Black ooze pours out of my eyes and mouth, the red string wraps around my neck; choking me. I try to breathe, but the viscous fluid blocks my airways.. It's thicker than mucus. I incoherently conjure a spell, light travelling from my wrists down to my palms, and the pain subsides. What did I just do? My magic drains me of all my energy and I collapse from the chair, to the floor. My red string gradually turns black, and vanishes from sight. The procedure is complete, and my heart is mended - But at what cost?
Her eyes are red-rimmed, her body towers over me, trembling. She's in hysterics.
"Oh, you stupid, stupid girl." She sobs, clutching onto me tightly. Tears land on my chest, it's like a teacher scolding her student.
She uses all her power to summon a dragon. After all, what use is it to carry me - on foot, all the way home?
I wake up with a jolt one morning. Lord knows how long I've been out. The scent of tea wafts in the air, as I survey the room. A small painting of Death, the tarot card, hangs on a black wall. The bed, blankets, pillows, lamp, and end table are all black. The only thing making the room stand out is the different shades of black used.
The shop-keep enters the room. "Ah, you're awake at last." She says with a grin before it goes stone cold. Her grey eyes water before looking away.
'She's never this expressive.. Is she?' I whisper to myself.
"You should've listened to me." She says, her voice shaking despite her attempts to sound monotone.
Through her tears, she hastily sets the tea on the end table and leaves the room. The door was slammed shut. I stare down at my hands in shame.. Did I fuck up that bad? Part of me is dying to know just what the fuck her problem is. I am an empath. I feel her anger, and her despair all at once. Her emotions hitting me like a train. My desire for tea has diminished and I don't wish to get out of bed. Maybe she's right. I am a fuck up. The tears fail to cease, I sit in bed crying for who knows how long.