It was not an audacious assertion to make when one says that the Scottish Highlands was notoriously regarded as the region of snow and ice. The far north of the island of Britain, a land barren of most but tenacious people and sheep, surrounded by a cold and dark ocean and trapped between chilling mountains of grey rock and not much else.

This is the sort of place that make you wish for a swift return to shelter. A land where a castle, even in ruins, could make the difference between life and death to a unwitting traveller. A blessing, regardless of how long you have been exposed to the elements.

However, perhaps Sebastian could make a compelling case that Rookwood Castle was considerably more harrowing than the frigid cold of the wilderness outside. The northern hemisphere of the mountains at least had some semblance of sunlight, some sort of indication of life, some creature or bird passing by in the chilling silence. Down below, in the pitch-black depths, the only illumination within those blasted ruins seemed to be as far away as the waning moon was from the earth, and equally as unfulfilling. Seemingly yet so close, but endlessly far in reality.

The young boy could only gawk up in awe at the aperture that appeared to be so far away, which seemed to him to be nothing more than a gap that radiated like a bright star in the midst of the winter night, serving as some type of beacon for travellers. The white light filters through broken wood beams and sunken floors, offering a series of platforms for jumping and climbing one after the other, an unsteady and difficult path above. It is not much, but it is a hope where there were none.

He was all too aware that it was his fault, and no amount of reassuring words or gentle assurances could make him change his mind, and he had made it clear to Rosalie, if she ever finds in herself to try. So far, he had not needed to argue against anything, and he supposes he is grateful for this small grace, as it would only make him feel worse.

Sebastian probably would not mind if he was the one to plunge into the depths, if he had come alone to his own freezing catacomb. It would be his own just desserts, after all. Why, though, did the gods beyond decide to drag her down with him?

If only he had heeded to his uncle and remained at home instead of wandering aimlessly into some immature adventurous fantasy, life might have been considerably simpler for him.

If only he had not managed to run into Rosalie after sprinting into the woods whilst sporting an irate grimace, prompting her to become worried and insist on following him. In fact, if only her mother had not decided to bring her along again to play with Anne as she was busy with Mr. Ndiaye, haggling on beast materials.

If only he had not tumbled on the ice, collided with a pile of branches, allowing the mongrels, taken with winter hunger, to become aware of their location, prompting for the both of them to sprint deeper into the snow-covered woods, and then up the hill, towards the looming ruins.

If only he had not, unintentionally, stretched out for her as the ground imploded beneath him, drawing her down into the dreadful abyss with him, that awful feeling of relief surging through his chest at the feeling of her warm hands wrapped around his. If only she had not been so kind as to extend her hand to take his, if only he was not so foolish to accept her kindness.

If only…

"Let's try climbing the walls again." He proposes, his voice devoid of cheer, filled instead with childish horror. "We'll have a better chance now since we managed to recover for a bit."

Anyone who has known Sebastian for a while would find it strange to hear him speak with such a weak voice considering he typically spoke with a cheerful tone, the typical tone that was not unusual for a boy his age to use, one full of determination and aspirations. Nevertheless, after plummeting into a steep, deep pit and having virtually nothing in the sense of food or shelter to grasp onto, anyone would likely feel quite worn out and downtrodden.

It is even remarkable that both of them had survived, despite colliding with the stone walls of the pit-like cellar and having their flesh scraped by jagged boulders, their jackets wrenched off, and their flesh punctured.

With his softly rounded brown tresses streaming down the left side of her face, Sebastian softly murmured encouragement whilst pressing firmly into her shoulder. He needed someone to hug if he was ever going to pull himself out of that situation.

He is trying his best to keep Rosalie warm but not enough for his body to be practically crushing against her smaller frame. If he had a wand, he promises that he would spend his last whisp of magic on a charm to heal and protect her, but, alas, he only has his body heat and the hope that this can be enough.

"With what?"

Her voice was somewhat softer than his, and it melded so well with the uncanny stillness of the dark pit that he may very well have missed it. He could not exactly see her eyes, since the majority of her corncob yellow hair, which was usually tied back into a ponytail, was loose and obscured by the majority of her face.

"Your shoes."

He responded by kicking one of his feet into the air, displaying his wounded toes, which weren't concealed by any shoes other than a soiled thin sock that was partially torn from the fall. He, fortunately, kept hold of his other pair of shoes and employed them as a fulcrum to transition from one platform to another.

Perhaps it would not be too tricky to climb up onto the other structure, one high enough just to try and call out for help, provided the two of them cooperate and manage to conserve the majority of their energy. He has left his home after another row with his uncle over something stupid and of no-consequence at the moment, and Anne had just left his friend alone for a second to go fetch a doll from her bed.

By the time they were lost and missing, someone had to have noticed their absence. His uncle, Lady Beausoleil, the elves, Mr. Ndiaye, they are bound to be looking for the children. It is just a matter to show them where to look.

Rosalie is going to survive without a doubt, he assures himself, above and beyond any other consideration. Sebastian would even give his life to save hers, if it meant sparing her from anguish.

Right. It should not be too challenging. She did, after all, succeed in climbing up a few platforms already, and it should only get easier as they go.

"I can't…" She whispers faintly.

Sebastian lifted himself off of her shoulder and peered at her bewilderedly. Even so, she does not bother to turn around to face him, but rather, she merely sat there, motionless. Her skin felt abnormally cold in comparison to his, who carefully wrapped his fingers on hers, giving her palm a quick squeeze.

Although it was not unreasonable given how cold it was within the deep abyss, his hands likewise felt frigid to the touching, but she is too cold.

"Why?" The boy enquiries once more.

His words fall from chapped lips while he waits for her eyes to turn to him, internally pleading for her to just turn to look at him and give him her typical consoling smile. That exact same grin that always welcomed him whenever the two of them, along with Anne, joined together to frolic in the snow, giggling as the cold snow melted into her skin, prompting her to become bedridden the next morning. The smile that always gave him a sense of comfort since his childhood, a smile he was willing to give up his life for, one that he always sworn to live for.

Ultimately, she does not raise her gaze. If she is mad, he can take it. Lady Beausoleil almost tugged his ear off when he had her daughter fall sick, and he is only too glad to offer his other one for her to do the same this time. He deserves the anger, and if it makes them feel better, then so be it, but he wishes that she looked at him, at least once.

"It's not up here, is it?" She wonders, quietly.

Her voice was steady and perhaps even frigid when she spoke this time. A tone that she never used unless she were truly irritated or tired, a tone that he always managed to keep away.

Again, Sebastian would do anything to ensure her general welfare. He had already promised to request for her hand in marriage, he even declared his intentions before her father, even if the man did not take him too seriously. Thus, it is his responsibility to keep her safe and secure.

He did not care if the commitment of marriage was an innocuous thought, one made over a flower ring he fashioned over the course of numerous summers. It mattered to them, and that is enough to fuel his determination.

Yet, he lacked the strength not only to protect himself but also to defend Rosalie from the elements. He had a small frame, slender arms, no magic to speak of and enormous, vulnerable eyes that exuded a childlike wonderment. As such, it was infantile of him to dream so high.

One day, though, he will rule the world. With her at his side. As soon as they manage to dig themselves out of this hole.

When they finally get to the surface, he is going to set himself in life. He is going to listen to his uncle from then on, he is going to beg forgiveness to Lady Beausoleil and he is going to prove to Lord Beausoleil that he is a trustworthy candidate to his daughter's hand, that he can protect and provide for her, or die trying. He is going to Hogwarts soon, after the summer pass them by, and he is going to become strong and powerful, and no cave-in at a god-forsaken castle will ever be able to take them by surprise again.

"What?" He asks, confused and afraid.

A pause followed by a ghostly stillness that persisted in the air that might as well have rendered the atmosphere considerably thicker than before. It felt smothering, like if the bottomless, dark pit was threatening to swallow him, it was rubbing up against his soul like some kind of beast.

When Rosalie finally turns to face him, the pair of orbs he treasured were slowly revealed as her hair gradually lifts from her face. However, rather than the radiant, beautiful orbs he so deeply adored, her eyes were a gloomy pit akin to the depths of Rookwood Castle.

Lifeless.

Her fingers pointed to the edge of the sunken floor and directly into a different platform, the platform that was directly below the one he was currently standing on. His eyes tentatively left her face and glided towards the direction of her fingers, squinting in the milky darkness that led to the unknown depths of the blasted place.

Oh, God.

His heart began to thrash violently against his ribs, and his breathing became laboured as his brain struggled to comprehend the abhorrent scene that was unfolding just below him. At the core of the boulder was Rosalie, or someone who resembles her. Her chest was still, her body was visibly still, and there was no precise evidence of life. Her hair was not as silky as he had remembered it to be, but rather, it was dried out and bunched together, suggesting that something had flowed into her hair, prompting it to dry up like that.

Something metallic. Something like blood.

Her face was largely obscured by a mass of hair. Even so, he could still make out a thin stream of blood that was trickling from her forehead onto the rocks, even a slight amount of dried blood, and a fleeting view of the enormous wound that stretched from one ear to the other.

He grimaces at the sight before turning to face what accompanied him so far once more. This time, his eyes are sharp enough to recognize the truly awful wound on the sides of the head, where blood is oozing from her head and staining the left side of her face as well as reaching her lips.

Even though there is a large gash on her face that is clearly visible, Sebastian could still say that Rosalie is the most stunning girl he had ever seen. Even with the horrid way she appeared before him, even if she were a mere illusion.

She is still beautiful. Truly beautiful.

"It's down there."

Not even death can bypass her beauty.