132. Seb
SEB
Seven minutes.
Lily gripped his hand, her back firm against his, head pressed into the curve of his neck. He pressed back. He wanted to stay in this darkness forever. Even if he never saw her again, at least he could touch her, hear her, love her. Orpheus had not realized how good he had it.
Please forgive me, one day, he begged her silently, for the deal I’m making.
“And remind me, Sebastian,” Chant said gently, in the basement of Paracelsus. “Where is this transference, this intention going?”
Seb swallowed, teeth grinding as he set his jaw. He had thought the magic—the casting of it, the steps and sigils—would be the hard part, but he was wrong, so terribly wrong.
It was the sacrifice that was unbearable. But the only thing more unbearable was losing her.
“Me. I’m taking it.”
Chant gripped his shoulder, turning him violently. His mentor’s eyes were chaotic with fear.
“Sebastian! You cannot let this curse kill you instead. I won’t allow it.”
“Don’t worry, Professor.” He laughed hollowly. “It’s not going to kill me. That wouldn’t fix anything. Besides, that wouldn’t be the worst thing. You can’t feel anything if you’re dead.”
Chant relaxed his grip slightly. He asked carefully, as if Seb were a feral thing that might attack unprovoked, “And what is the worst thing, to you?”
Seb smiled lopsidedly at him. He didn’t even care that he was crying.
“They say if you love something, let it go.”
He imagined himself without the very thing that made him what he was.
He began to cast.