the dark side [tom r.]

2|| Damnation.

Parting from a person who had become a piece of you, so interwoven into the cells of your tissues that they existed in everything you saw, then even the image staring back at you in the mirror would become a reminder of them.

They were in the soft hum of music, in the intricate decorations carved into frames of art. Rosalind found Tom in blue flames, in the sound of chalk on wood that would usually make people flinch. She even found him in the taste of whiskey on her tongue. For five years she'd been remembering him in the smallest of details, even though she was in a different place, and even though she'd only spent one year with him.

One year seemed so short. It was short compared to the agonising reminiscence she had to endure for five years. 1,826 days.

But now that she was on his doorstep, minutes –maybe even seconds– away from seeing him, she hesitated. Rosalind wasn't sure she could see him after such a long time apart. She didn't trust her body, she didn't trust her heart either.

But trusting her mind completely and stepping in reluctantly, Rosalind was bombarded by dozens of masked faces, only a few ones familiar. The mansion was almost packed, and she had no choice but to head to the main hall, where the masquerade was exclusively being held.

The amount of people felt suffocating, like a wreath of ivy twisting around her neck and throttling her until she wasn't able to breathe. Or maybe it was the knowledge that he was in the same room as her that truly felt suffocating.

She hoped people didn't recognise her, for she wasn't ready to catch up with anyone, but the black mask she wore only covered half of her face. She couldn't hear her own footsteps because of the buzzing chatter around her, and decided to head to the bar and away from the crowd.

The french blonde gulped another glass of champagne quickly, her laboured breaths evening out and eventually her muscles relaxed. She couldn't help but look around, her eyes scanning the mob for a certain face, hoping he hadn't changed a lot.

Rosalind was interrupted, however, when she heard her name and her heart stopped. "R-Rosalind?"

She cursed internally, her teeth gritted when she turned around with obvious reluctance. How in Merlin's name did he recognise her?

Her blond friend beamed, pulling her into a hug in a blur. Yes, she missed him, immensely, but she wasn't ready to reveal herself yet.

Abraxas was dressed in a white tuxedo, with only the flaps and the bow a rich shade of black. "I never expected you to be here!"

He took ahold of her hand, twirling her around to take a look at her dress. Rosalind couldn't help but laugh when he breathed, "Dear Merlin, you still look gorgeous."

She flashed him a warm smile, her hands placed on either side of his arms. "And you're still freakishly tall."

She prayed to Merlin her friend wouldn't make things hard like he did in the past. She wasn't ready for another heavy burden to carry upon her shoulders, and she couldn't handle breaking anyone's heart again.

Abraxas chuckled, grabbing the goblet of whiskey he'd left on the bar. He leaned against an empty stool, raising an inquiring eyebrow at her.

"What?"

"Why did you come here tonight?"

"Wow, what a way to treat your guests, Abraxas."