Enchantment

PROLOGUE

Children giggled in glee as swings screeched with age, invisible sparks flying off the rusted metal with each push a parent gave; the sun shone like a blinding diamond in the cloudless sky, as birds sung their enchanting performances from the bright, green trees littering the small park. A soft, caressing wind stroked the wisps of greying hair belonging to a lone figure on the park bench, and a hand caught the locks between two calloused fingers, littered with fading scars. The dark cloak wrapped around the shadowed individual did not seem odd in the midst of a summer day, in fact, it was not seen at all, for the onlookers saw nothing but an empty bench stationed in the shade of an ancient, bending oak tree.

Cornelius sighed. Just as he had the day before, and the day before that. In fact, he had been sighing for the past two centuries, as his limbs had grown stiff, as his mind had reached the brink of insanity then returned to focus countless times, and as his grey eyes saw hundreds of benches being replaced in the same spot under his tree as years flew by. Each metal seat was identical to the one before it, and Cornelius once wandered how it was that humanity even managed to appear in the same sentence as the words adventurous and curious. His mind felt blank, was blank, as it had been for a painfully long period of time. It certainly would have remained in that trance, lifeless, if it wasn't for a single starling swooping through the green overhang of a large branch and lightly perching on his left knee. Its small head was cocked to the side, unusually intelligent and observing eyes fixed on emotionless grey ones.

Cornelius's breath hitched at first in disbelief, then quickened slightly in mild astonishment as the rusty clockwork of his brain snapped to work. He suddenly felt it. In every bone in his body, in every nerve, just like he had so long ago, the faintly familiar tingle of something bittersweet at the tip of his tongue. Magic. He could barely believe his own conclusion- it had been too long, since the very aspect of the word itself had crossed his mind, since its tickling warmth hugged his heart; pain barely registered now, he was so used to the empty hole that was left where the magic that was once his would have been. Yet there it was, magic, literally inches away, staring at him in the face. Cornelius could not bring himself to gulp.

"Sebastian Regius." Despite his tongue being unbearably dry, and his throat sore from the absence of a voice, the words fell from his lips almost automatically, as if their existence was solely created for this name. Perhaps they were.

"Greetings, old friend."

The starling did not move, only gazed purposefully at Cornelius.

"I come bearing the message," a strong, deep voice echoed in the walls of his mind, laced with overpowering authority, and Cornelius found no words willing to escape from his raging thoughts. Endless speeches planned throughout centuries, the deliberate vocabulary carefully extracted from mental dictionaries to serve their purpose of accusation, all vanished in the fraction of a second as a tiny bird ruffled its feathers.

"It is time. Mortem venit." Round, dark eyes seemed to sharpen with deadly calm, yet something more.

And with that, Cornelius felt more than heard the disturbed air as flapping wings ascended the body of the creature, disappearing behind the overhang of leaves, gone without a trace.

His lips quirked the slightest bit, for a distant flicker of a memory flashed behind the lids of his closed eyes:

Cornelius snarled as his clawing fingers attempted to wrench the burning chains off his body, eyes flashing with terrifyingly blind fury. "You shall burn, Sebastian, and your bloodline shall perish-"

"I hoped you would be more concerned over your own well-being, though I am flattered for your worry, Cornelius." The calm tone of the Sanctus' Head penetrated his hearing, causing Cornelius to thrash around wildly, unable to see. He was vulnerable, lost in the depths of an abyss of darkness, with only sound as a guide and touch as a reminder that he was alive.

"Sebastian," he hissed, forcing every ounce of hatred into the damned name, "You will pay. Mark my words, friend, you will pay your price."

"Cornelius. We shall see each other again. And you will see differently, for your eyes are clouded by demonic presences-"

"And when will that be? I am already awaiting the day to repay your hospitality."

"We both know when that dreaded day shall arrive. Death will grace the paramores, and no one will escape his wrath." The steadiness of Sebastian's voice contained such grief, he thought, a perfect façade barricading true feelings even up until the very end of Cornelius' life. Pure hatred coursed through his veins.

"And how will I know when it does?"

Mirth danced into the voice that replied, "A little bird shall tell you one day, Cornelius."

Then there was nothing but agony.

Cornelius sighed.