly from the chair.
"Yes, please," Lewis said tentatively.
"Very well. Sit down," he said, waving his hand. Two chairs appeared on the other side of the hearth, and the four teenagers squeezed into them.
Lewis squinted to get a good look at the owner of the voice. It was covered by a thick blanket, however.
"Who are you?" Lewis asked.
"Who am I… it's such an odd question to ask here. It has been… a long time since someone has uttered those words to me. Names don't seem to mean much anymore, just stories. Our stories." The bundle of blankets shifted, settling farther into the chair.
"I have not moved from here for a long time. I could easily heal myself, but I never found the reason to. But, you came here to ask about the Spirits. I shall tell you about them, yet… you seem to have met them already."
"What do you mean?" Chron asked slowly.
"First, you must know the entire story. Surely you didn't think that the corrupt would leave, did you?"
"They're behind this?!" Lewis asked, eyes widening to big round crystals.
"Of course…. Hecate was more than willing to answer their prayer."
"Hecate…?" Wilbur asked.
"First… I don't believe that you would wish to hear a story when there are only some of you…."
An impossibly pale and wrinkled hand stuck out of the blanket and gestured to the rug in front of it. Tess, Risa, and Justine appeared on it, sound asleep.
"What? What are you doing with them?" Chron asked, eyes sharpening.
"How else was I to save them from the spirits?" the figure sighed, hunching over a little further.
"How many times have you mentioned spirits now? Tell us what they are!" Wilbur said, growing increasingly distrustful.
"I'll tell you. I'll tell you."