Lustful Alchemy

39. SHARP

I pour myself another finger of scotch and stare at the glass, swirling the amber liquid inside. The glass reflects the flickering candlelight, as if mirroring the chaos stirring within me. I take a sip and close my eyes, letting the warmth of the liquor burn deep in my chest. I feel tired, more than I can bear. Tired in my body, of course, but even more so in my mind and spirit. And in my heart. Always there, like a dull ache I cannot soothe.

I think back to the words I spoke just now, the things I said... and the ones I wanted to say but stifled. Cassandra... Her name is a constant echo I can't banish, no matter how hard I try. And yet, I'm convinced I did the right thing. I have to be. I have to convince myself that I did.

I shake my head and rise from the armchair, leaving the glass on the writing desk. The room feels like it's closing in on me, though I blame it on the liquor. I take off my jacket with a brusque motion and drape it over the wheelchair, which I feel an even greater need to keep out of sight today; then I begin to loosen the cuffs of my shirt, getting ready for bed. I hope sleep will at least give me a moment of respite.

But as I unfasten the second cuff, a sudden sharp pain in my head forces me to stop. I press a hand to my temple and grit my teeth. It must just be exhaustion, I tell myself. Nothing a good night's rest won't fix. And yet, the sensation doesn't pass. If anything, it seems to intensify. I squeeze my eyes shut and lean on the desk to keep my balance. What the hell is happening?

I drag myself toward the cabinet where I keep my potion supplies, the throbbing in my head growing stronger, like a pneumatic hammer. With trembling hands, I open the door and grab a vial filled with a greenish liquid: one of my personal reserves for pain—unpleasant, but effective. It's not the first time I've used it, but this stabbing sensation... this feeling... something about it is different. I can sense it, even though I don't want to acknowledge it.

I down the potion in one gulp, letting the bitter, acrid liquid slide down my throat. I lean against the cabinet, waiting for it to take effect, but nothing changes. The pain not only lingers but intensifies, as though something is trying to push deeper into my mind. My teeth clench, my fingers press against the wooden cabinet, my knuckles whitening with the effort.
And then I realize what's happening.

Legilimency. Someone is trying to enter my mind.
The attempt is clumsy, yes, but incredibly persistent. This is no expert; it feels desperate, almost crude, yet unrelenting. My Occlumency instincts, honed over years of practice, kick in immediately, almost without my command. In an instant, I raise my mental barriers, sealing off every possible entry point.

Whoever they are, they won't get in.

I feel the pressure building, the force of the intrusion intensifying, as though the intruder is pouring every ounce of their energy into the attempt. I can't afford to falter. I remain motionless, eyes shut, focusing entirely on resisting. My training was forged in pain and necessity, and now I cling to that discipline with every ounce of strength I possess.

The assault continues—insistent, pounding. It's like a wave crashing against a dam, trying to find even the smallest crack to slip through. But there are no cracks. Not in me. Each pulse of pain seems designed to weaken my defenses, but I strengthen them instead, raising walls higher, making them thicker.

And yet... whoever it is doesn't give up.

And that unsettles me.

The pain in my head intensifies, and despite my efforts to close every gap, something slips through my control. A minuscule crack in my defenses allows an image to seep in. It's not clear—it's blurred and chaotic—but a face emerges from the shadows: Aleister Rookwood.

I recognize him instantly, and irritation flares like a spark ready to ignite into an inferno. He's the one attempting, brazenly and stubbornly, to invade my mind. That arrogant brat dared to challenge me! My fists clench, my jaw tightens. What game is he playing? What the hell is he thinking? When I see him in class, I'll make sure he receives a punishment he won't forget. I've tolerated far too much from him, but this time he's crossed the line.