WITCH - ARA

Seventeen

I blinked, my vision slowly adjusting to the dim light of the room. Candles flickered in every corner, casting long shadows on the walls. The air smelled faintly of roses, sweet and intoxicating, as if I had been pulled into some forgotten fantasy. My skin felt warm, the kind of warmth that made everything hazy, unreal.

I looked down, and there he was—Keith—standing between my legs. His presence was overwhelming, the way his figure loomed over me, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch across the entire room. He wasn’t wearing his usual long sleeves, his chest bare, and my eyes couldn’t stop tracing the lines of muscle under his skin.

The bed beneath me was red velvet, soft against my legs, and scattered all over it were roses—deep red, the petals brushing against my skin like whispers. My breath caught in my throat. There was something about the way he looked at me, like I was something he wanted—no, needed. His eyes glowed with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

I didn’t understand what was happening. Everything felt off, too vivid, too perfect, like the edge of a dream that I couldn’t quite grasp. But at the same time, it felt too real—the heat of his body, the scent of roses, the way his gaze burned into me.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Keith… what are you doing?” My voice barely rose above a whisper, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

He didn’t answer right away, just tilted his head slightly, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my thigh, and it felt like fire. The kind that makes your whole body tingle, makes you forget to breathe.

“I can’t take it anymore, Blaze,” he murmured, his voice low, thick with something almost desperate. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me… it’s unbearable. Every moment with you feels like sweet torture.”

My breath hitched, my body reacting to his words before my mind could process what was happening. His fingers moved slowly, teasing the edge of my skin, the heat between us growing with every passing second.

“You’re driving me insane,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. “I’ve been holding back for so long… but I can’t anymore. It’s too painful.”

I swallowed, my heart racing as his hand slid lower, reaching for the zipper of his pants. The sound of it, that slow, deliberate movement, sent a rush of heat through me, and I felt myself trembling under his touch.

His gaze stayed locked on mine, intense, burning, as if he were waiting for something—permission, a sign, anything to let him know that I wanted this too. But my lips wouldn’t move, and my mind was spinning, lost in the haze of his closeness, the way his body seemed to pull me in like gravity.

Keith’s smirk deepened, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my thigh, sending electric jolts through my body. His eyes were darker than usual, filled with something raw, something I didn’t quite understand.

He unzipped his pants with a slow, deliberate motion, and my heart raced with a mix of fear and anticipation. He pulled out something large and throbbing, and the sight made me gasp. The intensity of his gaze and the sudden, urgent pressure against me overwhelmed my senses.

Just as the pressure and the intensity reached their peak, I let out a piercing scream. But before I could fully comprehend what was happening, the room—the candles, the red velvet—vanished in a flash. The sudden transition was jarring, and I found myself yanked away from the passionate scene and thrust into the dark, oppressive woods.

The chilling dampness of the forest floor replaced the warmth of the bed, and the red-eyed monster was there, its hot, foul breath brushing against my neck. Its long, slimy tongue traced a grotesque path along my skin, sending waves of fear and revulsion through me.

I was seated on the cold, dark ground, surrounded by the menacing, twisted branches and the suffocating darkness. The wind rustled through the trees with an eerie whisper, amplifying my terror as the forest closed in around me.

I jolted awake, my breathing heavy and uneven. My surroundings slowly came into focus, and I realized I was in my usual spot in the library, not a bed. I had settled down in one of the cozy reading chairs earlier, surrounded by the comforting silence of the library.

“What a weird dream,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head as I tried to shake off the lingering feeling of unease. I sighed, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over me. The dream had started off so vividly with Keith, but then it had abruptly shifted to something so frightening and surreal. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that it had ended so abruptly.

As the name Keith Wolfe continued to echo in my mind, I felt a sudden urgency. It was as if a wave of realization had hit me all at once. I needed to find out more about him. Ignoring Mitchell’s casual question about whether I needed anything from him at the counter, I quickly gathered my things and headed back to my hidden spot behind the book shelves, my heart pounding with inexplicable urgency.

There, I pulled out the book I had hidden—Famous Arts by Keith Wolfe. The name echoed in my mind with every beat of my heart. I fumbled with my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I searched for "Keith Wolfe."

The search results revealed that Keith Wolfe was indeed an artist. My pulse quickened as I scrolled through the images of his artwork, my eyes wide with anticipation. Then, I saw it—a painting that made my breath catch. It was a portrait of me, rendered with an unsettling precision.

The painting was both beautiful and eerie, capturing a likeness that was too perfect, too intimate. I stared at it, my mind racing with confusion and curiosity, my hands shaking, trembling, I could hear my heart pounding. Why was there a painting of me, and how did Keith Wolfe know about me?