rellamywrites:
Eyes flitted closed, the fumes of whatever trust which had since been mangled between the duo allowing him to separate her need for such privacy. Magic was an unfamiliar entity to the male, even with such curse that ran rampant through his veins; his attempts to making a breakthrough of understanding next to none. It was fear that drove such course, blind rage at the murky unknown allowing such antipathy to take over until there was a brute separation between his human counterparts and wolfish traits. Said response could only translate over to Corrina’s stretch of magic, witches a new taste of that gray area of the world which Caleb still deemed incomprehensible. The humming emanated around them under a vertiginous bout, eyes squinted shut until such sounds inevitably died off, stumbling as they seemed to make contact with their fresh destination.
“You’re …. going to have to explain that to me later,” banal retort fell out between chapped lips, the lack of blood aiding to an all around disheveled mien and more tender disposition. Drunk off such loss, Caleb could offer a haphazard half smirk at the winsome Tallis, calloused fingertips outstretching to brush flaxen tresses away from her blocked countenance. It was far too simple a gesture, boiled into a sense of regret that Caleb would likely never remember once recovered; exsanguination key to his recherché reaction and vulnerability.
Her countenance fell, once brazen to grit teeth and unsavory expression. It was hidden from him for all but a moment, as an intimate hand cleared her curtain of hair and exposed her veneer. With a maneuver she could topple him onto a fainting couch, gentle in the brute sense; his mass proved difficult to control while not entirely functional on its own. Though a strand was still clutched between his fingertips, to which she caught sight of after a brief moment of remembrance, Corrina found herself reaching to pin the wrist attached to the cushion below. His eyes were barely there, half opened and sunken in. He resembled a corpse, almost, any more and she wouldn’t dare have laid a hand on him. She took the time to study him, despite the urgency of his condition, the definition of his face she knew so well. A pause too long before she finally placed the back of her free hand on his forehead, the clammy, lukewarm surface was a telltale sign of a deeper problem.
“You won’t be interested.” She’d make sure his memory was wiped clean of their encounter. If it meant carving at a monumental section of his memory, it’s all she could do. He could know of her ability to wield magic; that’s all she would allow. Every room in the house was equipped with something helpful, bottles, potions, brews, all held a property unbeknownst to her without examining in some way. She could do with the smells of them, but a proper grimoire would be ideal. “Don’t move.” With closed eyes she let the shelves and shelves of them speak, listening for the same key words. The witch jolted upwards and toward the far side of the library, all with a purpose. Pulling a decrepit bound set of spells from the wall, she opened to a certain page.















