'Wasted Potential'
Phobos observed his recently re-acquired slaves toil in their rightful place-beneath him. They were heaving, the thick ropes taut on their back. Grunts of pain carried up even to where he stood sentry on the balcony of the tower. It was like some artists' depiction of something called 'the pyramids', that had caught his attention in a textbook from his brief spell as Philip, the foreign exchange student. His castle was also back to the way it should be-the almost ridiculously macabre spires and towers restored, jutting out at odd angles and twisted like the tentacles of some monster from one of Meridian's lakes rising into the green tinted sky.
He saw a peasant girl with long, flaming red hair struggling with her 'co-workers' to lift a slab of recently dried cement. With a bored detachment he watched the chains that had been securing another slab tremor, and snap. It was about to crush its very creators. Well. Good. The vile creatures were in plentiful supply. As the girl he had spied before felt the cool shadow of the tumbling slab cast over her, she whirled around to discover its cause. As she turned, her red hair flashed in the little sunlight the area afforded. As it did so, Phobos was (quite foolishly) reminded of another certain person. Her hair had been shorter though, choppy and spiky, with a fringe she was constantly blowing out of her eyes in irritated huffs.
Watching in idle interest as the slab hovered from its ledge, suspended by one last persistent chain, Phobos also indulged his incredibly versatile mind in memories of the girl he recalled, Will Vandom. They said that men couldn't multi-task. Well, Phobos was an incredibly talented multi-thinker, and the time in which it took for the slab to break this last chain and topple towards the ground was more than ample for the following recollections and observations that went with them to pass through his finely tuned mind.
Although the King of Meridian never verbally owned to any errors of judgement on his part (that was what Cedric was for), and he continually berated the girl for her 'pathetic' schemes, he could admit that upon beholding Will for the first time, he had grossly underestimated her. She was a waif of a girl, flapping a pair of wings in a most haphazard fashion, messy red hair making a nuisance of itself practically, as it flapped into her eyes, and aesthetically, as it quite clashed with her pink top. However, flying and colour-coordinating shortcomings aside, she continually beat them. Of course he was never foolish enough to attribute all of 'W.I.T.C.H.'s (as they had termed themselves) successes to her. There was the snobby blonde girl, who could be quite inventive with how she employed her powers, the little wisecracking brunette, the unusually shy and studious fire guardian, and the one with the long inky black hair, who had occasionally betrayed moments of weakness but had always annoyingly risen to the occasion more powerfully than ever. And of course, his sainted sister, Elyon. All it had taken with her was knowledge of his deception, and he had known as soon as he saw her rise into the air, free from her cursed throne, that he was beaten.
But there was one crucial difference that separated Will from these other girls. They all had their faults, as did anyone (except Phobos, naturally)-the blonde was, as aforementioned, cynical and snobby, the brunette never failed to rattle the cages of the others, the fire guardian was simply awkward, and the air guardian just seemed to float through life (but perhaps given the nature of her guardianship she could not be held solely responsible for this). But in the past year and a half, they had repeatedly overcome these faults more than Phobos could credit, or if they didn't overcome them, they used them to their advantage. This was where Will was different. The redhead had a propensity to be competitive – a fault that Phobos (if the day ever came where he would own that he had any) could sympathise with – and she failed to overcome it.
That day as 'Philip', sitting moodily beside the swimming pool, vaguely aware of the earth guardian bemoaning her responsibility of him, the invasive and alien stench of chlorine in his nostrils, he had watched Will, as he now watched his slaves, moving arm over arm like a clock, kicking like mad, to win the race. Her competition was apparently the pretty girl in the row on Will's right hand side. Phobos would have cheated any day of the week. It isn't cheating if you win. That's how history is written. Imagine his surprise when one of the self righteous, supposedly moral guardians abused their power, using it to entangle the other girl in the rope that separated the swimming lanes, and pedalled merrily down to victory. As her friends cheered for her, unaware of her methods, Phobos leant his chin on the side of his hand, nodded his head, and smirked. It was a small step to be sure, but nevertheless, it was a step-even Phobos had not always been born totally evil. And in the circumstances, even the prince himself probably wouldn't have attempted anything too dramatic or flashy-the simplest plans are the best ones. The fact remained that whatever her means, she had done what Phobos would have done. Of course he approved of this element in her that was so charmingly similar to himself, and let her know. She had seemed disquieted at his compliment, for whatever reason.
In that moment, when she had stuttered and awkwardly accepted his comment, he knew he had to seize the opportunity. She was in between options-her head told her that what she had done was unfair and immoral, but her heart was beating with the adrenaline, and was fuelled by the thrill of victory-and possibly even how she obtained it. This was the crucial moment-he must tip her and see which way she fell. If she fell in the way he hoped, it was only a matter of time before he poisoned her (he thought of it as purifying her) with the dark, and seduced her with notions of power. He could do with a guardian on his side, and if he split the group, sooner or later the rest would collapse. So later in that very strange week, when he had been shape shifting between the boys Matt and Caleb, and the disgusting green creature, he made his move. Posing as Matt, he caught Will's opponent in conversation, using Matt's former acquaintance with her to his advantage. He talked, and flirted as only royalty knew how, and the hormones of the unsuspecting teenage girl lapped it up. And just as Will exited the changing room, he lifted the girls' hands to his mouth and lightly brushed his lips against them, sending a spiteful smirk Will's way when he was done. Hopefully this spurt of emotional rivalry would make her go to any lengths to win again. He must admit, he slightly revelled in the jealousy of her ruby-eyed stare-he couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to be so cared for by her. He had even in a rare bout of humour recalled the moment in the bookshop, when he had disguised them as a couple of elderly librarians. A normal husband and wife, with many happy years under their belts. Facades were powerful things.
However, to this disappointment, she had not taken the bait. She completed the race through 'honest means'. Pah. After he had let her know what his opinion of her was, Phobos had to watch in mortification as the idiot Matt simpering out words of encouragement for her weakness through his own lips. But seeing the girl gaze at whom she at least thought to be Phobos with such startled gratitude in her features was somewhat endearing. And it was this unsuspecting gaze that caused a pinprick of concsience, when he had managed to cheat Nerissa at the human's festival for the holiday they called 'Hallowe'en', and in doing so, also breached the terms of his uneasy truce with the Guardians. She had looked at him incredulously, as the truth of his betrayal sank in. The others had seemed much less surprised than she. He marvelled at what afew simple words of benevolence, whether uttered by him or not, could achieve. She had actually convinced herself that he would not, sooner or later, betray them. Indeed he had been plotting it since she first entered the prison Elyon had put him in, and struck their deal.
His weeks as Philip had certainly been most illuminating-Phobos spent so much time around monsters that he sometimes forgot the intricate ways in which humans operated. He could at least be thankful to Will for reminding him that an ability to be charming and agreeable could win you victories, with very little trouble . . .
The shrieks of the peasants below snapped the Prince back to reality. With a languid movement of his hand, scarcely knowing why he did it, he rescued the fortunate slaves from their fate. Cedric, who had slithered up behind him, made some exclamation of surprise. Phobos responded lazily with, "No point wasting good slaves", although he knew that this was not the reason. He never allowed himself to think of this almost instinctive action. Had he allowed himself this luxury, he would have come to the conclusion that it was a tribute to her. Every life that he had spared in the seemingly insignificant moment was a sort of grotesque flower, offered in her honour. A bouqet in remembrance of a great parnership that had never been. Such a terrible waste . . .