Sorcery's Hue (A Malion Series Novel)

Drowning

"Doctor, may I request a referral?" I asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. He turned to me with a slight smile on his lips.

"If you're looking to go back to Doctor Gale... He's dead. The last time you saw him was the last time he was seen alive." He said with a relaxed tone. I froze.

"Oh, and Dark Star's Blight?" Doctor Heif beckoned, "Hei Badrai Selefbril." 'Happy Fiftieth Anniversary'. He hissed before he shut the door behind him. I sank to the floor while bringing my hands to my already tear-stained face. How could this happen? How could I have been the last person to see him alive? What did I do to him?

Too many questions raced through my mind, clouding it entirely. I felt dirty, tainted. I felt like I needed to claw my skin off and crawl into a new form. Suddenly I looked at my hands to find their back suddenly darker. I'd felt the burst of magic, but I couldn't tell what spell I'd used. I stumbled to a mirror and shrieked once I saw my reflection. A boulder flew into the wall, annihilating the mirror and leaving cracks in the stone it once hung from. Why was Faric's face in place of mine?! I scrambled towards a shard and peeked into it. I wasn't hallucinating this time, right? That wasn't my face. I reached up to it and felt the scoring of wrinkled skin. I reached up to my hair to find its softness replaced with wirey thickness.

I let out a horrified scream and cradled my new form while curled into a quivering ball. This was not real... it couldn't have been! Suddenly a burst of adrenaline sent me skittering across the floor and skidding to a halt in the bathroom. With a frantic glare into the mirror, away from the outside prying eyes, somehow, the face looking back at me was my own. I dragged my fingers down my cheeks, going over every tiny bump and blatant blemish but feeling no wrinkles. This was undoubtedly my face, mocha skin tone and all. The thought of that familiar deep brown of Faric's skin now sent a fearful shiver down my spine. A sudden impulse made me grasp at the black last third of my hair. I hadn't cut my hair since that ritual. This hair was just as old as the scar on my neck, the point of no return, my downfall. It is my reminder of the chaos I've caused. It will stay that way as long as I carry that burden.

At that moment, I considered cutting all of my hair off, rid myself of all of my sins, but I found a more suitable solution, one that I was ready for. I turned to the shower behind me and turned it on, leaving it on the hottest setting. Then I took note of the flickering hue of my eyes. Deep purple to yellow and back again, on and off, until the constant crashing of water against tile enveloped me.

I closed my eyes and discarded my clothes. They had formed a heap of sorrow. Then I stepped into the heat of the water that felt like flames lapping at my skin. The only sound that gave away my pain was a sharp hiss while I gritted my teeth. The punishing streaks of heat allowed my thoughts to disappear and, along with it, my hate and self-loathing. As the water only got hotter, I became calmer. It draped my back, causing red to replace a milky brown.

I took in the thick air and glanced at the blurred mirror to find a form that was my own, but a form burdened with overbearing fear. I knew only one way to get rid of that. That was the only way that had ever worked for me and why I wasn't afraid that night in Faric's chamber.

I glanced at the same blade I would have used to discard my hair with, but instead, I used it to trace my veins and lace my skin with the embodiment of my fear. As it dripped to the ground, an unsettling groan mingled with the steam in the air. I lay there, my arms and legs flushing out the fear. I brought the blade up to my throat, content with worsening that scar and having this be my final form.

I was free of sorrow. I was free of all hatred. I was free of fear. And now I would finally be free of my darkness.

As the icy pierce of the blade thawed and boiled over with hot crimson, I smiled and awaited the suffering - the punishment that would be my final moments.

I dragged the blade slowly across my skin, again and again, the pain overwhelming me. I didn't scream, but instead, I panted. It was a shallow breathing that echoed about the room like the calls of a terrified animal.

Then my breathing became muffled, my heartbeat faded out, and the room began to spin. I felt my grip on the blade let up, and eventually, I felt it slip from my grasp. While the distant sound of the blade falling made itself noticeable, I physically couldn't keep my eyes open. I watched the ceiling as black spots overtook the white, and every bit of my strength faded. Then I watched my eyelids flutter closed, and the haze that had overtaken my mind dragged me into unconsciousness.

~~~

Light flooded into my eyes as they pried themselves open against my will.

I took in a deep breath and coughed. My throat was dry, and I could barely move. The voices around me started to fade into earshot.

"What are you doing?! Get back! Can't you see he's struggling? Give him a minute." The one with the higher voice said.

"He's breathing fine now. Look at him. Heya buddy. What's your name?" The other leaned over to reveal the form of a skinny High Osrocan man with short black hair. My eyes widened, and I brought my hands up to my head to find my hair hadn't been removed.

"Get back...!" I huffed and sat up. I was free of pain but not of anguish.