Cursed: Scarlet
Chapter 8: Visions

~Scarlet~

For the next week I did not leave Ian alone even for a second. I moved myself into his room, taking only a few things that took too much effort to summon by magic. The school thought he had a rare sickness that only affected mages, making it impossible for him to attend class for fear of ‘infection’.

So I’m playing babysitter, and he’s slowly going crazy. There are only so many movies and video games one can play before going completely crazy, after all. Even the practice sessions for his self-control are going badly, because he keeps getting flashes of the future at irregular intervals.

The bracelet Morgana gave him works well enough, but the visions were unexpected most of the time. I started walking around with a wooden stake no bigger than my pinkie for him to bite on while he thrashed. Some were harmless, lasting only seconds, and others were painful, to say the least.

Ian is becoming increasingly frustrated with recent turns of events, and his moods are becoming erratic. He even stopped playing video games, mostly because I confiscated them after he crushed four controllers with his bare hands in one day.

“Okay, this is about as much as I can handle, Ian. You need to talk to me! Just tell me what’s wrong, I want to help you.” I reach a hand out to him cautiously, but he looks away.

“I don’t want you to help me! Nothing can help me! You know how many times I’ve seen myself die in the past week? Twelve, you know why? Because my own father either kills me, or someone I can’t see. I don’t know what to do, and your mother won’t get out of my head.”

“You mean she’s been talking to you this entire time?” collapsing on the couch, I hold my head in my hands. Nearly two weeks indoors is beginning to take its toll on me, I need sunlight to be able to function, as most mages do, and it’s the largest source of energy that magical beings can harness. The stones of the castle once held their own power, but it has long since been depleted.

“Not all the time, just often. She’s extremely annoying,” he says loudly, most likely to Morgana. Sighing, I lie down, pointedly staring away from him. There’s nothing I would put past her, especially not when she’s this interested in what Ian is doing. Sometimes I can pretend to be a normal teenager, because my mother can be as frustrating as anyone else’s parent.

“Are the visions getting any more manageable, even slightly?” I look up at him as he sits on the coffee table. He takes my hand and makes circles on my palm with his thumb absently.

“They’re definitely more spaced out, and I don’t feel as sick any more when they happen,” he says, and finally looks up at me. “Why can’t I do what you do?”

“Because your parents don’t have elemental affinities. Your mother is the First Mage, meaning that she was the first human to ever harness and wield magic. Hades is technically a god, seeing as he controls all of the dead souls. The Ancient Greeks were certainly the least creative race, but they had his personality down to pat,” I shrug, and try to pull my hand away, but he grips it with all of his strength.

“Are the myths true then? Does he have brothers and parents with supernatural abilities?” he grips my hand, and holds my gaze, trying to see if I’m lying or not.

“Most of them were based on fact, but to be honest, most of the old ‘gods’ were actually just people who had a bit too much exposure to magical fields or zones of power. Hades’ family did really exist, but many of them died or went insane. Your father is not the first Lord of Death, but he has held his title for a long time.”

“And my mother? Does she have a family?” his eyes betray his need for a family, any other person to share how he feels.

“Not that we know of, but many mages look to her as a mother, or a guiding light. The Greeks made her into the Goddess of Witchcraft, and that seems to be her main domain. Thought she claimed to hold dominion over the moon and all light. Probably because it went with the territory of being a god in those days.” He looks at me in a way I would usually expect to come before saying ‘bullshit’.

“Did the Greeks know about you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow sarcastically.

“They could never decide on one goddess for me, so to many I was either Athena or Artemis, depending on who saw me. Let’s just say they were a very creative nation and leave it at that.” I get up, pulling my hands away from him, and walk to the window. The late winter sun shines on the grounds, making the snow glow.

Ian comes up behind me and wraps his arms behind my waist, nestling his nose into my neck. “I need you to make me a promise, Scar, and I need you to keep it no matter what. Can you do that?”

“It depends on what you expect me to promise,” I say, turning around, looking straight into his wonderfully green eyes. “I can’t keep a promise that goes against my rules.”

“You have rules?” he asks, his voice tinged with sarcasm. But he leans in and kisses me, so I act as if it’s a joke and kiss back.

“Yes, I have rules, now what do you want to ask?” I lean back, completely serious.

“I want you to promise that, if anything happens, and I start to act like my brother-“he sneers at the mention of his sibling, his face distorting in an unfamiliar fashion. “I want you to lock me in a cell until I can act like myself again. That, or kill me.” He looks completely serious, and I have to bite back the sudden anxiety attack I can feel coming on.

“I- I- I can’t promise to kill you, I don’t think I can do that to you. Please Ian, please understand-“he turns away from me, but I grip his arm, turning him back to face me. “I do not enjoy killing people, and I never do so lightly. Even in my darkest hours, it took a lot for me to take the life of another, especially those I knew who asked it of me. Please just understand that, if I ever had to end your life, I probably wouldn’t survive. I would break my body, my spirit, everything, just to distract myself from the pain. I would beg your father, on bended knees, to free me from my curse, because my life would become that unbearable.”

My eyes search his face, and I can see the turmoil as he processes what I’ve just told him. I put my hand to his cheek, and he leans into it. “I don’t want to lose you…” I whisper, and I know he can hear it, just barely.

He leans forward, his face a hair’s breadth away from mine. We stand there for what feel like hours until I finally break and kiss him desperately. I know not to doubt a Seer when they ask things of me, but in this case, I know that I will do everything in my power to keep him alive. I will make sure you live, even if I won’t survive, I think to him.

He stops kissing me and looks straight into my eyes; I would never let that happen. My eyes widen in shock, and he grins. I may or may not have discovered how to do this while you were sleeping a few days ago, his voice rings in my head and I feel my knees give out under me.

He lowers me gently to the ground, concern etched into his beautiful face. “What’s wrong, Scar?” he pulls a few strands of hair out of my face, and then rests his hands on my shoulders.

No one has ever been able to send me thoughts before, except for my parents, and it strains them, I say in his head. This is really new to me.

Me, too. But can I show you something? He sounds worried, but I nod anyway. This is my first memory of you, he says and an image fills my mind. He shows me the first view of me he ever had, when I got out of my car on that first day. My hand pulls through my hair, and I have a scowl on my face, though most of it is hidden by my fringe.

I can feel his shock, and his awe, as I walk up the drive with my head down and my arms crossed. My hair billows out behind me, and my tattoos are completely visible. You were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, he narrates. But suddenly there are voices, most likely from the girls next to him. I recognise the voice of Victoria as she says: “For a powerful Original, she definitely has crappy taste in clothes. I mean, look at those boots, that shirt and her hair! And have you ever seen so many vulgar tattoos?” she sniffs and I can feel Ian’s indignation as her minions giggle uncontrollably.

The memory ends as he says the words I now know by heart: “Are you Scarlet Evans?”

I open my eyes and his bore into them, trying to see if I’m disgusted with him or not. I shake my head and say, “You really did know who I was, didn’t you?” He nods, and I smile, putting my arms around his neck and kiss him until I run out of air.

***

Ian’s birthday will be in a month, and I’m starting to worry. Though the visions are mainly under control, he has enough time left to develop quite a few more ‘surprises’. Excluding the telepathy, which he has become increasingly proficient in.

I’d been teaching him how to set up mental barriers, which are key for those with his ability, as many people get a bit freaked out when you suddenly start broadcasting your thoughts. He was a lot more patient, now that he knew the consequences of being out of control.

His abilities were astounding, and mostly still hidden. Though he had the beginnings of telekinesis as well, though I preferred him not to use it. Having large objects flying at you at random points was very disturbing.

His magical disease had finally ‘subsided’, but he was not behind with his work. Having a girlfriend proficient in most magical fields had its advantages, especially when her curriculum and lesson plans were still in place. I’d spent fifty years perfecting my methods, and they hadn’t changed in the three hundred years that the school had existed.

Sometimes, my age and talents had their benefits. Especially when one of our ‘teachers’ had tried to see Ian, ‘just to make sure he’s okay’.

“Miss-“I began to say, but she interrupted.

“Professor, actually.” She looked smug, but I dismissed her with a wave of my hand.

“Professor McNeill, I assure you that Ian is in no condition to converse with you at this moment. In fact, he just went to sleep, and I do not want to wake him up because you deem my experience of this disease insufficient. Need I remind you of my title of First Immortal Child? In other words, I’m older, more experienced and more powerful than you can ever hope, so do not even attempt to go against me, I will end you.”

Crossing my arms, I glare at her until she backs away, obviously cowed. “I- I- I did not mean it as such-“but I interrupt her once more.

“And one more thing, it was not I who diagnosed him, it was Queen Morgana. If you doubt me, you may go and ask Headmaster Sheng, she contacted him. The Cherry Blossom Pox is not to be joked about with.” Crossing my arms once more, I watch her stutter and then finally give up. As she walked away I smirked, knowing full well there was no such disease, but she didn’t need to know that.

I still love getting one over on people, especially the ‘experts’. After that, we had no hiccups, and he was left alone with me for the duration of his ‘illness’.

Although going back into the thick of things is difficult for him, telepathy goes both ways after all. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for him because everyone around him has no mental barriers. They don’t need to have any; telepathy is rare, even among the Immortal Races.

Many vampires and werewolves are connected, but even they cannot control what they think to the extent that is necessary to keep sane.

“So how do you deal with all of this, the telepathy and other people I mean?” he asks as we’re walking between classes. We just had Astronomy so I feel particularly relaxed, that ceiling still manages to calm me more than anything.

“Well, elves communicate telepathically more often than not. And as I told you before, they can control themselves extremely well from a young age, so they never broadcast thoughts like others do. But I advise you not to listen in on a werewolf or vampire conversation, it’s a very unpleasant sensation.” I hook my thumbs into the back pockets of my dark blue jeans as we walk, glad that I no longer bother to carry around a bag. Those textbooks are too heavy and I’ve already memorised most of them.

I may possibly have co-authored the bulk of them, as I’ve noted before, boredom is not something I deal with easily.

Ian takes my left hand in his own and starts swinging it up and down, pretending for a few moments that we are normal magical teenagers. So I pull him into one of the many alcoves and kiss him, but we are (unfortunately) interrupted by our least favourite person.

“Ahem,” the cute little cough is at odds with Victoria’s venomous personality, but I bite back such comments and just glare at her.

“What do you want?” I ask, glad of my height, because even in heels she’s short. She looks up at me, attempting to give me a death stare.

“I was just wondering how O’Connor-“her natural facial expression returns at last, a sneer worthy of a dragon. “Managed to get a girlfriend like you. I mean, granted you haven’t got much in terms of style, but you’re definitely out of his league,” her gaze flicks over to him, and I can feel the waves of anger pulsing off of him. My own body is displaying the uncomfortable side effects of my temper; my abdomen is burning with my rage.

I take a deep breath before replying,” You know, Veronica-“, mentally I tell Ian to back off. After a few grumbles and a few veiled threats from me, he does.

“It’s Victoria-“she interrupts, but I hold up my hand.

“I don’t care, Verouca. And I certainly don’t care for you tone, in case you have forgotten, and I don’t doubt that you have, I am older and more powerful than you. I can probably cast a spell with the merest thought, I actually have now that I think of it, and you struggle to summon the simplest ball of energy. So don’t start something with me that you have no hope of ending. In fact, I’ll end it right now.”

Leaning closer, so that my face is directly in line with hers, I look deep into her eyes and smirk. “You really need to hide your thoughts better, girl. I know you are jealous of Ian, in fact, you’re more jealous of me, but that’s beside the point. If you really think your family name will get you anywhere, you are sadly mistaken. One day, you will wind up alone and friendless, because people will not tolerate the bitterness that resides in you for very long.” I stand straight again, now that I have her full attention.

“So I suggest that you attempt to remedy that obvious character defect, as well as spending less time on your appearance. Get a hobby, other than flirting with any guy who looks at you twice, and read some books, intelligence is actually a benefit. And lastly-“here I lean closer again,” if you ever bother me again, I will turn you into the creature you so fear, and you will live the rest of your life in its natural habitat, no make-up or money, at all. Do you understand me?”

She nods and scuttles off, hiding her face in shame. I smile and stand straight again as Ian wraps an arm around my waist. “I almost expected you to turn her into a slug and pour salt all over her,” he says, and then pecks me on the mouth.

“Although that would have been fun, this way, she may actually become a functioning member of society,” I say, pecking him on the mouth and turn towards our rooms. He hooks a thumb into my jeans and I mirror him, glad that she will finally leave us alone. I almost feel bad for her, but not much.

“I really wish people would remember more about me than just my name,” I sigh and Ian looks at me. “Victoria is not the first person in recent weeks to underestimate me. One of our esteemed teachers doubted me when she found out I’d ‘diagnosed’ you as sick. I have witnessed more than they could ever hope to, done more than they could ever dream of, and yet they still treat me as they would each other. Mortals are so predictable…” I shake my head and he lets go.

“Until a year ago, I thought I was going to live as long as they do and then die, don’t joke about it,” he glares at me for a short time, and then he looks pointedly away.

“Well, for one thing, it shouldn’t insult you as much anymore. You will most likely live as long as I have, unless you get killed or eaten by a manticore,” I shrug, knowing full well that he is getting severely frustrated by me. “You aren’t like them, Ian, as much as you want to be, it won’t work. You have so many abilities that you haven’t even discovered yet. These kids, your peers? They have limitations, and many of them have already developed their powers, the abilities they will hold for the rest of their lives.”

I walk away from him, crossing my arms, but I pause as a new sensation hits me. “Did you just-“I stare back at him, and he looks shocked. “I just felt what you did, you feel guilty don’t you?” I half run to him, and take his hands.

“I felt it when you were talking, how much regret you had for them, for yourself,” he looks straight into my eyes, gripping my hands for dear life. “Why is this happening, Scar?”

“We’re connected, somehow. In a way I would never have expected. Ian…we need to get to my library, right now,” pulling on his one hand I run to my rooms, almost levitating him in my hurry.

When we reach the door to my tower I can barely contain my excitement, so I just flash into my workroom with Ian in tow. I let go of his hand and run to my book shelves and start yanking various volumes from them. I dump the lot into the middle of the floor and motion for him to sit.

As he does so I pull the last scroll out and sit down, crossing my legs. I open all of them at the right pages and hand the first book to Ian. His eyes scan the pages and slowly start to widen with every turn of the page.

“Does this mean what I think it does?” he asks as he finishes the chapter and looks up.

“Yes!” I yell and pivot forwards to wrap my arms around his neck. “I’ve finally found you, my other half.” I lean back, a little embarrassed now. But he pulls me closer again and kisses me, while he sends reassuring feelings through our developing bond.

For the first time in my extended lifetime, I feel completely at ease, though I have no idea if it’s from Ian’s influence or simple joy at replaceing the one person who can lift my burden of living. I nuzzle his neck as we sit awkwardly, both of our knees raised, and our arms wrapped around the other’s body.

***

Sadly, the cute little moments don’t last. As Ian and I walk back from our last class, a feeling of unease washes over me. I look around, trying to see what has disturbed me, it’s then that my eyes come to rest on a figure I know far too well.

“Not again, “I groan, pulling my hand away from Ian’s, walking over to Gabriel as he grins like an idiot holding a bunch of lilies. He shoves them in my face and then gets on one knee, and takes a jewellery box out of his pocket.

“Scarlet, I was hoping to change your mind, so I got you this,” he smiles at me, and hooks his fingers on the opening of the box.

Gripping the flowers, I nervously shift from foot to foot as he opens it. A large, hideous ruby glints at me in the sunlight that filters through the canopy of trees in the quad. The chain is alright, it’s all silver and delicate, but the ruby ruins it. Backing away in horror, I bump right into Ian.

“Who the hell is he?” Ian whispers in my ear, and I physically freeze.

“This is Gabriel…” I whisper, and he stiffens. I turn to look at him, but his face is unreadable. He refuses to meet my gaze, his eyes only staring at Gabriel, who is still kneeling. The grin is fading from his face, and he finally sets the box down.

“Scarlet, who is this?” he asks, getting up. I can feel the hormones radiating from them, mostly from Gabriel, so I put myself between them. With both hands raised, I am literally the only thing between them.

“Gabriel, this is Ian, he’s Hecate’s son,” I look from Ian to Gabriel, my hands beginning to heat up from the emotional tension. Though telepathy and other mind-controlled abilities are relatively rare, it’s nearly unheard of to be able to suck every emotion out of another person and turn it into magical energy. Empaths, as they are called, are extremely feared, though among Elementals it’s accepted to be able to see the emotions of others, it’s another thing to take them. Which explains why people hate me so much, because I am one.

“Scarlet, get out of the way,” Ian says, sidling forward in a menacing manner. Gabriel mirrors him, which just serves to make my blood boil. I feel a tickling sensation down my arms and then smell something burning, I’ve still been holding the damn flowers and now they are on fire.

Dropping them I walk away, shaking with rage. “Scarlet!” Ian yells my name, and runs after me, and he eventually gets close enough to grab my hand, forcing me to stop walking.

“If you want to play at being the macho hero, go ahead. I’m not going to stick around and watch you two display your masculinity,” I shoot a venomous glare at Gabriel, who looks ashamed, as does Ian when I turn back to him.

Looking him up and down, I tear my hand out of his grip, and stomp away. I can barely control my rage at this moment. “This is all his fault!” I yell, slamming the door to the gym behind me. I feel a slight wind, and then my clothes have changed to a pair of black shorts and a t-shirt; my shoes have disappeared back into my closet.

I pull the punching bag out and hang it on its hook, then twist a few bandages around my knuckles. The punches rain on the bag, each making a satisfying sound. All of my frustration pours into the punches and, after a few minutes, it splits, spilling sand everywhere.

I summon another bag and replace it, punching until my hands start bleeding and I begin to sweat. When I finally run out of energy, I sink to the floor, and begin to cry.

He was meant to leave me alone…he was meant to never see me again…he’s the one who left…the thoughts run around my mind, getting louder and louder.

The tears eventually stop too, and I’m left just lying there, feeling numb. Ian is bashing at my mental barriers, trying to get me to respond, but I stoically refuse and flash into my bedroom, right on top of my bed.

I fall asleep, worry and doubt eating away at me.

***

When I wake from my dreamless sleep, I groan and realise that Ian has been in my room. I have a strong sense of smell, though it pales in comparison to that of a werewolf.

“Gabriel!” I sit up straight, clutching at the sheets. He ruined everything…I think to myself, still blocking out Ian, who has realised that I am awake and is attempting to talk to me.

I open up, only to be assaulted by the barrage of Ian’s emotions and thoughts. I’ve been so worried, are you okay now? Should I shut up? Is he there with you? Please answer me, Scarlet… the feelings of concern overwhelm me, and I grip my head in pain.

Would just let me answer? My voice must resonate in his mind, because he winces in pain. I grip my hair, nearly pulling fistfuls out as I punch the bed. I’m fine, he’s not here and I would appreciate being left alone, thanks.

He sends a hurt sensation, but I brush it away, not in the mood for emotional blackmail. Sighing in frustration, I swing my legs over the side and walk into my bathroom, hoping that a bath would calm me down. With bubbles and scented oils…my skin tingles in anticipation, and the tension in my muscles begins to wane.

“Why am I so angry?” I mutter as I open the taps manually and fetch a towel. Tying my hair into a bun high up on my head, I make my clothes disappear and get in, sighing in appreciation of the piping hot water. The burning sensation stops bothering me, after a while, because my body can adapt so easily to different climates

Even though it’s a school day, I decide to skip classes, it’s not like I actually want to take them anyway. Thinking about school just frustrates me, so I force myself into a relaxing meditative trance until I feel calm enough to face the day.

When I get out, it’s about ten in the morning, and my cell phone is buzzing. Ian may not have been able to get through in my head, but he seems to have assumed that I would answer my phone. No, wait, it’s also a string of messages from Gabriel, or at least, that’s what most of them are signed as.

I type a quick message, basically saying the same thing to Gabriel as I did to Ian, and drop the infernal device onto my bed. I take my time to get dressed, planning on all the retail therapy I’m about to experience.

Once I’ve brushed my hair and pulled on my studded thigh high boots, I close my eyes and imagine that I’m in an alleyway in London, along with my favourite Ferrari. When I open them, I can smell the putrid stink of human excretion and garbage.

Stepping out of the alleyway I replace myself in the heart of London, and my car is parked just a few steps away; I shove the phone into my jacket pocket and walk to my car. Getting in, I buckle my seat belt and drive away from the curb, aiming for the shopping district.

After a few hours, I stop shopping; being laden down with so many bags I can barely feel my hands. Clicking my fingers, I make them reappear in my car, finally free of the burden. I sigh and watch the mortals pass me by, oblivious and carefree.

I walk down the street with my hands shoved deep into my pockets, not really paying attention to where I’m going until I replace myself in front of a pub I once frequented on a regular basis during the punk rock era.

Smiling, I push open the door and am immersed in the familiar smells of stale beer and fresh cigarette smoke. The bar still looks slightly charred from one of my drunken incidents, as well as other remnants of its magical patrons’ drunken moments.

Walking over to the bar, I select a stool and sit down, placing my hands on it to steady myself. The bartender notices me and walks over, oozing fake confidence and sweat. He’s covered in tattoos and has at least twelve earrings in his ears. But he’s a familiar face, so I just smile and order my regulars.

“Triple vodka on the rocks with a side of chips, you got it, Scar,” he says, the order appearing on a ticket in the kitchen. His reptilian tongue flicks around in the air, and then disappears back into his mouth.

“So Harry, how has business been?” I ask as he wipes a few glasses down. My order is ready in record time, and he brings the food to me.

“Been alright, nothing like the twentieth century anymore, though. Y’know, when it was respectable and famous,” he shrugs. “But it definitely has gone downhill since the seventies’; no one comes to London much anymore.”

I shrug, too, my mouth is occupied by vodka and warm chips, my favourite cure for a bout of anger. He refills my drink, filling the glass right to the top after adding another ice cube.

When I finish my food, I get up and drop a few pound notes onto the counter. ”For any outstanding amounts on my tab,” I say, knowing full well my tab never went unpaid when I was sober enough to remember. Let’s just say Harry ordered a box of booze a day just for me for most of the decade and leave it at that.

“Thank you, darling,” he says, taking the money and dropping it into the till. “You were always a good customer, even if you destroyed my bar on more than one occasion.”

“You know I only did that when you tried to set me up with your warlock friends, so it was your own fault,” I say, a grin spreading across my face. I had set the pub on fire, once or twice, and turned many of his ‘friends’ into frogs, or trees, I forget.

“It’s not my fault they were all a bunch of idiots around you,” he says, laughing as I send him a backwards wave before walking out of the door. I walk into another alleyway and flash back to my room, the Ferrari safe in my travelling garage and the new clothes already washing themselves.

****

As I rematerialize in my room, I sigh and walk down the stairs, already fully aware of Ian’s magical energy decrying his position in my workroom. He jumps out of the armchair as I reach the bottom of the steps, and runs to me. He hugs me, then leans back to make sure I’m okay, and then hugs me again.

“I was so worried!” he says, but I push myself away from him and stand on the opposite end of the room. Crossing my arms, I lean against a desk and glare at him like I’m about to set him on fire, which I’m very tempted to follow through with.

“It’s your fault, so don’t even start with me, O’Connor,” I say, my eyes never leaving his. “I don’t care that you love me, right now I’m too mad at you to even begin to lecture you about trying to face off a werewolf in a bout of male dominance.” He tries to interrupt, but I hold up my hand and shake my head.

“I do not want to have to deal with your jealousy, just like you wouldn’t want to deal with mine. I’ve spent far too long alone to screw up a relationship because you’re jealous of a guy who left me and hasn’t spoken to me in almost five hundred years. I only want you, and if you can’t grasp that, I think you need to stay away from me until you can.”

I flick my hand and open the door to his rooms, pointedly looking away from him as I wait for him to leave. Instead, he walks up to me and sinks to his knees, his hands clasped in front of him.

I cross my arms and look down at him, and he starts to speak, “Scarlet, please accept my heartfelt apology, I was an idiot and I deserve your anger. But I couldn’t stand seeing him there, trying to win you back with cheap jewellery and flowers you don’t even like.” He looks down, blushing from ear to ear, but I clear my throat and he looks up again.

“Your apology is…adequate, but you are warned that if you ever act that way again, I will shove the biggest mace that I can replace up your ass. Are we clear, Mr O’Connor?” he nods, and I smile at him, holding my hand out to help him to his feet. Still holding his hand, I pull him closer and kiss him. At first, he stiffens in surprise, but once he realises I’m not going to stop anytime soon, he leans in, deepening the kiss.

I let go of his hand, and wrap my arms around his neck while his rest around my waist. He leans forward, forcing my spine to bend, and pushes me onto the table. His hands grip my hips, but I stop kissing him, pulling back.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, letting him go to push him away so that I can close my legs. He looks ashamed while he runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen-“his hand moves down from his hair to rub the ridge of his brow. “Wow, my head hurts…” he collapses on the floor again and I groan, jumping off the table to kneel next to him for the umpteenth time in two weeks.

His eyes have a silvery sheen to them again, and I pull out the stake from my boot to shove into his mouth. I move his head so that it rests on my lap and wait for the vision to pass. Anxiety shoots through me, even though I’ve had to do this so often I’ve stopped numbering the steps, I just do them.

After what feels like an hour, but was probably only twenty minutes, he stops shaking, and relaxes, a sigh escaping his lips as the silver fades from his eyes. He blinks a few times before realising where he is and sitting up quickly.

Summoning a notebook and a pen with a thought I check his vitals as he looks away from me, refusing to meet my eyes unless he has to. When the notebook floats over, I open it to a new page and write down the date before allowing the pen to hover above the page.

“Okay, now tell me exactly what you saw,” I say, still looking at him, but he draws his knees to his chest and rests his head on them when I touch my hand to his arm.

“You were dead, lying on a marble stone, your skin was pale and your eyes were closed, you weren’t breathing. You had a white dress on, but the colour could barely be seen with all the cuts and drying blood all over your body. You hair looked okay, though, it was fanned out around you with this weird flower crown thing on your forehead,” he chokes up and finally looks at me, but I’m too shocked to really notice.

“I- I- I d- died?” I manage to get out, my body growing cold. I mirror his position, pulling my knees up to my chest and resting my head on them as I look at him. “A- are you, um, sure?”

He glares at me, confirming it with a small nod. “You were as pale as a corpse, Scarlet, your lips were blue.”

I shake my head, trying to focus. “What else did you see? Any obvious omens, like the ones we talked about?”

His face grows hard, but he starts to speak, “The slab was covered in white roses, wilted white roses, and Tristan-“ he punches the floor, my fears are confirmed.

“He was standing over you with an expression I could only describe as triumphant. He looked completely alive, though his skin was the same shade as yours. But his eyes, when they looked at me, they were the worst. They were completely white; he had no pupils or irises, just white.” Ian shudders, but he goes on,” The ground was covered in dead leaves and brown roots, almost as if everything had died with you. There also columns, like old white columns in a semi-circle-“

I gasp, pushing myself backwards in shock. He’s describing the location of the binding ceremony, exactly as it looks in the winter. This is bad…so very, very bad.

Ian watches me, probably worried about my sanity. I shake my head, the shock inhibiting my ability to speak. I sit like that for a few seconds until I slowly regain control of myself.

“It cannot be…” I whisper, and Ian finally crawls over to me to wrap his arms around me, kissing the top of my head between shushing noises.