(IM)MORTAL

02

⋆☆⋆☆⋆☆⋆
THE SECOND CHAPTER
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

༶•┈┈୨ . . . BUT THE YEARS were bleeding.
         And bleeding.
         And bleeding.

Ivo was growing gray and Maria was hardly growing at all; she had the demon to thank for that.

         But he never gave up. No, he refused. Despite the difficulties and dead ends and frustrations. Often she found herself quitting, snapping at him, demanding that he stopped wasting his time, that he was gone—but Ivo always grabbed her wrist, kissed her forehead, and changed her mind.

(Just give me time,
he always told her,
but there soon would be
no time left to give.)

(He was fading before her eyes.)

         In fifty years, Maria had only aged five. A sixty-five-year-old woman remained young; was twenty in appearance, whereas her cousin was his proper age of sixty-two.

By blood, they were cousins; the Professor had two sons, who married and had one child each.

         But to the world, she was Mary Kintobor, his youngest daughter. To the world, she was hidden, handicapped—a lie to hide her face, should someone recognise it.

(Someone like Abraham.)

         And wherever he was,

(wherever those villains hid him)

         he was considered a freak, an abomination. Something to torture, experiment on. Maybe turned into a weapon.

Maria dared not think of what became of him.

         Ivo told her they hid him away—but half a century had bled out. Fifty long, lonely, empty years. He could be dead. Should be dead.

(Part of her wished he was,
for the sake of peace,
for both of them.)

         And if

(dare she hope?)

         he remained, hidden away and secret like she was, Maria knew he was no longer that sweet, sweet child.

(She certainly was no longer that herself.)

         The boy who hid behind the Professor the day they met, eyes wide and curious to everything he saw. The boy who tugged her skirt and asked if he may read a book off her shelf; the boy who trembled before taking her hand, nervous to step over boundaries, break any rules, cause her harm.

No, he was not that child. Not the one who kissed her wrist That Day, whispered The Words, and inadvertently gave her a precious and too-powerful gift.

No. He was gone.

Gone in too many ways.

And that terrified her more than anything.