The Forsaken Keeper

Chapter 7

Something changed in Rosalind that night. As winter crept around the Highlands, Rosalind continued to feel colder each day.

She didn't tell her father what had happened in the scriptorium. He had noticed her magic had become stronger, but she blamed it on completing the trials. She continued to argue with the Keepers, frustrated she had to prove herself over and over to them. Her favorite Keeper was Niamh Fitzgerald. She was the only one who spoke with Rosalind and not at her. She would often come and talk to the Keeper when the other men were gone.

Who she really wanted to talk to was Isadora. The other witch who was able to wield ancient magic. The Keepers appeared to be trying to convince her Isadora was a dark witch. But every time she talked to them, she felt more and more like Isadora, being ignored and talked down to.

She started pulling away from her friends more, most of them didn't notice, as they were too busy studying for midterms. She'd wander off the castle to fight loyalist and Ashwinder camps. With her new knowledge of crucio, she was wiping the camps out with ease, feeding into the ancient magic. She was also on the search for more information about Isadora. The Keepers were only showing their memories of her, and Rosalind felt their view was biased.

It was one of the only things that kept her warm anymore. Using the bright blue magic against her enemies filled her with a warmth she was lacking these days, and caused her to become more and more reckless in fights just to feel it.

The only things grounding her were her father, and surprisingly, Ominis. Sebastian avoided her. Rosalind assumed he felt guilty for using the curse on her. If only he let her talk to him, he would know how much stronger it made her.

She couldn't tell Ominis this, she knew how he felt about the dark arts. But they hung out in the Undercroft everyday, studying for midterms or simply just being in each others presence. Being with him was the only thing besides killing that let her feel any type of warmth.

This time, they were on the couch, Ominis's head leaned back on the couch, Rosalind's head in his lap, while he played with her curly hair.

"Describe it to me."

"Hm?" Rosalind lazily opened her eyes to look up at Ominis.

"Your hair. I can feel the curls in your hair, but I don't know what it looks like. Describe it to me."

"Oh," there's that warmth she's been lacking so much. "Well like you said it's curly, it's around shoulder length. It's blonde, not as light as yours, more of a golden, like the sun at sunset."

"Hm," he hummed. "And your eyes?"

"Blue. Also like yours. But again yours are lighter than mine. Mine are more like a sky blue, yours is more like clear water in a lake."

Ominis smiled at that. No one had ever really described him like that. She could see his cheeks become flushed at her words.

"I have another question for you, Rose." Ah his new nickname for her. Very few people called her Rose, typically it was either her full name, or Ro. But he called her Rose, and it felt special from him.

"Of course Omi, what is it?"

"I don't know what your face looks like, I can really only tell by feeling someone face with my hands. I was wondering if... if it would be alright if..." he stumbled on his words, seemingly embarrassed.

Rosalind sat up, taking his hands in hers, and put them on her face. He gasped at first, feeling how cold her skin was. But as his hands roamed her face, her skin grew warm to his touch.

"Merlin Rosalind, no one told me how utterly beautiful you are."

Rosalind let out a soft breath at his words, overwhelmed with the warmth she hadn't felt in so long. His hands rested on her cheeks, when his thumb ran across her lip.