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Time passed, a few days or so, and I noticed a gradual increase in my strength with each passing day. However, thoughts of Sam continued to haunt my mind. I couldn't comprehend why he had concealed the curse from me or why he hadn't sought my assistance. It was immensely frustrating, and I desired answers. The truth, unfiltered and sincere, was what I wished.
Driven by this urge, I made the decision to locate Sam, despite lacking any knowledge of his current whereabouts. Grateful for my knowledge of Witchcraft, I proceeded, even though it countered my better judgement. The living room was decorated with four candles placed around a substantial circle of salt, large enough for a person to stand within. The candles' wicks burned brightly, casting an orange flame.
Standing inside the circle, I took a deep breath, finding my centre and channelling all of my magical energy. Mumbling an incantation under my breath, I held some remnants of Winchester blood in my left hand, it pooling in my palm. Suddenly, the flames of the candles surged higher, fueled by the power of the spell. My gaze shifted to the blood in my hand, which began to bubble, indicating the spell was working. The flames grew so intense that they blocked my vision. When they finally subsided, my eyes fell upon an unappealing, flowery wallpaper. The blood had also evaporated from my palm, leaving it clear and unstained.
"These motels just keep getting worse and worse," I muttered to myself, disappointed by the room's condition. But then again, hunting doesn't pay well. Just as I pondered this, the door to the motel room swung open, and Sam entered, his gaze immediately locking with mine. He appeared startled for a moment before regaining his composure.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised to see me so soon after our previous encounter.
"I want answers, Sam," I responded, refusing to beat around the bush. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"About what?" he pretended ignorance, further kindling my frustration. I scoffed at his apparent cluelessness.
"You know exactly what I want to discuss," I retorted, crossing my arms and feeling the leather jacket against my skin while I narrowed my gaze at him.
"Oh, that," he casually dismissed, showing no concern for what he had done to me. He casually walked over to the circular table in the small kitchen, turned around, and leaned against its edge. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry, that I shouldn't have done it, that I should have come to you... Because. I don't feel it," Sam explained, shrugging his shoulders and then crossing his arms over his broad chest.
"So, you're basically a sociopath," I shot back, my voice laced with bitterness.
"Maybe I am," Sam let out a hollow chuckle, devoid of any genuine emotion.
"This is no joke!" I exclaimed, my anger fueling my words. "You kept the curse to yourself even after I told you about it! And then you tore a page from my Grimoire as if it meant nothing, just another old piece of paper."
