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You enjoy the way the light plays around your eyes. The warm light that comes from a single lit candle so that the night may not steal you of your sight. Lights are never this interesting. Usually books are interesting, only the ones relating to magic of course. But right now your hand plays with the edge of a paper filled with black ink. You crumple the corner and stretch it back up. Again and again. You conquered this book. You conquer everything. You are Merlin.
Knock Knock.
You narrow your eyes at the little fragile flame.Why should you call yourself Merlin when you already have a name?
Your feet carry you over to the door. They drag themselves against the wooden floor, so familiar, so tiring to look at.
No thought keeps you company in this short walk. Your surroundings spin around and around, you try to put them in place with your eyes but they always escape your gaze. In the end you stop in front of the door, exasperated.
Your hand hovers above the doorknob. Someone is probably on the other side, and you must look like a mess. It might be yet another student asking for clarification on a subject, or another admirer, or another rival. Nevertheless, no matter their feelings, you shouldn’t look as disheveled as you do in front of others.
Your fingers wiggle around. Index finger will do, but which one is it again? Why do fingers need names?
Poof.
Before your rusty train of thought can continue, a sudden puff of smoke appears around your head, and you realize that you used a magical transformation spell. But which spell? You simply picked one out of the unorganized bookshelves in your mind.
Anyway, at least you tried. You feel the cold doorknob with your palm, and turning it to the right, you open the door wide. Face everything with confidence and self-assurance; don’t show any trace of doubt in front of others.
Your eyes fall on the person waiting for you. The corners of your mouth lift as if you've seen something funny. It’s Cyran, your very terrifying rival. This face is so amusing - his face isn’t even red for the first time, and he’s looking at you with a strange expression. You want to laugh out loud.
“Uh... your hair.” His voice comes out hesitant, as if stuck between a life-or-death dilemma. Silly Cyran, he's always on flight-or-fight mode, isn't he?
“Yes, Cyran? Go on.”
Cyran’s eyes widen, and your perfect smile twitches because you know this boy won’t manage to untangle the threads in his brilliant mind. You want to hear that voice more. Always want that, but the boy leaves with only one sentence every time. How cruel of him.
You grab his hand and pull him inside before he even realizes what’s happening. Good. You close the door behind you and then turn to look at him. Your eyes carry that hungry warmth that can't be satisfied in one night. Don’t leave again, you won’t leave.
His mouth opens as if he’s a fish out of water. You hold in the urge to laugh, and instead, you do something funny. You throw yourself onto him, and you fall to the floor together.
“Ah! What-” Cyran says, taking the hit from the fall, while a body remains on top of him. “What’s wrong with you?!” He tries to push you off, but that only makes you hug him tighter. Your nose rests on his shoulder as you secretly try to inhale his scent. He smells like books and yeast. What a unique smell.
Your mouth opens and closes on something soft because you want to bite. The smell alone isn’t enough. It only arouses a bigger need inside you. You want something more. Your tongue slides along the collarbone, covered in pale skin. You don't taste anything, but that only means that you should search more.
So undignified of you Merlin, attacking that boy like that. You are defiling your name with your impertinent behavior.
You hear a small, sweet voice beneath you that makes every thought ascend so far as heaven - before your body is wrapped in something harsh. It hurts a little. It squeezes you tightly around your shoulders, stomach, and legs. But the chain around your neck is just right. Could be tighter.
You simply let your body shut down. You don't care of the instinct that censures you to fight back against his magic. You let yourself fade and your eyelids fall, they don't rise again. The images your vision created was overstimulating you.
“Something’s wrong with you.”
Cold. Cold fingers wrap around your cheek and pull it outward. That's the first time he's touched you like that, you note. But your cheek isn’t elastic enough to handle more and Cyran doesn’t stop pulling, so you have to tell him to stop.
You say nothing. You give him an encouraging smile, and his eyes immediately shift elsewhere. That adorable red color. Now you could just sleep and take yet another victory with you in the dream realm. Moreover, Cyran's face in the morning will be a sweet desert reserved just for you.
Merlin isn't one to lose a battle. Be reminded that you carry the expectations and hopes of everyone who acknowledges you.
You wonder what expression Cyran would make if you ever lost to him. You struggle against a persistent scream in your ears. Perhaps, one day you'll be able to scream louder.
“Advanced poison magic. Don’t tell me...” Cyran looks at you, and your smile fades. Did you do something wrong? Upset him?
"You poisoned yourself?"
You want to scream right now.
“Cyran... Don’t look at me... like that.”
Cyran doesn’t react beyond the purse of his lips.
"It wasn't a fatal spell... Just makes the inflicted a bittt- disoriented. Unfocused."
Frankly, It felt like a pain trying to find the right words in your scattered mind. But you had to manage with A+ because Cyran doesn't appreciate anything less.
“And why did you open the door in such a weakened state?”
“Sorry...”
Your hand tightens on one of the chains wrapping you. If Cyran tries to leave, then Merlin will have to break this comfortable spell.
But Cyran doesn’t run, doesn’t leave. He lifts you up with magic and leads you deeper into your room, to the corner where your bed is. You clutch the cold iron chains until your knuckles turn white as he gently lays you down.
You shuffle on top of your bedsheets to get comfortable, though the chains don’t help much.
A few steps catch your attention after a time, and when you turn to look, you fear Cyran might have left without you noticing. But no, he’s still there, in front of your desk with his back turned to you. You sigh, letting out a deep breath that had been sitting in your lungs for too long.
Your gaze rests on him and his quiet presence. You admire his short black hair, his back covered by the school uniform, his legs, whatever peeks out of the long cloak. You appreciate what you have time to admire before he disappears.
Merlin is destined to walk their path alone, or they shall take responsibility for the dangers that come with great power. Be independent, young Merlin. Don't be foolish.
“I’ll take this with me.” Cyran says, holding a very suspicious book as he walks toward the door with heavy, very audible steps.
“Cyran-”
“If someone knocks on the door, ignore it.” He says, and opens the door.
The chain around your neck tightens, causing you some discomfort but you still try to watch as his body leaves your nest. A very persistent heartbeat in your chest that you just noticed pushes against your ribcage like a little yet-to-be-born bird would against its shell.
“I’m not releasing those chains for the rest of the night... Sleep well.”