Ulterior Motives

The Purest Form of Hate

"May I." Oliver asked. Madelyn didn't argue so he stepped inside.

The room felt clogged, as if something larger or more cumbersome than himself had absorbed every aspect and space available. It was uncomfortably hot, the air itself felt as if a thick invisible smoke had filled the room and was sucking the oxygen out of every inch. The Witch's pain radiated around the room, afflicting anyone within reach. Hate was a disease, and if anything could prove that, this room would be exhibit A.

He hesitated, not wanting to feel first hand and know the kind of hatred his brother was capable of. He could feel the pain and hate pouring off of the Witch as if she was broadcasting what had been done to her. The malcontent of the curses and hexes cast on her condemned this room and everyone who entered it to experience the pure loathing it took to create this kind of harm.

She must have refused him. He had reached out to her and she tried to rebut him. This is what happens to those who fight back. The witch was invaded with so much hate and anger it consumed anyone who came in contact with her. She was a conduit of his hatred and animosity. He was so righteous in his intent that he unleashed it onto this woman, and in turn, she became the embodiment of his purpose. Oliver could feel the heat of the curse to the point it nearly burned him.

She was lying there, cold as a statue, staring at the ceiling as if it was evil reincarnate. As if there was nothing in existence more terrifying, but, she wasn't seeing the ceiling. She was seeing the Warlock who had the edacity to commit this kind of horror.

"Reagan." he called to her. She stepped into the room without waver and was at his side looking fearfully at the woman they both felt they should have protected. He understood then, Reagan's devotion and her strength. She responded to his call, without question. It would have required so much more to enter that room without that kind of faith.

He turned to her and waiting until she looked back at him. "I can help her." He paused sensing she knew what he was going to ask. "I will need to channel you. I need to pull from someone I'm connected to. There isn't anyone else more connected to me than you. It will drain you. I won't be able to stop on my own so before I start to hurt you you have to tell me so I can stop. Otherwise, I could kill you." He could see her determination, "Reagan, please. I need you to promise me, you will stop me before I hurt you."

"I will try." is all she said.

Oliver turned back to Madelyn. She nodded once, letting him know she would step in if she had to. She, herself, hadn't entered the room. She stayed back as far from the room as she could get into the safety of the hall and still be able to see them. Even her body language screamed that she wanted to get as far away as possible. She leaned away, angled towards the rest of the institute, out of range. Her weight resting in her heals, ever nerve preparing to run as soon as she could. Reagan's resolve, at that moment, was even more evident than it had ever been.

He turned away from them both before he could convince himself not to. Kneeling next to the Witch's bed side, Reagan stepped up to him. She placed her hand on his shoulder without having to be asked. Instinctually.

He began to chant, placing both his hands on the patient. One over the Witch's forehead the other above her heart. At first Reagan didn't feel anything other than horror and dread. She had felt that sensation the moment she had stepped over the threshold. There was an undercurrent, an obvious need to run. A need to save herself but as soon as Oliver had asked her to help and as soon as she had touched him she didn't feel that dread. The only thing she felt after that was from Oliver, and it was trust. She latched onto that feeling and held onto it. Using it to blanket herself. They stood like that for over an hour.

Reagan lost track of time. The anxiety she felt never subsided but she wasn't a coward either. She forced herself through it. Forced herself to think of anything else. She even started to fantasize. Imagine she was somewhere else, somewhere with Oliver.