Fatal Attraction | D.M. (Soft Rewrite)

Chapter Eighteen - The Tower

Ophelia's breathing stuttered in the suffocating crowd of the great hall. Desperate for open air, she darted past the mass of bodies. The strangers too enthralled in the moment to notice her, as she navigated every moving obstacle.

She grew disorientated as one too many glasses of champagne surged in her stomach, infiltrating her brain. Her chest heaved as the exit felt further and further away.

While her success rate of dodging the students unscathed became more challenging. Random out-stretched arms struck her sides, and feet travelling into her path made her stumble. Every time she would regain her footing, ignoring the apologies that followed her.

When the space was clear her speed increased, running into the courtyard. She didn't care how she looked, how dramatic her departure seemed.

Inhaling huge gulps of cold evening air, like a dense broth, her diaphragm was forced to constrict. The sudden change in temperature triggered her slumbering faculties, her senses working in over-drive. But without a goal in mind, she reached a standstill.

Transformed at night, the deserted courtyard felt eerie. Almost akin to a graveyard. Her eyes strained to see detail, as the horizon was concealed in darkness. The wind whistled through the gaps in the cloisters, carrying the faint harmony of the live band from the hall. Yet in the breaks between songs it carried its own ghostly tunes that made her body skitter.

The gust felt rough against her exposed limbs, now covered in goosebumps, and turning a purplish hue. Her jaw quivering as her teeth started to chatter.

Taking her wand she muttered the incantation to warm her limbs, so staying outside could be bearable. Even so, she would have caught pneumonia to avoid the common room. But I'm no masochist.

Scrunching her eyes shut, and clenching her fists tight, she focused on her breathing. A mistake. But it was too late. Her head rushed with images of flashing lights, the destruction, and the blood. There was so much blood.

Her defences fell as the screams and wails poured in. Her head pounding, listening to the curses that rebounded across the walls, until they met their mark. Bearing the weight of this vision, she tried to regain control, digging her nails into her sides.

She gasped, hands moving to clutch her chest, remembering with a sudden jolt, this is a graveyard. Bile rising in her stomach, as she staggered for the wall. She needed something to support the weight of her body before her legs gave out.

At an angle she saw a huge beast pinning someone down. The attack was vicious. Claws tearing at flesh, teeth bared, and canines dripping in blood. The assailant preferred this intimate style of killing over duelling. She could tell. They wanted to feel every strike.

The guttural growls and the cries of anguish. Both male.

Her hands fisted into her hair, tugging at the root. Desperate to drag her mind out of this sinkhole. She tried her best to think of something mundane. Fumbling through her senses until she found the melody originating from the great hall. Anything to get closer to the surface. So she replaced the images with the keys of a grand piano; watching a hand rove from ebony to ivory. A waltz of its own.

It felt real.

But it can't be real.

I wasn't there.

It's just my imagination.

Her body slumped against the stone, until she regained her composure. Gradually she filtered through her emotions, suppressing the thoughts that had triggered her panic.