Author's Note: Each and every one of you, dear readers, is an absolute treasure. I hope you are all well and safe.

Side note on attire: I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I wanted to say a word on corsets. From what research I've been able to glean looking into historically accurate clothing, corsets were predominantly not the tight torture devices we've been led to believe. While I have no doubt that there were many women who tormented themselves for beauty, tightening their laces to dangerous proportions, most women (noble and peasants included) wore corsets or stays as an everyday garment over a shift and beneath their dress (or some were even worn as the top layer) as a means of bust support. Also, contrary to popular belief, most woman did not need a maid or a second set of hands to don or remove their corset. They left them laced up the back and laced the front to put them on or take them off. Basically, a corset or stays was as common as the modern bra and just as easy for women to put on or take off all on their own.

You don't actually need to know any of this for this particular fic, but when I casually mention Sofia wearing a corset beneath her clothing, it is because it was so common and not meant to imply that she's wearing a fancy ballgown or some extraordinary piece of clothing.

Metamorphosis

Chapter Five

Cedric woke to darkness.

With some infallible preternatural sense, he knew that twilight had fallen. An auspicious skill, useful for one sealed up safely as he was and possessing no other means by which to judge the passing of the day. Rising form the stone slab that had severed as his bed, he surveyed the sparce surroundings. Nothing had resided here for many years, living or dead. This place was as forgotten as the bones it had once housed, long since stolen or exhumed to some other monument. Only curled up leaves and filmy cobwebs had kept his company through the long day.

Stone grated upon stone as he drew aside the heavy slab door with effortless strength. The last tawny tendrils of dying light fanned across the floor. His eyes, so keen a moment ago, burned to see the barest lambent glow clinging to the western horizon. Newborn stars winked into existence as the deepening night chased the last of the sun from the sky. Crisp air filled his lungs on a slow breath, clearing the cloying dust from his nose. He felt remarkably refreshed for having passed the night in a cold, comfortless tomb. Abuzz with unnatural energy, his muscles hummed, his sight sharpening again in the thickening dark. The moon rose bright and wonderous to his newly quickened senses. The tangled vines and choking weeds encasing his temporary lodgings proved no challenge, never impeding his usually uncertain gait.

As he approached the ancient, crumbling wall surrounding his sanctuary, his fingers flexed. With so much power at his disposal, he struggled to recall why he'd fled the castle in such haste the previous night. Vague, disjointed impressions of fear and panic, even guilt, colored his recollections. Long hours filled with uncertainty as he wandered Dunwhitty, aimless until desperation and the impending sunrise brought to mind a buried memory of the one place he might rest safe and undisturbed.

Now night had fallen and he was free to explore his burgeoning abilities and appetites.

Using the mat of thick ivy creeping up the brittle stones, he scaled the high wall with surprising speed. His body sublimely obeying his command, grace and efficiency in every move. Atop the wall's edge, he crouched, turning his attention to the castle. Clouds scuttled over the rising moon, its intermittent light no hinderance at all as he picked out details no mortal eyes could see from this distance. His vision sharpened, sensing a change without conscious awareness behind it. Many more guards than usual patrolled the castle's entrances.

The sight did not intimidate him, but it did make him pause to consider the cause. He could only surmise that they were there to deter or detain him from what he craved.

His eyes narrowed, recalling the events preceding his flight. A memory of shock and pain, Sofia slipping from his grasp to the one place he dared not follow. A cursory examination of his face with his fingertips spoke of more emerging abilities beyond heightened senses and strength. The raw, blackened burns had been restored, leaving smooth, unblemished skin. Fed on Sofia's blood, his body had healed the damage of her sunlight spell as if it had never been. Hunger stirred again, mixing with desire. The teasing whisper of her delicate perfume still clung to his skin, bringing to mind the taste of blood in his mouth, its coppery sweetness coating his tongue.

Her escape had felt crushing at the time, leaving him aching and unfulfilled in more ways than one. He'd fled his tower, lashed by mortal shame. Though he had wanted to touch her, to taste her, the fleeting ghost of his conscience assured that he should not have indulge in such desires. Those feelings were absent now and he saw no reason why he should mourn their loss. He'd wanted the girl, so he took her. He'd given her pleasure, as he longed to do, and taken what he needed to survive, their exchange evenly matched. Still, he remained unsatisfied. Now that he'd had a taste of her, he'd not stop until he got his fill again.

He frowned at the castle's trivial defenses, almost disappointed. Sofia had never been the kind to hide behind guarded walls. She took to the front line, meeting a challenge head on. A soft laugh escaped his lips when he realized. His craving for her had nearly blinded him. Of course, she would not be locked away cozily in her room like an insipid maiden in distress.

He dismissed the guards, swinging his attention towards the village. Even with the falling temperatures and lengthening nights, there should be some activity about in the streets at this hour: stalls finishing last minute business with straggling customers, shop clerks locking up and wandering home for the night. Dunwitty was a notoriously safe town and no one feared walking the streets after dark. At least they hadn't, until he gave them a reason to. Now the streets stood empty, doors shut tight, fires burning in each hearth. Curious, he made his way towards the collection of clapboard buildings, remaining well-hidden as he glid silently, almost one with the night.

Across the bridge connecting Enchancia castle to Dunwitty village, Cedric spied a small group of mages conferring in hurried, hushed voices. He recognized the old one, his father, and beside him his mother. Though a twisting in his gut catalogued the red rimmed evidence of weeping round his mother's eyes, he had no time for them now. Cordellia was there, her familial scent nearly smothered under cloying perfume that wrinkled his nose, and beside her, her scent unmasked and sweeter than any fragrance from a bottle, was his Sofia.

It took some effort not to go to her. Not to pounce out of the darkness and carry her away as he knew he could. But better sense won out. A hasty abduction would only endanger his existence, and hers, and shorten their time together to hastily stolen moments. The night was young, and he had time to wait and watch.

The small band broke up on orders from his father. Curiously, there was not a guard to be seen nor did he sense any warm bodies beside those hiding in their houses. Drawn as if by an invisible string, he followed, remaining silent and hidden. When they came to a cross roads, the group split off, his father and mother taking one fork, while Cordellia and Sofia took the other. Cautious delight surge through him. He did not relish the thought of a confrontation with Cordy, she was an accomplished duelist, but he preferred his odds against one mage to three.

The two women walked the silent village street, their eyes searching but missing his hidden presence in the shadows. Their conversation reached his sensitive ears as if they spoke right beside him.

"Are you sure about this?" Sofia asked. Her voice wrapped around his thoughts as her scent invaded his senses, making him nearly blind with a vicious streak of want. He could recall exactly how that voice had sounded pitched in a throaty moan.

"Not exactly," his sister answered, ruining his illusion. "Call it a strong intuition."

"You didn't tell your father about this intuition, I see."

"As you did not tell yours about Cedric's true condition." His ears perked to hear his name.

Sofia sighed. "Not yet at least. But if we do not find him tonight, I'm afraid I'll have to. I don't relish the idea. As it is, it took all my skills to convince him to keep the guards at the castle and let the mages handle the village. If he knew the truth, he'd have no choice but to send soldiers to protect the villagers."

They were searching for him. He smirked. How little did she know how easy he'd make it for her. But the mention of guards did have him stifling a growl. An almost animalistic sense of self-preservation had taken root in his mind. The thought of tearing out an anonymous throat or two to survive seemed no longer unimaginable, but entirely reasonable. Necessary, even, if his existence were threatened.

"That would be a supremely bad idea," Cordellia assured, "for the guards at least. By now Cedric will have gained a portion of a vampire's strength and speed. By tomorrow, he'll be unrecognizable from the real thing. As it is, you'll want to avoid looking into his eyes, just to be certain."

The word vampire caught him up short. Is that what he was now? His extensive education in all things supernatural and arcane supplied a deluge of information. Quickly cataloguing the most common features: an insatiable craving for blood, inhuman strength, heightened senses and reflexes. He had to agree, conveniently leaving off the pesky downsides to such a transformation like the loss of his soul. Surely those claims were exaggerated. He felt fine. Better even. And what was he using his soul for anyway? But, what was it Cordy had said about his eyes?

"Certain of what?" Sofia questioned as they came into an open thoroughfare, one usually packed full with carts and stalls during the day, but empty and deserted under the moonlight. An ornate fountain of three mermaids holding conch shells, each spilling out an eternal font of water.

Cordellia peered around, distracted. "A true vampire can mesmerize their victim with their gaze. I don't know if it is true for a changeling, but better safe than sorry."

"Oh, gods." Sofia groaned lowly, covering her face with both hands. "Perhaps this was a mistake, thinking we could handle Cedric ourselves. What if we've misjudged and he attacks someone? I don't think I could live with the guilt."

Cordellia did not break stride, nor spare time for the princess's attack of conscience. Her sharp gaze roved constantly, taking in every detail around them. "I doubt you'll have to. I already told you what I think."

Sofia dropped her hands, sighing. "While I'm flattered by your conviction, I can't say I understand why you believe so strongly that Cedric will be drawn to me."

He smiled in the shadows.

"My dear, that is a discussion we do not have time to unpack at the moment," the enchantress murmured, looking off in the opposite direction of where Cedric hid. "Wait here. I want to check on something."

"What? But, Cordellia—" Sofia called, but the enchantress was already disappearing into the gloom of a far alleyway. Cedric waited until he could no longer sense his sister's presence. His prey was alone, her tattooing pulse ricocheting around his head like a siren's song.

If Sofia survived the night, she'd kill Cordellia for leaving her. She peered around the abandoned square, alone except for the tinkling fall of water and her own breath wafting out in the chill cloud. The thickening shadows seemed to creep closer as the moon hid its face behind a bank of purpling clouds. Mist slithered along the cobblestones, lapping hungrily at the hem of her cloak.

She pulled the wool collar higher, trying to keep out the chill that had already burrowed deep into her bones. The seasonable weather was not the only thing giving her goosebumps. With true night falling, each obscure corner held a leering monster in its midst. In the eerie hush of the sleeping village, she couldn't escape the haunting echo of Cordelia's words:

Cedric doesn't just want blood. He wants you.

"Hello, sweetness."

Sofia whirled, a hand pressed to her jumping heart. Cedric crouched atop the fountain's precipice which had been empty only moments before.

Dressed in the same clothing as the previous night with bare feet, somehow his casual dishabille proved more shocking than the dangerous glitter of his red eyes. The unnatural pallor of his skin only heightened the rakish allure of his tousled bi-colored hair. As she paused to study him, he took a similar interest in perusing the sensible breeches and loose linen shirt she'd donned for the evenings' hunt. Their eyes met and held briefly before Cordellia's warning had her dropping her lashes.

"Cedric," she swallowed, attempting to push her heart back into her chest where it belonged, "we've been looking for you."

"Have you?"

He leapt down, landing on the fountain's marble edge with a light grace she'd never seen before. Goodwin had warned her that he'd be changed. His eyes were not so conflicted as last night, their hunger dampened under a singular look of determined interest. She felt a sudden fierce gratitude for her years as a Buttercup scout teaching her to never run when faced with a predator. He'd be on her in an instant if she did anything so foolish as flee. She wondered if shouting for Cordelia would discourage or incense him.

"H-have you—" she cleared her throat, wanting to keep the desperate curiosity out of her voice. "Have you fed tonight?"

He paused, smiling enigmatically. The points of his fangs peek between his full lips. That intent gaze swept the length of her body again before settling on the pulse jumping in her throat. He eased towards her with the sinuous gait of a stalking panther. "Not yet."

That leering smiling left no room for misunderstanding. He meant to feed on her; she knew it in his unflinching stare, the way he licked his lips, as if he could already taste her. Despite her resolve, she took several hasty steps back, courage momentarily deserting her. A bewildering assortment of emotions assailed her, each vying too insistently for attention to be examined properly. The brickwork of a dress shop fetched up against her back, leaving no further retreat.

Shock sharpened into comprehension and her chest heaved, fighting for breath against the confines of her stays. If Goodwin was correct about his dwindling humanity, then Cedric was little more than a dangerous stranger, and she a particularly tasty morsel in his path.

"W-why?" she croaked, buying for time as her eyes searched beyond him for the missing enchantress. Cordellia carried the antidote and Sofia could only hope to placate him long enough for her to return.

"Why, what, sweetness?"

The endearment caught her breath, but she tried not to get side tracked. "Why haven't you fed? Your father said you'd be driven by hunger to drink from the first convenient source."

He drew near enough to touch, his shadow falling over her. "Not nearly so bright a man as he wishes he were, my father."

His very presence pressed against her senses, assaulted and overwhelmed them, tempting her in ways she had not anticipated. Even without the lure of his gaze, she felt drawn to him, palms itching to reach out and touch. To twist her fingers into his shirt and draw the smoky quality of his voice into her mouth, let him invade her body and soul. As if able to read her thoughts, his arms bracketed her against the wall in a movement too swift for her mortal eyes to follow. She whimpered despite herself.

"Shh, my sweet, sweet girl," he soothed, his tone a husky, lilting lullaby. "My delicious little princess."

She shivered, telling herself it was the fear. His scent filled her head. With him standing so close it was difficult not to look into his eyes, searching for the remaining portion of his soul. She stared steadfastly at his shoulder. "Why are you doing this?"

His head cocked, laughing lightly as if it were a silly question, or perhaps the wrong one. Moonlight glinted off his fangs.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she clarified, even as she bit back a curse at her foolishness. There was no why. No deeper meaning. He was cursed and she was there.

"Because," he bared his teeth in a sudden, fierce anger, "you are meant to be mine. I couldn't take you before. Too weak, too foolish. Too weighted down by silly trappings like guilt and regret. But I can have you now."

Her eyes shot as far as his cheek before she told them to go no further. The question was upon her lips before she could pull it back. "But, why me?"

He leaned in, that smoky baritone pitched to a growl beside her ear. The fine hairs along her nape tingled and rose. "I should think that would be obvious by now. Because I want you. Have wanted you. I want your blood between my teeth and your legs wrapped around my hips." His pressed flush against her, driving the point home. "I want your whimpers and your cries." His tongue flicked out to caress her lobe, drawing forth a needy little moan she couldn't suppress. He dropped into a sinful whisper. "Do you want that, sweetness? Can you imagine it? Your legs spread open for me as I take everything I want."

Such a lurid image. Crass, even, but the throbbing, slow timbre of his voice, the patient seduction of his words, had her swaying on a rush of forbidden arousal. A corresponding image sprung to life in her mind.

His elegant nostrils flared, scenting her rising need, and for a moment he looked positively feral. "That's it, sweetheart. Surrender. I am strong enough to have you now. I can give you everything you need."

Strong fingers cupper her jaw. She feared he might force her to meet his gaze and obliterate any shred of resistance she still possessed. Instead, he tipped her chin up and his head down as her drew her slowly and inextricably into a kiss as dark and sweet as death itself. His hand slid up her nape, entangling strong fingers into her upswept hair, binding her to him. The silken caress of his tongue against her lips left her powerless to resist such a decadent invitation.

Their surroundings dimmed to a misty abyss where nothing existed but him and her and the illicit promise of that kiss. Sofia knotted her fingers together behind her back, trying to hold onto some fleeting semblance of perspective even as everything else fell away—the empty village square, the half-formed hope of discovery, even the pressing need to cure his curse—it all dissolved, meaningless under the devastating pressure of his mouth. He tugged her head back, ravishing and seducing with each insistent stroke. Longing, wild and savage and completely uncompromising, surge through her veins, lighting a fire below her belly. She twined her tongue with his, using all her inadequate skill to communicate what he meant to her.

His sigh melted into a deep-throated groan and Cedric pulled away to bury his face into the warmth of her neck. She swayed, mortified to discover that he need not resort to supernatural hypnotism to put her under his thrall. His lips brushed tingling trails across her skin, such gentleness startling in the heady aftermath of that shattering kiss.

"My brave girl. You never did scare easily, did you?"

Sofia's pulse raced beneath his lips. He was wrong. So utterly wrong. She was terrified of the power he had over her. Terrified of how easily she might fall under his spell, not only willing, but eager to offer him everything he desired. She was afraid of how she felt for him, but she wasn't afraid of him. "I don't believe you'll hurt me."

He stilled beneath her hands. When had they wound around his shoulders, her finger knotted in the satin of his vest? His tongue flicked out to trace a slow curve along the ridge of her half-healed scar.

"I've already hurt you," he rumbled, more somber than seductive. His face hid behind a fall of silver and black hair. Sofia longed to rake it back and look into his face. "What's to stop me from doing it again?"

Tears prickled her eyes, blinding her to everything except the painful hope blossoming in her chest. She recognized the guilt in the tremor of his words. Felt it in softening of his grasping hands against her waist. He was still in there. Still within reach. Still her—

"Cedric," she breathed, clutching at his back as if by sheer force she could bring him back to her. Bring him home.

His clenched teeth pressed hard against her flesh as if at war with himself. She held very still, her pulse pounding hummingbird fast. That he was even resisting the hunger made her heart swell. But he wouldn't win. He might still be her sorcerer, but he was something else now, too. And a curse could not be broken by force of will.

"Sofia—," Gravel ground around the desperation in his voice.

She had no cure. No way to ease his suffering, except, perhaps, one. She could end his anguish by giving willingly what the curse drove him to take by any means.

Unspilled tears clung to her lashes as she closed her eyes. He needed this. Needed her to be strong. All awareness dropped away, narrowed down to the whisper of his panting breath ghosting across her skin. She laid her head on his shoulder, purposely exposing her vulnerable throat. No matter how noble the fight, he could not deny the call for blood. And—may the gods forgive her—she offered it to him.

Perhaps she imagined gratitude in his whimper. But she did not invent the loving way he nuzzled the down of her skin before setting his teeth to her pulse. A shuttering breath eased between her parted lips.

"Step away from her, Cedric." The cool, crisp voice rang out as clear as a shot report in the silent alley.

Cedric grip hardened, fingers digging like claws into her waist. That sweet melancholy fell from his posture, morphing seamlessly to possessive rage. All traces of the sorcerer vanished in an instant, leaving behind a cornered animal. He turned to glare over his shoulder at the untimely interruption, a threatening snarl rumbling from the depths of his chest.

"Move away, now. I know you have no wish to hurt Sofia." Cordellia's tone left no room for dissent.

Relief and disappointment flooded through Sofia in a torrent that left her knees weak, only the support of the shop at her back keeping her up right. Cedric turned on his sister, keeping Sofia between him and the wall, as if she were the one in need of protection against the enchantress and her drawn wand. The princess peeked over his shoulder at the other woman.

Cordellia stood straight backed and confident, her wand never wavering where it pointed at her brother's chest. Not a flicker of surprise nor distress marred her patrician features at his changed appearance. Sofia wished for a little of that composure. The steady rolling growl issuing between Cedric's curled lips and the streetlamps glinting off his fangs set her heart racing at a dangerous gallop.

"Let me rephrase," Cordelia sighed when he showed no signs of heeding her. "I have no wish to harm you, little brother, but I certainly will for your own good."

"You can try," he snarled.

"I can do more than try, and you know it. Now, am I correct in assuming you are not going to drink this willingly?" She brandished the phial of potion, its contents rolling pearlescent in certain stains of light.

He recoiled as if struck, stepping back and dwindling the distance between Sofia, the wall, and him. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around his waist, as if to comfort him. She settled for pressing her palm flat between his shoulders. He stilled beneath her touch.

"Please, Cedric," she found herself pleading. "You've been cursed, let us help you."

He glanced over his shoulder, lips parted and panting around his fanged canines. His eyes searched her face for something, sincerity perhaps. She stared back, belatedly remembering Cordelia's warning as she dropped her eyes from his own.

Cedric jerked beneath her hand, making her gaze fly back up. Golden ropes glowing with magic had shot from Cordelia's wand during the moment of distraction. They bound around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides, trailing back to the tip of the enchantress's wand. He snarled, trying to tear himself free. Cordelia gritted her teeth, both hands gripping her wand as she yanked back, barking another short sharp enchantment to strengthen the magic. Cedric howled, dropped to his knees by a shock of pain. Sofia gasped, eyes wide, back pressed to the shop wall.

"Sofia," Cordelia's supreme composure drew the princess back to the importance of their task. "I would recommend stepping away now. You did remarkably well as an enticement to draw him out."

Even in his protests, Cedric managed to whip his eyes up to hers, anger and betrayal alive in their dark depths. Guilt curdled her belly, irrational but very real. She hadn't meant to trick him, that had been Cordelia's unspoken plan. But neither could she hold much anger for the enchantress. Cordelia had all but told her that she would be the lure to draw him to them. Sofia just hadn't expected to be affected by hurting his monstrous feelings. She settled for shooting Cordelia a quick glare to show she did not appreciate acting as bait.

Cordy, arched an unrepentant brow. "Take out your wand."

Sofia flushed, only then remembering that she'd never been left defenseless. She just hadn't thought to pull her wand on him.

"Hold him in the binding spell," Cordelia was saying, "while I administer the potion."

Sofia nodded, jaw set. There was no time for petty hurts. They needed to find Cedric in all haste, and so they had. However, the most important part was yet to be played. Without having to ask, she understood why Cordelia did not suggest that she give Cedric the antidote. Sofia had proved unreliable, falling under Cedric's spell within moments, no play-acting required. Meaning to rectify her mistakes, she took out her wand, pushing all her will into the spell to hold him fast even as a flush of shame climbed her cheeks.

Hands steady and chin held high, Cordelia brought forth the phial as she cautiously approached her brother. His struggles and snarls had ceased and he watched her warily.

"Sofia," he murmured, soft and plaintive, catching her unaware. Her eyes flickered, before stubbornly training them on her wand hand.

"Ignore him." Cordellia muttered, focus absorbed on the task at hand.

"Sofia, please," he pleaded, sounding not like the suave monster, but too much like his human self for her to resist.

Her eyes flew unbidden to his, searching for some spark of recognition. Too late she felt an invisible tether being drawn tight between them. The reddened glare of his irises softened, caressing her gaze like a physical touch. Slowly she blinked, mesmerized by the commanding glitter of his eyes. A paralyzing languor claimed her limbs, slowing time to waltz measured by each throbbing beat of her heart.

Placidly, he knelt on the stones, unassuming and harmless, afraid even. A voice, familiar but not quite her own, whispered suggestions into the haziness of her mind. How could she be so cruel? She was hurting him. Couldn't she see that? Did she not wish to help him? Ease his suffering? The ropes bound too tight, cutting into his skin, making it hard to breathe. What would it hurt to loosen them just a little? The tip of her wand trembled.

Cordelia uncorked the phial, keeping her eyes trained on his right shoulder. Not shudder betrayed his thoughts or feeling. No more growling. Not even a tell-tale bunching of muscles. He knelt relaxed and still in his bonds, as placid and a lamb. The phial clutched in her left hand, she pressed the tip of her willow branch wand beneath his chin. He didn't tilt his head to look at her.

"Now," she intoned, drawing authority on like a mantel, "you're going to drink this potion, every drop, or so help me I will burn you to a crisp where you kneel."

She didn't mean it. She'd never meant any of their dire threats she had used on him as children either, but fear for her little brother enticed her to put on a bit more bravado than usual. It wasn't Cedric she railed against, but the curse possessing him.

She raised the phial, praying for obedience.

"Open," she commanded. Only when he did not so much as flinch did she finally take took note of the unnaturally stillness with which he held himself. Too still, she realized in a belated flash of dismay. She chanced a glance at his eyes only to catch them focused on something beyond her. Cordellia turned, but it was too late. "Sofia!"

The girl's wand dropped from nerveless finger, barely clattering to the cobbles before the alley exploded into chaos. Without a caster's will to feed the spell, Cedric ripped from the magic ropes as if they were paper. Cordelia tried to protect the precious phial, but found it torn from her hand before she could draw it from his reach. It shattered against the bricks in an explosion of powdered glass and ruined potion.

Cedric rose up from his knees, teeth bared in a feral grimace. Cordelia had enough presence of mind to step between him and the girl still blinking away her momentary stupor. She could see the monster her brother had become eying her, trying to calculate his ability to get past her to the girl beyond. A shred of hope still burned in Cordellia that he hesitated, rather than simply tearing through her.

Taking ruthless advantage of his hesitation, she pointed her wand steadily at his heart even as her eyes held a beseeching plea. "Please, Ceddy, don't make me hurt you."

His voice was no more than a growl. "Then get out of my way, Cordy."

Cordellia, who had buried two husbands and was no stranger to grief, still acknowledged the tear that snaked down her cheek with mild surprise. She was afraid, she realized. Not of her little brother, but for him. That he might never come back from this transformation. And even if he did, could he live with the choices he'd made? She raised her chin, deciding that she'd give him no more ammunition with which to flagellate himself in the aftermath.

"No. You cannot have her, Cedric. I will not let you." She raised her wand, giving him one last warning glance that she meant business. "Solis—"

Cedric glanced at Sofia with an expression near to pain. An angry snarl of regret ripped from his throat. In an instant he turned from them and was gone into the night.

Author's Note: If you are reading this, thank you for sticking with me. Much love to you and yours. Be well, my friends. I'll post again when I am able.