The Riddle Of Magic

Chapter 31: Bouquet of Burdens

"Would it be so terrible, my darling?" Alastor asked. "If you were changed?"

Charlie Morningstar had always been afraid of what she was. Not a demon. Not an angel. She didn't belong to Hell, or Heaven either. She had only her principles to guide her, her morality a compass to give her tormented existence some vestige of meaning.

She desperately wanted to hold onto something, to be something greater than what she truly was.

A monster.

She would devour the whole of Hell if she could, and that current of desire was a constant background buzz in her senses. Stopping herself from using Authority to spread Dominion was a foolish dream.

Dominion was her dream, deep down in the blackest part of her heart. The part she was always trying to hide.

She was a monster, playing a game - playing pretend. Dressed up as something sweet and kind, for now. But when that passivity didn't work to achieve her goals, what would she have left to do?

The princess swallowed hard, closing her eyes to hold back a burst of tears as she stared up at her ceiling.

The magic lessons weren't making things better. They were making things worse.

Because her body craved curses the same way any addict craved their vice. She already missed the rush from the power - how easily the last spell had come, how pleasant it was for the rich, cool weight of her magic to drift through her!

It was so different from the other spells, and so similar to Authority.

Authority was an instinct, a drive to craft the world as she saw fit. To use her claws and rip apart reality to paint her own vision of the world... and draw beings to her who could help her fulfill that goal.

Her cheeks grew warm as she thought about the lesson from last night. Oh, but they were getting too close again, weren't they? Sulphur's sake, why couldn't she stop herself around him?

She knew that letting him hold her like that was inappropriate. Granted, there was nothing technically untoward about his contact, he was simply showing her how best to position herself to cast effectively.

But... being in his arms like that wasn't strictly necessary. So, why did he do it?

And why did she let him?

And aside from magic, there was the blood. She had felt so much better after drinking it - far, far better than she had any right to feel.

The whole of her being sang for more, even now. Though she would likely be able to do without if she allowed herself proper rest. But the idea of never tasting it again made her jaw clench, and her palms grow cold with sweat.

Charlie wondered dimly if she might have a problem. Her mind was reminding her of the rush of fulfillment from drinking, practically begging for something hot and alive as a richer experience. How her mind had equated that desire to sex, she wasn't precisely certain, but she felt a pang of guilt at knowing it was by far the most sensual dream she'd ever had.

She bit her lip, her mind wrapping itself back in those thoughts of Alastor's tongue sliding against hers, the heat of his mouth at her breast, the sensation of being filled by him.

Her hands clenched as warmth pulsed in her at the memory of his hands in her hair, his teeth sinking into her skin in his passion, pinning her in place as he pistoned into her. There'd been no pain at all, only a churning flood of pleasure as he claimed her - mounting her in a way she'd not even realized she'd wanted.

Of course it had all been a dream.

It didn't stop her body from tingling though, a slight pressure beginning to coil again as she wondered if Alastor had dreamt the same thing she had.