AN ENCHANTER'S FORETELLING. [NARNIA]

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE | BEFORE

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
BEFORE

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He was furious; perhaps much too furious with himself and her to think rationally. Because he knew she was onto him, he knew she had figured out the riddle that was that damned prophecy long before he knew himself. And because of that, he was angry. Angry because she was one step closer to finding out the truth, angry because she was slowly regaining her memories; the memories that held the key to finding out what truly happened that fateful night in the White Witch's castle. The night he lost everything he held closest to his heart, all because of her.

All because the foolish Rose Lovell could not keep her mouth shut. And it was because of that, that he held such grudge against her very being. All he could feel was anger against her, a strong hatred that he knew he could never overcome. Not now, not ever. That fury and hatred consumed his very being the moment Rose Lovell had decided to open her mouth, and out him; telling her all about the prophecy, and, thus, caused for his lover to part from him for all eternity.

No; to say an eternity would be an exaggeration. He would be parted from his closest confidant and lover, until the deed was done and over with. Alas, it would take time, thus, he took this sudden meeting as an opportunity to, hopefully, get it done faster and speed-up the process.

He cursed at her name for all the things she had, he cursed at her for being able to live a happy life—when he never could not. He envied her so much, because she could be happy, she could love and be loved, she could have everything. Oh, how he envied her; it made him slowly begin to rot on the inside. It was amity that he felt for her when he first met her, but now, as he watched her become happy, loved and admired by all, he could not help but hate her guts. The way Rose possessed everything he had ever wanted in his life back in England, made his blood boil and all his thoughts about her turn to venom.

She took everything away from him, and in return, he would do anything in his power to take everything she had; slowly, painfully. He knew plenty of ways he could hurt her aside from a physical manner, but no, it would be too risky, too careless. So many things could go wrong if he went with that idea; it would wreck his plans. Thus, he discarded that idea almost immediately. Not now. For now, he would do something else.

The enchanter smiled almost devilishly as he sat in front of the fireplace: the only source of light in the otherwise pitch-black of the dungeons—where no one could see, or hear him. He rested his chin upon his hand, as he watched the flames dance and softly crackle. He found it somewhat comforting, and it promptly eased his ill thoughts about a certain Lady and her King. How it would please and satisfy him if something were to harm them, see them hurt the way she had hurt him; to see them part ways tragically the same way he had parted from his lover. It would certainly bring him joy.