Her face closed in on him until their foreheads touched. He felt the brush of her hand against his cheek like it was touching a thin layer of glass instead of his skin, that seemed to invisibly separate him from the world. The sensation reached him, but not entirely. At least he now felt that he could move his head again, close his eyes for a second and open them again. She was so close that everything but the blue of her iris was a bit out of focus.
The freeze that had arrested him broke, but it was replaced by a crushing sense of impending doom. His mind continued its machinations of dragging up the patterns of his life and transposing them over what he was about to do here, with her. Realistically, he, Samuel Griffith, had shown that since he had been unleashed into adulthood, he incinerated his life in cycles of seven to ten years. The first life he had laid flames to was the ministry career his parents selected for him after school. He had blown that apart at 19 years of age—and he had laid waste to the part of the house that contained the bedroom of his childhood in one fell swoop. Then he had left for the continent and started anew as an apprentice Alchemist in Prague. At 26, his lover and partner in work and crime was dead and Samuel had struck down his first master and second father, Oldrich Rosenberg, in their very last fight and fled for Paris.
In the summer of his 34th year, his last Master Nicholas Flamel dismissed Samuel from his laboratory because his conduct and the social circle he kept made him a liability no longer worth risking. Cut off from his last remaining anchor, Samuel had drifted off into what he could only call degeneracy and come December he had been behaving as if he intended to die by his vices, so he had abandoned his life in Paris and returned home.
Nine years had passed in the meantime. Years he had dedicated to reversing the financial ruin of his family. There were no more masters, only his real father, who endeavored to undo any progress Samuel achieved by his excessive spending and short-sighted steering of family matters. Samuel had nonetheless succeeded in accruing enough resources for those who mattered to be taken care of, if the men around them could be prevented from taking it for themselves, and he had abandoned his laboratory in London and started something new. The other shoe, however, had not yet dropped. The matter was not truly resolved and the forecasted calamity had not yet arrived.
His eyes widened and he recognized that he himself had already expertly put everything into position and was, as always, the scheming architect of his own demise. His father waited at home, put under an unforgivable curse that would see Samuel thrown into Askaban should he ever be discovered. His brothers were plotting on his downfall. He had busied himself once again with pushing against the most universal laws and boundaries of nature out of pure hubris. Had he unwittingly acquired another sacrificial lamb to perish in his stead? Nothing of consequence could be gained without another of equal value being lost.
Now it was eerily quiet in him. They were still looking at each other. He had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been a few seconds, or minutes.
"Forgive me," he said finally, unsure if he had just discovered the truth or was suffering a bout of insanity and paranoia. What he needed to do next might hurt her. What was between them might be too fragile to survive it. But he needed to get through this December and make things right, and she needed to be at a safe distance until his affairs were sorted. Whatever needed to happen would happen and he needed her to be part of the new beginning, not of the end. He would make it to the other side, he always had. Those around him had not always been so fortunate.
She cradled his face and therefore had released his hands. They had stayed frozen where she left them and only now did he move them and reached up to pull her in, to kiss her again. There was a different need and urgency in this embrace, because Samuel knew it was only delaying the inevitable. He was not ready to let this go just yet.
The freeze that had arrested him broke, but it was replaced by a crushing sense of impending doom. His mind continued its machinations of dragging up the patterns of his life and transposing them over what he was about to do here, with her. Realistically, he, Samuel Griffith, had shown that since he had been unleashed into adulthood, he incinerated his life in cycles of seven to ten years. The first life he had laid flames to was the ministry career his parents selected for him after school. He had blown that apart at 19 years of age—and he had laid waste to the part of the house that contained the bedroom of his childhood in one fell swoop. Then he had left for the continent and started anew as an apprentice Alchemist in Prague. At 26, his lover and partner in work and crime was dead and Samuel had struck down his first master and second father, Oldrich Rosenberg, in their very last fight and fled for Paris.
In the summer of his 34th year, his last Master Nicholas Flamel dismissed Samuel from his laboratory because his conduct and the social circle he kept made him a liability no longer worth risking. Cut off from his last remaining anchor, Samuel had drifted off into what he could only call degeneracy and come December he had been behaving as if he intended to die by his vices, so he had abandoned his life in Paris and returned home.
Nine years had passed in the meantime. Years he had dedicated to reversing the financial ruin of his family. There were no more masters, only his real father, who endeavored to undo any progress Samuel achieved by his excessive spending and short-sighted steering of family matters. Samuel had nonetheless succeeded in accruing enough resources for those who mattered to be taken care of, if the men around them could be prevented from taking it for themselves, and he had abandoned his laboratory in London and started something new. The other shoe, however, had not yet dropped. The matter was not truly resolved and the forecasted calamity had not yet arrived.
His eyes widened and he recognized that he himself had already expertly put everything into position and was, as always, the scheming architect of his own demise. His father waited at home, put under an unforgivable curse that would see Samuel thrown into Askaban should he ever be discovered. His brothers were plotting on his downfall. He had busied himself once again with pushing against the most universal laws and boundaries of nature out of pure hubris. Had he unwittingly acquired another sacrificial lamb to perish in his stead? Nothing of consequence could be gained without another of equal value being lost.
Now it was eerily quiet in him. They were still looking at each other. He had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been a few seconds, or minutes.
"Forgive me," he said finally, unsure if he had just discovered the truth or was suffering a bout of insanity and paranoia. What he needed to do next might hurt her. What was between them might be too fragile to survive it. But he needed to get through this December and make things right, and she needed to be at a safe distance until his affairs were sorted. Whatever needed to happen would happen and he needed her to be part of the new beginning, not of the end. He would make it to the other side, he always had. Those around him had not always been so fortunate.
She cradled his face and therefore had released his hands. They had stayed frozen where she left them and only now did he move them and reached up to pull her in, to kiss her again. There was a different need and urgency in this embrace, because Samuel knew it was only delaying the inevitable. He was not ready to let this go just yet.
