The Quiet Kind Of Beauty -Marauder Era

Part 27

The feeling of fear returned. Othala. It meant inheritance. It represented what is truly important to the summoner. To some, it represents wealth. To others... Clara gulped.

It represents family.

Clara felt something rise in her throat, and with hurried movements, she covered the summoning circle, and raced out of the office. She sprinted to the other end of the manor, and into her room. She couldn't help her legs shaking uncontrollably, her laboured breathing. She shut her eyes tightly and called on some of the healing techniques the Healers had taught her, breathing deeply through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. It took a while before the nausea went away. She was sweating, and her back felt heavy. Stumbling into her washroom, she shrugged her clothing off, the contact between the fabric and her body making her skin burn and itch. Struggling to breathe properly, she lifted a quivering hand to her marks and found the skin feverish to the touch, the sensation of her fingertips sending electric currents down her body.

Othala. Family. Othala. Family. Family. Family. Othala.

The words clanged against the walls of her mind, adding pain and pressure in her mind to the ones that already existed in her chest. What does it mean? Think, think, think, think, think... she raced. Heat collected behind her eyes, and she couldn't tell whether it was because she was close to tears, or if it was her body spiralling out of control. The heat collected in white, becoming brighter as the heat increased, until there was nothing in her vision left.

~*~

Aaron was a one hour drive away from Daniel. A second away, if he floo'd, or apparated.

He had cast the tracking spell without proper thought as to what his plan was, what he might say to him when he saw him. All he knew was that the arrangement between him and Clara could not go on. Not under the circumstances that they were put together. Especially not after learning the true nature of Joseph Campbell. Any traditional pure-blooded wizard understood the old way of thinking - the importance of preserving a bloodline, and Daniel couldn't believe he had overlooked the signs. With a heavy heart, the glow of the tracking spell casting shadows on face, Daniel realised how naive he was; he had built an entire life in his mind, a future where Clara was at his side, without ever fully wondering what she wanted. Their potential future would be built on this marriage; him, oblivious to the world around him like a child, and her, who walked with the weight of forced expectations on her shoulders.

The realisation was painful. Sitting in his car, head lowered into his collar, heart pounding painfully in his chest, Daniel knew he could never make her happy.

~*~

Clara was certain that she passed out on her bathroom floor. When she opened her eyes, the starch white of her surroundings made her head convulse. Of course she recognised the room, she saw it in her dreams almost every night. As always, standing in front of the pictures on the wall, was Belial, in his cold beauty and regal stature.

"Welcome back," He drawled.

Clara couldn't formulate proper words of greeting. With a sigh, Belial strode towards her, his long legs effortlessly decreasing the distance between the two. Through her haze, she realised they had never been so close to each other. When his feet stopped a couple inches away from her hand, he lowered himself into a crouch, his dark hair floating with the movement in a way that wasn't entirely human. Then again, he was a figment of her imagination, Clara assumed.

"Would you like some help?" He asked, but his kindness was mocking. His smile lacking warmth.

Nevertheless, Clara nodded. With a smirk, he outstretched two of his fingers, hovering just before her eyes. "Close your eyes," He instructed. She did as she was told, relishing the darkness that soothed her vision.

There was a pressure on both of her eyelids, and Clara's first thought was that Belial's fingers were cold as ice, just like the rest of him.

Then she realised the pain. With a low cry, she attempted to swat his hand away. "Stop, stop, Belial --"

With a hiss, he grabbed her hands with his free one. Even as he retracted his fingers off her eyelids and put them between her brows, the piercing pain lingered. As the pressure settled, she felt his fingers begin to turn, like a key turning in a lock, and the world exploded behind her eyelids. She knew she had her eyes closed, almost against her will, yet she saw rolling hills. A field of flowers. A sky so blue that her eyes got lost.

"Do you see it?" Belial's voice whispered, echoing through the landscape.

Clara nodded.

"Now, look down."

She did.

Her hands were covered in blood.

This time, Clara did scream. Her body began to shake, and she felt bile rise in her throat. She wiped her hands on her white clothing desperately, watching as the pure colour was stained red.

"Stop it!" She cried. "Wake up, wake up, wake up, wak--"

"Look up." Belial's speech morphed, once again sounding as if a thousand voices were screaming the words at her.

She did, vision blurry with tears, and felt her heart freeze.

The rolling hills. The field of flowers.

All of it. Burning to the ground.

And in the center of the carnage, a pile of white wings, dripping gold ichor onto the soil. A cruel contrast between the glowing aura of the wings, and the glowing embers around them squeezed at Clara's heart.

"Do you see now?" His voice was in his head now. "Do you understand now?" For the first time, Belial's voice shook with rage. As the fires around her grew in size, they licked their way around her, closing in until she couldn't see the pile of wings, couldn't see the blue sky through the smoke, until she felt herself begin to blow away, like the ashes of the once beautiful flowers that swayed in the field.

~*~

When Clara came to, she was sprawled on the tiles of her bathroom floor, sweat dripping down her body. The smell of smoke was stuck in her hair, and her eyes burned, still feeling the heat. Shakily, she brought herself up. Her mind was crashing, stuttering under the weight of the dream, of her confusion. Swiping the hair that was stuck to her forehead away with a violently shaking hand, she tried to ground herself in her surroundings; the pale walls were the same. Her bathtub sat by the window, just as it always had. But... scorch marks burned through the wooden cupboards to her right, and the tiles under her were covered in ashes as well. Almost feverishly, she tried to to rub the stains off with her thumb, breathing a sigh of relief when her thumb came back stained black.

Sitting back against the cupboards, she felt the last of her emotions drain when she realised she would have to clean the burns herself.