A/N: Okay, a wee heads up guys! This chapter was and still remains a beast so to prevent me from loosing the plot, going in a huff and totally abandoning this fic...I've decided to split the chapter. Should also note that this could be classified as slightly dark just with implications so there's the one and only warning...

BIG massive thanks to GloriaNewt *points over* offering sound advice and playing ping-pong with ideas which saved my already scrambled head! Hats off to everyone else who's R & R, I thank you all *shakes hands*

Like the fabulous Princess Sammi, the return to normality and sadly back to uni means I'll no longer have the luxury of doodling ideas and typing whenever *sniff sniff* had a good run.

Trying hard to break the three in the morning proof-reading but *looks at watch* it's a habit that difficult to break so pay no attention to the obvious spelling and grammar mistakes and hope this flows well *ducks behind couch as a just in case*

Enjoy

Chapter Three: Time to Say Goodbye

Her tears.

The tears were slowly becoming an annoyance and inconvenience. A recurrent habit proving difficult to break from the vicious circle. The salty tears of emotions had breached the surface of her impenetrable mask and mixed with her perfectly applied mascara. The tears leaked from her normally dominate control. The iron cage in which every imperfection had been housed had weakened, buckling under the additional pressure caused by the second revelation from beyond the grave.

The exhausting performance of a lifetime. The seemingly impervious facade that Constance had used as a shield was in fact disintegrating and she desperately needed to secure and rebuild her strength in order to maintain everything.

The black trailed mascara tainted her normally plain, pale complexion. The dried makeup added colour to her face but only emphasized her exhausted and increasingly gaunt features.

Her reflection questioned her, unfamiliar by the foreign concept of such unacceptable behavior and pitied her lack of self control. She looked away from the judgmental glare of her own reflection.

Her body ached, begging to break the rigid posture. Constance reluctantly allowed her shoulders to relax, her muscles protested at the unaccustomed yielding surrendering of her permanent statue like stance but the unwavering weight continued, never giving her a moment's peace. Her elbows rested against the smooth surface of the dressing table as her heavy head sat in her shaking hands.

The increasing demand for attention, the headache angrily throbbed causing her to close her eyes, shielding her fragile eyes from the intensity of the warm sunshine. The dark clouds had conceded defeat and the sun was the lone dominate force with only time as its adversary, already slowly making the slow decent towards the horizon.

Contrary to her mistress, Morgana lay at ease on the bare floor basking in the warmth of the sun light. Her well groomed black fur attracted the heat from the sun, rendering the animal into a state of blissful relaxation boarding on sleep. There was time, when the mistress would stroke the tender spot behind her ear which had the ability to lull Morgana into the same state of lazy relaxation. Not anymore, her mistress always seemed preoccupied, showing lack or no attention and affection.

The cat was not alone, beside her on the floor rested a letter. The second letter of the day both destined for Constance. A second and equally peace shattering revelation which shook the witch deep within her very core, the things that had come to rest were now so painfully overwhelming that it threatened to derail her.

The letter was a painful reminder that death held no boundaries for the former tutor to provoke unsettling thoughts and doubts about herself which threatened to push her over the jagged edge. To tip her from the pinnacle of control, balance and perfection but Constance had sacrificed too much to simply allow her self to fall into the pit of despair. The fall from such a great height in which she scaled, pulled her self up from the nothingness, would offer nothing to cushion or protect her from the bone shattering landing that would in defiantly destroy her and bring about her own demise.

The weight of her exhausted eyelids won the battle. Constance reluctantly closed her eyes and found herself transported into a world, an impenetrable darkness with the panicked and rasping sounds of her breathing for company. The blackness enveloped her, endless like her chaotic mind which threatened to overrule logical, calm, orderly thoughts. Then, there was light.

Light appeared at the end of the tunnel, signalling the end of the all consuming darkness. The bright light symbolized the end of her suffering, to bask in the light would symbolize the end of her journey, control. She was primarily focused with the need and determination to reach the light, to retain order and control which she had spent all of her life building.

Lulled into a false sense of momentary security and peace, Constance slowly awoke and winced silently. She grasped onto the last fraying piece of control with renewed purpose.

"My, my, my...how you have grown." A voice purred, cutting through her like a knife

Her head sharply turned, ignoring the pain "You?!...you cannot be here! It is not possible!" her voice panicked. Fear and bile rising, stinging her throat.

Another haunting figure from her past now stood before her. Her eyes transfixed on his hands, those powerful hands which remained relaxed by his sides. The corner of her eye inadvertently twitched as she remembered a vicious and powerful backhand which sent her to the stone floor, clutching her stinging cheek.

"And yet, here I stand...right before your very eyes." Grinning madly

Constance shook her head in disbelief. The fraying nerves and control unwinding at the presence of the devil incarnate. A man that had rumoured to have a soul darker than that of the devil, himself. He had been someone that once held a prestigious title within the college and magical community. The mere mention of his name commanded the up most respect from absolutely everyone, even those who did not agree with his research and work, usually unconventional methods and controversial. No-one suspected his secret life, what happened at witch training college. He took an immediate interest to gifted students who showed true potential.

"You're not real...just an illusion! You have no power or command here."

Asserting his authority and dominance, to intimidate her and watch her cower in his presence, he took a step closer towards her. Something about her tone, suggested to him a challenge and he was never one to shy away from a challenge. He lived for the initial chase before the deafening pathetic pleads of mercy which he would never grant "Let's test that...shall we?" now towering over her.


Normally, Amelia would have sat contently in her office. The school holiday's was the perfect time to catch up with the never ending mountain of paperwork without being disturbed by her colleagues or students. The monotonous task however would have been a happy distraction to calm her mind from the continuous worry about the deputy headmistress, her adoptive daughter who was clearly shaken by the news of Mistress Broomhead's death. Amelia battled the growing mothering intuition, a natural calling for her to seek out Constance and hopefully be the pillar of strength that Constance needed so badly at this moment in time.

However, Amelia remained in her office, knowing that chasing Constance would only push the fragile witch further away from her concerned and open arms. The only thing that Amelia could grant was time. To honour her wishes and allow for time, to comprehend the full effects of the newly discovered news and come to terms with the revelation that the woman who once provoked the deepest of fears within Constance was no longer able to haunt her. She would finally be at peace.

Looking at her watch, she mentally set a deadline, giving Constance another hour before offering her a shoulder and an ear.

In the meantime, it was time for a break from the rather boring task of weeding through paperwork, deciding what needed her absolute attention and urgent priority and what could wait. She rummaged around the chaotic drawer of her desk and found a magazine which she had not managed to find the time to read. She smiled, thankful for the discovered publication which could offer a distraction but her eyebrow rose when she spotted a letter, lying amongst the clutter of the drawer.

"What have we got here?" muttering to herself

Amelia adjusted her reading glasses and took the letter out of the already open envelope. The wax seal had already been broken. Immediately, she tried to remember receiving such an official looking letter and from the guild. How could she have over looked such an important letter?

Her eyes scanned the top of the letter, reading a familiar name and cursed her forgetfulness. A bolt of lightening struck the older witch, a long lost memory came flooding back.

The letter in question was that from Zelda Black. It felt like a lifetime ago that Constance had left the safe confines of the academy and ventured out from the place she called home and journeyed to the guild to see the witch counselor. Amelia scolded herself not chasing up Constance regarding the session and then forgetting about the report. A family crisis, Hecketty Broomhead appointed as her temporary replacement and countless other obstacles interfered and prevented her from reading the vital contents of the report. Fate or some other powerful force seemed to have a hidden agenda to obstruct and hinder Amelia from ever reading the report.

'Now, you have my undivided attention' she thought, a twinge of guilt for not giving the importance of the report her undivided attention until now

Amelia exhaled and slowly read the typed up report which touched upon the counseling session with Constance which had taken place some time ago.


"Oh! I remember this." He grinned, glee and madness dancing in his eyes, referring to his ability to overpower her.

His weight pinned her down. Desperately she fought to escape his clutches, struggling against him but was powerless just like the first time, all those years ago.

"That's right! You do remember...I love it when you fight back." He cooed and used one hand to firmly keep her wrists bound above her head "I loved watching you all fight...knowing that you all were just delaying the inevitable."

Constance still doubted her eyes, convinced she was trapped in another terrifying nightmare with no ending in sight "You are not real! You can not be!" she shouted before immediately regretting her words. No doubt he would happily prove her wrong

His warm breath sickened her. The stench of stale coffee and lingering scent of expensive cigar reek turned her stomach. His breath, his presence and smile revolted her.

"If I do not exist...then could I do this?"

His free hand rested onto her squirming waist, touching forbidden fruit and savored the memory, the pleasure and privilege of taking the first crisp bite of her innocents, always to be her first. His agenda was transparent like the lustful, manic energy which danced in his eyes. Constance swallowed the lump of fear and bile.

She truly needed to dig deep and find the strength in order to survive especially at his hands that wanting nothing more than to bring pain and suffering. Screaming would be like the sweet nectar of music to his ears which he craved to hear once again, knowing that he was the cause of her anguish.

The physical torture at his hands, tainted her once flawless, pale skin and took countless healing potions and time before the marks faded to nothing, all evidence had been erased by her body's natural ability to heal with the additional aid of potions to speed up her recovery. However the permanent mentally scarring refused to heal like her skin. The only saving grace was throwing her self into work, a feeble attempt to distract her self from dwelling on the agonising past and later, with the aid of Amelia, a powerful mind suppressing spell.

His cold eyes watched her, observing his captured pray. Constance had stopped fighting against him, no longer feeding him her fear which enraged him. To him this was the most exciting part, to witness their fear and overall hold their fate in his hands. She lay under him like a lifeless doll in his hands and under his weight, appearing to have given up the fight and surrendering to him offering no more resistance. His stained teeth clenched and reluctantly peeled his hand from her waist.

Her inner monologue burst like a bubble when his rough skinned fingers connected against her flushed delicate skin. His touch brought her back to reality, welcoming her back with a lunatic gleam sparkling in his normally cold eyes.

His fingers traced her soft, unmarked face. Ogling her trembling lips, hypnotized by the classic beauty that she had now become from the sweet childlike innocents, he leaned into her ear "I thought I held no power...and yet here we are! Re-enacting the past." Mocking her

Constance shivered inwardly as his rough touch began to awaken repressed memories from college. It was like a surgical wound which never completely healed and the sound of his hoarse voice, the rough touch of his unmerciful hands and his demonic eyes only caused fragile wound to split open. The rife infection that lurked in the wound, feasting for years, was that of the horrific images, the seemingly never ending pain threatening to tear her apart from the inside and the echoed screaming as her only means of coping with the overwhelming and excruciating misery which still plagued her since college right to this very day.

Her finely constructed defenses, dissolving like damp tissue paper and now utterly powerless, her primal instincts were that of cornered animal, in distress and on the brink of extinction. She would have to call upon her dwindling reserves in order to battle the evilness that dared to exert his existence back into her life.

She could feel the power coursing throughout her veins, reaching a turbulent boiling point. The warm of her new found power warmed her cold hands and continued to race throughout the rest of her body. No longer would she become the helpless victim all over again, at least this time not without a fight.