The Secrets Within Pages

Fire and Coffee

Fire intimidates every living thing in the world. Animals, humans, plants. We all fear it. It give us so much yet is capable of such destruction. We feel it within us. It could be to our detriment though, fire. Passion, rage, angst, tension. They are all forms of fire. And yet the exhilaration that it pumps into our veins. Oh, it is the most dangerous drug.

Silas Golding fills me with fire. Though I do not know which kind.
~~~
A sinister coldness swept Oxford this time of year. But it was colder than usual, a tense feeling plagued the air.

The soft melody of raindrops tapping on my umbrella filled my ears as I walked to Aymes Cafe. The smoky, nutty aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air. Standing in line to take my order, I realise how crowded it is today. Quite odd, I think to myself.

Aymes cafe is, well at least I'd like to think so, was my little secret. And I know it seems selfish that I'd want to keep it all to myself but there is something so intimate and precious about loving something in solitude, appreciating it. Popularity ruins everything, it ruins the secrecy, the magic— the fire.

Paying the usual £3, I sit on my usual seat in the same corner I've been sitting in for the past 3 years I've been in Oxford.

I watch the steam dance atop the surface, as the heat of the cup seeps into my skin.

The warmth of the moment sliced in half by the TV overhead.

"Breaking News! Last night a brutal murder of an unidentified man took place outside the globe theatre. Police have been investigating the scene actively searching for the cause of this incident."

What a cheerful way to start the week.

I scan the cafe to observe the reactions of the too many strangers. Some are shocked, others seem so unbothered it is as though they've been told the most cliche ending to a story.

"Worried, are we?" I look up to find a familiar face looking down at me.

"Ah, should've known that you'd appear after murder was mentioned." I retort.

"Don't tell me you aren't even a slight bit scared?" he inquires.

"Why should I be? You stalk me too often for another to bother." I smile, knowing how my sarcasm irks him.

Scoffing, he looks away for a moment, so fast I'm convinced I just imagined it, before he hands me a letter.

"Here, some letter in your name was mistakenly delivered to me." He says as he turns to walk, before stopping and grasping the top of my chair. Still looking down at me, the towering distance filled as he leaned down, face was too close to mine as he whispered, "Oh and don't flatter yourself, Burroughs. You haven't enchanted me enough that I'd begin to stalk you." Before walking away, his jacket hanging off the tip of his finger behind his back.

Arse.

Curiously, I inspect the letter. A red candle stamp binding it. Professor. Osbourne's emblem. A dove, with the wings of a crow.

I open the letter, a little too anxiously.

Dearest Eleanor,

I am writing to you from beyond the grave. For if you are reading this, I have been killed. I had known for a while that fragments of my past had come back to haunt me. I did not however expect the full bout of their rage to unleash so fast. I hadn't anticipated how quick I'd go. But "Who can control his fate?".

I digress, Eleanor you have been a delight and an honour to teach. Your brightness and passion, filled my heart with some hope for the next generation. That is why it is only you I trust enough to share this with.

Eleanor, there are suspicious things going on. Monsters have been awakened. Disaster is approaching. I will tell you what I know but the rest you must figure out yourself. I-