A Past Not Soon Forgotten [closed]

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Night had fallen and the beat of drums filled the wood outside the rich city of Ethion. Sounds of laughter echoed the beautiful melody of pipes and lutes within; figures dancing around a large fire on this winter's evening, not having a care or worry for the devastation that was wreaking havoc across the kingdom. Carefree and full of hope and life, the lowborn people celebrated their life as it was, praying for victory in their own enigmatic way.
Among them was the bright eyed, ebony haired Sylena, lost in the enchantment of the music and richly flavored wine, dressed in the finest of silks only the richest people of Teronna could acquire. Indeed, she had been birthed of these people, lived their wild, nomadic ways...but she had found herself within the confines of Ethion City, drawn to its splendor and valor, its treachery and deceit. She wanted it all, and it was handed to her on a silver platter.
And yet, Namyca and those confined to the trees still called to her, those people who were wary of coming out of hiding. It was the ever mysterious Mystic leader that sent her deeper into the shadows of this city life, giving her a purpose...even as dangerous as it was.

Lost in her laughter and amusement, twirling along with one of the young girls of this lively group, her bright smile was instantly replaced by a grim frown when she caught sight of her maid as she rushed towards them. She was holding her shawl about her shoulders tightly with some form of modesty, even against the heat of the blazing fire.
"My lady...it is late! He will be asking of you!" cried the girl, frightened by some unknown reason.
"Ah, my sweet Mary...where is your sense of adventure, hm?" Sylena replied, her grin once more returning but more mischievous than it had been before...a look her maid knew was never a good thing.
Breaking away from the dancing crowd, Sylena sauntered over to her only trusted companion who looked upon the rest with worrisome eyes, fearful of their not-so-modest nature. All of this could be deemed “too pagan” to particular eyes, and yet no one around seemed to care. Arms rose up her sides to play above her head while hips rocked and swayed with the beat; a trill of laughter escaped the slender column of her throat. "Always so serious, my darling. Do you ever have any fun?" Syl inquired, lifting those brows in devious gesture. "I'm sure that my consort is too far gone from his drink to even remember me."
Mary wanted badly to remind her mistress that she was far gone herself after too much wine, but knew it was not her place to mention it. "Please, my lady...I do not wish to see him-" Mary paused, trying to find different wording. "I do not wish to see you hurt."
This seemed to stop Sylena in her slithering movements; lips tightening into a thin line. "He hasn't the guts to do that." Among other things that she wouldn't fill Mary's innocent ears with. With a sigh, she made a gesture with her head for Mary to find her own shawl somewhere amongst the chaos...before she'd find herself walking forward in slow, calculated steps away from the joyous scene. Once more finding herself lost within her thoughts and memories she tried so hard to forget. But as of late, they had begun to haunt her...never giving her a moment's rest.

His face had been a constant thought. His voice a sound she had thought she could never remember, echoed in her ears whenever she lingered in silence, walking by herself as she did now through the trees. A lost, ghostly image of what she once was. Sylena hadn't dreamed of Jarrin in so long, and it vexed her now. She couldn't sleep, hardly ate, and just let herself get lost in the fantasies of the commoners with their wondrous wine to get through it. But once she was alone, the haunting memories would build up and threaten to crush her underneath its burden. It had been so many years since she lost him, why was his memory haunted her all over again? Ruairc often told her it was a sign, a reason for something...and the only reason she could find was heartache.
A finger would lift to wipe away the single, small tear that glistened at the corner of her eye before attention lifted to find the city slowly coming into view, and the manor in which she lived only a few blocks from there.

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Unbeknownst to the woman, a silent form materializes out of the shadows some distance back down the path. A pair of hungry, amber-colored eyes watch as Sylena progressed up the lane back to the manor. A flash of fury glinted in those depths, obstructed by the long, tangled strands of white-blonde hair that fell over his brow from under the hood of the cloak.

The years had not been kind to him. Once, those who knew him were more apt to call him a skilled lover than a ferocious warrior. He’d once been young, beautiful, with eyes that had been light blue instead of amber and brown hair instead of white. His skin hadn’t been mottled with scars and the hard line of his mouth had once known what it was like to smile. However, it wasn’t merely his visage that was so altered.

Though he had once possessed some skill with a blade, it had been nearly as preferable a pastime as wine and women. Yet, despite his being a womanizing rogue and the very textbook definition of a troublemaker possessing a smile that could charm any wench or well-bred lady out of her skirts, he had been considered by most to be a decent man with a good heart and a demeanor that was so genial, that just being around him lifted the spirits. It was no surprise that he and Jarrin should have been friends since childhood, their temperaments suited so well to the other. When he wasn't getting the both of them into trouble, he was known for being the only one who could wring a smile from his unwilling Lord.

All that was gone now. There was nothing of that youthful, happy mannered, roguish devil in those features anymore. Now...there was just a devil with a stone-cold heart and merciless eyes that glittered even in the dark shadows under his hood. With Jarrin's death, so too had gone his place in society and politics. His home, his title...it all meant nothing and the one he could blame for all of this was now within reach. Worn, callused fingers tighten around the hilt of his blade, eager to coat that steel with her blood.

He had waited a long time for this and to sit back within the shadows and wait now made his blood churn with rage but wait he would. He didn't want it to be quick, she didn't deserve that luxury. He would make this last. He would have his revenge on the whore who had taken everything from him.

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She hadn't even waited for Mary to follow, or perhaps she had sadly already forgotten the girl in her slight twisted state; her mind delving far too deep into her thoughts for her to even consider much of anything else. Such as walking the cobblestone street at this time of night. Alone. In the dead silence, all she heard was the soft 'clicking' of her heels as she entered the desolate city; all the people tucked into their beds without a care in the world. All those rich, magic-less bastards, dreaming of nothing but their money and what it could buy.
She cursed them silently under her breath, those bloody people who could live through an entire day and not feel some form of remorse or guilt, or even anger. It made her sick to think of it and only seemed to make her head ache even more.

In her casual stride, the tune from the camp repeating over and over in her mind to block out the images and voices she was trying so desperately to ignore, Sylena was unaware of the ocher eyes that seemed to be following every move she made, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. She was too intoxicated to delve into her power, to watch her every step before she even made them to ensure that she would make it home safe. Either that...or she truly just didn't care what happened to herself this evening.
Sylena was at a point in her life where she didn't have anything to live for. She achieved her goals...what more was there? Where was her next challenge?
Ruairc’s voice suddenly sounded in her head, making her wince and grumble lowly to herself. Ah, yes, apparently she did have a purpose, but she struggled every day to even care about it.

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Tracking her movements from the shadows, he stalked her quietly, those cold eyes never wavering from their quarry. His prey. As she stumbled drunkenly down the deserted streets, a twisted smile slide across his face in a jagged, cruel line, etching into his features a grimace of hatred. After all this time, the years it had taken to track her down, everything he had done to get to this point... it was going to be so beautifully easy as though it were destiny. The grip to the hilt of his sword crushed the woven pattern of the leather and steel into his hand as he thought this.
Yes, this was supposed to happen; he deserved his revenge on the woman who had taken everything from him...everything he had ever given a damn about.

She was so close now...

He had been watching her for some time but he would wait until she was back to the manor she shared with her husband. How it would please him to know that the wench’s carcass would be found by her shocked husband, his mouth agape with horror, a scream deforming that noble face.

It was so perfect he could have crowed in premature triumph, shouted his victory to the heavens, cursing the gods for their ineptitude and for succeeding where they failed. The witch was so out of it, she wouldn’t get the chance to use her sorcery on him. Oh yes, this would be easy... but not quick. No. All he had to do now was wait...just a little longer...

Despite the tumultuous storm of emotions inside him, his patience seemed infinite as she staggered and wove her way through the streets of the noble city of Celbridge until finally arriving at her home. Silent as a shadow he would wait until she had unlocked the door. He would even wait until she had moved over the threshold into the darkened corridor. Before that door could be pushed closed, before she could even take another breath of the cool air inside the manor, a hard, calloused hand would slip over her mouth while another took both her wrists in a crushing grip that pinned her back against a broad chest. The hand to her mouth forced her head back into a cruel angle, fingers pressing brutally into soft, tender flesh. "Did no one ever tell you that it is foolish to walk home alone in the middle of the night?" he whispered in her ear almost conversationally. His words were almost teasing but their tone was anything but humorous. "Why...there could be dangerous predators about..." he bit out, his immovable arms tightening swiftly with a jerk, squeezing the very air from her lungs. "I have you now you vile witch." now there was something else in his voice besides hate... there was pleasure; he was very, very pleased.

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Empty. Pitied in secret. A starving soul searching for something more yet unwilling to take the necessary step forward to achieve it. Sylena felt she was stuck where she was, miserable and crazed...and alone. There was nothing that man could give her- his money was already hers. All his valuables, everything he owned...would be hers. She would find out where he had ordered those prisoners to go, then slit his throat.
So, then why did she feel less than achieved?

Because it was not enough. It never was enough. Every con proved hopeful at the beginning before she'd ever so slowly become bored, sinking deep into her self pity. It just felt as though whatever she wanted didn't matter these days...
And honestly, that pissed her off.
At least, once this one was finished, she'd have money and an honor she thought was forever lost. She'd have money to do whatever she wanted and perhaps buy her way to happiness. Isn't that what these high status people did? These bastards could have whatever they wanted...that was bound to make them happy at some point.

Chuckling softly to herself, to those lingering thoughts in her idea-filled mind, she'd eventually slow down...but not stop. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand up straight; the tips of her fingertips tingling as though something was watching her...warning her. She could feel the lull of her Sight beginning to take over but she forced it aside. Too much to drink, too much on her mind, she was simply becoming paranoid.

With a heavy sigh, a hand reached for the door of the manor as she approached, opening it and stepped inside...
And she felt a weight against her back, shoving her forward. There could be no attempt to run, no attempt to scream as the stranger ceased her wrists, locking a hand tightly over her mouth to draw her closer. Sylena struggled against his hold, violently trying to free herself which would quickly become quite clear that she'd be unable to do so. She was going nowhere.
Chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, bright blues widened in her sudden fear...and even more when she heard the deep, taunting voice in her ear, whispering against her skin with some sick amusement lacing the tone. So familiar...so...very familiar. It tugged at her memory, the answer right at the tip of her tongue, thickening her fear somehow even more. Head forced to tilt up and back, she'd cringe in discomfort as eyes found her attacker...And she stopped breathing.

Cullen.

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The moment had arrived, his moment, this belonged to him, this revenge, this satisfaction. It was here and it would never be taken away from him... The feel of her body going rigid with fear against him was a victory in and of itself; the witch had not even seen him coming. Her struggle only served to further excite him and he tightened his already crushing hold on her not because he had to. No, because he wanted to…because he could. He even chuckled, soft and low in his throat as though her efforts merely amused him. He would wait patiently as she put it together and tipped her head back, eyes rolling up to look at him. He could see that she remembered, that despite the myriad changes he’d gone through since last they saw one another, she knew him. Good. This would save them some time.

His lips pull into a sneer, those eyes glinting like flames reflected on steel except colder. Much colder. "That isn't happiness to see me now is it?" His voice was a chill whisper even as he gave her one swift shake. "Not even a ‘hello’ for an old friend. Not polite, you know." he murmurs with a calculated detachment that made it seem all the more ruthless and cold.

Looking down at her, disgust colored his gaze and twisted his expression. "I want you to listen to me because I’m only going to say this once." He began in a calmly reasoning tone. "If you scream, your body - the one I am merely going to kill - will be forfeit." He held her gaze to make sure she understood his full meaning. "And trust me when I say that I can find all manner of unseemly uses for it before I finally kill you." he would pause a moment for this to sink in before his hand fell from her mouth only for the cold press of the edge of a blade to appear at her throat. "Do you understand?"

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No matter of strange eyes or lighter hair could make her forget his face. A face that had loathed her, hated to the very core of his being for simply loving a man. Somehow, his eyes were more frightening this time, and there was genuine fear within her own.

Her mind ran a mile a minute, her heart pounding viciously in her chest with the realization of who it was. That venom in his tone, the malice in his eyes...actually gave her pause, if only for the fact that she could not understand why this hatred had run so deep in his veins for her. Sure, he had fallen into a bit of jealousy those years back, when Jarrin had managed to slip away to be with her...just her...
No, it was more than that, but the situation did not allow her to concentrate enough to find the answer. A man as strong as Cullen did not wish to slit another's throat over a grudge or simple contempt. He had her frightened, yes, but that would be all he'd get.
Slowly those feline eyes narrowed to their true size, concentrating on his face as he hissed his threat...soon removing his hand from her mouth. Sylena was no fool, and whether or not she believed she could escape him or had the chance to defend herself after she called for help, she wouldn't scream. No one threatened her and dared to live through it. She might have been shaken, but it would soon pass, she'd make sure of it.
Even still, red lips parted ever so slowly, pursing in thought before her whispered voice was finally heard, "I understand..." If she wanted to live, if she wanted to have the chance to get away, she had to play his game.

A game she had to win.

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There it was, what he had been waiting for, that defiance. He could see it in her eyes, that haughtiness. It was familiar to him as though it had been only yesterday he had last laid eyes on her in court. It was that look, that singular trait that would make this all the more sweet and satisfying. Cullen was no fool. He had known she looked down on him and envied his friendship with Jarrin just as he, admittedly, had come to resent the times she stole him away from their lifelong friendship, how he had felt Jarrin’s faith in him wane as his love for the witch grew. The more Jarrin pulled away, the more Cullen raged against her. And the more Cullen hated her, the more he felt that one day, Jarrin would be forced to choose. As Jarrin had pulled further and further away, Cullen found that his resentment had never found its way to his friend, passing by to that woman ever present at Jarrin's side. Now, here she was, at his mercy, and she still looked at him as though he were little better than a peasant.

Still, she quickly agreed to his terms. Poisonous, evil viper she may be but she wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t foolish enough to challenge him even if this was a side of him she had never seen before...a side no one who remembered him from back then had even glimpsed. Cullen wondered if any of them would even recognize him anymore. "Good." he notes without smiling or loosening his hold on her though his tone did hold a self satisfied note somewhere amidst the hate and the fury and bloodlust.

He kept his voice to a whisper before he spoke, musing slightly, lips curving in a humorless smile. "I confess, it took me some time to track you down. I must commend you on staying hidden for so long; you have my admiration for that if nothing else. Because I looked for you. Oh, I looked but you had vanished… as if my magic." He sneered the word into her ear. Surprisingly, instead of intensifying his bloodlust and quickening his need to spill her blood, finally getting to this moment had gifted him with an immense patience. "It should have occurred to me that you would find some other rich, well connected man for you to sink your fangs into." his grip tightened yet again as they began to come close to his reason for being here. "Dig your claws into him until there’s nothing left? That's what you do, is it not? What you are...especially skilled in?" he jerked her again, the blade pressing tighter. It was there now, the lead up to the topic of Jarrin and everything that had been taken away from him by the actions of the betraying wench he now held in his grasp.

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To attack a lady in her home, well...she was bound to look at you in disgust. Well, the women she socialized with would scream and cry, but she wasn't bred for this life- for clean hands and fancy skirts. It was lovely once it was handed to you, however. It was natural instinct to flaunt it to other people, even to the one who was about to take your life, as it were. But even still, as much as she tried, there was no denying the confusion and fear somewhere deep in those ocean depths. He just wouldn't look deep enough to see it.

Sylena had remembered little of him, only because she hadn't ever known him fully. To her, Cullen had been his friend. His close companion and the one he was with when he wasn't with her. She swallowed hard, trying to keep herself from thinking of him...but what worried her the most was the blood-thirsty glint in Cullen's eyes. If she wasn't afraid, if he wasn't so intent on slitting her throat, perhaps she could sink into his mind, read him, understand him...

No. Sylena kept silent, not bothering to answer and hadn't expected him to wish her to. Naturally, she could have given an instant and rather obvious remark about his “tracking skills”, since she never thought she had to hide from him in the first place...but she wasn't that brazen. It wasn't until he continued to accuse her, the blade against her fair skin more evident, his hold on her tightening, that she began to put things together...
Those lips pursed in question once again, slender brows inching together in some form of concern. "What are you talking about?" she practically breathed, trying to mask the shakiness of her voice yet hold whatever defiance she was allowed. "Why are you here?" Eyes shifted around the dark room, silently cursing those damn maids for not being awake, for no one hearing anything. But what was there to hear? Cullen had planned this entire thing out too perfectly. And her blood ran cold.

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It was coming back now, all those memories of a life long gone, a past he couldn’t forget…and a transgression he would never forgive. Fortunate for her that she was smart and did not let that rapier tongue of hers fly carelessly or this would all be over; neither of them was ready for that just yet.

Despite the flash of fear he caught in her eyes when he dared look into them and the quickening of her heart he could feel reverberating through her back into his chest, she held herself perfectly composed in his arms. Any other woman would have screamed and clawed upon facing their death, smelling it on the air around them, knowing it was coming and it was inevitable…but not Sylena. She had always been something of a singular creature, hypnotic and seductive in a most calculated and purposeful way. It had been what drew Jarrin, his best friend, his only true brother, into her clutches. It was she who was to blame for all of this. And then she dared play innocent, her voice a whisper with a thread of surprise that might have convinced anyone else other than him.

In one swift motion, he tipped his face against hers, his chin pressing against her jaw roughly as he growled directly into her ear. "Do not toy with me, witch! Do not even think about trying to use your trickery here; I know you." he spat in a hiss, the hand that held the dagger pressing more urgently into her throat, punctuating his words "He is dead! I lost everything. My lands, my title…my fiancé…” in the end, all these things mattered very little compared to the greatest loss, the one felt most keenly. “I lost the only family, the only truest brother I had ever known. Because of you and your treachery, I lost everything that I ever gave a damn about!" his voice had risen gradually from the barest, coldest whisper, hissing threateningly into a ragged growl that shook his chest with the force of his barely contained fury.

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She stiffened at the angered growls at her ear, the touch of steel against her soft skin pressing harder, perhaps already drawing blood. He was mad. There was no other reason, for she could not smell the sweetness of wine on his breath. No...he was serious...and he was crazed.
He was going to kill her.

Finally his intentions had become clear, though it should have been so obvious...for he spoke of the man that never strayed too far from her every thought, despite her struggle to pretend otherwise. All it did was cause pain, only bring back memories she was unable to let go of, and make her lose her concentration on everything. The faces that had caused her grief and betrayed her would haunt her dreams until she finally broke down, never giving her a chance to cry her last tears; the wound was always reopened.
Cullen didn't understand that. Sylena had been a victim herself, but from his eyes, Jarrin's infatuation with her- something that she herself had never been able to understand- had been her fault. Everything had been her fault. Perhaps, in a way, it had been simply because of the abilities she was born with. If she had been strong enough, skilled enough to use her gift of Sight, she might have seen it all coming. But she had been blinded...too enthralled with the dark man who had somehow wanted her. Who had loved her so fiercely.

She should have been scared. She should have worried about that knife cutting deeper...but she could no longer quiver beneath his hold. Sylena was not willing to let him believe that he had been the only one to lose. She had lost everything she ever held dear...and look what had become of her. The witch had become a pathetic, uncaring hollow version of her former self, and it was disgusting.
The desperation still in those bright eyes, they narrowed viciously at him; jaw tensing before her whispered words grew only a little bit louder; clearer so that he'd be sure to hear them. "I loved him!"

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Much as he was trying to keep a rein on his fury, the better to draw this out and make it last, Cullen’s frail grip on his control was already beginning to fray. He had waited too long to waste this moment. With a tight gasp, he shut his eyes, his body going still as he exerted his will over the thin thread of control he had, forcing his lungs to draw in a purposefully slow breath and then another, and another. All the while, his bruising hold on her never lessened.

Her whisper, faint at first, then again, at first unnoticed through the haze of bloodlust, suddenly yanked that thread from him with an abruptness that was nearly his undoing. His body jerked slightly against hers and, almost in the same instant, he was moving with surprising speed, his steel grip yanking her around by her wrists as though she were a doll, pivoting them both until he slammed her back against the wall with merciless force. "I loved him!!" he snarled, his face inches from hers. The heat of his fury was rolling off of him in waves. The blade was pressed against her throat with enough pressure to break the skin but only just. His eyes were now level with hers, those strangely colored depths not dead, not detached like those of an assassin but flashing with a wild combination of fury and agony, of hatred for her and love for Jarrin...and something else, a tortured desperation to be delivered from the brutal anguish he had existed in since Jarrin’s death. He shook his head slowly his face twisting back and forth from agony to hatred and back again, his gaze never leaving hers. "I loved him…."

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Those passing seconds of silence were agonizing, torturing her, scaring her more than his reason for being there...more than that sharp blade pressed to her delicate throat. When he did not answer right away, she foolishly began to wonder if she had gotten through to him with those simple words; so quickly and easily as that. Indeed, she was ridiculous to think this man, riddled with such hatred and malice, could have been swayed so easily. Though she spoke the truth, he did not want the truth. He wanted to hear her say the very words he envisioned her saying, to admit to the crime he accused her of.
He wanted her to feel more guilt than she already did.

It happened so quickly. The cold stone slammed harshly against her back, the glint of steel flashing in front of her eyes before the deadly edge once again threatened to pierce skin. Heavy gasp had fled from red tinted lips, parted in that delicate grimace while bright blues were able to look upon him fully now...at the man she remembered yet couldn't distinguish all at the same time.
At one time in his life, those eyes had been so full of life, of laughter and adoration for his companion. There was no snarl, no permanent scowl upon those now weathered features or death in those depths.
Sylena was suddenly wishing she had known him better then...
He spat those words to her face, arguing a fact that she knew the true answer to. It made her sick, made her tense and want so badly to move or to strike out at him. Anything but be held hostage there and told her truest sorrow was false.

Though still fearful of the knife, she managed to inch her face closer just a little bit to emphasize her next words, caring not for the small drop of blood that began to stream down that porcelain column. "Then where were you when they killed him?" came those poisonous words, still managing to be quiet but oh so deadly and precise, aiming them perfectly towards his heart. Spoken from that forked tongue he was so certain she had. Despite the sudden hatred in her eyes, Sylena wished to desperately show him the visions in her head...the memories of that night...the betrayal and loss they had suffered. She had been there through the whole thing, and she had been able to do nothing.

You saved me from myself...Jarrin had said.

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Being so suddenly presented with her face, the sight of it not only intensified his anger but most surprisingly it also stunned him. It wasn't that she was shorter than he had remembered though this was true nor that her eyes seemed larger on her thin face, her lips fuller...her waist...slimmer. The column of her throat under his blade seemed... more slender. She felt like a reed in his hands, like he could snap her between his fingers. In all this time, he had envisioned her as a cruel faced witch, a thing of nightmares. Never once had he remembered her as something breakable though he envisioned doing just that for so long. However, this wasn’t what stunned him into stillness as his fury reignited. It was her expression. How dare she look at him like that? How dare she stand there looking at him with those wide eyes full of all the things he shouldn't be seeing in this wretched woman. Confusion. Shock. Sorrow… worst of all sorrow. She had no right to look at him like that.

Jerking his hands, he smacked her back against the wall again. "Don't you dare!! Don't you even imply- Where was I?" he falters, his disgust choking him. "Where was I?!" he growls again, shaking her once more, rattling her against the wall. "I was the fool who arranged for your escape! The both of you! And the diversion that helped you two to get out. Because he asked me to! I did it for him and now he's dead!!" The words spilled out from his lips, his features, once so jovial and handsome, twisted and contorted as he spat the words at her. The torturous pain was there in his voice again while his eyes still burned with that ever burning rage, their amber depths glittering like otherworldly flames and yet also fathomless, like hollow pits. They were the eyes of a man with nothing left to lose.

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She cringed, teeth clenching tight as she felt the hard wall slam into her back repeatedly in his fury. Sylena knew she had struck a chord within him, knew it could easily throw him completely over the edge into his insanity...but she didn't seem to care that much about it anymore. She'd take the beating as though she truly deserved it, waiting for him to stop and growl those angered words into her face, as though he had a point...as though he was right about everything...as though Jarrin had meant nothing to her...
She was who she was now because of what they did to him. Cullen wasn't going to believe anything she said on the matter.

The burning of his eyes was becoming too hard to bear. They were like molten rocks, beating down on her and sinking her down to her knees, testing her strength on this memory she had tried so hard to push to the back of her mind...for whenever she thought about it, thought of who she had become because of it, she'd completely lose herself.
Sylena kept her eyes shut, flinching like a frightened animal from every harsh word, at every movement she felt him make. Despite her discomfort and fear, however, she was growing tired of this obscene idea of his, how foul his thoughts of her were. He needed to see the truth...and if he were to still kill her again after, then so be it. At least, her conscience would be clear.
With whatever strength she could summon up, Sylena lunged forward with her bound hands towards his throat. There came no attempt to attack, no desire to dig nails into his skin...if she were given the chance to succeed this far, he'd feel one of her slender hands wrap about his throat in nothing but a gentle, but firm grip, enough to draw his eyes towards hers as she stared up at him. Those blues widened in concentration as they poured into his own, calling for his full attention as she sought for the link into his mind, an entrance where she could project her own, horrid memories of the day he remembered so much. As her magic latched on, cerulean eyes swiftly changed to glowing lavender; a dangerous thing to do in a land that would kill her on the spot for what she was.
But this man wanted to kill her anyway.

His own eyes would suddenly become clouded by darkness until faint images and sound would fill his head, becoming clearer with each passing second.
He'd see her, her hand held tightly within Jarrin's as they ran through the forest. A golden-haired female remained before them, leading them through the trees to a cave. She seemed to be helping them, frantically urging them inside before King Allarick’s soldiers found them. Regardless, they still did...flooding into the cave and surrounding Jarrin and Sylena. The other woman began backing away quickly, a clear look of shame upon her delicate features.
It had been set up...a trap, a way to lure Sylena into a place where she couldn't escape, where she could hardly defend herself. Despite Jarrin’s efforts when the men attacked, he was brought down within their fury, leaving a frantic and hysterical Sylena to mourn over his bloodied body.
"You saved me from myself..." he'd said before his eyes closed over.
Too consumed in her pain, too angered to care for whatever doubts and apologies they might have had, Sylena grabbed her lover's knife and slashed the tip across Alysia's stomach...the friend who betrayed her, who dared to look at her with that look of guilt, of shame.
A scream came forth from her throat, rattling the stones of the cave around them all, threatening to close in. She managed to run amidst their panic, where the people never saw her again.

With a quick, sucked in breath, Sylena let him go and slumped heavily against the wall as a wave of dizziness washed over her. He could kill her now if he wished...he'd have seen what she needed him to, whether he'd believe it or not. Jarrin had been trying to save her from Allarick’s malicious new reign, where had planned on running away with her.