Duplicitous | T.N.

LXV • Bewitched minds

Scarred and left unmotivated by the depths of his blackening fear, the youthful teenage boy, cursed by the wrath and mercilessness nature of the Dark lord, scorned alone, isolated, in a cabin of his choosing. Theodore moped amongst his own company, and was happy to do so.

Having been entirely convinced his soul and being were damned, he divulged himself throughout the ancient masterpieces. Literature commonly known as the classics. To him, he found no more comfort anywhere than he could within the deranged minds of the past, the original thinkers. He liked to believe the twisted warp of his own mental state could be found wandering within the freakish typing of a sickly creative author.

He did not participate within typical teenage tendencies such as self inflicted cuts or life ending thoughts, he knew some who had, but to him, he found his self sabotaging poison within the hexed inc that bled black through the flesh of his once freckled forearm, well, one freckled forearm. He missed that particular coloured bud of skin.

With his sleeves rolled, the wizard eyed the tattoo he referred to as a scar. Usually, painted flesh would grey over time, but Theodore's hadn't. If he'd truely focus upon it, the boy could possibly loose himself within the pitch place abyss on his arm. Sickened, he hoped the contents of his stomach would not escape through his throat, it already had once or twice since Christmas.

It had become a notion he subconsciously titled obsession. Alike a rash, his finger nails impaled the mark on his arm, and alike the bite of a snake, he could feel the beads of poison conversing wickedly amongst his blood cells. Teenagers, were supposed to be blinded by the notion of eternal life, but to he, mortality was all too real for it threatened his breath everyday and warned his beating heart of its upcoming stop.

A guttural cry for blessed help, a descent to insanity, a gash of the blade and a simple sleep. He thought of nothing else, nothing but she. And for the first time 'she' did not imply his mother.

By this point, the thought of the girl named after the dawn, served more sacred than the last sunset, for in his hurting mind, he knew there would be a last day spent with her.

The easy wish to breath his truths and unburdened his weighted shoulders was a phenomenal urge. To simply explain his faults and beg for forgiveness, but he knew too much of her righteousness addiction to morality, she would not forgive him. He loathed how much that thought alone nearly slayed him.

Unable to explain himself, he feared himself, because he knew somehow, he was the maker of his own evil. - Possession 1981.

Hypnotised by his own faults, their downfall approached and there was nothing he could do. Nothing but light a cigarette with his antique lighter.

Oh dear Merlin, how she had bewitched him.
Or maybe he just needed some sleep.

• • •

Too, comforted by the isolation and worries of the upcoming war intertwined with teenage fears and thoughts, Aurora escaped the company of her friends in search for Theodore.

They had yet to converse since their departure on that very train exactly two weeks prior to where they were now. The letters had stopped, and his lies ceased to comfort her any longer. His father, she took to assuming, was responsible for his lack of reply, she found a far too much comfort within her assumptions.

"Theodore." Her words followed by her own earth shattering sigh of relief, to worry like a teenager in love was a gift they had yet to appreciate. Not that they were in love, or if they knew that.

She was met with empty eyes where she once found an overwhelming storage of magnetising passion. Her stomach propelled downward with the intention of dropping. He smiled a feigned grin it were almost hypocrisy to offer.