What a strange being you are,

God knows where I would be,

If you hadn't found me,

Sitting all alone in the dark

Sick of Losing Soulmates/Dodie

The days at Robichaux had passed as a waking dream. Her show of sickness had long been forgotten, as the sun rose and set in a constant pattern. Forgotten by all but her- and him, she hoped. Micheal had become a more familiar face, showing up in most of her lessons, and always making a constant effort to please her. He would make small conversation, fumbling with his words as if he was a young boy. Once again, she could not keep the thought of a crueler man out of her mind.

But she could not feel the hate she wanted to. Not to either of the people that he could be. She could have hated the Micheal she saw now, for being so beautiful, so warm. And the other Micheal would have been easy to hate, if the sight of his face had not made a tug of desire pull deep in her chest.

Mallory had watched as he grew more confident- both in his magic, and with his socialisation. Many of the girls regarded him as a friend now- even Madison, who had once been the most disproving of his presence, had warmed to the idea of having him around.

He had approached her one day, his face bright with hope and that goofish, boyish grin. She wanted to wave him away with a weak excuse, as she had each time he tried, every day- but today, her muscles felt heavy and lead-like. He just wanted to talk to her, as he had tried with the others and succeeded. Though he seemed so childlike, there was an undertone of charm, of confidence and intelligence that she could only dream of.

"Hello." He had said simply, studying her with his eyes before fixing them to her own- something she had deeply regret the first time they had met. It made her feel deeply unsettled, and set off that same electric pulse flowing in all directions.

"Hello, Micheal." Mallory sighed, giving him a weary smile. It was as much encouragement as they had both needed to go further- to lose their feigned awkwardness and actually talk. Since then, they had grown close as was possible without them actually becoming anything more. They talked about useless, trivial things, always avoiding the tough subjects that haunted them all. Cordelia had once said that witches were cursed to be persecuted and thrown away, and that was the nature for all of them- and each knew that it was far too personal at the moment.

It has had been tempting- even to her, who she thought kind- to take advantage, to pose as a friend and instead retrieve his deepest secrets. It would be a sort of revenge for them not being more. But Mallory knew that her feelings for him could not even allow the opportunity, not allow her to betray him in any way, misplace his trust. It made her sick to even think of it, no matter the positive concequences for her coven.

She had had time to research as well. Her days had been spent in the extensive library, searching through each column, trying to find something that could remotely help her in some way. It was hard to ask someone for help without sounding like a sociopath, or a fool- someone who refused emotion, especially this. She could not ask to remove the curse of love.

Books upon books had gone through her hands, the words through her mind. Mallory had been so obsessed that Zoe had come to see her, her sympathy obvious, as well as curiosity. She had waved her away with the excuse of extra research, a personal project for which she had been invested in for years. It should have hurt her to lie, especially to one of the most lovely woman she had ever met- but it didn't.

Her first purpose, she had told herself, was to research the very notion of the Antichrist. Madison had told them of her information- the house in California, the souls cursed to be eternally lonely. Of the Harmons, a typical American family that had turned to that house for redemption, and how it had killed them. How it had given them a son.

Mallory had known this before she had even considered the face of Micheal Langdon. The information had immediately told her of what he was, where he came from.

The Antichrist.

The very notion now, to her, was insane. Now that she knew him, talked to him and spent time with him, it was hard to associate anything remotely satanic and evil with the boy. It was true- his beauty was that of another level, his energy that of inhuman. But he still could not be one to end the world, at least not on purpose. Even the reminder of how he was conceived, the rape and the pain that had come into the equation, was hard to keep in her mind.

It had been a week and two days when she had finally found the underlying piece of information that she had hoped for. It was a book on the Nephilim and the Divine, entailing words and magic Mallory couldn't possibly try to understand. It was at least five thousand pages long, and she had used numerous spells just to keep herself awake to read it. She had read of the soul, of the children of the divine and the blessed. It had sprouted a spark of joy inside of her- it seemed to dance in her chest, a streak of light that yearned to be free. As she read on, it grew stronger and stronger, but held no help in its magic. She frowned, but paused on a passage after rereading twice.

At birth, two souls could be intertwined together, a seemingly perfect fit. Those who have been part of this phenomena- only possible through the hand of heaven or hell- have described an emptiness through life, a hole that they never seemed to fill. Being in the mere presence of the other soul could provoke an almost maddening sense of completeness, driving each person to find each other and partake in so called 'love.' Normally, this would only happen if these souls were descendants of heaven and hell themselves, and each had to fulfill a purpose in their love.

The hand of heaven or hell. It wasn't just love; and it never had been. It wasn't by choice, by some natural human selection of a partner or deep rooted love. In fact, it was written in the very stars, by a divine being instead. Mallory could deny this, instead put it down to loneliness and yearning, latching onto the first beautiful man she had seen. But that was an obvious lie, even to herself.

Mallory should have been the most pliable of all the witches- even as she grew close to him, became a friend- yet she wasn't. Her yearning for him would only grow stronger if she gave in, let his eyes and his breath and his skin take her where she needed to be. That could not happen- she could not lose herself so hopelessly over a boy.

Yet, it was so hard.

Two weeks after his arrival, she had pushed open the door to her bedroom, delighting in the prospect of a break from her exhausting studies; the result of Cordelia's personal mentoring. She had taken a special interest in Mallory after studying her- she called her an enigma, with power they had never seen before.

However, Mallory was much more content with Zoe's more humble description of her- a healer. That sounded more fitting to what she had seen and felt of herself.

Mallory had swung upon the door, as she always had, and was greeted with a single, pink rose; it's petals glimmering with vibrancy, the thorns plucked out with perfect care. It lay upon her bed, a wondrous contrast to the white that usually befit it. She had always been content with the simplicity that it had held- but to think of him here, placing the flower on her bed, reluctant to leave and desperate to become more familiar with her place of refuge. Really, she didn't even need to think- she knew it was a memory, his memory, that she had been blessed to see.

The idea of him, here, should have terrified her, but it instead made her heart pang even more. With need- she needed him, and he knew it. Was this all just a game? Had he planted a spell on her, a curse, just so he could have some semblance of entertainment in the form of her falling madly in love with him?

Or was it real?

Each scared her equally, the idea of losing control completely, and that being love. And with him.

She wanted to take the rose and tear it to pieces, send it to his room and show him her feelings, her response to his display. But instead, she thought of a single name- his name, echoing through the halls of her mind, and reaching his, because she could feel it, him, at the end of the door.

This, she had never felt before. If she had, it had been hidden behind that string, the empty hole in her heart that had been there since she was a child. Cordelia would praise her, Zoe would put it down to the power of love, and Madison would call her a foolish ho.

And how would she put it? That she couldn't answer, and neither could he. They were just children, really, trying to find themselves among a sea of others doing the same. And, in doing so, they had found each other.

Her thoughts were answered with a knock at the door.