A/N- I am so sorry for my absence!! I was writing chapters that were super hard to write (emotionally), and shit put me in a stump!! I'm so sorry guys!! I promise I'm back!! I'll update with part two soon (most of the chapter is already written). I made this chapter 12k words (wayy longer than usual) to make up for it. I love you guys!! Bye. Sorry again!!! -Amy

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I had been avoiding Paris. I knew it was bad, but after the...outburst I had infront of him, I couldn't bear to see him. I was humiliated really, and the only thing that kept me from flinging myself off the highest tower I could find, was the melange of absinthe and alcohol in my system. I was absolutely shit-faced.

To be fair, most of it was in preparation for my mother's arrival, and couldn't be entirely blamed on Paris. I was jittery. My mother never attended Parent Day. Not for me atleast, so I couldn't fathom what prompted this impromptu visit. Well, impromptu in the sense that she had not attended it once in the span of my entire schooling career. Not impromptu, in the sense that she probably had this planned for months. Wilhemine Grace Fontaine did not simply "pop" by. She worked on a schedule, and whatever caused her to deem my existence important enough for a visit, was a terrifying concept to me.

I squeezed another droplet of magical absinthe onto my tongue, shuddering at the bitter taste. You were really only supposed to take one or two at a time, but I took eleven. I couldn't help it. I even dropped some into my eyes to get it into my system better. You see, after full, consecutive years of sedative abuse, your system got used to depressants, and now I had a higher endurance than most. It was a pain in my ass, and required more alcohol for it to actually work. So, thanks for that, Cypress. He was fucking up my life from the Gods-damned grave.

My hands were shaking, for once, not because of nerves but because of the substances I pumped into my body. Elixirs and alcohol and good luck charms. I felt I was going to be sick with how unnaturally full my system felt. I had overdone it, and was left reeling with nausea and intoxication. I wanted to shred open my skin and let all the swelling tension out, and leave me deflated and content.

I hadn't slept at all last night, restlessly pacing around my room and finding everything I could to occupy my racing mind. I was nervous at the looming prospect of seeing my mother. I didn't want to see her. I was perfectly fine left alone. Her visit was just an initiation of a problem— a confrontation— an oracle of my impending doom.

The absinthe kicked in after several moments of my pacing, and I sighed in relief, slinking to the floor. My hair was wild and tangled, disheveled from my sporadic raging at four a.m this morning. I didn't bother to try to brush it out, afraid of the growing amount of clumps of hair that I would find in my hairbrush. My face was dry as the Sahara desert, and was splotched with red. It was as though I had an allergic reaction to my mother. Even my eyes were swollen and rimmed red, looking unnaturally glassy from the absinthe. I was a mess.

My clothing attire was not any better. My ivory knee socks were bunched up at my ankles. With me having lost such a noticeable amount of weight, my socks were no longer able to remain up, having nothing to cling onto. My beige shorts were glorified underwear, and I didn't even have a shirt on, simply a cardigan over a white tank top. I need to get dressed; at this very moment, Ibet and Cesarie were probably already adorned in their beautiful clothing and preparing for the day. I was the only one who was a disgruntled, heaving mess.

I upped my music with a flick of my hand, taking a swig from the bottle of absinthe I had resting on my mantle. I enjoyed the chilled burn that cut down my throat. Heavy rock music blasted through my room at a deafening level. It hurt my ears and I relished the pain. Atleast it was something. I had trouble feeling anything of all, as of late.

After I had succeeded in activating the Skill, I had been struggling immensely with my emotions and my magic. I had no emotions left, expect for rage, maybe, and simply the feeling of dread. It wasn't anxiety, but something muted and incomprehensible. I couldn't feel anything anymore, all of my emotions a pale comparison of what they once used to be. Because of this, my shadows were struggling. They hadn't been able to materialize in days.

They hadn't spoken to me once, and I was unsettled by the eery silence. I knew the Skill had drained me. It drained me exponentially, but it was taking far too long for me to recover for my liking. In my frustration to simply feel anything, I had turned to the bottle. I never particularly cared for feelings of happiness and euphoria, but at least the artificial feelings were tangible, besides the big, grey blob of nothingness that was slushing about my insides.

I continued twirling, alcohol bottle sloshing. My room was freezing, thankfully. I couldn't handle being hot, thus why I stripped down once the bottle came out. At this point, I was simply aggressively flinging myself around my room, with the intent of getting out as much energy as I could. I wanted to be calm. I couldn't afford to be angry today. What leftover emotions I couldn't get out naturally, I would have be sucked out of me, so I could be completely numb.

A knock resounded at my door, and I swiveled around in delight. Speak of the devil. I threw open my door, a wild smile climbing my lips. The dark eyes of Isis Al-Mehet stared back at me. They were first in their natural state of seductive, but then widened into shock.

"Mother. What happened to you?" I snarked at her, taking in her demeanor. She was dressed in a long dress, with a long sleeve cardigan over top. Nothing like the sultry, minxy Isis that I was so used to.

"Parents are dropping in from Zamalek. I had to dress accordingly " Isis grit out at me, shoving past me into my room. She took in the state of my ransacked room. What used to be a carefully maintained, orderly, sophisticated dorm had turned into a scatter of deep navy and dark wooded furniture, clothes strewn about in every corner. Everything was a mess, my living quarters reflecting the chaos of my internal state.

"Looks like you and Paris are having fun" Isis snarked. I rolled my eyes at her, slamming my door and locking it behind me.

"I didn't ask you here for dating advice, Al-Mehet. Come on. Chop chop. Time is running out" I clapped at her, yanking my drapes shut. I was impatient with all of this restless energy in my system. I needed it gone. Everything about me was irritated.

"Yeah yeah" she grumbled, sitting herself down on one of the only clean spots on the floor. Isis knew better than to try for my bed. I took off my cardigan, revealing some skin for her to latch onto. Her hands were warm and uncomfortable as they came into contact with the cold skin on my shoulders. With the touch, I was reminded very quickly why I preferred my room to be freezing; being warm felt itchy and confining.

Isis instantly got to work, making my body jerk with the force she yanked the emotion from me. She was like a vacuum, sucking all of the pent up energy out of my body. I felt the cool numb that settled in after her wake, my body finally relaxing from the lack of anxiety. I don't know what it was about my mother, that prompted so much fear from me that even my shadows couldn't keep up with it. Well, I did know perfectly well, but my mind could do nothing to prevent the fight or flight panic from kicking in at the sight of her. I shifted, and Isis hissed, forcing me to stay still.

She needed stable skin to skin contact for her magic to work. Yes, she was an empath, but to actively draw energy from another person, she needed contact with their being. From what I could gather in my studies, she touched cells of other organisms on a microscopic level, before latching herself onto them. She was a parasite that they couldn't detect, and used it suck the energy out of them. Thousands dead before they even realized that they were carrying energy towards the wrong source, practically hypnotized by her magic.

As bad as it may have sounded, I was glad of the restrictions set in place for beings like her. Like the twins, who relied on eye contact for their magic, Isis also relied on some form of physical contact to activate her Skills. Of course, she could manipulate their emotions and make them want to come to her, driven by lust or desire, but it was still a restriction. It made sure she couldn't abuse her power on a grand level. It kept us safe, in a sense.

My opinion of her magic was dangerously toeing the line of Light Mage ideologies. I didn't justify their Light Magic Supremacy, of course; I wasn't a fool. But there was some rationale in their fear. The power of Dark Mages had always been rooted in drawing and working their magic on others. Drakaeri and empaths and blood witches—they all worked their magic on other beings. They were all Dark Practitioners because their skill sets lied in manipulating others. They drew their power from other beings, which was a concept dangerously close to Malus Maleficario.

Shadow Syphons, like me, did not even belong in the category, but we were in there anyways. Sun Summoners and other Celestial witches should have also been in elemental magic, but they were sectioned off to the top of the magical, hierarchal pyramid from the very emergence of such magic. Of course they were. It would make sense for society to receive a man glowing in God-like radiance far better than some random woman shrouded in darkness, able to control whispering shadows. Society had always been afraid of the dark and the unknown, and we had received the brunt of it. The entire system was rooted in prejudice.

"Hey! Stop it!" Isis smacked my hand, "Stop thinking about whatever you're thinking about. I just got done with that section" she hissed at me, and I tried to clear my mind, settling down. My eyes were closed as my body pulsed, Isis drawing out all the emotion from me.

The precision she did it with was satisfying. Where my shadows took the strongest, and very obvious emotions, Isis worked through every corner, every hidden crevice and cleaned out every crumb of emotion I had to offer. She did a thorough job, which was one of the reasons I kept her as a companion; she was absolutely exceptional. Her magic was satisfying.

Someone knocked on my door, jerking me out from my trance.

"Do not dare. I'm not done yet. You still have some anxiety left over" Isis hissed at me, trying to keep me seated. I didn't listen. My eyes shot open as I stumbled to my feet, ignoring Isis' protests. I felt for the shadows around my door, hoping to identify the stranger behind the heavy mahogany, and was met with dread. Oh for the love of the everseeing.

"What is Paris Arobynn doing here?" Isis demanded from behind me. I stiffened, turning around with narrowed eyes. I crossed my arms over chest defensively, jutting my hip out.

"How do you know it's him?" I asked her cautiously, observing her with suspicion. The girl was far too perceptive for my liking.

"Your heart rate jumped. Anxiety increased by tenfolds" She gave me a taunting smirk. My face fell, as I was left stunned and speechless. Of course that was it. I was simply thankful she couldn't identify the reason why my heart rate jumped in such a frantic manner. If she heard about Paris Arobynn's confession last night, I would never hear the end of it. She found love proclamations hilarious, seeing as she received them daily. They were jokes. Men were toys for her. But for me, who's never had a person simply like me, much less love, it was less humorous. My stomach felt sick at just the thought of it.

"Oh shut it, you celestial cow" I finally snapped, finding nothing better to retort. I walked to my door, gathering deep breaths and bracing myself, before opening it a crack. I stared out at Paris, keeping the door tightly closed. He looked as though he was carved from sunlight soaked alabaster- absolutely radiant. His golden hair was comed neatly, and he wore his formal suit perfectly. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a or a Polo ad.

"Hello, Paris" I stated tightly. He smiled at me brightly. I did not smile back.

"What's the matter? Covered in blood again?" He joked, leaning on my doorway, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His shirt rode up, slightly revealing the v-outline at the bottom of his torso. My mouth dried. If he did not stop doing that, I swear to Gods I would get the bloody doorway removed. He had no right to lean on it and defile it in such a manner. Especially with the way he humiliated its owner. It was outrageous.

"No" I strained out. I would need more absinthe. Paris' head titled to the side as his jovial expression fell slightly. He looked like a confused golden retriever with the way he titled his head. A stray strand of hair fell into his face. I repressed the urge to brush it away.

"You haven't killed the demon yet?" Paris asked, his sandy eyebrows furrowing.

"Hasn't your mother ever told you that it's impolite to call women crude names of demonic origin, Paris Arobynn?" Isis drawled from behind me, and I jumped, cringing at her presence. She was right at my ear, her hot breath cascading down my neck. Could she not have kept her mouth shut for two bloody seconds? I swiveled around to glare at her, and only found amusement in her feline eyes. I snapped back around to look at Paris,  and watched as his face shifted from shot, to disgust, to anger. I dragged tired hands down may face, praying to Nyx that I was simply going through a

"Isis. Out" I demanded, before turning to Paris, "Paris. In"

I opened the door wide for him, as Isis sauntered out, her hips swaying suggestively. Despite the tent on her legs, she somehow manage to make the action look seductive. Paris walked in, and I shut the door behind him, slamming it extra hard to announce my anger towards Isis. The action wasn't necessary; I knew she could feel it, and besides, you didn't need an empath to recognize my anger. It was pretty obvious.

I turned around and cringed at the state of my room; It was a mess. My bed wasn't made, my closet was ransacked, every arm chair was covered in clothing and laundry, and every chest was wide open, their contents spilled on the floor. I quickly sent an organization spell into action with a swish of my hand, objects flying into motion and rearranging themselves to their respective spots. I ducked as a vase went hurdling past my head.

"Why was Isis here?" Paris asked with a hard voice, observing the state of my room, his gaze catching on the rows and rows of alcohol bottles and pill cases on my dresser. I flung a shadow over the bureau, making it completely disappear in darkness.  Paris' back was turned to me, his muscles flexing underneath the material of his button-up shirt. Why was his back so defined? Lines and lines of muscles flexing with each movement. Surely that should not be anatomically possible? What also shouldn't have been anatomically possible, was the way that my body reacted to those muscles.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had approached him from behind. My hand found it's way to his back and began tracing patterns over it with my nails, dragging them over his muscles as I stepped closer. Paris tensed, but did nothing to brush me off. After a moment, I circled around him, breathing in his sweet scent deeply as I dragged my hand over his defined muscles. I only opened my eyes when I planted myself directly in front of him. He was staring down at me with dark eyes. Dilated from attraction, and not rage, as I reminded myself. Although now they might be from rage. I didn't know. Everything was so awfully confusing with him.

I stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes. In the dimly lit room, I wondered what I looked like from his perspective. My lips were slightly parted, as I gazed up at him in my intoxicated state. The drugs and the absinthe did nothing but flare up my already existing attraction towards him. The absinthe was simply the gasoline that I had drenched over the spark of attraction, that I had spent all this time trying to smother. As I stated last night, I had given up on trying to dampen it. It could burn me alive now, for all I cared. It would inevitably burn me alive. I might as well enjoy it.

I dragged my hands lower and lower, enjoying the way he closed his eyes and slightly wavered. Goosebumps covered his skin as he shuddered against my cold hands. He leaned in towards me, making my heartbeat jump.

"Isis was here, because I needed her to draw the emotion out of me, Paris" I told him softly, brushing my hands over his chest. They lowered, from his chest to his defined abdomen to his waist, lower and lower. He swayed slightly, his jaw clenched tightly. I could see it ticking with how hard he was gritting his teeth. My eyes flickered downwards, dragging over his defined features, before stopping at his waist. His fists were clenched at his side. And then they weren't. With a suddenness that made me startle, Paris grabbed my wrists, yanking them away. The harshness that he did the action with was almost painful.

"Whats wrong with you?" He asked, staring down at me with dark, calculating eyes, "There's something off about you. Your eyes look different again"

His gaze flickered from eye to eye, as if that's where the key to the mystery lied. I initially interpreted the question to be rhetorical and intended to be ridiculing, but then I realized it was genuine concern laced in his voice. He was observing me, his angry eyes skimming over my features as if I were a cryptic code that needed to be deciphered. I yanked my arm, but he didn't let go.

"Nothing" I seethed at him, angry that he rejected my advances. I stared up defiantly, before biting out, "What's wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me" Paris stated, his jaw ticking. He still didn't let go of me.

"Well obviously there is, since you came in here with a fucking attitude. You just have to go ahead and ruin my good mood" I retorted, tryin to yank my hand back again, but he continued to restrain me.

"Why was Isis here?" he asked in a low voice, "And why are you drunk?"

"It's liquid luck" I sneered at him, a cruel smile tugging at my features, "And I had Isis here because I wanted to. I like her company" The words were intended to cut. To hurt. They were fueled by my rage and my anger and all of my pent up anxiety from what was to come later today with my mother. And, of course, my humiliation that he didn't want me to touch him.

Paris simply stared down at me silently, observing me. Then his face completely changed, his eyes lighting up with understanding and the anger evaporating from his features into profound shock. His eyes brows were still furrowed, but now from contemplation besides irritation. It enraged me. I wanted to know what caused this change. What knowledge did he have, that I did not?

"You're spiraling" Paris said, his voice startled as if he finally found the missing piece of a puzzle. I glared up at him, my nostrils fuming. He let go of my wrist, and I stepped away from him. I despised him for his ability to read me. He was not drakaeri, he had no right to invade my mind and my thoughts in such a precise manner.

"Why did Isis have to draw out your emotion?" Paris asked again, his voice gentle this time, as if finally believing my words.

I further distanced myself from him, and went to put on my cardigan.  My back was to him, as I looked at myself in the mirror and fixed it over my bony shoulders. The girl staring back at me from the looking glass was a ghastly sight—my grey eyes glazed and slightly unfocused from the intoxication. My skin was ashen and a sickly shade of near-grey, and my eyes were red-rimmed. I was the image of gaunt death. The acute awareness that needed to eat more, sleep more, drink water more, everything more, rang loud in my mind. I needed to reduce my magic use too. Though it had always affected me emotionally, my magic was now taking a role on my physical well-being. It was bad news.

"Because I am going to see my mother today, and I need as much strength as possible for that" I said bluntly, rearranging the cardigan to keep my hands occupied. They were shaking again, and I couldn't tell if it was from the absinthe or my own nerves. Isis had done a good job sobering me up enough to sharpen my senses, but I still wasn't sure.

I looked over my shoulder through the mirror, and found Paris observing me with an intensity that I could not handle. I quickly stepped away from the looking glass so I wouldn't have to look at him. I instead opened the door of my wooden armoire, and occupied myself by digging through it for a spare change of clothes.

"And, as I stated, I like Isis' company" I told Paris, shooting him an initiation of a cocky smile. I tried to make up for my lacking confidence with it. It was uncalled for, but I could not handle going down the path of conversation about my mother. Paris did not shy away from such topics, but I did, so I needed to steer him away from it. It was about as easy as dragging a bull by its horns away from a red-flag-waving conquistador. The comment had the intended effect, as anger quickly flashed onto his features.

"I bet that's why you slept with her too" Paris remarked bitterly, "Because you like her company"

My mouth popped into an "O" shape.

I slammed shut the door of my closet, swiveling around to glare at him. I was enraged really. I did not need him bringing up my past partners at every everseeing, Gods-damned moment. It's hardly like I held Aline against him.

Paris was staring at me with his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set tightly, awaiting my reply. His expression stopped me dead in my tracks. The depiction of obvious jealousy on his face made my ire cool significantly, supplying me with an emotion akin to...satisfaction. Paris was jealous. I realized he wasn't bringing Isis up to make digs against me, trying to shame me for my past experiences, but because he was insecure. Isis had something that he could never compete with; her femininity. He knew I liked girls, and he didn't know how to compete with a woman. He was out of his playing field. Poor boy. The thought made me almost smile.

I breathed in deeply, dragging my hands down my dry face in an effort to regain some sobriety, before stating, "I did not sleep with Isis because I liked her company, Paris. I slept with her because I have an annoying tendency to self-sabotage everything good in my life. If I don't sabotage it myself, life will, and I will have to pay for it. So I decided to take matters into my own hands, when it came to you. I was trying to scare you off" I shrugged at him, as if it didn't mean anything to me. As if my attempt at honesty wasn't making my pride writhe I'm anguish inside me. I popped my fingers individually, attempting to keep them from shaking.

I stared at Paris, forcing myself to keep eye contact with him. I had no energy to bicker with him over this. It would demand less of me to just tell him outright. I could not keep up this constant battle of wills. Paris simply stared at me, blinking in confusion.

"You slept with Isis...because of me?" He asked, titling his head and furrowing his eyebrows. He didn't get it. It made my chest ache. A hollow laugh ripped itself from my throat as I began cackling.

"Gods no" I laughed at him, having no idea what else to do. The sound was harsh and humorless, making me internally cringe at the jarring noise. The last thing I needed was him blaming himself for this, with the constant, ever-present victim complex he had.

"No, Paris" I repeated in a quieter tone. I debated my words, attempting to word my logic in a way he would understand. My eyes trailed to the ceiling as I weighed my options.

After a drawn out silence, I finally stated in a small voice, busying myself with my clothes so I wouldn't have to look at him, "You unsettle me with your affection, Paris. You scare me, because I have to pay for everything good in my life, and the thought of having to pay for you, with your kindness and overwhelming goodness, is terrifying"

I faintly remember comparing him to an angel—a cherub in the sky at the game. So no wonder having to pay the price of his kindness launched me into such a panic. He was too good. It seemed like a sick joke from fate. Like they were playing me, waiting to pull the rug from beneath my feet once I got comfortable with his presence.

"You don't have to pay for me" Paris said quietly. I gave him a sad smile.

"You're right. I didn't pay. My neck did" I told him gently. He flinched at the words, and I felt the sudden urge to cry from frustration. He didn't understand. I hadn't said the words to be hurtful. I said it because it was the truth. I payed the toll for his presence in my life with my neck. What I didn't pay the toll for, was his love. It was an unaccounted for aspect. And I was horrified by it. Magic demanded payment, the same way the Fates demanded payment. It was the balance of nature.

Seeing the disappointed sadness in his gaze, I quickly neared him, apologizing, "You know I didn't mean it like that, Paris. I don't blame you" I told him, hoping it would alleviate the pain. Hoping that it would make him feel less guilty. I closed the distance between us, staring up at him, forcing him to look at me. He was clenching his fists, making them white with pressure.

Without thinking, I grabbed his hand, unclenching his fist and lacing my fingers into his. I gave him a gentle squeeze, offering the same kind of reassurance that he always provided me with when my hands were shaking or I was pressing down too hard on my knuckles..

"What I'm trying to say is..." I began, biting down on my lip in concentration, trying to figure out how to voice the scramble of thoughts I had inside my head. It was like trying to pick apart molted candle wax, a mess that had gnarled and knotted all together in a pattern that only I could understand. Moments like these, where I recognized how vastly different my mind was from others, were enough to make me feel absolutely isolated from the rest of the population. Or maybe it could be I was just bad at communicating my emotions. Either or.

I began with a frustrated sigh, "I can't afford you, Paris. Don't you understand? You, who's done no wrong in your entire life, is something I have neither earned nor deserved. And pumping me with affection the way you do— it's a complete and utter recipe for disaster. It's like pouring water into an already chipped vase, and simply hoping for it not to break from the pressure. But it will break. And when it will, It scares me to imagine the toll for such an amount of affection that I would have to repay" I told him in one big breath.

"It won't break" Paris said in a stubborn voice, finding a flaw in my rationale.

"Yes, it will" I urged, "Or at least in my mind it will. So I tried to destroy the vase myself so you wouldn't be able to fill me with all...that, and break me. To keep myself hollow and empty— safe from the pressure of being required to repay your affection. Me sleeping with Isis was me trying to break the vase. Irreversible damage, where you wouldn't be tempted to fill me up anymore. You would see the shattered, broken bits and realize it would never work, that I could never hold the water. I tired to make you hate me and make you leave, before life came knocking at my door for a payment that I could not afford"

Paris stared at me for a long time, making me shift from foot too foot. I regretted coming so close, wishing I could be having this conversation from behind doors, where he couldn't stare at me in such a manner.

"We need to get you out of this room" Paris announced with a serious nod, "The parents will be here in a few hours. We need to get you cleaned up"

I blinked at him and the sudden change of conversation, becoming suddenly aware of how close I was standing to him and how tightly I was gripping his hand. I quickly unweaved my fingers from his, stepping away.

"You're the one who's suppose to greet them, Paris" I said  dismissively, ignoring him as I flopped onto my canopy bed.

"And you're supposed to look presentable" he pointed out. I rolled over, looking up at him through a curtain of pale hair. I blew out a stray strand from my forehead, huffing in annoyance.

"I'm getting ready at Ibet's" I told him. It wasn't technically a lie. I was getting ready at Ibet's dorm, where I would meet Cesarie. Clair was not invited seeing as it was strictly a girls day. He had pouted and whined, proclaiming that he loved dressing up just as much as us, which was of course true, but Cesarie had requested it herself. Having Clair at such a proximity, already tense from the impending arrival of their mother, was driving her mad. She needed a break from his anxiety and nerves. They were seeping over their mental bridge and infecting her too.

"Can I come?" Paris perked up. His eyerbrows were raised, and I stared at him in bewilderment. Surely he wasn't serious.

"No?" I said to him, raising my own eyebrows and scrunching my face into an expression of distaste. Paris didn't falter, seemingly haven gotten used to my incessant negativity.

"Pretty please? I promise I won't be in the way" He asked, making his way to the door as if already having convinced me to allow him to come. He opened the door, but didn't get far before I slammed it shut with a swipe of my hand, my shadows closing the mahogany frame.

"No, Paris. You can not come" I hissed at him, yanking my bag from the dresser as I strode forward, "This is a girls only event. Where we do girly things. Like makeup. And hair braiding" I listed off random things, hoping to find a repellant to his desire.

"I can braid hair too, you know! I could totally help!" He asked me again, acting like a spoiled child begging for a treat. I eyed him suspiciously as I stopped in my tracks.

"Why do you know how to braid hair? You have no sisters. You're an only child. The one and only Heir of Light" I stated, crossing my arms over my chest. At his silence, I raised an expectant eyebrow. Paris' cheeks painted pink at the title, before he briskly looked away. He ran a hand through his curls, while giving me a sheepish smile. The crooked thing was annoyingly charming.

"My mom used to buy me dolls" He unnapoilgetically announced a moment later. So he was embarrassed about being the Heir of Light, but not that he used to have dolls. The corners of my lips twitched, slowly rising into a wide smile. He looked back at my face, before sighing in exasperation.

"What?" He asked me with a blank expression on his face, not understanding what I found so funny. I shook my head, the corners of my lips tugging down into a restrained smile.

"Nothing, Paris" I cleared my throat, trying to regain some semblance of seriousness, "But you still can't come"

I opened my door and stepping out. Paris quickly followed, as I told him, "Ibet has a headscarf, remember? She can't do much hair braiding if you're there" I pointed out.

"But I've seen her hair!" Paris argued with me. I narrowed my eyes at him, but didn't stop my march down to her level in the Belserra House.

"What? I have" Paris exclaimed, lifting his hands in the air in a shrug, "I've seen her hairline! She wears it loosely! You can see like a good four inches!"

"That doesn't matter, Paris. She wears it for cultural reasons, not religious. So you seeing her hairline doesn't mean anything. And even Clair is only allowed in because he shares Cera's female identity. You have no such thing. So no, you can't come. And I would rather not be the loser that brings her boyfriend to hang out with her friends" I stated bluntly.

Paris was silent at my rejection, till I noticed that he had stopped walking altogether. I swiveled around to glare at him and snap at him to hurry up. He was entire meters taller than me; he should be able to keep up with me easily, considering the unfortunate stubs I got stuck with as legs.

I caught eyes with Paris, and instantly noticed the dopey grin on his face. He looked younger, for some reason-- rosy cheeked and smiling giddily. I furrowed my eyebrows, stepping away from him wearily. I did not like the look of that face. Paris tilted his head to side, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Boyfriend you say?" He asked me smugly, his voice dripping in satisfaction. I glowered at him, before turning around and stomping the other direction. Paris quickly fell into step beside me as I ignored the hulking, pea-brained, oaf besides me.

"You just called me your boyfriend" Paris said in a singsong voice, mocking me. No. No that would not do.

I quickly turned around, plastering my hand to his chest and slamming him against the wall. My shadows restrained his limbs,  a blade in my hand within seconds as I pressed it to his jugular. I blamed the overreaction on my intoxicated state. Alcohol never helped with my temper. While Clair was known to cry, I was the one known to star bar fights. It was like pouring vodka onto a flame and expecting it to go out. The fact that I carried several knives on my person did not help, either.

"You are not my boyfriend" I hissed at him, trying to get the idea into his thick skull. Paris seemed unconcerned, grinning at me and completely unbothered about the shuriken knife at his throat. I wondered if he could smell the alcohol on my breath.

"Well according to you—" He began, but I pushed the knife down slightly. The pressure was simply to remind him what I held to his major artery. It didn't break skin, and Paris simply laughed, his Adam's apple bobbing with the action.

"Stay still" I hissed at him, rearranging my knife so it wouldn't nick his tan skin. This boy had no self preservation instincts whatsoever.

"What am I then? Hm?" Paris asked me, smiling down at me fondly. Without a warning, he sent a kiss to the tip of my nose, and I quickly recoiled, dropping him.

"Ugh, Paris!" I shouted at him in disgust, using my sleeve to wipe my face clean. Why must he always push my limits? He always tried to enrage me with doing things that we did not agree on.

"What are we then?" Paris asked again. With the way he was looking at me, I could tell he was restraining himself from chasing me down the hallway and plastering more kisses onto me in such a manner. He displayed an expression of pure evil as he grinned smugly, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for my reply. It was outright sinister.

"You are not my boyfriend and I am not your girlfriend" I seethed under my breath.

"Of course you're not something as insignificant as a girlfriend, Eulalia", He agreed with me seriously, nodding in a very solemn manner, "You are my bane beloved. The bane of my life. The one and only—"

"Oh! How rich!" I laughed a disbelieving, outraged laugh, "And I bet you expect yourself to be the light of my life, I assume. Nothing lesser for you, of course" I mocked his nerve.

"Exactly!" Paris exclaimed, a bright expression on his face, "I'm your—"

"Nothing" I interjected, closing my eyes and breathing deeply to calm myself, "You are not my anything, if not simply my Paris Arobynn. You know? The blockhead that likes to follow me around for no apparent reason and torment me? Yeah. Him. That's it. Nothing else"

But the grin that was on Paris' face told me that he certainly did not believe that was it. I could tell he knew that there was not a single simple thing about the way I felt for him. My feelings towards him were many things, but definitely not simple. He was looking at me as If I had hung the moon for him, pure, undiluted adoration in his eyes. It only made me sneer further.

"You're right" Paris agreed, and it perplexed me enough to back into Ibet's door, frantic to get away from him. I had no idea what the in the everseeing's name that was supposed to mean. His forward manner intimidated me. I backed away, opting for a quick escape.

I couldn't muster a reply to that, so I opted for simply reaching for Ibet's doorknob behind me and yanking the heavy door open. At first, I was too affronted by the wave of heat that hit me, to recognize the figure that collapsed into the hallway. Once the blindness from the bright room faded, I caught sight of to body at my feet, sprawled out on the floor like roadkill.

Cesarie Zhifeng instantly jumped up, brushing herself off in a jumpy manner that told me all I needed to know about what she heard. And if she heard it, it meant she was relaying it all back to the regal, bronze-skinned witch who was sitting on floor cushions in the middle of room, pretending to read an upside down book.  Ibet and Cera had been eavesdropping. The shock of Ibet participating in it was enough to leave me more stunned than angry. My mouth was hanging open in disbelief.  Since when has Ibet ever bothered to eavesdrop?

I looked between the girls and Paris, calculating which foe was the least unbearable at the moment, before silently stepping into the room. I shut the door on Paris' face, locking myself in the sauna Ibet had established in her room. It was absolutely sweltering. I instantly stripped down to a tank top and boy-shorts, peeling my socks and suffocating layers off of my sticky skin. I was already sweating. Cesarie had done similar, being in a silk pajama set, with her Parents Day outfit hanging in a dust bag on Ibet's closet door. Her pale, white shoulders were devastatingly elegant, with her slender physique reminding me how truly willowy she was. I didn't have that kind of effortlessness to me.

I was skinny, yes, but stocky and compressed. My limbs were stout with heavy bones. She was miles and miles of long, pale limbs, and a delicate, craning neck that resembled that of a swans. She reminded me of the kind of women they would idolize in ancient Chinese dynasties. She was fit to be an empress— a birthright that would be bestowed upon to her through her mother's bloodline. I just wasn't sure how she would fare with such a position, with her dexterity for trouble and chaos. Cesarie was unhinged— better fit for the role of a bandit queen or a pirate, not someone as rigidly confined as a monarch.

Ibet sat opposite of her, paralleling every bit of Cesarie's regality. Ibet was garbed in a long, intricate, tangerine Saari, chocolate brown curls tumbling beneath her gossamer headscarf. It was covered in so much bling and sparkles that it genuinely made me green with jealousy. I loved Ibet's saari's and lehengas. She had once gifted me one to wear for her birthday in Tehran, although I knew she had just done it because she knew I adored them.

It was a classic Ibet move- giving out presents on her own birthday. We both knew I had no need of it; after all, it was only her mothers side that was South Asian, while the rest adorned no such garbs. But because of it, I had felt like I was apart of a royal, exclusive inner circle—being one of the few select individuals who wore them. She made me feel apart of her family, something I had not forgotten to this day. Now she sat so beautifully that I felt the urge to run back to my room and dig out the sparkly, pink garment from my chest to match her.

"Ibet, you better have nailed that lehenga down, because Lules looks like she's going to rip the thing right off you" Cesarie cackled from behind me. It was an ongoing joke between them; my tendency to be attracted to everything sparkly and shiny, and keeping them stashed in my room like a raven stocking up its nest, refusing to ever wear them out. I simply liked having them.

They called me Crow for a long while, when they found a stash of stolen jewelry hidden in my room when we were children. It wasn't my fault that I had sticky fingers; I never had anything nice or pretty as a child. No impulse control whatsoever. Things were never mine when growing up. I had things bought for me yes, but it was only ever for public appearances or events where I had to look presentable. They were never for me, just so I could simply have them and enjoy them. They were always for show.

Now my friends made fun of  my tendency to hoard things, but I didn't care. Big fat deal. That was my deep dark secret; I was a hoarder who liked keeping shiny things in my room and never wearing them out. And also pink. Big deal.

"Why were you eavesdropping?" I asked both of them, ignoring Cesaries jibe and instead staring at Ibet in an accusatory manner. The eavesdropping was nothing new for Cesarie, but Ibet? I was absolutely bewildered. When she continued to ignore me, as If she hadn't been caught doing something as undignified as spying, I stomped up to her. I plucked the reading book right out of her hands, to which her emerald eyes snapped up at me in outrage. They were flaming and looked particularly menacing in the heavy wings of kohl around them. Before she could utter words of protest, I flipped the book upright, and handed it back to her, as if simply attempting to be helpful. She glared at me with her mouth set into a thin, angry line, before haughtily accepting the book back. She practically ripped the thing from my hands.

Ibet was sitting upright and rigid, her head held condescendingly high as she snatched the novel back from me. She didn't admit humiliation, instead placing the book down and picking up a gilded hairbrush instead. She turned her head to her side, in a manner that was obviously a dismissal, before begining to brush her hair. That was a mistake.

The hairbrush was enchanted to be befit for every hair-type, but it instantly got stuck in her thick, very coiled, very dry hair. I pursed my lips at the sight as she tried to subtly remove it from her hair. She attempted to do it in a manner that would retain some of her dignity. The action failed. Of course it did. Even I knew you weren't supposed to brush curly hair while dry. Ibet tried tugging it out. The brush didn't budge. I continued to watch her struggle, as she became increasingly frustrated.

Finally, when the brush refused to comb through the knot she had just planted on her head, she began simply ripping the thing through, having lost all patience for gentleness. Ibet eventually screamed before beginning to beat the brush on her head. Cera quickly rushed over. After several of Ibet's threats of shaving her head, she finally managed to wrestled the brush from her brown hands.

I couldn't help but laughing, and Cesarie's expression was red from repressing the urge. Cesarie planted herself behind Ibet, before gently weaving in enchantments into her knotted locks. She did it with the tender care of a mother braiding ribbons into her daughters hair, the shimmery-golden strands of magic setting into Ibet's thick curls. She reached for Ibet's alma oil and began slowly finger-combing it in to her hair, trying to get the knot out. Shaking my head, I sat down next to the two, on one of the coushions on Ibet's floor.

"Don't tell me you're planning on wearing that to the assembly" Cera snarked, tactfully changing the topic, "Your mom is going to be there. She'll skin you alive if you show up in a tube top"

I cringed at Wilhemine's mention, "So you heard?"

Apparently everybody knew she was coming this year. It was humiliating how everybody recognized what a rarity it was. How uncharacteristic it was of Wilhemine Fontaine to show interest in her second youngest daughters accomplishments. It was absolutely humiliating that the world saw how much she simply did not care about me. She didn't even care to do a good job concealing it, with the media completely sympathetic to her neglect, highlighting how difficult the circumstances were for her. Poor Wilhemine, doing everything right and being punished with a daughter like me.

"Secrets run loose in excited minds. It doesn't matter what they guard their minds with when they scream out the thoughts anyways" Cera said offhandedly, waving an unbothered hand at me. She knew well enough to not make it a big deal. When it came to my problems, I simply ignored them till they went away. I refused to acknowledge them, and often got irritated when those around me did not do the same.

"I don't care what Wilhemine thinks" I sniffed, observing my nails, "She can go fuck herself, for all I care. I'm not getting dressed up for her"

"But you are changing, right?" Cera asked cautiously. I glanced at her with narrowed eyes. She met my gaze right back, completely shamelessly adding on, "You look and smell like shit, love. We can do a scrounging charm, but It can only do so much for week old clothing"

I narrowed my eyes at her, but ultimately sighed, collapsing back onto Ibet's Isfahan rug, not having the energy to spew curses at Cesarie and her insolent, fat mouth. I spread my arms wide, stretching, "I don't know If I'm even going to attend"

"You can't just not attend" Cera said, speaking for both her Clair, "Trust me, if we could, we would definitely not be going either"

I sat up, resting on my elbows to look at her, "I'll take it Vere is definitely attending then?"

Cera scowled at the mention of her mother, biting down on to her bottom lip. She accidentally tugged Ibet's hair too hard, making her head snap back. Ibet swiveled around to glower at her and Cesarie quickly appoligized.

"How's Clair taking it? You're making me feel guilty for telling him not to come" I told her, regretting banning him from our girls day. He did not take things very well.

Cesarie simply scoffed, "Oh please, you never feel guilty. To feel guilt you'd have to be capable of human emotion"

"Fair" I told her, smirking, "But seriously, how's he doing?" I asked her. Clair was concerning in his episodes sometimes. He could not be trusted to deal with them alone.

Cesarie's eyes fogged for a moment, becoming offset as she stared off into the corner of the room, informing me that she was checking in on him. When her gaze refocussed, she shuddered, her face looked grim. I didn't bother furthering the conversation, knowing perfectly well what the expression meant; Clair was a wreck. It's any miracle he hadn't found me yet to go on a drinking rampage with him.

Clair was terrified of his mother. His mommy issues were even worse than mine, which seemed quite literally impossible, till you observed the two in the same room. Vere was a severe believer of our matriarchal society. She never wanted Clair, anticipating only for a female heir, not twins. She had nothing to do with Clair, not in her coven, not in her Sukeban—the all-female mafia. His only saving grace was his shared-female consciousness with Cesarie.

Cesarie also couldn't stand Vere. She was every bit of Cesarie's cutthroat cunning and chaos, but Vere funneled it into a very different direction. Cesarie was simply mischievous, Vere was dangerous. Cesarie wanted none of the serious commitments that came with Vere's lifestyle. One of the things that had kept me form joining Vere's Sukeban, was the fact that Cesarie would eventually run from it. It was inevitable.

I sighed, getting up from the floor, "I'll go talk to him"

"You don't have to. He's drinking himself to death at the moment" Cera told me, focusing her gaze onto Ibet's hair. Her tongue sticked out with concentration.

"You want me to bring him back here so he'll throw up over Ibet's rug again?" I asked, smirking at Cera dryly.

Ibet glared at me at the notion, "Don't bring him back here. I barely got the stain out last time" 

"No promises" I shouted out to them, winking, before dissipating into a cloud of black, and appearing in Clairmont's pitch black bedroom. I blinked several times, before locating the lump I once called my friend. As predicted, he was laid on the floor of his dorm, bottles scattered on every surface. I was acutely aware that this was what Paris saw when he walked into my room, making me disgustingly embarrassed. I walked up to Clair and kicked his foot, making sure he wasn't dead. Suprisingly,  he was simply staring up at his ceiling with his golden eyes wide open. They contrasted garishly against the dark.

"Hey, look at you, we won't have to pump your stomach this time. I'm so proud" I tried joking with him, sitting down on the floor. When he didn't reply, I sighed, sinking down into a laying position. I didn't waste any time, sidling close to him and resting my head on his outstretched arm. He smelled atrociously of alcohol and chemicals. I could only imagine I smelled the same.

"Why didn't you tell me we were drinking ourselves to death tonight?" I joked with him, "I would have brought my absinthe"

"I wasn't necessarily planning on drinking myself to death. It was kind of a spontaneous thing" He snarked, taking a swig of the clear bottle in his hand. It was nearly empty, having been laying on the floor where most of the liquid spilled out onto the stone. He offered me the bottle and I shrugged, accepting it.

"Liar" I snarked out, bringing the bottle to my lips and cringing at the harsh taste. The alcoholic tang burned my throat, stinging all the way down. My body instantly tried to hurl it out.

"Mother of Gods, what the Hell is this" I choked out, coughing.

Clairmont rolled over towards me, pressing a glorious kiss to my forehead, before drunkenly whispering into my ear, "Magic"

His breath absolutely reeked of alcohol, making me want to put as much distance between us as possible. He smelled vile. I scrunched my nose up at him in disgust, before discarding the bottle. It rolled away from my hand as I rearranged myself to look over at Clair. Pain was depicted on his lax expression, his facial muscles completely loose. His eyelids were drooping as he failed to keep focus on my face, staring up at the ceiling. He started singing some drunken ballad, making me sigh.

"Whats wrong with you?" I snapped at him, loosing patience with his pity party, "Get the fuck up before I pour water all over you, you drunk"

"Did Cera send you?" He asked.

"No, your sister told me to leave you here in a puddle of your own vomit. I'm here because of my own benevolence. Get up" I snapped, gathering all my energy into my hand, before slapping a sobriety spell straight into the middle of his chest. The effect was instantaneous. Clair's aristocratic features morphed into anger.

"What the Hell?!" He demanded, sitting up, "Do you know how long it took me to build that up??"

"Yes, I do. But the parents will be here in a few hours, and I can't have you stumbling about like a drunken fool"

Clair had gotten ahold of another bottle,  throwing it into the air in the form of a toast. Alcohol sloshed, dribbles landing on me as he swallowed a mouthful spitefully. I sighed at his pettiness, as he didn't break eye contact with me as he drank. Alcohol dribbled down his chin.

"I think you have your own problems to be worried about, Eulalia" He sneered, venom dripping in his tone, "Last I heard, your mother's decided to make an appearance, after what? Eleven years? Oh that's not correct. She was here for Pytha's events, so I guess that only makes it six, although she didn't particularly go out of her way to see you while she was here" He snarked at me, tipping the bottle towards me. I leveled him a dry, long look, staring at him as he took the swig. He tried to stare back, but eventually the guilt cracked his resolve, resulting in him lowering his eyes and sinking back into himself in shame. He looked like a chastised child— a kicked dog in a corner.

"I'm sorry, Eules, I didn't mean that-" He tried to begin, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

"I don't need your apologies. I need you to get up. Come on" I tried to urge him, tugging at his arm, "Come on, Clair, don't do this. Don't turn into a puddle of miserable self-pity just because they're visiting today. Don't do it. We're better then that"

He looked up at me with big, distraught, red-rimmed eyes, looking like a teary-eyed child. "You've been drinking too" He pointed out, sullenly.

"Yes, but I had Isis sober me up. I would offer her to you too, but I wouldn't trust you two around each other. It would be devastating for the over-population crisis" I joked, sending him a soft smile. When he didn't reciprocate, instead looking at me with that same, sullen expression, I sighed, "I promise we can get black out drunk at the event, we just have to show up looking good. We can't let them see that they got to us. They don't deserve the right"

Clair stared at me for a long time, as if trying to decipher whether or not the honesty in my face was genuine. I was starting to belive he would simply ignore me and go back to drinking, before he finally huffed out a resigned,
"Mothers are cunts" to me. My face broke out into a wide smile, before nodding at him in agreement. Yes. Yes they were.

"That they are" I said, grabbing his hand and helping him up. We sat up, which was considerably progress, seeing that Clair was obviously content with laying on the floor for the rest of the night. He sunk against his bed frame, caving in on himself as his head rocked. Sighing, I sat back down next to him. It's okay. We would stand up next.  Baby steps. Clair glanced at me sharply when I sat down, my shoulders digging into his. He eyed over my features, my sharp, hollow face, my purple bags underneath my eyes, my dry, tired skin.

His mental powers brushed against my mind. It was barely suggestive. There was no effort behind it. He was simply trying his luck, his intent dissipating into the air like gold powder at the slightest resistance. I shook my head, denying him entrance into my mind. Sometime in the past, we used to have such conversations. We would transfer thoughts without ever having to verbally confide in one another. The action used to be comforting, knowing that we trusted each other to allow both of us full access to our minds. Now there were too many secrets between us to allow him in.

Clair's mind was always too complicated to sort through; the twins did not think like normal people. It was a chaotic, jumbled mess, one that only they knew how to decipher. I guess it made sense to them, but not to me.

"Are you alright?" He asked me gently, his eyebrows furrowed as he examined my expressions. He wouldn't find an anwser to his question in my face; the twins were never good at using body language to read people. They were too lazy to really master the art, relying heavily on their drakaeri abilities. Paris had been painfully accurate in his initial impression of the twins; they were lazy, but only in the art of being human. They were in fact the farthest Mages from humanity, derailed by their ability to see and experience the human mind so acutely, but with the ability to not feel any of it.

"Why?" I asked him, deciding not to give a direct answer. Even if I wanted to, I had no idea what to tell him.

"You look tired. Worse than usual" he pointed out. A gave him a dry smile.

"Gee, thanks, Clair. You really know the way to a woman's heart"

"No. I'm serious. You've been getting worse. I'm not going to sit here and purposefully anger you by blaming it on Paris, but it's obvious that ever since he started interfering in your life..." he tried to find the words. That was another weakness of drakaeri; they often forgot themselves when they spent so much time in the mental realm. Is was difficult for them to communicate when they were so used to simply thinking a thought, and having others understand them. If Clair and Cesarie had grown up isolated from each other, I doubted their case would be as severe.

"Ever since Paris has started bothering you, you've been jumpy, irritated, aggressive" He listed off finally, huffing in irritation.

"I've always been like that" I pointed out.

"That's true. But it's like he's sucking the life out of you. It's like he's eating your energy. You look like you're slowly dying" Clair stated. I sat up in shock at the statement, blinking at him. He looked completely genuine in his assessment.

"You think that Paris has been feeding off of my energy" I said slowly, bewildered by the ludicrous theory. He could not be serious. By the grim set of his face, I was shocked even further when I realized he was.

"Of course he isn't, Clair" I stated hysterically. Despising Paris Arobynn for everything he represented—power, superiority, privilege—was one thing, but this was entirely another. He could not honestly believe Paris was draining the life out of me by feeding on my energy. He was no demon.

"Why would you think that??" I demanded to him. I needed to know his reasoning. I needed to know if he knew something I didn't. Were these accusations baseless, or was he trying to hint to something I had overlooked completely?

"Because he's hurt you before" Clair said in a small voice, his eyes wavering to my exposed neck. I lifted my hand to touch it, and realized I was subconsciously trying to cover it up. I quickly dropped my hand, as if burned by the repulsive feel of my molten skin.

"He's not— Paris Arobynn does not hurt me—" I cringed at the statement, quickly correcting it to a more accurate, "Paris Arobynn does not abuse me"

"You've been covered in bruises ever since he's started to hang around you" Clair pointed out, "That one time when you were sick, and you came out of your room after a week with a huge bruise under your eye. And that one time you came back from your trip with Paris covered in cuts. You blamed it on a car crash. And even now" he reached forward, gently turning over my hands to reveal no nearly faded cuts on the sides of my hands, from banging on the tunnel grate, "Your hands are covered in bloody slits"

"That's not what— I've been busy, Clair" I told him, trying to find a way to explain it. I was growing more frustrated by the second, and finally resorted to snapping, "And it's none of your business"

He looked at me for a long time, silently regarding me in a way that made me feel shameful, before stating quietly, "I knew it was none of my business since the moment you locked us out from your mind. After he burned you"

I flinched at the mention.

"Paris Arobynn does not abuse me, for the Mother of Gods" I told him, sighing, dragging hands down my face, "Do you want to see why you're barred from my mind? What's been going on lately?" I asked him suddenly. Clair looked over at me wearily, eyeing me in suspicion. He was right to be suspicious; I was never the type of person to give out information willingly. I was cagey with my secrets. Clair was obviously confused on why I was offering him this. He hesitatingly brushed against my mental walls in question, obviously unsure on what to do, but I simply shook my head.

"I will show you what I've been working on" I whispered out, fixing my legs into a cross legged position.

I had no energy to do this. To show him. It would practically rip my soul in two, but was it already not shredded? If I hurt myself, if I fell into a state of catatonia, I wouldn't have to meet my mother. And Clair deserved this. He deserved a tidbit of truth. He could not go face his mother, the queen of secret talks, while feeling denied secrets from the people who were supposed to trust him.

I sat cross legged on the floor. I tried to do what the scrolls insisted. Meditation. I despised it with my entire being,  but I tried to focus my mind, my soul. I tried to imagine myself stepping out from my body. I tried to pretend I had stepped out from my body already, weightlessly drifting from room to room of the castle, like a ghost.

I tried to manifest the magic. I knew how magic worked. I knew the details and theumodynamics of it. Others simply knew how it felt, but didn't understand the full extent of it. They knew muttering spells worked, despite what language they were in.

They didn't know that spells only worked because the castor believed it would work. They had wholehearted devotion to the magic, with no doubt that it would succeed. It wasn't the fancy Latin proverbs or foreign tongues that were magic, but the intent behind it. That's what magic needed. It needed devotion— it needed energy and intent. They could not reach through the Veil unless we plunged our arms in first.

So that's what I did. I plunged my arm in, calling out to the magic. Some imagined it to be a well, but I imagined it to be a sea. I imagined it to be plunging my arm into a vast body of cruel, freezing, thrashing water, waiting and waiting to catch a current within my grip. It was nearly impossible. For others, it was easier. The currents came to them willingly, after the mage waited and waited for the magic to trust them—for them to see it was not a threat.

I had no such patience. I was a threat, so besides gently ushering it towards me, I clawed and snatched and grabbed. I was like a fisherman using my bare hands to grab squirming, slippery fish. It was difficult yanking them back through the Veil, but it was more difficult getting my hands on it first.

The only magic that came to me willingly  were my shadows, and they were dangerous in their own form—so wild and close to Malus Maleficario that other magic tended to steer away from it too. After all, a fish would not trust a human, much less a human with a shark trailing after it. So I clawed and grabbed and dragged the currents, gripping for a strand of magic that I could pull on. I was so busy with the tug of war, that I didn't realize what had happened till I opened my eyes, and realized that I was floating. With a startle, I dropped the magic, and landed flat back into my body. It was as though I were dead, and my soul got forcefully sucked back into my chest. The action hurt, but I quickly sat back up again and did it again.

This time, I did not let go. As a result, I had begun floating again. Without wasting time, I quickly began floating forward. I touched Ibet's room first. She was a level below me, sharing the same floor as the rest of the light Mage girls. Philippa's  room was not that far off, and I refrained the urge from snooping about. I was not here for that.

The contents of Ibet's room came fuzzy to me, the vibrant colors having suddenly dulled a shade. Cera was plunked down next to Ibet, swallowing a handful of nuts from a glass bowl on Ibet's coffee table. Several fell out from the palm that was pressed to her mouth, scattering and onto Ibet's dormitory floor. She dusted her hands, before patting the spot before her.

Ibet said something to her. Something I could not pick up on. Cera rolled her golden eyes, before the air of the room filled with something smelling sticky sweet and artificial, like a candy scented perfume. The scattered penuts on Ibet's Isfahan rug disappeared, as did the dust from Cera's nimble hands. She pat the spot on the carpet again, grinning at Ibet, but suddenly stiffened. Goosebumps appeared on her pale skin. Everything in this world looked dim. Lifeless. Staring in on it from the other side of the veil made the human realm look particularly bleak. How deprived this realm was, without the vivacious paints of magic in the atmosphere. Everything was so dry.

Cesarie's eyes widened as she eyed the room with a blank faced expression. Her face had slackened and become significantly paler. I observed everything as one might a silent horror film. Ibet was saying something to her, eyeing her suspiciously. Cesarie seemed not to be paying nay mind. At first glance, it seemed she was mentally conversing with Clair, stuck in a trance,  but upon closer inspection, I realized that was not the case at all. She was observing. She was trying to use her magic. I felt it. I felt the golden, sparkly tingles shifting in this realm. Shifting towards me. They were scouting the room, try to sniff out the intruder.

Cesarie's eyes finally widened, her head snapping towards me, as she stared at spirit-me with a horrified expression. Her mouth suddenly dropped open, before pointing at the corner I floated in. She couldn't see me; I knew that much. But it was a wager whether or not she could feel me. Feel the inkling of consciousness that accompanied me through the spirit world. I guess she could. An echo of noise bounced around me, which I later recognized as a terrified scream, as it shifted around me, the sound waves ejecting my body backwards. I tried to claw towards her, but my spirit rushed away and away.

I jerked forward, gasping back into my physical body. Everything ached as I was dragged down by the pain of mortality, my limbs becoming unbearably heavy. My being was no longer effortlessly weightless. I was bound and dragged down to my mortal vessel, as I snapped my stinging eyes open. My ears were ringing, trying to adapt to the noise around me. My face was wet. Someone was calling my name. I processed the foreign weight on my shoulders, recognizing it as someones hands gripping my shoulders. It was that feeling—the feeling of hands so close to my throat, that snapped me back into reality. I instantly recoiled back, flying away from whoever was holding me. My eyesight came back next, the black cover shifting out.

Cesarie, Clairmont, and Ibet were all standing in-front of me. Cesarie's face was tear soaked.

"When did you all get here. I was just—" I looked back, as if Ibet's room, observed through the spirit world, was right behind me. I was simply greeted by Clair's stone wall, making me even more disoriented.

"I felt you" Cesarie sobbed out to me, her eyes red rimmed, "I felt you. Oh Gods"

Cesarie pressed her hand to her mouth, gagging repeatedly, before looking up at me in horror, "And then when I got here, you were gone. You were gone. I couldn't feel you. I couldn't find your mind. You were lost. You were a corpse. You were gone. I couldn't feel you" She gasped out, choking on her hysterical gasps. Her golden eyes were wide and deranged, looking like a caged animal. She suddenly shot up, before running to the bathroom. Sounds of retching quickly followed behind her.

Everything sounded like it was underwater. Static and cotton filled my head, as I pressed my palms against my temples in agitation. Ibet had gotten up to help Cesarie, leaving Clair and I alone. I looked over at him for help—for clarification on what was going. Clair was looking at me, but simultaneously not looking at me, as if he was simply looking right through me and at the wall behind me. It was as though he had aged ten years in just those few minutes, heavy bags circling his under-eyes. His golden eyes look tortured and disturbed.

A haunted, pale expression adorned his face as he simply whispered out, staring at the space behind my head, "You were gone"