Under Your Scars || Sebastian Sallow x MC

Chapter 33 - A Thousand Knives

TW: violence, sexual trauma. Reader discretion advised. 

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Say a prayer for the wounded heart within

As I become the dark of you

The Dark of You

-Breaking Benjamin

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Sebastian POV

I plummeted into the memory in a cloud of black smoke, landing on my feet on a solid wooden floor. I found my balance in the fog as furnishings of a home materialized around me, a living area to my left with a few sofas and a tea table. A cozy kitchen appeared at my right, with a small table for two in the corner. A spiral staircase wound its way up to a second-floor loft behind me.

I drifted to the bay window in the living room and spotted a row of townhomes. Holiday wreaths hung on neighboring doorways, the street sparkled with a light dusting of snow. It looked like any other London street at Christmastime.

A melodic humming emerged into my awareness, like a siren song anchoring me to the memory. 

I turned from the window and found myself face-to-face with the woman I loved. I recoiled, bracing myself for her scream as I was sure that I had startled her. Then she moved right through me, as if I were a mist. 

Right, she has no idea I'm here.

It was not my first time in a Pensieve, but being nothing more than a vapor was still a strange sensation to get used to.

Juliette wore a short, black chemise and nothing else, leaving most of her body exposed for me to admire as she walked to the kitchen.

She looked so different, but not in a bad way. Her hair was much longer and tied back with a blue ribbon. She had bangs, which suited her perfectly. Her skin glowed with a honey-golden tan, as if she had recently spent time abroad. The tan of her skin brought out an adorable smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Her elegant, swan-like neck was smooth and unblemished.

This memory is from last Christmas Eve. Less than a year ago, she had no scar.

I thought it odd that Juliette was not with her family on that night, with Christmas Eve dinner being one of their most steadfast traditions. It was my favorite, at least for the few years I was included.

I took a seat at her small kitchen table and watched her a moment. It felt a bit invasive, taking her in when she had no idea I was there.

But she was enchanting. 

She twirled around the kitchen on her toes like she was performing a ballet just for me, all while humming bits of what I recognized as The Sleeping Beauty ballet. Her favorite. She danced from cabinet to cabinet, grabbing, measuring and mixing ingredients into a bowl.  She was not using a bit of magic, per usual, as her wand lay abandoned on the table in front of me. 

She turned what looked like some sort of dough from the bowl onto the counter. She was preparing to knead it when we heard three hard knocks on the door. Her head snapped in the direction of the door, but I checked the clock on the wall. 

It was nearly ten in the evening. 

What kind of callers would Juliette have at this hour? 

I felt a tinge of jealously that it might have been a lover, given her attire.