A Witch's Undoing

Chapter 8: Neil

Moonlight poured into the bedroom. I stood by the window reminiscing on the happenings of the day, checking if I had missed any vital component. So far, all appeared under control.

But the funny thing about being a Grandmaster was that you could never truly relax. You had all the power in the, well, wrist of your hands but alongside it came a huge target on your back, an overwhelming strain on your body and mind, not to mention a gamble with your own sanity.

I glanced behind me to the small bedside table with a half-full glass bottle of Lerissia placed on top of it. It was the only thing that could subdue Eliah's horrible visions whenever he got particularly intense. The sequence was always the same - his final memories with Margot albeit slightly dramatized and deluded by perspective for greater immersion. And yet it was not the scenes that bothered me, not the flames, or the agonized screaming. It was Eliah himself trapped within his ultimate crime.

I felt everything he felt. I had done everything he had done. In distinct moments, I could not even understand the sensation of being a separate person from him. The guilt, the anger, the grief - I felt entitled to it. In an ironic twist of fate, it was as if I was the one possessing him, taking over his pain as my own and by Saints was it unending.

But the worst part of it all came last, the part that made me wake up in cold sweat. I watched Eliah through his own eyes and at the same time from the outside like a spectator. I watched as the truth sank into him like a knife - Margot was dead and he was helpless to do anything about it. He had ruined her and could not fix it. Each time the visions started, it repeated again, the realization was fresh and sudden and paralyzing every single time. And then he burned.

What good was power to him then?

I sat on the bed and picked up the bottle. It was slightly demeaning to be honest. I didn't enjoy relying on this to have a chance of a good night's sleep. Of course, there was another layer to this now.

Out of every poison she could have named...

Had she considered Lerissia as a form of escape whenever her mother had the "good grace" to provide it? But her case had been much worse. She hadn't been escaping visions. At best she had been escaping reality itself.

I put the bottle back.

I laid in bed and closed my eyes.

Within five minutes I could smell the scent of flesh burning.

I sat up and twisted my fingers in my hair, slightly pulling at them out of sheer frustration. I laughed at myself bitterly as I let one drop of Lerissia dissolve on my tongue.

I stared at the ceiling, focusing on how the numbness travelled from my head to my fingers and toes. Lilian's description of the sensation floated in my head and just before becoming unconscious, I could remember a kinder, alternate version of me replying to her in a form of wishful thinking I had assumed extinct.

I hope your dreams at least had been peaceful ... Something that could have made you happy, if only for the night. What did your happy dreams look like, Lilian?

~

Theodor, Lilian and I arrived at the Sorren tribe late afternoon. I had sent Kent the day before to warn and delegate regarding our arrival. Kent, being a druid herself, was accepted with a much warmer welcome than what we were about to walk into.

The Sorren folk were water worshippers, seemingly cold creatures on the surface, making sure you earned their favor before they even thought about bestowing it. But once you did, their loyalty was unwavering.