Burning Souls (F.T Sequel)

Twenty-Five

A/N: HEEEEEYYYYYY!

It's been two weeks though. Aaarrggghhh... I've been busy to say the least *with holidays, cough cough* and I will be for the next week. STAY WITH ME GUYS! I've got so much EXCITEMENT planned for this story!

Enjoy ;-)

-xoxo, Sophia

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Gabriel's face remains impassive to the sound of my agonised screaming, but my father's figure lurches forward, only to be held back. Tears blur my vision and I can barely make out the striking, crimson lines running down the sides of my arms behind the watery veil. My skin is soaked in blood, and I feel the cuts to the centre of my flesh. The witch continues to wave her hands above my arms, increasing the torture to a new level of agony. My vision splotches with black, and just before I think that I'll be able to succumb to oblivion's sweet embrace, a clear voice gets through to her. "That's enough."

Suddenly, the feeling of a knife sliding over my skin and cutting deep into my arms easing, and the splotches evaporate, even as I scream for them mentally to stay and rid me from this present moment. My head feels heavy on my neck, and I can barely see the tops of Gabriel's sleek, black dress shoes as he strides towards me, steps echoing on the smooth concrete. Hesitant, lighter steps follow unevenly after him, and it takes all of the willpower that I have inside of me not to start sobbing when I recognise my father. I raise my head higher and stare directly at him. The coward looks away, a pained expression on his face. He looks like he's about to throw up. I glance at my ruined arms and feel bile rise in my throat. The sensation gets more intense when I realise that they aren't healing. My eyes dart to the blank-eyed woman hovering above the ground a few feet from me, and then to Gabriel's stoic expression. "What have you done to me?" I hiss, catching onto the slight tilt upwards of the corner of his lips.

"Torturing you ourselves wouldn't have worked since you'd merely have healed again. A witch's magic, however, prevents the wounds from healing up. That, and we need continuous fresh blood for the ritual." His eyes slide upwards to the centre of the rounded, glass ceiling, a distant look in his eyes. "You'll understand once we start."

"And when is this ritual supposed to start, if I might ask?" I sneer, eyes continuously flickering to my father's shaking figure. A new kind of hatred begins to uncoil in the pit of my stomach. How can he just stand there and do nothing? Gabriel looks back at me, and I jerk backwards in my bound chair at the sight of the intensity burning in those emerald eyes.

"I have great things planned for us, dear Emma," he begins, his voice rolling in and crashing against my mind. The woman is still hovering in the air, and the blood flows freely down my arms. Without a word, she floats over to me and grasps my arm. I bite back a scream at the feeling of an icy emptiness invading my body at her touch. Suddenly my chair begins to move, its legs scraping against the smooth concrete towards the huge, clear bowl. No matter how much I push against the floor with my feet the chair continues on its same path as if the witch is controlling it without even touching it. With pursed lips and unfocused, blank eyes she lifts my right arm above the bowl when the chair has come to a stop. She turns it around and I watch with wide eyes as the first drop of red blood falls into its depth. I gasp when it hits a wavy surface. I didn't know that there was water in there. It's incredibly clear as if it wasn't there at all, but the blood blends in with it anyway and it doesn't take long before the bowl has taken on a light pink composition. Drop after drop falls into the bowl, and soon its inside is filled with a thin, dark, scarlet colour. Black, shadowed tentacles seem to flow around in the liquid, and I inch backwards when the level begins to sink as if the shadow thing was absorbing it all.