Prologue
He couldn’t feel it.
No remorse, no guilt, no misery.
The room was in chaos, clothes everywhere, furniture thrown to the side, shattered glass, torn up pages from books that now sat ruined on the ground. The silence was unsettling.
Bodies had been littered at his feet, limbs tossed to the side, eyes cold and dead.
He reached up to wipe his face and found his hands were coated in blood. Their blood.
He felt nothing.
Staring down at the gruesome scene before him, he caught his reflection in a shard of glass. There was a smear of dark blood across his face, yet there remained nothing behind his eyes. He looked just as alive as the corpses that lay by his feet.
He moved around the room carefully, stepping over discarded clothes and broken bottles. The screams echoed in his mind as he replayed the night over in his mind. The home that was once welcoming was filled with panic and terror as he massacred each and every one of them without hesitation.
It wasn’t over yet though.
He turned over chairs and pulled up rugs. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he was sure he would know it when he saw it. His mother had left just one thing before she died, and he had not come all this way for nothing. He intended to find it.
He searched every part of the house over and over again until he was certain it wasn’t there.
Breathing in and out calmly, he slowly turned around to face his own reflection in the shattered window. He gazed out at the tranquil forest that loomed over the house, too calm next to the spectacle that had just taken place. He dropped his hands to his sides and let out an agonizing scream.
He grabbed the vase on the floor next to him and hurled it at the wall, it broke into a thousand pieces. He reached out and took the next closest object, a picture in a glass frame.
In the photo a man stood next to a young woman, they smiled at him and waved through the frame. He smashed this too.
He let himself be angry, never scared, never sad. The rage threatened to consume him as he screamed until his throat was dry.
He dashed through the house, until the only thing that could be heard was the smashing of glass and wails of a man deceived. He stormed back to the window, tripping over a loose floorboard in his haste.
He lifted himself off the ground, seething with hatred for the wooden floor he had so clumsily tripped over. It was very unbecoming of him.
As he rose up, dusting himself off, his eye caught on a small flash of silver reflecting off the moonlight spilling in through the window. Anticipation began to build in his chest as he frantically dove at the small object.
He clutched it tightly, afraid that someone might take it if he let go. It was no larger than a single galleon and weighed very little.
The carvings in its center were intricate and done with care, a large S sitting in the center. He knew instantly what it meant. And what he had to do.
He placed the locket around his neck and straightened up, hands at his sides and chin raised upwards. In three long strides he reached the front door. He took a deep breath, calmly twisting the handle and stepping out into the quiet darkness.
The bodies wouldn’t be found for another few days, by that time he’d be prepared. He had everything he needed, as well as all the information he needed to finish what he had started.
He felt his heart thud against the metal locket that rested on his chest. His arms were streaked with dark blood and his hair had fallen in front of his eyes. He was a mess. But he was powerful.
He was so close. All he needed now was time, and if this worked he would have as much time as he wanted.
He took one last glance at the house, not allowing himself any doubts, before closing his eyes and letting the magic seep into his bones.
He felt nothing.