The world contracted to a space of two arms lengths and around the sheen of the blade. He felt the muscles in his legs and back tense and there was a shiver half-formed at the base of his spine, waiting to hatch and travel upwards; one of these common, strange after-effects of wielding the abilities of his body in this way of magic; as dark as it was, he did not think it evil, but it was a forbidden fruit. It belonged to the tree that ordinary humans were not supposed to touch. And who ventured there forfeited the securities and protection of the pastures where life was meant to take its course. It was into the dark forest from here.
He vanished his own circle, for her to begin anew. And he waited. Themis hesitated and looked at him. He met her gaze and he did not speak. Some knowledge could only be imparted by the right quality of silence. She had to go through this on her own; he would not press the knife into her skin and twist the sacrifice to belong to him—that would change everything to happen afterwards. He could not tell her to stop. If she wanted this, it was not up to him to stand in her way. If she did this only to please him, she would find out soon enough that it needed stronger convictions to go through with rites of the red grail and the knife's edge.
Samuel was struck again by the length of her hair falling loosely down around her pale face. It was so very intimate a detail, one that belonged to the side of her the outside world never got to see. He was certain that she had never seen this side of herself before.
Themis arrived at a point of clarity and pulled the blade down. It cut too swiftly and too deep. For a moment he regretted not having warned her of this particular blade. He left nothing of his craft to the ordinary. The red spilled downwards, more a stream than a trickle.
"Themis—" he said, wanting to caution her. But she was already painting the circle and he forced himself to remain silent, watching her blood flow onto the floor into the jittery lines of the circle. He felt hot and cold and tense and excited and proud and terrified. To master boundaries through their determination. The Scar marks wisdom and regrets; one is born from the other. A scar would remain.
He surveilled the circle she painted for any glaring mistakes, but there were none, although her work lacked sophistication. Too much blood on too tight a web of line—it would make for a strong structure, but for a dangerous one; too concentrated. This kind of Alchemy was both more forgiving and more deadly, as soon as the threshold was crossed. It concerned itself with vessels of life and flesh and as such did not require the symmetry of elemental Alchemy. Chaos was inherent to life.
She painted the gateway rune and pushed forward. The circle glowed, a dark and veiled light. The static in the room changed and he felt her magic traverse over the planes of his skin. Now he shivered. Samuel picked up the knife from the floor and held it ready, not sure if he should draw a containment circle or not. Teetering on this indecision might cost him but he could not take his eyes off the mutating comb. He counted the iterations. "Pace yourself," he warned her, but she did not seem to hear him at all, her face deathly pale and her eyes glazed, as if looking into a dream, tears running down her face. "Themis," no reaction. He drew down the blade and just then she stopped and closed the circle. He let the knife fall to the floor. Every hair stood on end and the air seemed to crackle with the dissipating power. A part of him noted with immense satisfaction that she had become excellent at dissolving transmutations in as short a timeframe as he predicted. Then it was done and before he could reach her, she slumped over and hit the floor.
He was at her side before his mind caught up to the fact that his body moved. Samuel grasped her arm. It was still bleeding profusely. A rushing sound drowned out all other noise. It was the red river, coming back for him to take her away. His sins were catching up to him, the red grail arriving to demand its tribute. He heard a crackling sound that could not be the magic around them, he knew it. Bones breaking to make way for—get a hold of yourself! he snapped at himself.
With shaking hands, he pressed the piece of gauze with the healing essence to her arm. It was not enough to vanish the cut, but the bleeding ceased. He pulled her up against him too roughly, but she was not in a state to notice. His hand found her neck and he held her by the throat until her pulse felt real enough for his own heart to settle. The Heart is the principle that continues and preserves, he recited like a prayer and he closed his eyes. And so they sat on the floor, him holding her, until she opened her eyes and started to speak. Samuel started to laugh. "You are mad, Themis. You are driving me to insanity. Do you know that?" Someone seemed to have hung his heart from a high place. It overflowed with love and at the same time he did feel like he was losing his mind. He kissed her pale lips and her face, that tasted of her tears. "Don't move," he told her. "Try to stay awake. I will get something to sort you out. You lost a lot of blood." He felt around his pocket for his wand.
He vanished his own circle, for her to begin anew. And he waited. Themis hesitated and looked at him. He met her gaze and he did not speak. Some knowledge could only be imparted by the right quality of silence. She had to go through this on her own; he would not press the knife into her skin and twist the sacrifice to belong to him—that would change everything to happen afterwards. He could not tell her to stop. If she wanted this, it was not up to him to stand in her way. If she did this only to please him, she would find out soon enough that it needed stronger convictions to go through with rites of the red grail and the knife's edge.
Samuel was struck again by the length of her hair falling loosely down around her pale face. It was so very intimate a detail, one that belonged to the side of her the outside world never got to see. He was certain that she had never seen this side of herself before.
Themis arrived at a point of clarity and pulled the blade down. It cut too swiftly and too deep. For a moment he regretted not having warned her of this particular blade. He left nothing of his craft to the ordinary. The red spilled downwards, more a stream than a trickle.
"Themis—" he said, wanting to caution her. But she was already painting the circle and he forced himself to remain silent, watching her blood flow onto the floor into the jittery lines of the circle. He felt hot and cold and tense and excited and proud and terrified. To master boundaries through their determination. The Scar marks wisdom and regrets; one is born from the other. A scar would remain.
He surveilled the circle she painted for any glaring mistakes, but there were none, although her work lacked sophistication. Too much blood on too tight a web of line—it would make for a strong structure, but for a dangerous one; too concentrated. This kind of Alchemy was both more forgiving and more deadly, as soon as the threshold was crossed. It concerned itself with vessels of life and flesh and as such did not require the symmetry of elemental Alchemy. Chaos was inherent to life.
She painted the gateway rune and pushed forward. The circle glowed, a dark and veiled light. The static in the room changed and he felt her magic traverse over the planes of his skin. Now he shivered. Samuel picked up the knife from the floor and held it ready, not sure if he should draw a containment circle or not. Teetering on this indecision might cost him but he could not take his eyes off the mutating comb. He counted the iterations. "Pace yourself," he warned her, but she did not seem to hear him at all, her face deathly pale and her eyes glazed, as if looking into a dream, tears running down her face. "Themis," no reaction. He drew down the blade and just then she stopped and closed the circle. He let the knife fall to the floor. Every hair stood on end and the air seemed to crackle with the dissipating power. A part of him noted with immense satisfaction that she had become excellent at dissolving transmutations in as short a timeframe as he predicted. Then it was done and before he could reach her, she slumped over and hit the floor.
He was at her side before his mind caught up to the fact that his body moved. Samuel grasped her arm. It was still bleeding profusely. A rushing sound drowned out all other noise. It was the red river, coming back for him to take her away. His sins were catching up to him, the red grail arriving to demand its tribute. He heard a crackling sound that could not be the magic around them, he knew it. Bones breaking to make way for—get a hold of yourself! he snapped at himself.
With shaking hands, he pressed the piece of gauze with the healing essence to her arm. It was not enough to vanish the cut, but the bleeding ceased. He pulled her up against him too roughly, but she was not in a state to notice. His hand found her neck and he held her by the throat until her pulse felt real enough for his own heart to settle. The Heart is the principle that continues and preserves, he recited like a prayer and he closed his eyes. And so they sat on the floor, him holding her, until she opened her eyes and started to speak. Samuel started to laugh. "You are mad, Themis. You are driving me to insanity. Do you know that?" Someone seemed to have hung his heart from a high place. It overflowed with love and at the same time he did feel like he was losing his mind. He kissed her pale lips and her face, that tasted of her tears. "Don't move," he told her. "Try to stay awake. I will get something to sort you out. You lost a lot of blood." He felt around his pocket for his wand.
