I cried in my room for a few hours, until my tears stopped flowing freely, and dehydration became a plausible issue. I decided to slip downstairs for a drink, without my parents hearing me. About halfway down the stairs, I hear my name, so I froze. I listened to my parents conversing in French about me. I wish I hadn’t.
My father told my mother that they needed to turn me in to the authorities, that he had heard that things like this had been happening, and we were dangerous. I could hear my mother crying as she pondered the idea. I thought she would come to her senses, that she'd refuse, she'd run to me, hold me, and keep me safe. I thought that she'd never leave me. That’s what I thought.
Whenever I heard her agree with my father, my heart broke, it was completely shattered. I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. So I ran down the stairs and confronted them. My father denied suggesting turning me in, but I know what I heard, I knew I was right. I broke completely at that moment. I let all the pain and grief out. I felt my power fill the room, but I knew I wasn’t aging, I didn’t feel stretched at all.
To my horror, I realized my parents were aging rapidly. I figured out how to stop it after a few minutes, but by that time they were well into their 80’s. They were 87, to be exact (Don’t ask me how I knew that, it was just a gut feeling). And I tried with all my might to turn them back, I tried for hours, but it didn’t work.
With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized what I had to do. Because there was no way they could raise Blaise at such an old age, or that he’d even trust them if they tried, and because I knew that they were in pain, I did what I needed to. I did what I knew how to. I kept aging them. I watched the horror dawn on their faces as they realized what I was doing. I watched the pain, and the betrayal, and finally the peace. I watched the light fade from their eyes. My father died at age 96, my mother at 102.
