A spell does not have a mind of its own. But being an embodiment of the will of its caster, it reacts similarly to the temperament of whom it was formed.
Bilara's spell attacked as if it were a vicious, rabid animal. It clawed its way into the very depths of its victim's memories and sank its teeth into the darkest, most hated ones. The ones that already stalked its victim's nightmares in spite of all attempts at forgetting.
The victim feebly tried to block the memories from the spell but it crashed through the defenses as if they were nothing more than paper covering an open door.
It snapped into place and the real fun began.
His scrawny legs shook as he stared up at the mountainous form of his father. The man's face darkened as he grabbed him by his tattered shirt and shoved him out the door of their hovel, slamming it behind him.
Panic pounded in his chest as the light from the fire was blocked out, leaving him in darkness. He clung to the leather strap that opened the door, but it refused to budge as the darkness seemed to grow deeper around him. "I'mma sorry, I'mma sorry! I won't say it 'gain! Please lemme in!"
Tears poured down his cheeks as he pounded his tiny fists against the door. His mother's shouting could be heard from the other side. Her voice seemed to trigger another one inside him. A deeper, older voice that seemed oddly familiar.
The door will open soon. You'll be safe.
For a moment, he calmed. Mum always let him in. Always.
Thick, black mist surrounded him and their home, sending the older voice into a panic as his mother's voice began fading away. The mist clung to him, circling around his underfed body in smoky spirals before it jerked him away from the door. He cried out in terror, begging for his mum or his father or even his brother.
The world remained dark and the door never opened.
If a spell could smile, it would have had a wide, sadistic one that rivaled its creator's. Its victim's childhood possessed so much disappointment, so much injustice, so much fear. The spell soaked in its victim's terror, drawing strength from the nightmares playing before the victim's eyes. It had already gained the strength to take bad memories and twist them into something even worse.
But it needed more. Yes, so much more.
So it abandoned the childhood and moved towards the regrets of the more recent past.
The world was beautiful today.
Sedgewick sighed contently and leaned against a windowsill lining one of the palace hallways. Sunlight streamed through the glass, creating pools of light on the tile floor. A grin tugged at the edges of his lips as he twirled a single flower between his fingers. She should be in the gardens by now, he thought.
The thought propelled him forward as he launched himself off the windowsill and jogged down the hallway. The door that led out to the gardens was just up ahead. A table with a decorative mirror caught the corner of his eye, and he skidded to a stop.
Might as well make sure I'm in order.
A faint voice niggled at the very back of his mind telling him to go now, don't wait, you idiot, don't you know what's about to--
Sedgewick shook his head and looked in the mirror.
And was met with, well, his face. Yet something seemed...off.
He leaned in for a closer look and moved to push his glass--
Sedgewick stopped his hand and stared at it in confusion. He didn't wear glasses. What was he doing?
His hand was pulled to his back by an almost irresistible force. He scratched himself through the thin shirt material before reaching under it and rubbing his hand across the perfectly smooth skin. That wasn't right. Something should be there. He was scarred, wasn't he?
From what? Sedgewick asked as he withdrew his hand. I've never been injured there.
He stared back at his reflection and his confusion faded. Same red hair, same young, smooth skin marred only by a hint of stubble on his jaw and chin. Same him. Sedgewick Alverdyne, Head Court Mage to Queen Alena.
And what a queen, he thought as his heart stuttered.
Tamara, in all her cynicism, never missed a chance to remind him that he was too young and low-born to be interested in someone like Alena. He usually shot back that she'd been widowed young, had children younger, and still look a sight better than Tamara did. And besides, Alena didn't care about his origins. Well, not usually.
After brushing his hair back, Sedgewick abandoned the mirror with its confusing reflection and continued off down the hallway, his step light with the contentment that came from feeling like you'd finally found your place in the world.
The double-doors were just up ahead, but he paused at another window on his right. The sun was now shrouded by dark clouds that if he didn't know better, almost appeared to be black, swirling mist. That wasn't right. It had been sunny that--no, this day. Why had he used the past tense?
The spell grew impatient with his loitering. It slipped in under the windowsill, twisting around his legs as it thrust him further along the memory into the garden.
He'd never heard her scream before.
She'd always been controlled, composed, fearless. But not even Alena could control herself as that monster in the form of a man ripped her essence from her body. The white light from the Pure Magic the creature had torn from the ground sucked in Sedgewick's every attempt to save her as his spells faded to white before being absorbed into the magic around them. She cried out his name as he dashed towards her only to watch in horror as her brown eyes rolled back into her head, all life drained from them.
Mist swirled around him and the world blurred as he was once again thrust forward into the now destroyed gardens, that monster of a man gone.
He stumbled towards her body and wrapped his arms around her. For a moment her eyelids fluttered as if she might open them one last time, say one last word.
Everything around them faded into black, swirling shadows that lapped over her body, causing all movement to vanish. Sedgewick clutched her limp form to his chest as sobs shook through him. She was supposed to say something, wasn't she? He was sure she'd said something...
"Please don't leave me," he whispered even as her lifeless body confirmed the absence of her soul.
Numbness soaked into him as the world around him began to fade. He'd been powerless, useless. He'd failed her.
I'm sorry...
Pain. So much delicious pain.
The spell fed and fed as it sucked its victim deeper inside a spiral of painful recollections The twists so far had been slight but now it could finally move on to much bigger changes...
Rain poured from the sky, beating down on them as if they were the already-destroyed vegetation. Bilara's spell cracked against Sedgewick's ward, finally breaking through. Gravel-filled mud scraped his cheek as he crashed into the ground. He pushed himself up, his arms shaking from anger and magic use. A crackle sounded behind him and he rolled to the left, mud sinking further into his clothes as he dodged another blast. Blood and mud mixed in his mouth, leaving a salty, grainy taste. He staggered to his feet and raised his staff to strike.
"I should have left you in the cell I found you in!" he shouted over the pounding rain. Water slid off his hat in little streams. His vision was acting up again and the strength of the storm left him screaming at a blurry outline of the woman he had once trusted with his life.
"That was your first mistake!" she cried back.
But it hadn't come from the direction of her body.
The illusion vanished. Sedgewick twisted around seconds too late.
The short blade of Bilara's staff pierced into his back and he screamed out in agony.
She yanked it from his body.
"That was your second."
He fell to the ground as his scream cut through the torrent of rain. Blood mixed with mud, turning the soil clay colored. Bilara's boot slammed against the gaping hole in his back. Black mist swirled in his vision but whether he was blacking out or it was really there he couldn't tell. Panic tried to stab him just as Bilara had, but a faint voice in the back of his mind held it at bay.
Until Bilara grabbed him and twisted him around to face her.
She smiled sadistically and raised her staff.
No. No, this wasn't right! Tamara was supposed to finally find him and then--
She stabbed him in the stomach and jerked it back out.
He tried to scream but only a choking, guttural sound emerged from his throat. More blood dyed the dirt around him as she pierced him again and again and again and again--
Memories... It needed more memories.
The spell cycled through all of the fear and pain again and again, twisting it darker and more ghastly every time. More. It needed newer, fresher pain to draw strength from. But there were no more new memories...
The final stage activated as the spell finally soaked in enough fear. It delved into its victim's subconscious, rifling its way through forgotten hopes and discarded dreams. Yes... These it could twist. If it couldn't replay old memories...
It would just make new ones.
Sedgewick awoke with a start, a scream dying on his lips. His heart pounded in his chest as his nails dug into the arms of his chair. Sucking in several breaths, he sighed with relief as he scanned the surrounding room. A light spring breeze drifted in from an open window across from him.
He shakily rose from his chair and walked over to the wide window seat resting under it. The seat was piled with fluffy pillows, a spell book, a medical book, and some sort of novel.
For a moment, he hesitated but then rejected the thought as silly. He flicked his wrist and the novel flew into his hand without a single spark of pain.
It was just a dream, he thought, a relieved smile quirking his lips.
A set of tawny arms curled around his waist and snatched the book from his hand. "Are you trying to read ahead without me?"
Sedgewick grabbed one of her wrists and pulled her onto the window seat with him. "Of course not, Dearest. Whatever gave you that idea?"
Feyla laughed and set the book aside so she could rest her pretty head against his shoulder. "Did you sleep well?"
"Perfectly," he answered, the nightmare from earlier (and the odd foreboding in his chest) fading from remembrance in her presence.
"Good. You've been working too hard lately."
He tilted her chin up towards him and brushed her cheek with his thumb. Contentment washed over him as he gazed at her, wanting to memorize every detail. "Always so worried."
Feyla blushed sweetly and smirked. "You know you secretly like it."
A black mist spun across the window like frost.
Sedgewick's smile froze as his light grip on her waist tightened into a vice.
"What's wrong?"
Dream, the mist had been a dream.
"Sedgewick?"
Feyla was real. Their home was real.
"You okay?"
Wake up, a voice echoed. It sounded different this time.
"Are you all the way awake?"
"Yes," he whispered, willing it to be true.
Wake up!
Mist snaked its way across the floor as the sun darkened.
Feyla went silent and still at the presence of the mist. He clutched her to his chest protectively.
The room around them melted into fire and ashes. Heat seared his skin as Feyla grew cold in his grip. He push her back, hoping to see her comforting face. His heart stilled and his eye widened in horror as her empty eyes stared back at him while burnt flecks of skin flaked off her like the ashes surrounding them.
Her blackened hands darted forward and grabbed him by the shirt, shaking him hard. "WAKE UP YOU IDIOT!!!"
His eyes snapped open as the spell's hold on him finally broke. A furious Feyla stared back at him, her hands still curled around his shirt from when she'd shook him. Sedgewick blinked, still adjusting to the waking world as he soaked in her still-living and beautifully whole form marred only by a gash on her right cheek. He slumped against the chains still trapping him as his heart pounded against his chest at a dangerous, erratic speed. Feyla stabbed something into his neck and he hissed at the sudden pain.
"Idiot," she muttered.
**************************************************************************************
Author's Note: So, just in case I didn't write it as clearly as I thought, Sedgewick was trapped in a spell that caused him to relive his worst memories. As it grew stronger, it gained the ability to "mutilate" them into something even worse. Whenever the mist appeared, Sedgewick's memory was being altered. I know y'all are smart enough to deduce this on your own but I thought I'd explain in case I didn't write it clearly or anyone was confused. Thanks for reading!