Aftermath ✧ Sebastian Sallow

chapter fifty

I Don't Mind by Defeater

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Amelia's Perceptive

"You are supposed to talk me out of stupid ideas, not support them."

"I don't think it's stupid at all!" Sebastian encouraged as we sat on top of the bed, "You are the most brilliant person I've ever met. If you think it will help you control your magic, then let's do it!"

It had been a rainy night as the echoing of raindrops sang against the window. 

Sebastian had been eager to help me as much as he could. The only step that needed to be taken in attempting to cure Anne was being able to control my ancient magic better. There had been a lot that I learned through the eyes of Isadora and others, but I needed to practice for myself. 

Sebastian kissed the center of my palm before holding my hand to the center of his chest. His heart drumming peacefully just under his skin. 

The threads of his soul pulled their way to the surface of my hand as if there was a magnetic connection for them to reach out toward me.

"What if I mess up?" I asked struggling to pull my hand away.

Sebastian just held my wrist tightly, preventing me from removing my hand and pushing it closer to him.

"You are not going to mess up," He promised, "Just take your time. Tell me what you feel. We can talk through it."

The thread of his soul snapped to the tips of my fingers as if they were all begging to be felt. Each soul that I touched always felt like a ball of yarn that had been tangled and put back together with its own secrets. 

Sebastian's was unique in the sense that under all of it had been an endless source of warmth and love. It glowed as if it was made of light.

"It feels warm. When I touch it, it feels like I'm suddenly sitting by a fire. Like how the flames feel when they burn against your cheeks." I attempted to explain. 

"Is that why your hand feels like it's burning?" He asked with a quiet laugh.

I knew how my hand burned against his skin when using this form of magic wasn't ideal, but he promised he was used to it. He was the only person who had made a comment about how my hand burned when it happened. 

Maybe the dead would have complained too if they were given the chance.

The thread of pain licked at my fingertips as I attempted to ignore them. There was a heavy weight of sadness from the loss of his parents. Then a pang of sickening guilt for killing Soloman snapped at my fingers. But the hardest to ignore had been his anger, so much anger directed solely at himself. Some threads were easier to recognize than others. 

I wish I could take it all away. Perhaps there would be a day when I'd figure out how to resolve them later, but for now, that wasn't the goal.

It took all of my attention to ignore the pain and to find all the threads that glowed with pure warmth. Despite all of the pain, the threads of love were overwhelming. It felt like my hand was being sewn down to his chest as the amount of love inside of him grew with each breath.

"You love too much."

"Are you complaining?"

"I mean, maybe a little?" I laughed, "I'm jealous of it in a weird way."