The Turning of Time ~ Sebastian Sallow

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Authors Note: Welcome Back Everyone!!

Song for chapter: Innocence by Nathan Wagner.

I sighed quietly at the news, November 2nd 1892, my eighteenth birthday. Only about a month younger than Sebastian, not that I ever told him when my birthday was. In fact I didn't tell anyone. I won't tell anyone. I can't.

My heart sinks as a memory flashes through my mind, I forgot, I did almost tell someone once. It was the first and last time. Right before the final fight with Ranrok, before the other professors showed up. I almost spit it out. But I couldn't, I guess I thought I had time.

With my eyes stinging I refocus on the scene in front of me ignoring the stab of my pain reaching for my heart, I see Isabella grab a sharp instrument from the chest table.

I shut my eyes tight, I wonder if I would have ever felt comfortable telling Sebastian? Or if he would have asked?

I suck in a breath as a searing pain starts at my left wrist and ends at my elbow. I exhale sharply through my nose as I try and focus back on my daydream. I would like to think I would have told him if he asked. Not once did any of my friends ask, to be fair fifth year was insane, then I was gone sixth year, and well, this year was worse than fifth. Sebastian was so focused on his sister, and then Isabella happened, in all honesty I doubt I would have told him anytime soon, not with my future hanging over my head. How could I tell him when my chances of surviving this are so low? It wouldn't be fair to him.

Tears start to unwillingly flow from my eyes as she moves to the other arm. Now both arms are stinging as hot tendrils flow down my arms in a stream onto the floor. I shift slightly to take more pressure off my arms. Gravity is not helping, I'm already starting to feel faint. I wonder how much blood I can lose before I pass out, or worse. I'm surprised Isabella isn't saying anything, she seems to be all business today. Why would she think torture would make me agree to her crazy plan when I clearly care very little about my life? If I have learned anything in these eighteen years it's that my life was always meant to be lived to help and protect other people. I carry the burdens others can't handle. Another sharp inhale unwittingly rips from my throat I feel the tip of her sharp knife on my throat, with just the right amount of pressure for a drop of blood to well up, threatening to turn into another stream in the already endless waterfall.

"Tell me, Y/n. Why do you refuse my generous offer?" I lazily open my eyes to face the monster in front of me. Feigning as much boredom as I can muster with a knife to my throat.

"Why would I? I already told you I'm not interested." I see her eyes narrow.

"I see, well I guess you just aren't desperate enough." With a quick movement the slow drip turns into a torrent. My vision starts to blur, the monster of a women slowly turning into a hazy blob. I can hear my heart in my head, overpowering anything else. My eyes refuse to close, I try to take a breath and struggle when the world starts to tilt. My vision blurs to the point that I can barely make out shapes. I desperately try to hold onto my consciousness afraid of what will happen if I pass out now. I feel something bitter and cold slide down my throat.

Finally my consciousness fades.

~~~

I wake up with a start, feeling like I'm grasping my throat. Panic threatening to choke me. I open my eyes in a rush and I look down at my hands in relief as there's no blood to be seen. My breathing starts to return to a normal rhythm until I look up. I'm back at the orphanage, I'm in the dilapidated kitchen, and my hands are that of my three year old self. But all my memories are intact, meaning this is either a dream and I'm still somehow alive, or I'm dead.