Eunoia | Sirius Black

INTERLUDE-6

It is midnight and she dreams.

She dreams of him returning as a shadow, returning as a soul, entwining with her own, offering apologies, mending her broken heart.

It is midnight and she dreams of him helping her stand, of him pressing chaste kisses down her throat, down her chest, down her navel.

In her dream, she's letting him.

It is midnight and she's drowning in despair. She's soaking in her misery. She's allowing him to touch her at places she has not been touched before, if only because she's too scared - too scared to lose him. But that's not the truth, is it?

The truth is that she's already lost him.

Her eyes open slowly, not with a jolt like the other nightmares. She wasn't sure if this even was a nightmare. Perhaps, it could be, in its own way.

He loved her, she knows he did. And he knew she loves him, too. But it just can't be.

She's a witch. He's a priest.

He was supposed to have lost all his feelings after he joined the church. He was supposed to have given up any hope for matrimony. And he had until he saw her.

And until she saw him, she'd vowed to never let a man rule over her emotions. But he wasn't just any man, was he?

He'd let her go. Knowing, knowing all too well she was a monster. That she could end him in moments, make him forget. Make him never able to reveal her true identity to anyone. But she didn't make a move, and he hadn't killed her like he was supposed to.

He'd asked her to leave, that he could never look at her again. He'd said he had loved her, despite everything. But some things just couldn't be. Weren't meant to be. She'd agreed.

Didn't mean it hurt any less.

Cecelia gets up and walks towards her balcony. It is a full moon's night.

Her sister's coven leader always said to never, never move out on the night of a full moon. As much as it fueled a witch's power, it revived some other creatures more, creatures she had no purpose stumbling across.

She has never wanted to be in a coven. It felt strangely like getting leashed and tied to some other person's will. You would have no true freedom, always making your moves according to what is most suitable for your leader. For your coven.

But she was never a follower, was she? She had always been her own person and has had her own wishes. Wishes one might say were unholy, disgusting, were unreasonable. They wouldn't be wrong.

She had fallen in love with someone who worked at the church. Someone who had been supposed to kill a witch at sight. Someone who had fallen for her, too. Despite all odds.

But then he'd found out, and he'd looked at her in a way she'd never imagined was possible. Hatred.

The one emotion she'd dreaded her entire life. The one emotion she'd wished, prayed, begged the goddess to never bestow upon her lover. The one emotion that had ruined her life so many times now that she couldn't bear it.

The light shone upon her bare arms, her white dress glowing luminescent under the moon, and her eyes shut. She sways a little, emotion wrecking her heart.

There were three things her sister's coven leader always said never to get defeated by. Anger, loss, love.

She'd let two of them strengthen instead of weakening her. Her father's loss was staggering but not enough for her to lose her footing. Her anger was ravishing but not enough for her to lash out. Her love, oh it was demolishing and much, much more than enough for her to nearly lose her life.