All The Magic We Made (Sebastian Sallow x Fem!OC)

How Did We Get Here?

Sweet Jesus, how did we get here?

I fiddle with my sweater, fix my hair, resist the urge to bang my head against a wall. My heart pounds so furiously, you'd think that the little twat waffle is trying to rip my chest open before it lets me step foot through the door into that courtroom. Unfortunately, there is no such luck.

I'm starting to feel like an idiot, just standing here in a random Ministry hall in front of a pair of oak doors. The trial is starting soon, and if I want to be viewed as a reliable witness, I can't show up late because I was having an internal crisis right outside the doors. With a deep breath in, I gather any semblance of composure I have and enter.

The courtroom is solemn and quiet, save for the rustling of attendants getting in their seats. I find a spot next to Ominis on one of the benches and take a seat, clasping my hands in my lap. Neither of us exchange a word.

During this brief moment of supposed peace, I look around the courtroom and spot faces I recognize. There are quite a few kids from school, although whether they are here to testify or just watch shit go down is unclear. Professors, too. But Anne is nowhere to be found, meaning that she must have turned down the request for her presence as a witness in court.

Leaving me as the only witness who was actually present at the scene of the crime.

After what feels like an eternity, the foreboding oak doors creak open, and two guards lead a familiar figure to a boxed seat near the judge. The seat of the accused. Sebastian looks different from the last time I saw him; he seems tired. Hollow. A far cry from the mischievous, charismatic boy I know. The boy I considered my dearest friend.

The judge begins speaking, probably presenting the case, but all of it gets drowned out when Sebastian looks up and locks his gaze with mine. His hazel eyes widen, as if he's taken aback that I'm even here. I am, too. God, how did we get here?

I quickly break the eye contact, keeping my eyes set forward, but I still can't hear a word the judge is saying. Not as she presents the case, not as she puts forward the evidence and information we currently have, not as witnesses slowly get called to the stand to give their testimony. I only snap back to focus when the judge says, "Isla Andrysiak, please approach the Witness Stand."

Did she pronounce my name right?

With shaking hands and a shaking composure, I get up from the bench and make my way to the Witness Stand. The whole way, I have to fight the urge to fiddle with my clothes. Or break down into tears. Or jump out the window. That last one is sounding real good right about now.

I sit down in the Witness Stand and straighten, lifting my chin in an image of feigned confidence. I keep my eyes trained anywhere but the stand of the accused.

"Is Isla Andrysiak your name?" the judge asks. Hey, she said it right!

"Yes, Your Honour," I confirm.

"How old are you, Miss Andrysiak?"

"Fifteen, Your Honour."

"Are you a close friend and schoolmate of the accused?"

"I am."

"Miss Andrysiak, did you witness the accused, Sebastian Sallow, murder his uncle and guardian, Solomon Sallow?"

Okay, by now, you're probably wondering how in the bloody hell we got here. To be completely honest, I have no idea myself. In order to get the story straight, I guess I'll have to start from the beginning.

I swallow before answering the judge, before the entire court. "Yes. I did."

So let's start from the beginning, shall we?