Once again, my lovelies, Happy Harvest! Feast of Apples! Merry Samhain! Whatever it may be to you.

It's been quite some time since my last update I realize, but at least for now, here's one more to add to our collection in honor of Halloween Night of 2017!

"He's scared of you. That tubby zombie boy over there. That one with Barrel." Lock stated with a slight drawl. "He's scared of you, and not in the fun way, either."

"Nonsense."

"It's true. He's never liked witches."

"It is not true," Shock insisted, holding her own against Lock, "if anything, he's not afraid of the fact that I'm a witch. It's more than that; something else."

"What else?"

"I possibly scare him more because I'm a woman."

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm not saying it to be stupid. Trust me, Lock, there are many creatures out there, young and old who do not fear natural born witches simply because they are witches— it's because they're female first. We're different than you, so that's why."

"I don't see it. What's so different?"

"Well, as my Gramma Helgaba used to say: Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn."

"Please," Locked scoffed at her as he ceased kicking a pebble around, and he reeled on her, bearing a simple mixed expression of both boredom and disbelief, his pale thin lips pulling into a lazy smirk over his pearly fangs. "What would you witches know of a true hell, Shock?"

"A true hell is... the same look Jack gives his Queen." Shock's usual condescending tone finally changed into something that was almost foreign to Lock's ears, and his vocabulary. But then, he suddenly remembered they were not exactly little maggots anymore prancing about in masks. They were maturing into real decent monsters, and Shock surely had grown into her nose which used to be too long for her high cheekbones. And he was taller as well, more sharp-minded and craftier in character than before. He didn't remain as impulsive or juvenile like Barrel naturally had. His claws were coming in by now too, and his own tail was nearly as long as his Uncle Devilin's. "... It's the way Jack dances with his Queen and how he admires her, worships her. It's that feeling that makes us want to wail like banshees and cackle like goblins all at once; it makes our friendships complicated and our existence confusing. As it happens, Lock, a true hell also goes by the name of true love."

He gazed back at her, steadily, studying the way Shock bit her lip in wicked deep consideration.

He stayed silent, waiting for her to finish, seeing where this was headed. Her olive green skin seemed to darken as the shadows of night slowly closed in around them, and Shock lowered her long dark lashes towards him.

"I see a true hell in your eyes too, Lock," she muttered at last, "whenever you look at me now."

He blinked, hardening his jaw. "Careful what you predict, witch," he warned with a snarl forming in the back of his throat.

Shock paid no attention to his wave of rigid defensiveness then and she only stepped forward, getting in close and personal. "Am I wrong?" She openly stared down at his mouth briefly as he felt the need to wet it with his white forked tongue.

Lock continued to watch her intently in that following instant through hooded eyes. She was either trying her best to intimidate him, to get him to back off. Or, she wanted to lure him in. He honestly couldn't tell for certain which it was meant to be.

"Remember, Lock, we witches may get extremely old eventually and some of us will end up with warts on our hands and necks. But most of us can decide to become ugly if it suits us better. Ugliness helps to ward off intruders who are looking for magical secrets and trinkets in all the wrong places. Then again, some of us are actually cursed with beauty, a terrifying beauty. As we age, that so-called beauty only grows more irresistible, much more tempting to outsiders. It's a type of beauty that's like Deadly Nightshade. It's so pretty to touch with your skin and fingertips, but… don't you dare let it touch your lips."

Lock said nothing afterwards, still, somehow bewitched by his cohort's soft, sinful words. He allowed her curved fingernails to graze over his temple, his cheek, then his exposed fangs in front, which were the sharpest of all his teeth.

He was just getting caught up in the moment— and the strangest part of it was— it felt oddly natural and somewhat expected, like this moment was the grand answer to a puzzle he was attempting to solve for years. Not that he cared or anything, really. But the devilish blood within him stirred, discreetly amused by the sensual mood and the quiet tension humming between them.

He leaned in, and so did Shock. Her horrible beckoning lips were painted a shiny black as always, though tonight, he wanted to feel the slickness of the dye against his. They were a mere breath away from sharing a warm lust-filled kiss, but, Shock was swifter to pull back suddenly, leaving him momentarily stunned. A small glimmer of mockery danced in her eyes.

And before he could question or accuse her of anything, Shock spoke up once more, "...Women can quite frightening, Lock, and we know it perfectly. We are the true hell." She refused to let him have the last word when she turned and strolled off. "...Are you scared yet?"