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You sigh at the ceiling. The crash of storming thunder outside is denying you your beauty sleep, and you all-too-keenly remember the scythe-swinging practical in the morning. You were already one of the most mediocre in your class, and your guts twist unpleasantly because you know that sleep deprivation is only going to lead to you making even more of a fool of yourself. Back in za day you could laugh about it. Nobody starts as an expert- but now that you're attending Reaper High it's more embarrassing what a klutz you can be: especially in front of the girl reapers, who you've started to notice more and more. A groan escapes your lips, and thunder growls across the land again.
Predictable weather should have been one of the perks of living in the underworld, you think to yourself in mounting frustration. But no, for all it's supposed to be a "Dark Mirror of the Surface World," apparently whatever dickhead drew up the Underworldian Style Guide had a thing for gothic architecture, wolves constantly howling at a moon that's never not full, gardens that only grow roses and thunderstorms every other week. Any minute now-
Knock knock.
There it is. A soft tapping that you might have missed if you hadn't heard it a hundred times before. The bedroom door cracks an inch, throwing a slim knife's-edge of hallway light across your room.
"H-hey, are you awake?" comes the whispered, trembling voice of your little sister. You roll onto your side to make space and lift the corner of your duvet instead of vocalising a response. The springs of your mattress creak as she scrambles in beside you, pink night-dress covered with happy skeletons.
"Storm getting to you too, 'ope?" You ask as you close the nest of warm blankets around the both of you, catching her in a reassuring hug. Her head bobs a guarded nod in response, and the pair of you soon settle into a comfortable tangle- her back against your chest, your hands protectively around her middle. You were starting to think she might've outgrown the need for this kind of comfort, but just like always you can feel the tension in her shoulders physically oozing away as she leans back into you. She doesn't even startle when the freshest grumble of thunder attempts to disturb your rest- and you have to admit, it's a lot easier to drift off to sleep with your pink-haired sister in your arms, even if she was already outclassing you with a scythe in middle school. With fretful thoughts about your rapidly-approaching exam still consuming your thoughts, you're devoured by dreams.
