CW: Panic Attacks
Sebastian
*
He was toeing the line between virtue and vice.
A bright albeit sleepy smile was cast in his direction—cheeks flushing at his 'goodnight' and tuck of a stray hair over her ear. And despite the pleasant midnight stroll, raid of the kitchens, and shared laughter with Caroline—there was guilt clawing at him as he watched her walk away.
He lied to her.
There was a burning in his pocket as he paced in front of the dying fireplace—the mask teasing and tempting him with its secrets. He 'had' meant to get rid of the bloody thing—but how could he with the possibility it contained? A secret club? In Knockturn of all places? It was a chance.
And he lied—he thought, his eyes staring down the girls' darkened corridor before his eyes shifted to look at the stairwell back out to the castle corridors.
There was still time.
He sighed, groaning as he slumped into the armchair—fingers reaching for the mask beneath his robes. It stared—taunting with its empty sockets and invisible smirk—the smooth black marble glinting under the dim light. Velvet stung at his fingertips, his knee jerking up and down as he mulled where to go.
The night was young—he could still go to the Restricted Section.
He hadn't meant to lie—it wasn't technically a lie. He 'did' end up going to the kitchens and finding a snack.
But going back out now would incriminate him—make this whole night—the night with Caroline tainted and soiled.
He had already lied to her—he didn't want to do so again.
The wooden log cracked, and the cold dungeon seemed even colder as the dark ash and shadows swallowed the sparks.
His finger clutched at the mask, praying and pleading with the velvet contours as he turned it over and over in hand—surely—surely, there was something on here. Something—anything that could tell him more about its secrets. A scratch or mark long its nose to let him know if there were spells used? A speck of dust or fingerprint glittering to let him know what sort of company the club kept—like a brothel, perhaps? Men liked those didn't, they? Did Vincent like 'those'?
The thought made him grimace—turning to stare at the back—the dark velvet calling and inviting him. And he stared—holding it far enough to stare through its eyes.
Everything looked the same.
It was the same common room, with its windows looking through the lake, the same fireplace, the same stone walls and floors—just the same...
He swallowed thickly as he brought the mask closer—wondering if its secrets could only unfold if he wore it? Accepted it?
Accepted—just like Vincent Rookwood.
His breath caught as he brought the soft velvet closer—the memory of Caroline's fear-stricken face and Ominis' shudder of revulsion weighing heavily as his thumb traced along the hollowed cheeks.
Heartbeat pounding in his ears, the little voice of reason—his conscience, grew fainter with the beckoning call of that mask—'Accept it.'
He trembled, fingers lifting to succumb to its velvet touch, he paused—the glint of lettering under the left eye catching his eye.
YOU ARE READING
Sins of the Father | Sebastian x OFC (Caroline Rookwood) | Ominis x Garreth
RomanceOnly fools would ever deign to consider that one could outrun the cost of a bargain. For Victor Rookwood, his deeds and dealings have become his daughter, Caroline's, to bear. For Ominis Gaunt? A centuries-old myth and whispers of a curse among the...
