FALLEN | rowan whitethorn x oc

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE - rowan is almost naked in front of me

Isabella's hands were shaking, even as she held onto the book clutched between them. Her breathing had turned shallow, so she forced herself to calm down. It worked, although there was little clarity in her spiralling mind.

The drawings staring back at her seemed to burn a hole inside her chest, she could feel it growing, gaining strength as it ate away at anything of hers.

Slowly, she braced herself as the tip of her finger traced the wyrdmark, the same she had accidentally, mistakenly, unknowingly, drawn on the male's body. Realistically, she knew the etched ink held no power in itself, it was the blood and the will of the wielder who could exert the power of this type of magic. Still, the idea of her being able to manipulate a sorcery of such kind was ridiculous. Unexplainable. Absurd. Absolutely, and utterly illogical.

Nevertheless, the book had ended up in her hands, the wyrdmark had been carved on the male's skin despite her lack of knowledge, and she could now read what used to be blank pages.

Isabella knew, as well as the lines in her hands and the scars on them, that the world carried very little coincidences within it, and she had already run out of them. Therefore, she could only hope that whatever Gods were using her as their pawn, planned for nothing but greatness and happiness for her, and the rest of them.

For some reason, the idea of lying idle in the midst of a game with the heavens above made her restless. It made her itch until the urge to claw at her own skin became insufferable. And so with a new idea in mind -one that burned brighter than the stars and blinded more strongly than the sun- she clung tighter to the open book in her lap.

She brought it closer to her, even as she scanned the pages for what she was looking for. Once she did, she unsheathed the knife she now always carried with her -even in her sleep- and pricked the skin on the tip of her finger until she drew blood. Crimson as ever, she stared at it before pressing her wound on the clean and recently healed skin of her wrist. She stole one more glance at the book before drawing a sign on her own flesh.

At first, nothing happened. Then, a gentle light emerged from the mark, and as it deemed, her skin began to burn.

Studying the reaction manifested on her flesh, she snatched her pen and ink -courtesy of Rowan's, who had insisted buying it to her after they had left Killax's- and scribbled notes on the margin of one of the book's pages.

It was written with her quick, inattentive handwriting. It was merely three words that would later on become part of the book itself, magic as all knowledge was; it read,

discere est dolent

to learn is to ache.

She repeated the words, chanted them, as she worsened her wound and used her blood to draw more wyrdmarks, not completely unaware -even though she wanted- of the pain they caused in her.

-

Lorcan knew Rowan was happy. There was a jovial strout to his steps, a tugging smile at his lips, a twinkle in his eyes, and a tilt to his voice.

It was quite the horrendous sight, he had to admit to himself.

The male who had been his friend for centuries was beaming with happiness like the sun high in the sky. His good could not be evaporated no matter how hard he tried. And the Gods knew how much he had.

Because for all he loved Rowan -to which he would deny till the end of his long days-, there was nothing he found as annoying as happy people. Regardless of the reasons behind their moods.

So as Rowan sang lowly to himself -and for everyone's disgrace, swayed his hips to the rhythm of whatever it was he was muttering to himself- Lorcan pushed him from behind. The male did not fall, of course not, he was a trained warrior after all, but he did stumble. Which was proof enough of how distracted he had been.