Author's note: D is a genius! A while ago, he got my old phone working long enough to recover my writing files. I was busy with other things at the time, and I'm kind of nutso about backups, so I didn't think there was anything major on there, but a discussion last night reminded me to finally have a look at them. Most of them were backed up, and a few that weren't were just bad. This bleak, dark, crazy story has 2 finished chapters (plus a timeline) so far, and I kind of like it, so here goes. AU that jumps canon halfway through Day of the Sorcerers.

! Serious trigger warnings!

Cedric lay on his side atop a checkered blanket in the secret garden, watching Sofia run through the lush grass nearby. Today, she was picking vibrant sunflowers, piling them into a basket he'd given her. The sight should have been heart warming, but the time where these diversions really made him feel anything had passed long ago.

"Mr Cedric, this one is for you." She skidded to a halt above him, peering down excitedly as she held the large yellow flower out to him. He accepted her gift, then waved her away. She was unphased by his indifference, of course, because he'd created her to be remarkably cheerful no matter what. Unsatisfied with the fantasy, he produced his paintbrush and muttered the words 'Outo Paintuvo', and in an instant he was transported back to the dilapidated old cottage. With a groan, he lifted the newest painting off the easel and hung it on the wall, alongside so many others.

He shouldn't be so bothered by his solitude, he often tried to reason with himself. Until the princess came he was always alone, and it certainly never mattered to him before. Trying to convince himself that he didn't miss her was just as useless as his attempts at filling the void with counterfeit versions, it would seem, because these days the cheerful girl who had once been his only friend was constantly on his mind.

It will never be enough. A disturbing whisper in the back of his head tried to persuade him. He squeezed his eyes shut, pinched the bridge of his nose sharply, and drew in several deep breaths, trying to chase it away. Take what you want, and have your revenge on Roland, too. It was his own voice, and he wondered how he could possibly hope to win a battle of wits against himself.

"I won't!" He insisted out loud, his eyes scanning the artwork again. This achieved a moment of quiet, a temporary truce between what he wanted and his flimsy notion of morality. He dropped into his bed, situated in a corner of the only real room in the home, and waved a hand through the air to snuff out the lights.

...

He woke in the middle of the night, overcome with heart-pounding, white knuckled terror. Nightmares were common for him, and he tried his best to calm, but the fast, steady thrum of his pulse threatened to drive him mad. Madder. He amended, still gasping for air. He could just go peek. It occurred to him, not for the first time. It would mean his head if he were caught, but would that really be so much worse than what he'd already become?

Just once. Just to see how she's doing. He was too tired to fight back. Not because he'd been ripped so abruptly from his dream, or because he had a tendancy not to sleep at all for days on end, until his eyes forced themselves shut without his permission. No, he was worn down by the relentless assault he had carried out on himself day in and day out for years. Remorse, anger, and longing twisted up inside of him, poisoning his head with all manner of atrocious thoughts, and as she had been in the palace, Sofia was the only good and pure thing that existed within the walls of his cottage. Only for one second.

...

As the cloud of thick smoke that accompanied his transportation spell dissipated, Cedric frowned at the room he now found himself standing in. This can't be right. He'd heard rumors that the princess was sent off to a boarding school after his banishment, but this was certainly not like any dormitory he'd ever seen. Maybe the spell didn't work. He reasoned, taking stock of the filthy, Spartan surroundings. As he spun to examine everything, his eyes came to rest on a small metal cot, the bed's legs suspiciously affixed to the wall on three sides.

On it, he spied a frail young woman, definitely not the princess he recalled from his days at the palace. Taking halting steps in her direction, he bent over to examine her. She was thin, alarmingly so... Bordering dangerously on emaciated, in fact. Her hair was a matted, grimy mess, appearing as if no one had brushed it in years. There was no chance that the spell worked, this couldn't be his Sofia.

Though he told himself that, wasn't the hair about the right colour, if one ignored all the dirt? He conjured a mental image of the bouncing russet curls, using them as a basis of comparison. While he was trying to determine her identity, the sound of a key turning in the door alerted him that they would soon have company. Panicking, he grabbed the sleeping girl and transported back to his cottage.

What have I done? His hands were shaking, but that didn't disturb her as she lay motionless in his arms. I just kidnapped this girl... He shifted her weight to a more comfortable position, but this didn't cause her to stir either, and he realized, later than he should have, that something was very wrong with her.

"Sofia?" He hissed, but there was no answer. Giving little care for the well being of his bedding, he laid her down on top of his covers, stepping back to examine her. His eyes shot wide at the sight of her long white sleeves, soaked through by bright red liquid. His attention traveled further downward, to the deep, angry gashes that criss-crossed her wrist.

Imposter or not, if he didn't act quickly she would surely die. Tugging one of his gloves off, he lifted her already chilled arm, running his hand across the wounds while visualizing that the flesh was repairing itself. He checked on the progress, then repeated the steps once more before switching to her other arm. He'd never been very good at healing spells, so she'd be left with the scars, but at least she would live.

When he finished, the girl sucked in a great amount of air before doing something Cedric was not at all prepared for. She launched herself upright and howled. An unearthly cry filled with unspeakable anguish. After that, she collapsed back onto his mattress, unconscious again.

With nothing to do but let her rest, Cedric deflated into his ratty old armchair, keeping his eyes trained on his rather suspicious houseguest.

To be clear: Cedric's weird obsession... 100% not sexual. I tried to write it that way, but I just want to add a note to explicitly state it. In his mind, she's still an 11 year old girl, and 'taking what he wants' is as basic as getting his friend back. Is it still squicky that he literally starts the chapter off obsessing and contemplating taking her from her home to have her close? And that he has an entire crazy wall of paintings? Of course! But not sexual, k?