Chapter Text
It starts with a knock on the door just as they’re getting to bed. Penny, with a sigh, turns as the farmer flicks on a lamp on their side of the room: pure confusion lies written across their face. “You’re not expecting anyone, are you?” she asks, though she can already tell the answer; her partner shakes their head. The knocking starts again, this time more insistent, and with a yawn the farmer dutifully climbs out of bed.
Penny hears the door opening in the other room. She’s content, at first, to stay where she is; she starts to reach for the book on her bedside table, thinking that at least she’ll be able to get a page or two in before her spouse returns. But she freezes at the sound of sudden shouting at the door, quickly breaking down into terse whispers. A shiver crawls up her back: unexpectedly, she finds herself thinking of her childhood. She shakes her head and convinces herself to think about their children now, upstairs; surely, she should find out what’s going on so that the arguing might stop before the children wake up. That’s the only logical reason to worry. Penny swings her legs off of the bed, and stands before she can reconsider.
She enters the living room and the argument immediately stops: two faces turn towards her. In the open doorway stands a man who seems familiar yet she cannot place; he wears a broad black hat, with curiously purple hair. He reminds her of Abigail, right down to the look of fury strewn across his face.
In front of him stands the farmer, and somehow they look even stranger than the purple-haired man; their expression takes Penny back a step. She’s never seen them look so sad.
Penny begins to speak, but the purple-haired man speaks first: “Is she in on it too?!” He whips back to face the farmer; they only shake their head. At that, the man halts. “Fine,” he finally says, “but we’re continuing this discussion tomorrow.” He stabs a finger at the farmer’s chest. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Good night, Rasmodius,” the farmer says quietly, and something seems to pass between the two of them, some familiarity that Penny can’t quite catch. She thinks of the letters in a box under the bed that her spouse pulls out when the mail on the table turns to clutter. She thinks of the dark blue letters she can’t help but take out of the box, fingers tracing the decorated edge, eyes lingering on the unfamiliar name. She thinks of the tower in the thick of the woods and wonders how she’s never put two and two together.
The door closes, and Rasmodius is gone. The farmer leans their head against the door; Penny can see their exhaustion clearly. Still, she has to ask: “Farmer? Is everything alright?”
Her partner sighs. “I don’t know.” They linger for a moment, then straighten up, shaking their head. “Yes. Everything’s alright. I just need to—” They stare at the door. “It’s just a misunderstanding. That’s all.”
Penny lets out a breath—since when had she been holding it?—and is surprised at its shakiness. “It’s never fun to fight with your friends. If it’s just a misunderstanding, however, I’m sure that he will understand. You’ll resolve it in the morning, right? After a nice night of sleep.”
“Right.” Her spouse doesn’t move. “I’ll follow you to bed in a minute.”
Penny lingers a moment longer, then turns away. She lies down in bed with her mind racing, questions burning. She feels a sudden sense of deja vu, lying down, staring into the darkness. This all feels very wrong, in a hundred different tiny ways. Yet somehow, it feels familiar: maybe even inevitable. She can’t focus. All she can think about is the empty space beside her, and wait, and wait, and wait.
She gives up on waiting. Penny hears the sound of the front door open and close before she falls asleep.