"I can," he said, suddenly very serious. "It will hurt. It will be difficult to do. If what we do at the school feels taxing, well—this is a whole different beast." Samuel turned towards her and looked into her eyes, searching for a hint of how far she was really willing to go. The discipline she excelled at and made her home was very cerebral. This would be visceral. Something tense was now in the air and he wondered how quickly this illicit meeting was taking on a dynamic he could not have foreseen. And he did not know if they were fleeing into this experiment to turn away from the questions that could neither be asked nor answered; To turn where pain would have a purpose and where sorrow was misplaced.
Merging the seperate
January 29, 2025 – 9:56 PM
Alchemy Professor
January 29, 2025 – 10:20 PM
Astronomy Professor & Gryffindor Head of House
Samuel’s manner changed in an instant, his playfulness disappearing. It sent a chill crawling down her spine. He never concealed the danger of their experiments or the toll alchemy would take on her body. He had been clear with her from the beginning, but the payoff was worth her struggle. Her muscles twitched, anticipating the work. She loved the exhaustion in her bones after they worked, the effort invigorating her like swimming. She needed the ache in her body to tell her she’d pushed herself far enough; that she wasn’t holding back. If that was child’s play, what would she be able to accomplish here? She had to answer that question.
“I can tolerate pain, and I want to try.” She confirmed, her mouth going dry. She didn’t know enough to calculate her risk. She wasn’t certain it would be wise for her to know. It was better to embrace this opportunity, trust her instincts, and make the attempt. Thinking this through would have her backing down until she could strategize. He wouldn’t allow her to dive too deeply on her own; she trusted that. “If you’re willing to show me, I can take it.” She committed to trying and felt a rush of anticipation as her head and heart made peace with this plan. Watching him for some indication, Themis allowed herself to acknowledge that making him proud of her was more than a sliver of her motivation. She had something to prove to them both. Perhaps, if she could endure blood magic, their inevitable separation would seem less dire. Kissing him gently, once, twice she met his eyes. “Show me, Sam.”
“I can tolerate pain, and I want to try.” She confirmed, her mouth going dry. She didn’t know enough to calculate her risk. She wasn’t certain it would be wise for her to know. It was better to embrace this opportunity, trust her instincts, and make the attempt. Thinking this through would have her backing down until she could strategize. He wouldn’t allow her to dive too deeply on her own; she trusted that. “If you’re willing to show me, I can take it.” She committed to trying and felt a rush of anticipation as her head and heart made peace with this plan. Watching him for some indication, Themis allowed herself to acknowledge that making him proud of her was more than a sliver of her motivation. She had something to prove to them both. Perhaps, if she could endure blood magic, their inevitable separation would seem less dire. Kissing him gently, once, twice she met his eyes. “Show me, Sam.”
![[Image: Bka0H0x.jpeg]](https://i.imgur.com/Bka0H0x.jpeg)
January 29, 2025 – 11:14 PM
Alchemy Professor
He considered her words and even under her gentle kisses, he turned over the scenario in his mind. Turning towards the pit, he vanished the old circle with a flick of his wand. It was no use to tell her she should not or could not; at this point it would be equal to an insult. The floor was now smooth and clean. He thought it better to do this here, instead of with a table between them. He had his reasons.
"If this looks haphazard and improvised," he said, "that's because it will be."
With a glance back to her, he led her into the pit and sat down on the floor. "Sit across from me, please," he said. "I will demonstrate how it works."
He waited until she was in position. His eyes were very dark and alert. Somehow they had become conspirators, huddling together in a forsaken place to do something forbidden. He took her hand and looked at her and he kissed her. He did not really know what to say. She would see where this was going very quickly.
Samuel took a knife out of his pocket and held it in his left hand. It was a folding knife, small and very sharp, with a curved blade. He let go of her hand and held out his own, palm up. Without hesitation and with a practiced and fluid motion, he cut vertically and deeply into the flesh where his right thumb transitioned into his wrist. He knew exactly where to carve in so the blood spilled easily downwards, running along his palm as he lowered his arm and shook it lightly, until his index and middle finger were painted red. It hurt. He was so desensitized to it that it barely registered as true pain. Quickly he drew a small circle on the floor between them and started building up a pattern of lines and symbols.
"Give me something to transmute," he said to Themis and held out his left hand towards her. "Doesn't much matter what it is; you see, I can adapt the equation as I go. Nothing is set in stone, it is all pliable. But you have to work quick. As soon as you start, you are on borrowed time."
"If this looks haphazard and improvised," he said, "that's because it will be."
With a glance back to her, he led her into the pit and sat down on the floor. "Sit across from me, please," he said. "I will demonstrate how it works."
He waited until she was in position. His eyes were very dark and alert. Somehow they had become conspirators, huddling together in a forsaken place to do something forbidden. He took her hand and looked at her and he kissed her. He did not really know what to say. She would see where this was going very quickly.
Samuel took a knife out of his pocket and held it in his left hand. It was a folding knife, small and very sharp, with a curved blade. He let go of her hand and held out his own, palm up. Without hesitation and with a practiced and fluid motion, he cut vertically and deeply into the flesh where his right thumb transitioned into his wrist. He knew exactly where to carve in so the blood spilled easily downwards, running along his palm as he lowered his arm and shook it lightly, until his index and middle finger were painted red. It hurt. He was so desensitized to it that it barely registered as true pain. Quickly he drew a small circle on the floor between them and started building up a pattern of lines and symbols.
"Give me something to transmute," he said to Themis and held out his left hand towards her. "Doesn't much matter what it is; you see, I can adapt the equation as I go. Nothing is set in stone, it is all pliable. But you have to work quick. As soon as you start, you are on borrowed time."
January 29, 2025 – 11:51 PM
Astronomy Professor & Gryffindor Head of House
TW: Blood, self-harm/cutting
Even as she enjoyed the kisses she gave him, she realized there was the possibility he would call this off and refuse. It made sense to deny her request, to tell her to master the basics before she played with the forces of life and death. Apparently, neither of them put much stock in sense. The longer he considered, the more nervous she grew. This was a horrible idea, and she was committed to it. She felt a spark of giddiness, the looming sense of standing on a ledge making her dizzy. ”Alright, we’re doing this.” She urged herself on as he led her forward and helped her settle on the floor. He was watching her with a different sort of intensity, Themis couldn’t shake the feeling she was being evaluated. She hoped to prove worthy of his willingness.
When he pulled out a knife, her heart started hammering in her chest. She flinched when the blade cut deep into Samuel’s skin, the red stream flowing quickly into his hand. It made her queasy to see him do something so violent to his own body. He moved without hesitation or feeling, and Themis clicked her teeth tightly closed. She was very anxious that she would not appear so stoic when it came her turn. Swallowing against the rising sense of unease, she watched his movements carefully. There would be no room for error in her work. The wrong move, and she’d need a healer and a cover story. She pulled the comb securing her hair free, handing him the object without hesitation. She watched carefully, tightening her hands in her skirt and resisting the urge to touch him. She hadn’t anticipated reacting to him injured; the sight of Samuel bleeding before her seemed wrong, distressing.
She couldn’t keep watching him paint and bleed; it was too jarring an image to hold in her mind as she contemplated her own willingness to progress. Extending her hand for the knife, she turned her eyes back to Samuel, hoping he allowed her to continue before she could talk herself out of this. “My turn.” She said with finality, she could do this. She was proud when her hands were steady between them.
When he pulled out a knife, her heart started hammering in her chest. She flinched when the blade cut deep into Samuel’s skin, the red stream flowing quickly into his hand. It made her queasy to see him do something so violent to his own body. He moved without hesitation or feeling, and Themis clicked her teeth tightly closed. She was very anxious that she would not appear so stoic when it came her turn. Swallowing against the rising sense of unease, she watched his movements carefully. There would be no room for error in her work. The wrong move, and she’d need a healer and a cover story. She pulled the comb securing her hair free, handing him the object without hesitation. She watched carefully, tightening her hands in her skirt and resisting the urge to touch him. She hadn’t anticipated reacting to him injured; the sight of Samuel bleeding before her seemed wrong, distressing.
She couldn’t keep watching him paint and bleed; it was too jarring an image to hold in her mind as she contemplated her own willingness to progress. Extending her hand for the knife, she turned her eyes back to Samuel, hoping he allowed her to continue before she could talk herself out of this. “My turn.” She said with finality, she could do this. She was proud when her hands were steady between them.
January 30, 2025 – 2:24 PM
Alchemy Professor
He took the comb and appraised it with a look, distracted only for a second by her hair falling down over her shoulders and back. The comb was made out of horn — perfect. Samuel placed it in the middle of the circle. "The flexibility of this means we can throw a few conventions overboard," he explained. "I will use only one hand. My left."
He drew the gateway rune and placed his hand on it. The scar on his palm started tingling and when he called his magic from its resting place, he felt the lines on his palm split open. The red from inside of him mingled with the red already on the floor and the system there merged with his own and set free a deep glow to the circle. The comb smoothly ascended into the air.
He felt it rush up his arm and into his heart and the color drained from his face. His eyes took on a fervent sheen. If the circle of silver connected to one's system of magic in an airy, ethereal way, this might as well be an actual part of his body now. He felt it pulse and he felt the air move across the lines, sending a flurry of signals through his nervous system. He modified the circle with his right hand, to better adapt it to the material of the comb, and to prevent it from drying out.
The levitating comb grew new spines that formed into ribs and articulated into vertebrae and then it stopped and he let it descend to the floor, half-finished.
Themis already held out her hand for the knife. Reluctantly, he dissolved the circle and gave it to her.
"The first time is the most difficult," he warned. He summoned a healing essence and some gauze and just like that, he wiped the gruesomeness and violence away. It was a small circle, and still he felt like he had just finished a physical sort of exercise. The rush that never turned stale, for him. The one he could justify.
He looked at Themis and waited, and looked at the white skin on her arm, innocent of all of this. He was slightly nauseated and full of morbid anticipation.
He drew the gateway rune and placed his hand on it. The scar on his palm started tingling and when he called his magic from its resting place, he felt the lines on his palm split open. The red from inside of him mingled with the red already on the floor and the system there merged with his own and set free a deep glow to the circle. The comb smoothly ascended into the air.
He felt it rush up his arm and into his heart and the color drained from his face. His eyes took on a fervent sheen. If the circle of silver connected to one's system of magic in an airy, ethereal way, this might as well be an actual part of his body now. He felt it pulse and he felt the air move across the lines, sending a flurry of signals through his nervous system. He modified the circle with his right hand, to better adapt it to the material of the comb, and to prevent it from drying out.
The levitating comb grew new spines that formed into ribs and articulated into vertebrae and then it stopped and he let it descend to the floor, half-finished.
Themis already held out her hand for the knife. Reluctantly, he dissolved the circle and gave it to her.
"The first time is the most difficult," he warned. He summoned a healing essence and some gauze and just like that, he wiped the gruesomeness and violence away. It was a small circle, and still he felt like he had just finished a physical sort of exercise. The rush that never turned stale, for him. The one he could justify.
He looked at Themis and waited, and looked at the white skin on her arm, innocent of all of this. He was slightly nauseated and full of morbid anticipation.
January 31, 2025 – 12:02 AM
Astronomy Professor & Gryffindor Head of House
TW: Self-harm and way too much blood
She’d become familiar with the signature of his magic, could taste and feel the difference between the two of them every time he loosened his control over his power. She’d come to realize the answering buzz in her body when he wielded magic freely. Themis was now conditioned by the sensation, her own body eager to answer. She now knew how sweet it was to commit her body to her craft, to pour every bit of herself into the circle. There was a craving for this, some sense that she was being denied until she was able to respond and join the experiment. This time was different and she was not prepared.
Samuel changed. He paled, a sickly color that didn’t suit him. He looked feverish, disconnected from the world around him, but she knew that wasn’t the case. As his eyes glazed over, Themis had the sense that he could see the fabric of the world around him. She could feel him everywhere. What was normally a buzzing feeling was now a pressure, a heavy hand around her that seemed to squeeze the life from the room in a rhythmic pulse. It was a heartbeat, she recognized, but if it was her own, Samuel’s, or the heart of the earth, she didn’t know. It was almost too much, the weight in the air making it hard to breathe, the cavern around them seeming to superheat. This was Samuel, raw in ways he’d never shown her. It was intoxicating, disorienting, and even as his blood became his ink, she considered herself fortunate to witness him work.
While he commanded her attention, it was her hair comb beginning to rearrange itself that demanded her focus. As her comb began to change, she felt a prickling up her spine. Horn became bone, the teeth of the comb sharpening to a point, smooth surface becoming spine. Her own impatience delayed the finishing of the transmutation, Samuel allowing her no-longer comb to reach the floor. As he dissolved the circle, she felt a rush of nausea, and whether it was the change in pressure or the realization that her turn had come mattered little.
She held his knife in her hand and action seemed impossible. She could form the circle and continue his work, she knew this. All that changed was her conduit, she told herself. This was nothing but a moment of discomfort for possible gain. Nothing to worry about. Optimism seemed out of place here. She steadied the knife in her right hand, the tip pressed to the base of her left thumb. There was nothing to be done now, but to forge ahead. She turned her gaze back to him and counted her breaths, coercing her heart to settle down. She had asked for this, and she would do this. All that was left was to seize her courage. And she did.
With a heavy exhale, Themis pressed and pulled, the sharp blade cutting deeper than intended. She’d mimicked his motion best as she could, but as soon as she broke skin, shock had her jerking the knife. Tears welled in her eyes immediately. She swore as she dropped the blade, right hand initially going to cover her wound. He had warned her it would hurt; she wasn’t aware of just how correct he could be. Cold sweat beaded at the base of her neck and along her hairline, a euphoric rush of adrenaline and dizzying shock had her body singing, the electric pull of the magic in the room heightening sensation as she bit hard on her lip. Her arm stung, the blood pooling in her palm an unnerving sight. She couldn’t look at Samuel just now, there was too much happening for her to add the warmth of his eyes to her distractions. She counted her breaths, made them deep as she tried to regain her composure. She blinked hard against the tears in her eyes, the shock of the action more disturbing to her than the actual pain. She needed to move now before she overanalyzed herself into frozen state. He had told her she was on borrowed time. As she watched her blood drip into her dress and the ground, she agreed.
Her circle was imperfect, her runes not as uniform as she preferred them. She pressed on, finishing her gateway rune and closing the circle. Hand slippery with her blood, her skin feeling so cold in comparison to what was running out of her wrist, Themis covered the rune and pressed. She was unprepared for the consequences. Slow at first, her blood puddled beneath her hand, she felt the pulse before she heard it. As her heart contracted and released, so did her magic. There was a gentle moment, as if her power needed waking, a warm and lazy stretch before aiding her call to action. When it came, she was overwhelmed. It started where she contacted the circle and spread up her arm into her chest. Once at her heart, it circulated through the rest of her body, a slow, warm melting of sensation. This was nothing like her magic felt with their other experiments. It wouldn’t be how her magic felt for much longer. As soon as her attention turned to the half-transmuted comb, something snapped. Themis felt the tidal wave coming, and all she could do was brace.
Magic roared to life, the wave of it audible in her head. She could feel every crack in the floor. The room around her was a web of other magics and she would swear she could feel the wind somehow, the air dancing across feverish skin and chilling her. She felt Samuel across from her, the sound of his heart thudding in her ears. Over the coppery tang of her blood, she could pick out the sent that was Samuel and stagnant air, this place left alone too long. She felt it all through a fog of sensation, her muscles fighting for oxygen as her chest rose and fell a bit too quickly. Her body seemed to be climbing, the air feeling too thin suddenly. She tested her new connection, willed change into being. The results were tremendous. The change in the comb wasn’t subtle, there was no grace to her work now, her precision replaced by blunt power. What she thought came violently, the beauty of Samuel’s creation expanding, growing in fits and starts. She could control the sea as easily as she could control her strength in the moment, control seeming like a laughable concept. She had no vision in mind; did not know what she was working toward, but that didn’t stop the transmutation. The ribs of the comb twisted, forming their cage as the spine of the comb lengthened, almost adding a bony tail to the bony torso that was forming. With the appearance of each new bone-like protrusion, she felt weaker. She was half-way to euphoric, the waves of sensation, each new pulse pulling something more from her. She didn’t know how to curb it; wasn’t sure if she wanted to. The tears that had prickled in her eyes flowed freely now, her face a mix of wonder and deep grief. She feared she would never feel this alive again. As if her body rebelled at the idea, a new wave rocked her body, more of her pouring into the space between them. She was shaking, could feel the tremors beginning in her arms and her free hand no longer seemed capable of supporting her. She was fading and, as the waves of her magic throbbed through her into the earth, she couldn’t seem to care. Her eyes felt heavy, blinking seeming to take so much strength. It felt too good.
It sounded like Samuel in her head, pulling her back to the present. Time had warped here, and she did force her eyes to blink, to look for Samuel. Seconds seemed to slow; he seemed suddenly very far away. She registered that she disliked this and should remedy the situation. But first, she had to close the circle. She didn’t know why; she just did. She ended her link to the circle, her former comb clattering to the ground. Something was telling her to come back, to focus. What was she meant to focus on? Everything seemed too far away suddenly, and the room was too cold. She found him, found Samuel, her face showing relief and the effort it took to smile at him. She forgot she was bleeding until she accidentally brushed over her wound, a sharp urgent pain screaming into her brain. It almost made her faint, gravity seeming too strong a force and her head spinning. She was laying down; it wasn’t an intentional thought, but an imperative. She stretched out on her side, bleeding hand pulled to her chest to protect it. The stone was cold beneath her cheek, but it felt soothing on feverish skin. She felt drunk, inebriated in a way that she’d never experienced from wine. Her limbs felt too heavy and when she made the mistake of trying to lift her head, she lost several seconds, groggily coming back to herself as her brain attempted to compensate for blood loss. The silliest part of it, as Samuel came back into focus, is she had the urge to tackle him, to touch him and demand his reciprocation. She felt it low in her stomach, her ache for him, but even the thought of going to him was impossible. She felt incredible, if only she could move. It made her chuckle, exhaustion, disbelief, and a magical withdrawal making her giddy, ridiculous. “I feel like the most powerful witch alive, but I can’t make my limbs work. All hail my glory, the queen of blood magic.” She snickered, nearly everything seeming funny. “I don’t even know what I did.” Her voice was weak, but wonder laced through her words.
Samuel changed. He paled, a sickly color that didn’t suit him. He looked feverish, disconnected from the world around him, but she knew that wasn’t the case. As his eyes glazed over, Themis had the sense that he could see the fabric of the world around him. She could feel him everywhere. What was normally a buzzing feeling was now a pressure, a heavy hand around her that seemed to squeeze the life from the room in a rhythmic pulse. It was a heartbeat, she recognized, but if it was her own, Samuel’s, or the heart of the earth, she didn’t know. It was almost too much, the weight in the air making it hard to breathe, the cavern around them seeming to superheat. This was Samuel, raw in ways he’d never shown her. It was intoxicating, disorienting, and even as his blood became his ink, she considered herself fortunate to witness him work.
While he commanded her attention, it was her hair comb beginning to rearrange itself that demanded her focus. As her comb began to change, she felt a prickling up her spine. Horn became bone, the teeth of the comb sharpening to a point, smooth surface becoming spine. Her own impatience delayed the finishing of the transmutation, Samuel allowing her no-longer comb to reach the floor. As he dissolved the circle, she felt a rush of nausea, and whether it was the change in pressure or the realization that her turn had come mattered little.
She held his knife in her hand and action seemed impossible. She could form the circle and continue his work, she knew this. All that changed was her conduit, she told herself. This was nothing but a moment of discomfort for possible gain. Nothing to worry about. Optimism seemed out of place here. She steadied the knife in her right hand, the tip pressed to the base of her left thumb. There was nothing to be done now, but to forge ahead. She turned her gaze back to him and counted her breaths, coercing her heart to settle down. She had asked for this, and she would do this. All that was left was to seize her courage. And she did.
With a heavy exhale, Themis pressed and pulled, the sharp blade cutting deeper than intended. She’d mimicked his motion best as she could, but as soon as she broke skin, shock had her jerking the knife. Tears welled in her eyes immediately. She swore as she dropped the blade, right hand initially going to cover her wound. He had warned her it would hurt; she wasn’t aware of just how correct he could be. Cold sweat beaded at the base of her neck and along her hairline, a euphoric rush of adrenaline and dizzying shock had her body singing, the electric pull of the magic in the room heightening sensation as she bit hard on her lip. Her arm stung, the blood pooling in her palm an unnerving sight. She couldn’t look at Samuel just now, there was too much happening for her to add the warmth of his eyes to her distractions. She counted her breaths, made them deep as she tried to regain her composure. She blinked hard against the tears in her eyes, the shock of the action more disturbing to her than the actual pain. She needed to move now before she overanalyzed herself into frozen state. He had told her she was on borrowed time. As she watched her blood drip into her dress and the ground, she agreed.
Her circle was imperfect, her runes not as uniform as she preferred them. She pressed on, finishing her gateway rune and closing the circle. Hand slippery with her blood, her skin feeling so cold in comparison to what was running out of her wrist, Themis covered the rune and pressed. She was unprepared for the consequences. Slow at first, her blood puddled beneath her hand, she felt the pulse before she heard it. As her heart contracted and released, so did her magic. There was a gentle moment, as if her power needed waking, a warm and lazy stretch before aiding her call to action. When it came, she was overwhelmed. It started where she contacted the circle and spread up her arm into her chest. Once at her heart, it circulated through the rest of her body, a slow, warm melting of sensation. This was nothing like her magic felt with their other experiments. It wouldn’t be how her magic felt for much longer. As soon as her attention turned to the half-transmuted comb, something snapped. Themis felt the tidal wave coming, and all she could do was brace.
Magic roared to life, the wave of it audible in her head. She could feel every crack in the floor. The room around her was a web of other magics and she would swear she could feel the wind somehow, the air dancing across feverish skin and chilling her. She felt Samuel across from her, the sound of his heart thudding in her ears. Over the coppery tang of her blood, she could pick out the sent that was Samuel and stagnant air, this place left alone too long. She felt it all through a fog of sensation, her muscles fighting for oxygen as her chest rose and fell a bit too quickly. Her body seemed to be climbing, the air feeling too thin suddenly. She tested her new connection, willed change into being. The results were tremendous. The change in the comb wasn’t subtle, there was no grace to her work now, her precision replaced by blunt power. What she thought came violently, the beauty of Samuel’s creation expanding, growing in fits and starts. She could control the sea as easily as she could control her strength in the moment, control seeming like a laughable concept. She had no vision in mind; did not know what she was working toward, but that didn’t stop the transmutation. The ribs of the comb twisted, forming their cage as the spine of the comb lengthened, almost adding a bony tail to the bony torso that was forming. With the appearance of each new bone-like protrusion, she felt weaker. She was half-way to euphoric, the waves of sensation, each new pulse pulling something more from her. She didn’t know how to curb it; wasn’t sure if she wanted to. The tears that had prickled in her eyes flowed freely now, her face a mix of wonder and deep grief. She feared she would never feel this alive again. As if her body rebelled at the idea, a new wave rocked her body, more of her pouring into the space between them. She was shaking, could feel the tremors beginning in her arms and her free hand no longer seemed capable of supporting her. She was fading and, as the waves of her magic throbbed through her into the earth, she couldn’t seem to care. Her eyes felt heavy, blinking seeming to take so much strength. It felt too good.
It sounded like Samuel in her head, pulling her back to the present. Time had warped here, and she did force her eyes to blink, to look for Samuel. Seconds seemed to slow; he seemed suddenly very far away. She registered that she disliked this and should remedy the situation. But first, she had to close the circle. She didn’t know why; she just did. She ended her link to the circle, her former comb clattering to the ground. Something was telling her to come back, to focus. What was she meant to focus on? Everything seemed too far away suddenly, and the room was too cold. She found him, found Samuel, her face showing relief and the effort it took to smile at him. She forgot she was bleeding until she accidentally brushed over her wound, a sharp urgent pain screaming into her brain. It almost made her faint, gravity seeming too strong a force and her head spinning. She was laying down; it wasn’t an intentional thought, but an imperative. She stretched out on her side, bleeding hand pulled to her chest to protect it. The stone was cold beneath her cheek, but it felt soothing on feverish skin. She felt drunk, inebriated in a way that she’d never experienced from wine. Her limbs felt too heavy and when she made the mistake of trying to lift her head, she lost several seconds, groggily coming back to herself as her brain attempted to compensate for blood loss. The silliest part of it, as Samuel came back into focus, is she had the urge to tackle him, to touch him and demand his reciprocation. She felt it low in her stomach, her ache for him, but even the thought of going to him was impossible. She felt incredible, if only she could move. It made her chuckle, exhaustion, disbelief, and a magical withdrawal making her giddy, ridiculous. “I feel like the most powerful witch alive, but I can’t make my limbs work. All hail my glory, the queen of blood magic.” She snickered, nearly everything seeming funny. “I don’t even know what I did.” Her voice was weak, but wonder laced through her words.
January 31, 2025 – 11:22 AM
Alchemy Professor
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.
February 1, 2025 – 1:47 AM
Astronomy Professor & Gryffindor Head of House
She was a guest in her own body. There was no better way to describe her strange disconnect from the world around her, even as the sensory bombardment continued. Things were happening; she was being touched, moved, and held. Something happened with her arm; the moment of clarity that came with pain was lost to a muddled fog. Her wrist was so far from her heart and farther from her brain. Everything seemed to take too long to receive and interpret. When she opened her eyes again, she was cradled in Samuel's lap with no idea how she got there, his hand warm on her throat. A flicker of warning came with the gesture. She was vulnerable, unable to defend herself should the need arise. The sensation of helplessness bubbled up, and wrong and fear were the messages trying to reach her limbs to mount some response. The beginnings of panic fizzled out as her brain registered Samuel.
"We're all mad. And you started it." She took his laughter as a reward, even as she regretted how it jarred her body. It was worth it, to hear his laughter, to feel this close. She welcomed his kisses, the ghost of them leaving fleeting warmth where tears and blood loss brought a chill. She made some noncommittal sound at his urging to stay awake, a slight pout forming. It seemed he was asking more of her now than when she took the blade. He was here, and he was holding her; couldn't he just let her rest? But she wouldn't leave him here alone; the thought became a focus point. She needed to stay awake; she wouldn't abandon him here. That seemed very, very important.
She did as she was told, not by choice but out of necessity. Moving sounded like a ridiculous idea. So she watched him. It felt like a memory more than a discovery, but as she watched his face, she let her mind puzzle through what it observed. "I worried you," The understanding fluttered in her chest, the mate to something that stood by, waiting for her to label it properly.
"We're all mad. And you started it." She took his laughter as a reward, even as she regretted how it jarred her body. It was worth it, to hear his laughter, to feel this close. She welcomed his kisses, the ghost of them leaving fleeting warmth where tears and blood loss brought a chill. She made some noncommittal sound at his urging to stay awake, a slight pout forming. It seemed he was asking more of her now than when she took the blade. He was here, and he was holding her; couldn't he just let her rest? But she wouldn't leave him here alone; the thought became a focus point. She needed to stay awake; she wouldn't abandon him here. That seemed very, very important.
She did as she was told, not by choice but out of necessity. Moving sounded like a ridiculous idea. So she watched him. It felt like a memory more than a discovery, but as she watched his face, she let her mind puzzle through what it observed. "I worried you," The understanding fluttered in her chest, the mate to something that stood by, waiting for her to label it properly.
February 1, 2025 – 12:43 PM
Alchemy Professor
He found his wand and summoned a vial containing a concentrated potion that served the purpose of rebuilding lost blood. He kept many of these around. They were of a viscous consistency and tasted horrendous. Like iron and rust and acid. He diluted it in a bit of water before he gave it to her to drink.
"I'm alright," he told her and he decided that would be his truth. "Sometimes a moment of worry is the appropriate response. Let's get you upstairs."
The bedroom was cooler and softer than downstairs. He opened a window and lit the lantern and the candles, then he returned to the bed where he had laid her down. Everything seemed slightly blurred at the edges and yet filled with ominous foreboding. The movement of the air in the drapes at the window triggered a spike of something in the back of his head and he felt that his body was very warm and buzzing with energy, electricity under his skin that wanted out but couldn't. His throat was tight. He sat next to her on the bed. She was still wearing the cloak she had worn outside. He slipped out of his shoes and pulled his legs up on the bed and bent over her to undo the fastenings at her neck. The blood on her dress and sleeves was slowly drying. He could smell it.
Her face, he thought, was gaining a bit of color. "Feeling a bit better?" he asked. "I have water here. Or something stronger, if you prefer that."
Looking down on her, he added: "You never cease to surprise me. Every time I think I know what you are like, you turn and I see something new." There was a dull and insistent ache that seemed to spread from his chest down into his stomach. He wondered what it all meant. He felt like lying down next to her but he thought that there was still more she might need. Carefully he took her shoes off and with a movement of his hand, the window on the other side of the room closed again.
"I'm alright," he told her and he decided that would be his truth. "Sometimes a moment of worry is the appropriate response. Let's get you upstairs."
The bedroom was cooler and softer than downstairs. He opened a window and lit the lantern and the candles, then he returned to the bed where he had laid her down. Everything seemed slightly blurred at the edges and yet filled with ominous foreboding. The movement of the air in the drapes at the window triggered a spike of something in the back of his head and he felt that his body was very warm and buzzing with energy, electricity under his skin that wanted out but couldn't. His throat was tight. He sat next to her on the bed. She was still wearing the cloak she had worn outside. He slipped out of his shoes and pulled his legs up on the bed and bent over her to undo the fastenings at her neck. The blood on her dress and sleeves was slowly drying. He could smell it.
Her face, he thought, was gaining a bit of color. "Feeling a bit better?" he asked. "I have water here. Or something stronger, if you prefer that."
Looking down on her, he added: "You never cease to surprise me. Every time I think I know what you are like, you turn and I see something new." There was a dull and insistent ache that seemed to spread from his chest down into his stomach. He wondered what it all meant. He felt like lying down next to her but he thought that there was still more she might need. Carefully he took her shoes off and with a movement of his hand, the window on the other side of the room closed again.
February 2, 2025 – 7:58 AM
Astronomy Professor & Gryffindor Head of House
She had seen this potion before, and her stomach rebelled at the memory. The smell of it was stronger than that of her memory and likely less pleasant. She drank it anyway, and her stomach tried to reject it immediately. Pride and an embarrassing bout of coughing kept the potion down and she prayed thanks to anything or being that maybe listening. She'd already bled on his floors and fainted. Themis refused to vomit in his presence; she'd rather he let her bleed out now.
The trip to his bedroom was unnecessarily delayed by her insistence to stand on her own. It was a mistake, she knew that as soon as she heard herself insisting. She was in no shape for this or for a climb up the stairs; she knew she needed time and rest. It didn't stop the bone-deep need to be more than a lifeless doll on the floor. Her struggle was valiant, but the effect was minimal. She managed to sit up in his lap, but when she attempted to move further, the room spun again. She offered no further resistance and was silent as he carried her away. He was kind enough not to mock her.
He had done all the work, but she was still gasping when they reached his room. The mattress was a relief from the floor, but this lacked the warmth of Samuel around her. She tried to take in her new surroundings, but her body was busy recreating blood and catching up on oxygen. As he stepped away from her to the window, she had all the time she needed to evaluate her condition. She was bloodstained, and barely mobile in Samuel's abandoned bed. Her first attempt at blood magic had left her so weak, she needed to be carried, to be cared for. She resented that immensely.
She breathed a bit easier as he released her cloak from her throat, but it was temporary. Sitting like this, with him bent over her, essentially pinning her to the surface, was a reminder of how much blood was returning to her body, the ache she felt from her magic still simmering in her veins now. It was a slow pull, a deep drag that threatened to pull her under. She wanted to surrender to it, to let the power she'd felt in the cave overwhelm her now and remind her just how alive she felt. It made her want impossible things.
Cuddled between his arm and his body, she looked up at him, the blood returning to her face only highlighting her momentarily embarrassment. She felt so foolish as she was gaining her senses. "I apologize for falling apart so completely." She grinned, her cheeks flushing brighter at his words. "I am simply me." Needing to ease both the ache in her body and the growing heat in her blood, she chose a saner compromise. "Will you lay with me? For just a moment."
The trip to his bedroom was unnecessarily delayed by her insistence to stand on her own. It was a mistake, she knew that as soon as she heard herself insisting. She was in no shape for this or for a climb up the stairs; she knew she needed time and rest. It didn't stop the bone-deep need to be more than a lifeless doll on the floor. Her struggle was valiant, but the effect was minimal. She managed to sit up in his lap, but when she attempted to move further, the room spun again. She offered no further resistance and was silent as he carried her away. He was kind enough not to mock her.
He had done all the work, but she was still gasping when they reached his room. The mattress was a relief from the floor, but this lacked the warmth of Samuel around her. She tried to take in her new surroundings, but her body was busy recreating blood and catching up on oxygen. As he stepped away from her to the window, she had all the time she needed to evaluate her condition. She was bloodstained, and barely mobile in Samuel's abandoned bed. Her first attempt at blood magic had left her so weak, she needed to be carried, to be cared for. She resented that immensely.
She breathed a bit easier as he released her cloak from her throat, but it was temporary. Sitting like this, with him bent over her, essentially pinning her to the surface, was a reminder of how much blood was returning to her body, the ache she felt from her magic still simmering in her veins now. It was a slow pull, a deep drag that threatened to pull her under. She wanted to surrender to it, to let the power she'd felt in the cave overwhelm her now and remind her just how alive she felt. It made her want impossible things.
Cuddled between his arm and his body, she looked up at him, the blood returning to her face only highlighting her momentarily embarrassment. She felt so foolish as she was gaining her senses. "I apologize for falling apart so completely." She grinned, her cheeks flushing brighter at his words. "I am simply me." Needing to ease both the ache in her body and the growing heat in her blood, she chose a saner compromise. "Will you lay with me? For just a moment."
February 2, 2025 – 1:18 PM
Alchemy Professor
The fresh and cold air gave something alive back to the abandoned room, but it was ephemeral. He looked down at her, and at her grin — like that of a sphinx, reaching her eyes, but not quite in the way one expected, always obscuring something else. "Don't be sorry," he said, and he pushed himself onto the bed entirely, climbing over her to settle on the other side. His gaze briefly lingered on the cigarette burns on the blanket that protected the bedding underneath, and it increased his feeling that this was not quite real.
His body felt like a wire, conducting energy that bore in on him from somewhere he had no concept of. It was difficult to settle. He lay down and put his arms around her and pulled her into his body, and her hair touched his face, and he found himself overwhelmed by the scent of it, that mixed with the metallic smell of the blood that was all over her dress and had gotten on him too, he supposed. But that did not really matter now; it did not feel like it did. He closed his eyes. Blurred red shapes pressed into the black behind his eyelids and caused a deep stab of dread that only ceased when his hands found her skin, which was warming now, with the blood returning. The aliveness of her was all he could focus on or think about, and he became aware that he was holding her too tightly, pressing his face too hungrily against the back of her neck, being altogether impossible to this injured woman, who needed rest and recovery. "Tell me to leave you alone. I will, I promise," he said.
His body felt like a wire, conducting energy that bore in on him from somewhere he had no concept of. It was difficult to settle. He lay down and put his arms around her and pulled her into his body, and her hair touched his face, and he found himself overwhelmed by the scent of it, that mixed with the metallic smell of the blood that was all over her dress and had gotten on him too, he supposed. But that did not really matter now; it did not feel like it did. He closed his eyes. Blurred red shapes pressed into the black behind his eyelids and caused a deep stab of dread that only ceased when his hands found her skin, which was warming now, with the blood returning. The aliveness of her was all he could focus on or think about, and he became aware that he was holding her too tightly, pressing his face too hungrily against the back of her neck, being altogether impossible to this injured woman, who needed rest and recovery. "Tell me to leave you alone. I will, I promise," he said.
February 3, 2025 – 5:48 AM
Astronomy Professor & Gryffindor Head of House
“I can’t help it. I want to be a competent partner, and I want to support you. The learning curve is steeper than anticipated.” She knew he meant to absolve her of her beginner’s mistakes, but she could not accept his grace so easily. “It’s humbling, to be so new to magic again.”
His body stretched against her felt like victory, the warmth of him detectable through her bloodstained dress. This was surreal. Her relief at his nearness didn’t quiet the building sensation just beneath her skin. She’d felt it below in his laboratory, when her magic activated, and the world shattered for her briefly. She couldn’t explain the remaining traces of magic, couldn’t comprehend what was making it uncomfortable to be in her skin. Her body felt tight, as if there wasn’t enough space for Themis, blood, and magic. It pulled at her, the feeling of a tide in her veins returning. “Why can I still feel the magic? Not the same and not everything, but I feel it.” And how can I possibly feel anymore? She may have been right; they were both going mad.
She closed her eyes and tried to rest, but it was a mistake. With her eyes closed, she could better focus on the other ways she experienced him. It didn’t calm her; her heart rate was climbing as she tried to remain still. She could smell him, could taste him along with the metals in her blood and the salt from dried tears. He was burrowed into her neck and hair, his breath tickling her skin. His arms around her were nearing too tight, but she would let him crush her without complaint. This was what her body demanded as she lay on the floor of the cavern. Even as she worked to repair herself, every available messenger was calling out for touch, for him. Whatever was happening to her was all too much: blood magic, loss, affection, and longing. It was all made for a perfect storm in the bed he’d abandoned, in a life he tried to leave behind. But they were here and alive, something she no longer felt certain. She’d come too close to the edge tonight; she didn’t ask and did not want to be told. She could feel it under the chaos of magic and sensation. She’d come close to the limits of her mortality, nearly putting Samuel in an unthinkable position. Nothing was certain and she gambled too easily today. She owed him more than this, more than she could offer him.
She turned her head to see him over her shoulder, needing to see his eyes when she said, “I don’t want you to leave me alone."
His body stretched against her felt like victory, the warmth of him detectable through her bloodstained dress. This was surreal. Her relief at his nearness didn’t quiet the building sensation just beneath her skin. She’d felt it below in his laboratory, when her magic activated, and the world shattered for her briefly. She couldn’t explain the remaining traces of magic, couldn’t comprehend what was making it uncomfortable to be in her skin. Her body felt tight, as if there wasn’t enough space for Themis, blood, and magic. It pulled at her, the feeling of a tide in her veins returning. “Why can I still feel the magic? Not the same and not everything, but I feel it.” And how can I possibly feel anymore? She may have been right; they were both going mad.
She closed her eyes and tried to rest, but it was a mistake. With her eyes closed, she could better focus on the other ways she experienced him. It didn’t calm her; her heart rate was climbing as she tried to remain still. She could smell him, could taste him along with the metals in her blood and the salt from dried tears. He was burrowed into her neck and hair, his breath tickling her skin. His arms around her were nearing too tight, but she would let him crush her without complaint. This was what her body demanded as she lay on the floor of the cavern. Even as she worked to repair herself, every available messenger was calling out for touch, for him. Whatever was happening to her was all too much: blood magic, loss, affection, and longing. It was all made for a perfect storm in the bed he’d abandoned, in a life he tried to leave behind. But they were here and alive, something she no longer felt certain. She’d come too close to the edge tonight; she didn’t ask and did not want to be told. She could feel it under the chaos of magic and sensation. She’d come close to the limits of her mortality, nearly putting Samuel in an unthinkable position. Nothing was certain and she gambled too easily today. She owed him more than this, more than she could offer him.
She turned her head to see him over her shoulder, needing to see his eyes when she said, “I don’t want you to leave me alone."
February 3, 2025 – 9:17 PM
Alchemy Professor
"You opened up your magic system to the world; you pulled it out and lit it up and sustained that. That changes things," he thought of the transformed comb of horn that he left in the laboratory. Would they ever finish it?
She turned to him and they looked into each other's eyes and he had to kiss her and there was no way to be tight and close enough; he wanted to lock her away inside of him to be kept forever, he wanted to be inside of her, he wanted to consume her and possess her more than ever. The intensity of this feeling frightened him. Holding her while her blood spilled bright on his trousers and sleeves seemed to have thrown him into a spiral that was troubling because it reached into his unconscious, where he had no insight into its mechanisms. The events of this evening made him more certain than ever that he was descending into madness — it would not be the first time in his life. Another cycle, completed? He had to leave her until he got a hold of himself. It was all too much at once; something would have to give.
"Right," he said, as an unspecific answer to her assurance. The smell of blood seemed to get stronger, until he could not smell anything else. She did not know, had seen none of the books and secret texts, did not understand how deep it went and how deeply it could root itself in a person. It was known that power corrupted, but Samuel knew that to be an oversimplification. The merging red and red, where life turned to bloody pulp and quickened back to to life, where bones grew from combs — there was a principle to it, and a knowledge. 'We call upon the Red Grail, who gives life; who takes life; who is not sated'
It was all messed up. He would never be free of his past, nor would he ever get the closure to understand why it had happened as it did. So he would be forced to reenact it forever, looking for that answer. She would die, wouldn't she? How close had she come today? He was setting it into motion all over again. But it did not have to be like that — there was a way to stop it. He had to believe that. But in his current state, how could he make himself know it?
He was holding her still, her body fitted against his like it was tailor-made for that purpose, smaller and narrower just the right amount. Some minutes passed, while he was lost in thought. It was lucky she could not observe him, the way they laid with each other. He felt very warm and heavy. With a start, he sat up and took off his jacket with the bloodied sleeves.
She turned to him and they looked into each other's eyes and he had to kiss her and there was no way to be tight and close enough; he wanted to lock her away inside of him to be kept forever, he wanted to be inside of her, he wanted to consume her and possess her more than ever. The intensity of this feeling frightened him. Holding her while her blood spilled bright on his trousers and sleeves seemed to have thrown him into a spiral that was troubling because it reached into his unconscious, where he had no insight into its mechanisms. The events of this evening made him more certain than ever that he was descending into madness — it would not be the first time in his life. Another cycle, completed? He had to leave her until he got a hold of himself. It was all too much at once; something would have to give.
"Right," he said, as an unspecific answer to her assurance. The smell of blood seemed to get stronger, until he could not smell anything else. She did not know, had seen none of the books and secret texts, did not understand how deep it went and how deeply it could root itself in a person. It was known that power corrupted, but Samuel knew that to be an oversimplification. The merging red and red, where life turned to bloody pulp and quickened back to to life, where bones grew from combs — there was a principle to it, and a knowledge. 'We call upon the Red Grail, who gives life; who takes life; who is not sated'
It was all messed up. He would never be free of his past, nor would he ever get the closure to understand why it had happened as it did. So he would be forced to reenact it forever, looking for that answer. She would die, wouldn't she? How close had she come today? He was setting it into motion all over again. But it did not have to be like that — there was a way to stop it. He had to believe that. But in his current state, how could he make himself know it?
He was holding her still, her body fitted against his like it was tailor-made for that purpose, smaller and narrower just the right amount. Some minutes passed, while he was lost in thought. It was lucky she could not observe him, the way they laid with each other. He felt very warm and heavy. With a start, he sat up and took off his jacket with the bloodied sleeves.
February 4, 2025 – 7:46 AM
Astronomy Professor & Gryffindor Head of House
"'Changes things?' What does that mean?" His answer only provoked questions. Those questions became less important when he looked at her. My God, what had poets written about before Samuel? Themis heard her thoughts and wanted desperately to disappear. How and when had she become so unforgivably soft? Nothing mattered once he kissed her, making her softer still.
She couldn't get close enough to him or pour enough of her heart into her kisses. She craved him in ways she couldn't attribute to their night in her bed. She wanted him in ways for which she didn't have words. She could comprehend lust; she could understand desire, but this burned her. Beyond her physical desire for him, she was drawn to his brilliance. If she looked deeper, there was a spark she couldn't name that was him. Samuel wasn't the most intelligent man she'd ever met; he wasn't the most famous, high-ranking, or "well-bred." Samuel was the most honest. Themis did not confuse honesty with transparency; so much of Samuel was hidden beyond her, but that didn't mean she questioned him. He had never strayed from her expectations and had never promised her more than he could offer. They had many secrets between them, but secrets aren't the same as lies.
She savored his kisses and drank in his touch until he tried to soothe her. Themis tried, by God, she tried to hear his explanation and settle. She couldn't, her body still screaming for something, begging for more. When he kissed her, Themis could finally believe she could breathe. She sank into him, unable to get close enough.
Samuel, taking the lead, finally pressed her back to her side and cuddled in behind her, his unspoken order to settle heard loud and clear. She listened, or more accurately, she felt the impulse to obey.
This was all a mess. Themis could barely breathe; the closer she inched to 'improvement,' the worse the sting she experienced. What had she done? She was meant to do something, but beyond knowing her blood had done 'something,' there was nothing. Nothing at all.
Driven by impulse, Themis reached back for Samuel, her need to connect becoming essential. "Samuel, please." The plea is there without understanding; all faith is left in his ability to understand what she could not. "Please, Sam, I can barely breathe." She wished she was exaggerating.
She couldn't get close enough to him or pour enough of her heart into her kisses. She craved him in ways she couldn't attribute to their night in her bed. She wanted him in ways for which she didn't have words. She could comprehend lust; she could understand desire, but this burned her. Beyond her physical desire for him, she was drawn to his brilliance. If she looked deeper, there was a spark she couldn't name that was him. Samuel wasn't the most intelligent man she'd ever met; he wasn't the most famous, high-ranking, or "well-bred." Samuel was the most honest. Themis did not confuse honesty with transparency; so much of Samuel was hidden beyond her, but that didn't mean she questioned him. He had never strayed from her expectations and had never promised her more than he could offer. They had many secrets between them, but secrets aren't the same as lies.
She savored his kisses and drank in his touch until he tried to soothe her. Themis tried, by God, she tried to hear his explanation and settle. She couldn't, her body still screaming for something, begging for more. When he kissed her, Themis could finally believe she could breathe. She sank into him, unable to get close enough.
Samuel, taking the lead, finally pressed her back to her side and cuddled in behind her, his unspoken order to settle heard loud and clear. She listened, or more accurately, she felt the impulse to obey.
This was all a mess. Themis could barely breathe; the closer she inched to 'improvement,' the worse the sting she experienced. What had she done? She was meant to do something, but beyond knowing her blood had done 'something,' there was nothing. Nothing at all.
Driven by impulse, Themis reached back for Samuel, her need to connect becoming essential. "Samuel, please." The plea is there without understanding; all faith is left in his ability to understand what she could not. "Please, Sam, I can barely breathe." She wished she was exaggerating.
February 4, 2025 – 3:55 PM
Alchemy Professor
At first he did not answer her question. It was hard to keep out of his thoughts enough to consider it in depth. Everyone reacted differently to this kind of magic. The body adapted, just as it adapted to usage of the wand. The channels got accustomed to the brute force, the gates less tightly sealed, more eager to open and let the magic contained within pour out. When he descended into phases of overworking himself with the creation of his accursed creatures, he grew pale and feverish and hungry. His nerves sharpened and dulled and his veins yearned, and he worked in seclusion until he felt hollow and no longer human. Then he pulled himself loose and took a break—went to France, or stayed out in the city, or traveled to the countryside and forced himself to participate in the mundanities of life until he regained a sense of normalcy. He knew he was potentially rewiring himself in a way that he did not fully comprehend and risking his health and sanity in the process. It did not bother him; that was, in his estimation, a moot point. He did not consider it irrelevant when it came to her.
He looked down at Themis. The jacket fell off the bed and slid to the floor. "I'm here. Just getting out of all the blood." He turned her over on her back and searched for the answer to an unspoken question. Color had returned to her cheeks and he saw that with relief; nonetheless, something was wrong and he felt her panic sharply, as clearly as he could feel her hunger. Perhaps she felt as out of sorts as he pretended not to be. Samuel took her arm and looked at the red scar, fresh but clean and even. He moved on top of her on the bed, propping himself up with his left elbow next to her shoulder and sliding the right hand under her back, to loosen the lacing of her dress, taking care to not put any weight on her chest or arm, where it could crush or hurt her. Feeling her shift underneath him made his breath catch. Her warmth and the pressure of him on her was the only vivid thing in this room, which seemed to darken and dull around him.
His actions today were unjustifiable, he knew that—he was trying to clear away the dangerous and venomous growths around him to make room for her in his life and sent her away to keep her safe, yet here they were; upon being confronted with her again, he had relented immediately. Had taken her back in and back here and followed along her request for her introduction into his darkest art without resistance. How could he act surprised that now she was getting tangled in the black thorns, terrified and bleeding and yet yearning for more? She was trying to make sense of something she had no way to understand because he did not tell her anything. He could not bring himself to tell her. All he wanted was to push further; to abandon himself into merging their bodies together in all the ways that they could. He needed the heat and the closeness and the taste of her skin; He needed the aliveness of it to hold himself together. The red principle pulsed underneath that desire, too. Life knew no clean seperations. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "I want to bring order to the chaos of my life, for you. I'm afraid it all is more tangled and messed up than ever."
He looked down at Themis. The jacket fell off the bed and slid to the floor. "I'm here. Just getting out of all the blood." He turned her over on her back and searched for the answer to an unspoken question. Color had returned to her cheeks and he saw that with relief; nonetheless, something was wrong and he felt her panic sharply, as clearly as he could feel her hunger. Perhaps she felt as out of sorts as he pretended not to be. Samuel took her arm and looked at the red scar, fresh but clean and even. He moved on top of her on the bed, propping himself up with his left elbow next to her shoulder and sliding the right hand under her back, to loosen the lacing of her dress, taking care to not put any weight on her chest or arm, where it could crush or hurt her. Feeling her shift underneath him made his breath catch. Her warmth and the pressure of him on her was the only vivid thing in this room, which seemed to darken and dull around him.
His actions today were unjustifiable, he knew that—he was trying to clear away the dangerous and venomous growths around him to make room for her in his life and sent her away to keep her safe, yet here they were; upon being confronted with her again, he had relented immediately. Had taken her back in and back here and followed along her request for her introduction into his darkest art without resistance. How could he act surprised that now she was getting tangled in the black thorns, terrified and bleeding and yet yearning for more? She was trying to make sense of something she had no way to understand because he did not tell her anything. He could not bring himself to tell her. All he wanted was to push further; to abandon himself into merging their bodies together in all the ways that they could. He needed the heat and the closeness and the taste of her skin; He needed the aliveness of it to hold himself together. The red principle pulsed underneath that desire, too. Life knew no clean seperations. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "I want to bring order to the chaos of my life, for you. I'm afraid it all is more tangled and messed up than ever."
February 4, 2025 – 8:40 PM
Astronomy Professor & Gryffindor Head of House
She watched him study her wrist and its new scar, the red line stark against her pale skin. She wasn’t certain how she felt about her new mark, couldn’t decide what this new feature meant. She bruised easily, but rarely scarred, most of her childhood follies healing in days. As a girl, she was frequently trying to hide skinned knees and elbows, the symbols of her adventures outside. As a woman, her stories were rarely marked on her, apart from the few milky scars from her son. This was a different mark, a different act of devotion. Themis had asked him if she would need her own scars to aid him in their experiments; he never answered. Perhaps she understood, it was never Samuel’s decision, she had to reach this place on her own. She wondered if this would fade with time or would the magic she summoned leave the mark startling red for the world to see. There were ways to conceal imperfections, but Themis wasn’t convinced she would hide her badge of courage, she had earned it, after all.
What she wasn’t prepared for was the lingering sting. The scar on his arm felt warmer than the rest of his hand, the magic too near the surface in her veins reaching, calling out for touch. Her cut seemed too raw, as if her flesh would give way with the slightest suggestion to provide him with the life source beneath. Her body seemed eager to part with what it needed to survive, anything, should he ask. She would give him anything to calm the rising panic that she felt, but something in the darker recesses of her mind knew she would be back here once she regained some semblance of control. This would not be the last time she bled for him.
When he moved over her, her hands found his torso, needed to touch him even as his shirt obstructed her. She could mentally see the scars that mapped his chest and back, knew already the magic now carved into him. She wanted to trace the lines of him, learn the pattern that he immortalized. Something told her she would better understand the riddle of his skin now, that she was learning his language. Morbidly, she wondered if he would still touch her if she was as marked as he. Something in her bones, a feeling counter to every screaming impulse, warned her not to test the theory.
She could have wept when he began to tug at the laces of her dress, the fabric too confining now. She wanted the gory reminder of her actions removed, needed to be free of the metallic taste on her tongue and coppery tang in her nose. There had been so much blood, but the smell of it was overwhelming, overpowering. It shouldn’t be this strong, but it was there, blood and heat and need. She managed to wiggle free of the bodice of her dress, the relief immediate, but fleeting. She arched under him, pressing back against his weight, her hands pulling him closer still. Nothing made sense, the past few hours seeming to unravel around her. She sought answers in the one place they resided. Samuel was the key to this frightening puzzle. He burned like a star above her, too bright and hot to be contained by anything but the skies. How was he so composed when she was falling apart?
She could barely hear him over her heart pounding in her ears. But she heard what she needed. 'For her.' The idea that he would make any change to his world for her had her melting further, the thought alone too much to wrestle with. Amid the need and the anxiety in her eyes, there was a deep affection glowing. She answered him, her kiss gentle, reverent. "You are worth the chaos, wherever it leads."
What she wasn’t prepared for was the lingering sting. The scar on his arm felt warmer than the rest of his hand, the magic too near the surface in her veins reaching, calling out for touch. Her cut seemed too raw, as if her flesh would give way with the slightest suggestion to provide him with the life source beneath. Her body seemed eager to part with what it needed to survive, anything, should he ask. She would give him anything to calm the rising panic that she felt, but something in the darker recesses of her mind knew she would be back here once she regained some semblance of control. This would not be the last time she bled for him.
When he moved over her, her hands found his torso, needed to touch him even as his shirt obstructed her. She could mentally see the scars that mapped his chest and back, knew already the magic now carved into him. She wanted to trace the lines of him, learn the pattern that he immortalized. Something told her she would better understand the riddle of his skin now, that she was learning his language. Morbidly, she wondered if he would still touch her if she was as marked as he. Something in her bones, a feeling counter to every screaming impulse, warned her not to test the theory.
She could have wept when he began to tug at the laces of her dress, the fabric too confining now. She wanted the gory reminder of her actions removed, needed to be free of the metallic taste on her tongue and coppery tang in her nose. There had been so much blood, but the smell of it was overwhelming, overpowering. It shouldn’t be this strong, but it was there, blood and heat and need. She managed to wiggle free of the bodice of her dress, the relief immediate, but fleeting. She arched under him, pressing back against his weight, her hands pulling him closer still. Nothing made sense, the past few hours seeming to unravel around her. She sought answers in the one place they resided. Samuel was the key to this frightening puzzle. He burned like a star above her, too bright and hot to be contained by anything but the skies. How was he so composed when she was falling apart?
She could barely hear him over her heart pounding in her ears. But she heard what she needed. 'For her.' The idea that he would make any change to his world for her had her melting further, the thought alone too much to wrestle with. Amid the need and the anxiety in her eyes, there was a deep affection glowing. She answered him, her kiss gentle, reverent. "You are worth the chaos, wherever it leads."
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