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As I take a step closer, my nails elongate into sharp, gleaming claws. I relish in the anticipation, in the surge of power coursing through my veins as my prey trembles before me. Interrogation is a game—a dance of power and control.
But just as I’m about to unleash my fury, I glimpse something from the corner of my eye—someone—a hauntingly familiar figure.
Manon. My creator. She stands there, ethereal and beautiful as she has ever been, her eyes full of both disappointment and pride as she stares at me.
No one else in the room reacts to her, even as she glides past Rune and then Fintan. No one else can see her.
“Sebastian,” Manon calls, her voice a haunting echo in my mind. “What have you become?”
I shake my head, trying to banish the hallucination.
Rune and Fintan exchange glances, concern flickering in their eyes when they look at me.
“No. Not concern,” Manon balks, her wispy silhouette brushing up against my side as she leans close. I inhale slowly, closing my eyes. I can almost feel her touch again. “They judge you,” she whispers against my ear. “They resent you,” she taunts, soft voice bouncing from one ear to the other.
So be it.
“They pity you, dear.”
They don’t understand—they can’t.
Manon would have understood, but she left me. Alone. I’m alone in this madness.
“Enough!” Finn cuts through my spiraling mental break.
I blink hard, coming back to myself from… I’m not sure where I went, actually.
“Sebastian, that’s enough,” he shouts, voice laced with urgency as his horrified face fills my vision.
“You’re losing control, boss,” Rune says, his expression mirroring Fintan’s.
“We don’t need to hurt her. Not like this. You’ll kill her if you keep going.”
I follow his gaze. The witch hangs limp from the chains at her wrists.
I did that?
Blood drips from my fingertips to the cracked concrete below. Images flash through my mind.
“Let me take over for you,” Finn says gently.
He rests a hand on my wrist. His ability flows over me. It’s comfort and warmth and love, and I want none of it. I pull out of his grasp with a snarl of fangs.
Fintan steps between me and the witch, and I glare at him, my anger flaring. How dare he question me? How dare he second guess my methods? How dare he try to control me?
“My thrall is stronger than yours. Let me see what I can extract from her before you kill her. She can’t take any more of your method.”
Deep down, I know Fintan is right—he’s my second in command for a reason. I need to stop. I’m teetering on the edge, slipping further into my own delusions. I know, and yet I can’t bring myself to stop.
I don’t know that I want the madness to subside.
Part of me wants the insanity to win—to take over completely and rid me of the burden of giving a shit. At least then someone would take it upon themselves to put my miserable existence to a finite end: Rune, Fintan, a hunter—hell, Josephine would jump at the opportunity.
“Fine,” I groan through clenched teeth, forcing myself to step back. “But make it quick, Fintan. We need answers.”
That, and I don’t know how long I can contain myself and my splitting psyche.
Reluctantly, I relinquish control, allowing Finn to take charge while I retreat to the darkened corner of the small space. Manon drifts over to keep me company, and together we watch Fintan approach the trembling witch, his demeanor calm yet commanding.
