Wiccan Act One: Occult

33 | My Past Will Be Your Undoing

Cyrus

XXXIII

Michael sat on the counter watching Cyrus intently as he continued to struggle with his restraints.

The wood around his wrists nipped at his skin forming tiny cuts in his flesh. No matter how hard he tugged or shook in his chair, his arms remained ensnaired by those of the chair. He quivered under Michael's gaze, his brows furrowing together as he tried to gather the right words. Cyrus waited for him to begin, a tiny part of him wanting to cease his fighting and listen to what Michael had to say.

What if he had a valid explanation? What if somewhere inside that head of his there was a justifiable reason to his actions.

Something... Anything Cyrus could hold onto to make this awful nightmare end.

Except he knew that wasn't the case. He knew that no matter what Michael said next, it wouldn't be enough to cool the blood boiling beneath his skin. Nothing was going to validate all that pain and suffering he and his friends had to endure. Nothing would justify Cyrus seeing Hazel's dead body floating in that lake.

"You are much stronger than I originally assumed Cyrus," Michael finally spoke. His gaze continued to linger, looking Cyrus up and down; paying particular attention to his eyes. It made Cyrus shiver, as if waiting for the moment Michael would strike him down. "Your eyes even glow. Still, you have little control."

Cyrus completely ignored him, tearing his eyes away to look at his aunt's unconscious body. She didn't look dead but she didn't quite look asleep either. Instead, it was as if she had sunken into an instant coma, lying there in the most uncomfortable position imaginable.

"What did you do to her?" Cyrus asked.

"It's a basic sleep spell," Michael brushed off. "It's not permanent if that's what you're wondering."

"So, ahve you always been a murderous witch or did you recently pick up the hobby?" Cyrus spat. Michael chuckled in response.

"Witch...hmmm," Michael pondered on his wording. "I never really liked that word." He got up from where he was sitting and slowly paced around the kitchen floor. "It carries such a negative connotation. Witch, wizard, warlock, sorcerer; they're all just words really."

His chest puffed out, sticking up right with impeccable posture. There was away about how Micahel moved that commanded Cyrus's full attention. He was almost a completely different person. As if the Michael he was in school and at their home had been merely a shell, a thin exterior hidding a much more confident and sinister personality.

"You hear witch and you think of an evil hag ready to curse your entire family," Michael continued.

"Is there a point to all of this?" Cyrus asked. Micahel stopped abruptly, changing momentum and coming closer to Cyrus once again. "You're talking about those words meaning bad things when you did much worse."

"Those people deserved it!" Michael shouted. It was an instantaneous shout that made the veins on his temple pierce out. "I'm sorry," he apologised. "But you don't get it. Every one of them deserved it. This town like every other one on this wretched planet is filled with spineless, predjudical imbiciles that want to demonise anything they do not understand."

His teeth gritted, voice carrying nothing but detest for the people of Oakwood. In that aspect he reminded Cyrus a Rowan; a much older and dangerous version molded and poisoned by the tragedy in his past.

"Hazel didn't do aything? She wasn't even alive back then. How did she deserve what you did to her?" Cyrus protested, shaking in his restraints. His eyes flared but that did little to free him.