Well, I know that I abandoned this for a long time. Truth be told, I actually wanted to delete the whole story since didn't think I ever finish it, not to mention that it's not relevant anymore in the timeline of Charmed. But I simply sat and started writing it again. I don't know if it's good, it's late in the night and tomorrow I have to go again for a long time so I won't have the time and patience to reread what I wrote, see if it's worth publishing and getting it beta-ed. But I'm publishing it anyway.. mainly because I think there isn't a sadder thing than an unfinished story and hoping that this will encourage me to continue writing it the next time I'm able.
If not, then, well, sorry. It's really almost the end, though; it'll be pity not to finish it already. So I hope I do. Thanks for all of you reviewers. You've been great.
Well, it's late, I babble, sorry.

Struck by Lightning

You wake up from a dream. Its sour taste is haunting your wakefulness and you heave away from the bed and to a nearby sink. You wash your hands and forehead, letting the comforting frigid to cool you, and then take one big gulp- and the horrid taste is gone.
You don't know of what you have dreamt but of a hunter that awaits you behind the curtains. There is no use of being overly paranoid; you chastise yourself, refusing to see the dream as an omen to what is yet to come. You have never truly mastered the power of premonitions, what are the odds that here, in an entirely different place, when you haven't even tried- you succeeded?
Yet the growing sense of wrongness is intense and dooming. You try to shake yourself away from it, but it won't go away. Falling back to sleep is proving to be impossible so you decide to use the unfolding situation for your advantage. There are only few more hours of sleep, anyway, and insomnia is kind to accomplishing the work you need to do faster.

The corridors are shady and mistrusting. Every squeak you are making is traveling for miles, awakening the dead. You can only hope the living will stay asleep. It's not like you won't be able to explain your presence in the attic easily, hell, even the truth will suffice, but you noticed in the last couple of days an increasing protectiveness toward you from your fake family, and you have no desire to confront their wrath because of a small matter like your working hours. So you creep as silently as you can, hoping not for the first time that you could master the ability to fly; to glide on the wind like a shadowy ally, even though you are not their ally, though they are not exactly your enemies either.

You want to love them, you really do. And you feel like once you loved them, even more than you did your family, and the sense of wrongness is spreading again, engulfing you entirely even though you try your damnest to fight it. This is impossible for such occurrences to take place. If you loved them once- you still should have. And you sure would have remembered that. So that only leaves a strange de-ja-vu feeling that needs to be ignored. Something the world is trying to confuse you with, maybe? It won't be the first time if it is.
And forces above know that you want to be able to feel something toward your new father and mother and aunts. . and your new self. A willingness to fit in and to protect. To protect yourself, at least, for it does not matter where you are- you need to live.
So it was written. So it was spoken years ago, that your death will open paths that no human being will be able to tread on. And ghosts, they lack the guts. So you better stay alive, you have to. After all, this was mom's wish.

Shadows are your friends and as you creep among them, you can feel them spreading a safety net around you- of lies. But what are lies if not truths distorted and what are truths but a lie in disguise? It never mattered; you remind yourself and go straight to the book, banishing the shadows. They will haunt you later, you know, but for now you let them go.

The book of your ancestors is heavy and inviting. As always. And full of deceit, again as always. There are so many things that you would have improved were you in their side, so many secrets that only those from within the inside circles of the enemy can posses and that can help those who wish to fight them. If you thought that would help, maybe you would have done it. Shift the balance; help make the neighborhood a better place and other pleasantries- and consequences be damned. But you are not here as a prince in a shiny amour. Not this time around. They are not your princess this time. There is another Raponzel waiting for you to save her, another far away kingdom waiting to be conquered. Nights are for foolish thoughts, you chastise yourself. You are more of a morning person.

You lay your fingers of the ancient writings, at first with fear and then almost gleefully. You made it, you deceived the book. You don't know how you did it but it doesn't matter. Something inside you knew you would. And maybe that what made it possible- believing in yourself. Perhaps the book only worked as a polygraph- detects a lie only because you know you lie.

And you can feel this is as true as it's going to get.

You search for the spell that you know exists there and no more than a minute later- finds it. The words are fading and the painting is surrealistic but you would know him everywhere. You snatch an empty piece of paper and scrawl the rhymes, learning them by heart. Now you would only need the power of three.

It's good to have a backup plan, then.

Dawn snuck into the world somehow and you suddenly realize that the sun is visible once again. It's a great metaphor, you're sure. Because today will be the day of your freedom, the dawn of your new self.

A quick stop at Kyla's, and you're ready. The clock it ticking and time shortening bit by bit, and you can almost hear its whisper- soon.
So soon. Reach out your hand and grab it.
Soon.
Tonight.

He can feel the necessity in his veins, rushing him to adapt to this world more quickly. The world doesn't have the time.

The globe moved another mile toward the sun till he managed to relearn how to breathe. He tries to do it fast, he knows that everything is up to him, but he doesn't know if he even can.
He hopes he can but hopes, he long ago learnt, are only useful if they're real.

So he tries harder, he came all the way down here. He won't fail now.
And if he does fail, well- it's better than what awaits him anyway.

If he has been a religious man he would have prayed but as it is- he curses. The gods can go and screw themselves for all he cares. Nobody's going to stop him.
This time, he'll win.

Now that the final moment is soon to come, you feel anxiety grabbing your stomach, and you retch. Disgusted with yourself you try to convince the butterflies to lave you alone; everything is going to be alright. But you cannot lie to yourself no matter how much you may want to.

This time tomorrow will not be as today. You'd either be winning- or in a fate worse than death.

I feel in what seems to be the first time the breeze in the air and take a moment to appreciate the feeling of freedom. So long ago I forgot what it's like to breathe that now that I actually can, I don't know how I've lived without it in the first place. I miss those I've left behind, sure, but wars are only won by sacrifices and my red lines were not yet crossed.

"TAKE ME!" I call to the master of winds; the one that I know is hearing me now and if he could- would have probably held my hand. I will win this, I know so. Not because I have a feeling. No, feelings are for the weak minded. But because the other possibility is the most probable.
And my life, well- it's always beaten the odds.

You take a deep breath and a big step forward- and can sense that the Charmed Ones are right behind you. Like you anticipated all along.

And then you raise your eyes to meet the ones of the one you hate the most, the one who killed Bianca, and purr. "Remember me?"

Checkmate.