This update was fast because I was caught again in the story, and this chapter is really important.
It's one I had in mind when I started writing this story in 2017. I really hope you will enjoy it, and I'm looking forward to reading the reviews!
Enjoy!
On Monday, I actively avoid Arthur. I don't want to face him, I don't want to talk to him, to end up arguing again... I'm behind on my research anyway. Instead of joining the others in the Great Hall at noon, I go back to my tower to read books I got from the castle's library. At dinner, he is seated with the others, and I sit at the edge of our group of friends. When he sees me, he seems like he wants to say something, then his face tenses up, and he looks away, continuing his conversation with Ewald as if nothing happened.
On Tuesday, I take advantage of my free morning to spend it in the library. I'm looking for books that might help me understand what's happening to me, without finding anything convincing. Ewald joins me around ten o'clock, and I quickly put the books away before he starts asking questions. I highly doubt the documents I was reading are part of the first-year curriculum. When I sit back down, Ewald asks, "Do you want to talk about what's going on with Arthur?"
"No, thank you," I decline, a bit curtly.
The Slytherin nods with a smile that seems a bit sad to me, but he doesn't insist. In any case, I'm frustrated, and I eventually snap.
"Can we duel? I need to blow off some steam."
"Certainly," my friend says with a slight smile.
We train until it's time to eat, and even though I'm still light-years away from Ewald's level, I can clearly see the progress I've made under his guidance. I'm able to dodge while casting my spells, react quickly, and I've learned to master a good dozen or so rather useful spells over time, even if they are very simple. And I'm getting better and better at casting them without shouting the incantations. We finally stop our session, sweating, and Ewald casts a spell to quickly clean himself and straighten his clothes, before glancing at me. I run my hand through my hair, trying to bring some order to my messy locks. He chuckles at my embarrassment, then points his wand at me. I open my arms, resigned, and he casts the same series of spells on me as he did on himself.
In the evening, I eat alone in his company, as Arthur is with his girlfriend, much to my relief, and Al' is with the team.
Wednesday is similar to the previous days. Empty and frustrating. I keep avoiding Arthur, I cut myself, I'm so frustrated by my research leading nowhere… I try to clear my mind a bit, I go flying, then I wander into the Forbidden Forest. A bit deeper than last time. It's always a pleasure to find myself in the woods, even if the weather is freezing.
xxx
Thursday evening. I arrive in the Great Hall a bit late, feeling a bit dazed. I see the others are sitting together, and I don't really want to join them. I'm about to turn around, but Al' has already seen me and waves me over to join him, Ewald, and Arthur at the end of the Hufflepuff table. I'm not very hungry, but I force myself to fill my plate anyway, just to avoid attracting attention or comments. My left arm itches a bit. I think I overdid it this morning. The boys are talking about Quidditch. The next match will be in a bit over two weeks, between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. For once, Arthur is participating in the conversation, even though it's not his favourite topic, since it's about his house, and he personally knows the players. I mechanically bring my fork to my mouth, then reach out with my other arm to pour myself a drink. Al' holds out his glass. Suddenly, he interrupts his talk about the best players on the Ravenclaw team to ask:
"Uh, Vivian? It looks like there's blood on the table, are you hurt?"
The other two turn towards me as well. Automatically, I pull up my sleeve. My glamours are active anyway, so it's safe to do so.
I freeze.
On my arm, carved in letters of blood, is the word "FORGET".
I pull my sleeve down over my arm. The others have seen it too, I know. I stammer a:
"I have to do something."
I flee. Al' says something I don't understand. I reach the doors of the Great Hall without running, I hear Arthur telling me to wait. I exit. I start running through the corridors, to get away from the Great Hall as quickly as possible. I exit through a window, mount my broom, and fly up to the seventh floor, back to my tower, to be alone.
Once I'm sitting under the roof, with the hatch closed, I pull up my sleeve again. The cuts are still there, forming the word in capital letters, clumsily traced. I must have done it in a hurry or while trying to hide. Someone erased my memory. Who? Why? It happened during the day since my glamour didn't conceal it. And judging by the state of the cuts, probably in the afternoon. I try to recall my day, but I only find fragments, as if I were half-asleep. Is it a side effect of the spell that was cast on me, or is it intentional? Because someone did cast a spell on me. By trying to concentrate, I can remember bits of the morning and even lunchtime, but it's difficult. The afternoon is just a huge black hole until I joined the others. The worst part is that I'm not even sure I would have realized all this without that unexpected mark on my arm. I probably would have gone to bed without thinking because I wouldn't have had any reason to remember... I deactivate my glamours. The wounds I remember making this morning are still there, at least. Who made me lose my memory? Why? Maybe with Occlumency, I could find a way to remember? I'm feverish.
A noise from below startles me. I hear Arthur's voice calling my name. I stifle a curse and reactivate my glamours. How did he find me? I open the hatch and jump down in front of him. He looks briefly relieved. I launch the hostilities.
"What is it? Did Ewald tell you where I was?"
"Ewald..? No. And that's not the question. Let me see your arm. What happened?"
"I don't know," I say, because it's the absolute truth. Arthur's expression darkens.
"Vivian..."
"Look, there's nothing!" I say, holding out my arm towards him and rolling up the sleeve, ignoring the burning pain the action causes. "I healed myself."
"Stop treating me like an idiot." Arthur's voice is bitter, and his anger is clear. I think I can see he's hurt as well.
"I..."
"If you're about to come up with another excuse, don't bother. I've had enough, Vivian."
"So have I. Why do you always feel the need to push? Can't you just trust me?"
"Trust you? That's not the issue, and you know it. The problem is that you treat us all like fools, that you categorically refuse to let anyone get too close, to let anyone have any idea what you're going through. But you see, you can't behave like a friend and expect it to be one-sided. I'm not here just for the fun, you know? Especially when it's obvious you have problems. Serious ones, too. I can't keep dealing with this. Because it's insulting that you think you can deceive me so easily. And more than that, it hurts to see you deliberately isolate yourself, as if I don't matter, and it's exhausting to wait for you to drop the slightest bit of information so I can help. That's not how friendship works."
I feel myself trembling with rage, frustration, and sadness all at once. My voice is unsteady when I reply, "I'm sorry, Arthur, you should have realised a long time ago... But I don't have friends. I have nothing against you, or Al, or Ewald, but I don't want to depend on anyone. I don't need friends. I like spending time with you, we have fun, but that's it."
He takes a step towards me, looking like he wants to shake some sense into me, but then he stops, and his arms fall to his sides.
"Nonsense. You could have ignored us, stayed in your corner with people from your year, and pretended, but instead, you got close to us. To Ewald and Al, who didn't know you. You told me I was your best friend, and now you're going to tell me that was a lie, just because it suits you for me to believe it? You listened when I had things to say, you spent holidays at Alphonse's. Is that what you call not having friends?"
"Call it whatever you want. I'm sorry for you, I know you're a kind person, but you get too attached to people, you project too much. I hung out with you because I had fun with you and because you were more interesting than the people in my year. Yes, I said we were friends because it would have hurt you if I didn't, and I genuinely like you. But I don't need anyone, especially if it's to be harassed."
"Fine. I'm really tired of your bullshit. You want me to leave you alone? Okay. I'm not going to fight all the time since it's pointless, and I need to think about my well-being too, and that of the people who want my help. But, Vivian? I'll always be here when you decide to talk when you understand that locking yourself in silence doesn't help."
He stands there for a moment, looking at me in silence, his eyes glistening, as if waiting for a reaction. I don't respond. He shakes his head and leaves without turning back.
Once he's gone, I climb back up into my attic and slam the hatch shut, as a few tears trickle down my cheeks. I can't tell if I feel more anger or sadness, but the one thing that's certain is the immense frustration I'm experiencing. Frustration at not knowing why I'm alive, frustration and rage that my memory has been tampered with and my recollections are slipping away, frustration and sadness when I think about Arthur... As I approach my hammock, I notice a small package on the floor. It contains two Muggle heroic fantasy novels, some home-made biscuits, and a few sweets. A note from my parents is included, wishing me a happy birthday. I think I received it this morning, but my memories are a bit hazy. I vaguely recall giving some biscuits to Alphonse. Did he eat with me this morning? It was my birthday today, that's right. The same day as the anniversary of my death. Thinking about it inevitably makes me think of Quentin and the others. Florian, Maeva, Élias, and even Mélanie, who had already left my life before I left it myself. Quentin would have really liked Arthur. Damn, that's what you get for getting attached to people, and especially to letting them get attached to me. And it's not as if I didn't know better! I knew. I was too lenient. Incapable of detaching myself from the comfort of having people to talk to, companions. It was stupid. It won't happen again. At least the problem with Arthur is probably resolved now.
Out of frustration, I cut myself, to punish myself for hurting the Hufflepuff, as much as for letting him get attached. It doesn't calm me down. But I don't break down. Not yet.
I barely have time to recover from my emotions when I hear noise from below again. Seriously? This time, I don't have the chance to descend because the trapdoor already opens, revealing Ewald. He looks calm, but I can tell he's not. I see it in his slight breathlessness, the tension in his shoulders, and my instinct screams it to me. He's not in his usual state. I ask him, my voice not entirely steady:
"What are you doing here?"
He sighs.
"Show me your arm, I'll heal you."
"No need, I'm fine."
To prove my point, I bare my left forearm again. He sighs once more.
"It's no use lying to me, Vivian."
He knows. Does he really know? Does he? Part of me starts to panic a bit. The other part decides to behave obnoxiously to make him leave me alone too. Because I'm fed up. I need some peace to figure out how to retrieve my memory, and neither he nor I have time to waste.
"I don't know why you're accusing me of lying, but I'd appreciate it if you left me alone. Aren't you all tired of constantly being on my case? I don't know if Arthur asked you to come, or if you felt obliged, but there's nothing to see, nothing to say. I don't know what you think you saw, but you're mistaken. And I'd love to finish my homework before tomorrow, so if you could leave me alone, I'd appreciate it."
"I've let you handle things because you seemed to manage well and because I let Arthur do what he thought was right. I understand you're independent, you're strong, and you don't like others meddling in your affairs. But this has gone too far. By the way, I do not appreciate the way you treated Arthur, but that's not the priority right now. You've done what you could, but intelligence is also knowing when you can't handle it alone any more. Don't worry, I'm not going to pry more than necessary. But I want to help you, and for that, I need some answers."
"I have nothing to say to you. You have no business here, damn it! I told Arthur, and I'll tell you again: my life is my business, and your affection for me or lack thereof gives you no rights. We are not friends."
"Are you done?" Ewald asks me with an almost amused look.
"Yes. Now leave, please."
"The problem for you is that I'm not like Arthur," says Ewald, carelessly closing the trapdoor with his foot, as if to settle in more comfortably. I want to run away. He takes a small breath, and his eyes become colder, his voice losing any trace of amusement. "I won't leave because I need answers to my questions, because I've waited long enough and turned a blind eye long enough. You say your life is none of my business? If you want to see it that way, remember you didn't ask for my opinion when you intruded into my problems the night Alphonse and his friends cornered me in a hallway. So I'm not asking for your opinion either. Now, last chance. Let me heal your arm, and then we'll talk."
I take a deep breath and lie to him again:
"There's nothing to heal on my arm! I was preparing a prank, and I forgot to remove the makeup. I left because I didn't want to argue with Arthur AGAIN. Clearly, that was a mistake."
Silence. Even I can tell I'm not convincing. Ewald shakes his head and points his wand at me before I have time to react, simply saying: "Finite." My glamours fall away. Ewald pales slightly. I look at him defiantly, but inside I'm frozen. The thought of attacking him, maybe even erasing his memory, crosses my mind but is immediately rejected. Even if I were capable of doing it (and I'm not), I'm too attached to Ewald.
He doesn't say anything, but I can see the conscious effort he's making to reapply his impassive mask, the one he wears around the Slytherins, the one he always drops with Arthur, and eventually let go with me. I had almost forgotten, almost hadn't noticed, but at this moment when he regains his stone expression, I realize how much he had relaxed with me. I'm afraid of what that expression holds for me.
Nevertheless, he crosses the distance between us gently and takes my wrist. The nails of my right hand, hidden behind my back, dig deeply into my palm. I want to bite myself, but he would see it. Intimidated, I let him proceed. He murmurs a healing spell, passing his wand over the bloodied letters, which close one by one, leaving my skin intact. Well, as intact as the criss-cross of scars can be considered intact. I've never, ever shown my scars to anyone in this life, always hidden by my glamours and before that by other means. For once, I see my arms from an external perspective. The scars aren't necessarily large, though they are a bit deeper than the ones I used to make when I was still Aurore. However, they are numerous. Hundreds of fine lines forming a tight mesh on my arm, interspersed with a few wider scars where I cut too deep at times.
"Can you show me your other arm, please?" Ewald says softly, releasing my left arm. I glance at my arm absent-mindedly. The fresh cuts I made less than ten minutes ago still ooze slightly. Reluctantly, I comply. He treats my wounds with the same gentleness as before, and I don't dare to look him in the eyes. He releases my arm and asks, his voice tinged with a hint of anger and another emotion I struggle to name (fear, perhaps?),
"Are there more?"
I remain silent, shaking my head without really daring to meet his gaze. He gives me time to speak, to comment maybe, but faced with my silence, he asks,
"Explain to me."
"Explain what?"
"Why do you do this? When did you start?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I don't mean to offend you, but it's rather obvious. Except it wasn't really a suggestion. Anyway, if it's easier for you, start by explaining what happened today. You can't run away any more, Vivian."
"I can always try," I mutter, sounding sullen. The expression on Ewald's face, when I glance at him discreetly, crushes my hopes. I resign myself to speak, though, because I'm trapped. And, as much as it kills (if only for real…) me to admit, it's probably necessary. At least Ewald might be able to help with the memory issue. I dig my nails into my wrist without looking at him, gathering the strength to start. His hand hesitantly rests on mine, gently easing my fingers.
"Take your time, Vivian, but don't hurt yourself like this."
"What do you care?" I snap aggressively rather than inquisitively. Without giving him time to respond, I continue, avoiding looking at him as I speak. Because it's easier.
"What you saw at dinner... The problem is that I don't remember doing it. If I marked that, and I don't remember it, it means not only was my memory wiped, but I knew it was going to happen and wanted to remember. I need to know who did this."
"Firstly, we need to determine how it was done. There are several ways to erase someone's memory, and most leave characteristic marks if you know what to look for."
"Can you do that?" I ask, a hint of hope in my voice.
"I can try. But do you have any idea who might want to do this to you? Because at first glance, it doesn't make sense. You're a first-year, and we're at Hogwarts. Even though I know you have issues with some people, going this far is a lot, and it wouldn't make much sense in the context of a student quarrel. And above all, this kind of magic is beyond the reach of the vast majority of students..."
"I have no idea who could have done this, that's the problem!" I spit out, frustrated. "Unless..." I pause, thinking aloud. Because Ewald is right, it probably wasn't a student, everything about this is strange. Would it be completely unreasonable to imagine that it could be linked to my past, my other life? I don't see how it could be connected, but then again, apart from that, there's nothing special about me. Well, that and the episode with the paedophile...
"Unless what?" Ewald asks, sensing my hesitation. I sigh.
"I'll propose a deal. There are certain things... I'm willing to talk to you about them. But only if you help me recover my memory in return, if it's possible, and to understand what happened. And also, I won't tell you everything at once, and everything I tell you must remain strictly between us. I want you to promise me that."
"That seems acceptable... I promise to do my best to help you and to keep what you tell me to myself for as long as you want."
I take the time to consider what he said, in case he has found a loophole, an escape route that would allow him to bypass my demands, but I find nothing. So, I gesture for him to sit down.
"This might take some time... And, Ewald? Please don't ask me questions. I'll tell you what's necessary, but I won't give you more. Not for now."
"If I have questions, I'll ask them, but whether to answer them or not will be your choice, okay?"
"Okay," I reply softly, my vulnerability audible. He adds,
"I reserve the right to ask you the same questions another day if they're really important, though. Because there are some things I won't accept, starting with your habit of hiding everything."
I say nothing, because now isn't the time to negotiate. Instead, once he's carefully seated not far from me, I look away and take the time to gather my thoughts, placing my hand in front of my mouth to discreetly bite it. Ewald waits patiently. Finally, I begin to speak.
"I know it's going to sound hard to believe, and I don't really know how I can put this... I'm not just a regular eleven-year-old kid. In fact, I am... I was... I lived another life. My name was Aurore, I was French. I died when I was seventeen. Except I woke up, in this body. I have memories from when I was three years old, but I don't know how that happened. Because, as far as I know, reincarnation doesn't exist. I haven't found any credible mention of a case like mine. When I found out magic existed, I thought it might explain things... But still, I haven't found anything."
Ewald stays silent for a while, enough for me to ask him, "You don't believe me, do you?"
He looks up at me and meets my gaze, for the first time since we started talking.
"It's a bit hard to believe. As you said there's no mention anywhere of a case like yours. Yet you have no reason to lie, and it does explain a lot about you. Quite a lot, actually. And it raises a lot of questions as well. I'm not really sure where to start. When did you live? I mean, the you from before?"
"I was born on 2nd February 1990. I died on 15th November 2007. I was born into this body on the same day."
A twisted laugh escapes me, surprising myself as I give my birth date, the real one, Aurore's. Speaking the truth brings me no relief, just fear, because Ewald already knows too much. Yet, I can't help but think of my old friends. Those I grew up with, before I died. Ewald pulls me from my thoughts, and his tone of voice reminds me of someone faced with a particularly complex puzzle.
"And you have no explanation at all? Were you a witch?"
"No, just a Muggle, with nothing special except a pretty crappy life. There's no point in talking about that anyway, I've had eleven years to think about it, well, eight, and it didn't provide any answers."
"Eight?"
"My memories returned when I was three years old. But it doesn't matter. How can we figure out how they erased my memory?"
Ewald furrows his brow, seeming to want to add something, to delve deeper into the subject, but thankfully doesn't insist, opting instead to focus on the issue I brought up.
"I think the simplest approach would be to perform a Legilimency examination, but it requires quite a bit of concentration from both sides, so I don't think we should do it tonight."
"I think I can concentrate enough."
"Perhaps, though I doubt it. But I know it would be difficult for me."
"Why?"
"I have a lot to think about, given what just happened. But we shouldn't delay too much on this because some kinds of magic are quite volatile, so we'll deal with it tomorrow. The problem is, I have classes until flying club time, except for the second hour in the morning."
"And I only have classes in the second hour in the morning. Also Astronomy at eleven o'clock."
Ewald thinks for a moment, then says, "Let's meet here at 4:30 pm then."
"Okay."
Silence falls for a moment, and I expect Ewald to leave because it's getting late, but instead, he asks me, "What about the cuts then? Why do you do that?"
"What's it to you?"
"Seriously?"
He looks at me. I meet his gaze, a hint of defiance in my eyes. What does it matter to him? We hardly know each other, and it changes nothing for him. He shouldn't care.
"For someone supposedly intelligent, I find your question remarkably stupid."
"I fail to see how it affects you. I fail to see why this information would interest you. Or is it morbid curiosity perhaps?"
I have a vague sense that he's restraining himself from hitting me. Yet, he hasn't made any move towards me, and it takes me a few seconds to realize where the feeling is coming from. Subconsciously, perhaps, he has performed Legilimency. Our mental link is almost formed, so concentrated is his will on me, no doubt. My walls block him. Instinctively, I open myself to the contact, to understand what's happening, and the moment I open up, he realizes it. And his concern hits me like a slap. He's afraid. He quickly composes himself, and his emotions, which I felt through the link, fade a bit. He stares at me.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to."
I say nothing, a bit shocked. I struggle to grasp the enormity of what just happened. Ewald, doing something like that by accident? He's truly panicked. He's truly panicked, because of me. Because of what he sees. And I can't even tell myself he's pretending, or suspect him of trying to sneak into my thoughts, because I felt his emotions. Uncomfortable, I take my wand to reapply my glamours. If seeing my scars affects him so much... He places his hand on mine, a bit stiffly.
"You don't need to hide them."
"I think it's better."
"Don't worry, I was just surprised, and I need to know why you do it. But there's no point in hiding them; I know they're here anyway. Whether I see them or not won't change anything, but you have no reason to hide them from me."
"Okay," I murmur almost inaudibly. My throat feels tight. I feel vulnerable, defenceless, trapped, grateful, touched by his concern for me, and frightened all at once. His hand remains on mine as I lower it. This contact is torturous for me, simultaneously relieving and reminding me of everything I've lost. Surprisingly, it doesn't disgust me, and it's one of the first times since Quentin that this has happened. I feel fragile, this gesture is fragile, but I tighten my grip on his hand a little, even though I'm afraid he might withdraw his.
I feel so lonely! His hand accepts the contact, tightening around mine in return. I don't look at him.
"Please, explain to me why you cut yourself." His voice is calm enough, but I don't mistake it. After all, our mental link is still formed, and even though his emotions are greatly subdued, I still sense his concern. And even though I don't want to talk about it, a part of me berates myself for not understanding that he was becoming attached to me, why I let him become attached to me, I owe him an answer. He needs it.
"I cut myself because it soothes me. When I'm not doing well, it helps me calm down. Sometimes, it's also symbolic. Some scars are reminders." I hesitate for a moment, then pull the collar of my T-shirt, pretending not to notice the fleeting expression on Ewald's face when the base of my neck is exposed (along with its scars). I reveal the mark on my left clavicle, the one I made at Arthur's after the summer camp. "Like this one, for example, it was the day I killed the paedophile."
"Don't you have other ways that are less destructive? Why don't you talk to Arthur when you're not feeling well? Or to me?"
"My life is my own. I've been in this world, like a fugitive, for years. I've always managed on my own. And I don't really have a reason nor the desire to stop cutting. It doesn't bother me to do it."
"But it's dangerous. And you don't have to be alone. In case you haven't noticed, I'm here, whether you want it or not."
"I know what I'm doing. And I've already died once; I'm used to danger."
"How... How did you die?"
I clam up like an oyster. No way I'm admitting I committed suicide; the cuts already worry him enough, and he mustn't understand the truth... You never know, if he wanted to stop me... He could be a really inconvenient obstacle.
"I won't answer that question. I really don't feel like talking about my death, there are funnier topics, right?"
I feel the tension still gripping Ewald, but he doesn't push further. We stay silent for a while, and eventually, I say, because I owe it to him:
"It's kind of you to be here and want to help, but you shouldn't get attached to me."
"Why not?"
"I'm not a good person. And I don't want connections. It's pointless, and people always end up letting you down. Getting attached to me will only bring you suffering."
"Firstly, you've done nothing to support your first assumption. As for the rest, I think what you don't want isn't connections but the pain that comes with their breakup. Whether getting attached to you will bring me pain or not is my choice, and I'm ready to face the consequences. Besides, it's a bit late for me to turn my back on you now."
"As you wish," I sigh.
There's no point in arguing. Anyway, I shouldn't be around much longer. Eight months. Less if we manage to recover my memories and they bring me answers, though I don't really believe in that.
We stay silent for a while longer, then Ewald finally sits up, letting go of my hand, leaving a cold sensation on my skin.
"It's getting late; I should go back. Are you going to be okay?"
"Don't worry."
He looks me in the eyes, and I don't dare to look away.
"Thank you for telling me all this."
"I didn't really have a choice," I grumble.
"And I know there are still plenty of things you keep to yourself," my friend sighs. "Anyway, try to rest tonight. Tomorrow, we should be as focused as possible to work on your memory."
Finally, he opens the trapdoor and disappears into the opening. Reflexively, I cast a Tempus. Curfew has passed. I close the trapdoor gently. I wait until I'm sure he won't come back before I relax. Night has fallen, and I lie down in my hammock without bothering to cast a Lumos.
I don't manage to fall asleep that night; too many things are swirling in my head. First, the enormity of what just happened. Someone erased my memory. Arthur, Ewald, and Al' saw the words on my arms. The argument with Arthur. I hurt him, I know. I'm both sad and relieved that he let go. It had to end anyway, but it still hurts. At the same time, I'll finally have peace, and I won't hurt him any more. By the time I die, he'll have had time to forget me at least a little.
What worries me most is my lost memory, and Ewald. Who did this? Why? How? I try to remember, but nothing comes to mind. And Ewald... I told him a lot, more than he asked for, in a way, to make sure he wouldn't dare ask more questions afterward. I miss his hand in mine, and I hate myself for craving that contact, for needing it, for being so weak. And I hate remembering the days when Quentin held my hand. My thoughts return to Ewald. He saw my scars... He's become attached to me. I blame myself for that, for the pain he'll feel by being around me, and for the pain he'll feel when I'll finally die, if he hasn't abandoned me by then, or if I haven't managed to push him away before.
I trace over the cross-shaped scar on my hand, a reminder not to let people get attached. Tonight, I feel the urge to cut deep. So, I consider where to do it. I settle on my stomach and press the blade in as far as I dare. I'm disappointed that I can't go deeper. I encourage myself to go further. Part of me is detached, yet this time, the groove I'm carving seems more promising. However, it doesn't really numb my thoughts. I continue cutting mechanically, thinking I really need to find a non-addictive potion to knock me out on nights like this, just so I can sleep. Finally, I drift into a fitful sleep, waking constantly. Quentin returns to haunt my dreams. Yet, it should be the dead haunting the living, not the other way around... I wonder if he dreams of me sometimes. If he still thinks of me. And I can't decide whether I'd prefer that to be the case or not.
xxx
« Je me souviens que lorsque ma vie a basculé, d'un jour à l'autre, personne n'a rien remarqué. Même si sur le moment c'était surtout le choc qui m'a fait agir normalement, personne n'a rien remarqué non plus plus tard, dans les semaines, les mois qui ont suivi, lorsque j'ai commencé à me couper, lorsque je passais mon temps avec un masque, à faire semblant, à exagérer ma joie pour qu'ils y croient. Personne n'a rien compris, personne n'a réalisé. »
x
"I remember that when my life was turned upside down overnight, no one noticed anything. Even though at the time it was mainly shock that kept me acting normal, no one noticed later either, in the weeks, months that followed, when I started cutting myself, when I spent my time wearing a mask, pretending, exaggerating my happiness so they would believe it. No one understood, no one realized."
-SMS sent by Aurore Berger to Quentin Lemage, 09/07-
So, I'm all hears! What do you think? What are you theories? Send reviews!
All I'll say is that I need a rational (as rational as possible with magic) explanation for everything in my stories, and there's an explanation to why Vivian reincarnated.
See you!