48 - Cold

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Skye

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Skye


"There's an old empty house," Sebastian explained to me as we stepped carefully up the hills of some street, "that sits on top of a hill in the cemetery. It's abandoned now," he told me, "so the windows are bordered and the air inside is covered in dust and grime, so if you struggle to breathe, get out, okay?"

I gave him a look. "I don't have asthma, thank you."

He just chuckled and gazed further up, lips parting when I looked up with him.

My eyes rounded.

We'd entered the cemetery less than ten minutes ago... but now—after climbing a tall hill—a large, abandoned house came in view.

The boarding outside was cracked and shifting, warping into curves rather than lines, and the walls were covered in graffiti and gang signs in spray-paint.

Tells you what people came into the cemetery, sadly.

"Is that it?" I whispered as Sebastian stared at is emotionlessly.

He glanced down at me. "That's it."

I just parted my lips and started up to the front porch, but he caught my arm, making me look back.

"Whatever you do," he told me, eyes darkening slightly, "don't go in my old room, understand?"

I stared for a moment. "Why?"

"Just promise me," he said.

I parted my lips and watched him, but I nodded.

He released my arm. "Okay, thank you. I'll walk around out here and make sure there's no signs of North. He likes coming back here."

I thinned my lips and nodded, turning and starting up to the house.

Why did he bring me here? And why was he allowing me to go up here by myself?

I just shrugged it off, more determined to find out his past rather than worry about such things.

But it was nagging at me.

I sighed and stopped my the front door, catching my dagger and pulling it out of my pocket.

"Accendo," I whispered, watching the blade come to life.

I just sliced it into the board protecting the front door, stepping back when the golden flames spread from the hold, covering the entire frame in black, and when it reached the edges, the fire cut out, leaving only the front door.

"Decendo," I said then, and slipped the hilt back in my pocket when the blade vanished.

I just caught the front door handle, wincing at how cold it was, but I breathed out a sigh—urging myself forward—and shoved open the door.

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