***(DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DON'T START THE SONG NOW. I'LL TELL YOU WHEN TO.)***

Sarah and Nathan premeditated to lure Ava out of the campus by getting Peter kidnapped (this was Sarah's plan whose execution seemed dubious to Nathan). As they walked a little more ahead, pitch-blackness clawed the atmosphere around them. It was darker than darkness itself. Coldness and dampness sunk into the corridors. They could hardly see each other.

Sarah inhaled sharply as her heartbeat increased and gasped Nathan's cold hand. His nose flared up. There was an energy enlightened in him as if he'd just woken up for an eternal slumber. Sarah withdrew her hand immediately.

"Sorry," Sarah whispered, feeling embarrassed.

"Nyctophobia? When I was a child, I didn't like sun, though I was in love with the idea of sunlight." He was trying to ease her up. But he did not lie. Nathan couldn't recollect the last time a lingering thought of his childhood had crossed his mind.

"Can't imagine you being a kid," she said. She was shivering—it was inhumanly cold. "It's just too retro."

She let some time pass by and said, " Why would anyone ever walk through all this?"

"In the name of the beauty of truth," he said, ruing it a moment later. 

Sarah couldn't decipher what he meant by that.

"There's something wrong in here," Nathan said out of the blue. There was a sense of disconcertment in his voice. "Why don't the stairs meet an end?"

Huh. Sarah looked around. She was perhaps in a room—a few light beams entered into the place she was at. She could hear soft murmurs of voices.

Sarah felt as if she was dumped into another world. A world more fascinating—someplace that was soaked with the smell of freshly cut berries, dried twigs and petrichor. She could at last feel warmth; it felt like apricity—the cozy warmth of the dull sun you felt in winter, but it was still so dark with no source of heat. 

"Is this what you meant by 'beauty of truth'?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'this' and I was, uh, using that as a euphemism for well, something else." 

Sarah raised her eyes at him and stared. He wasn't there. "I can hear your voice and see you in a weird way though."

Nathan's face was taking a turn and his eyes were now looking into her eyes as if he was seeing through her. He was looking rather pale as if he were a ghost. "Be stationary. Listen to me, what can you see?"

There were sounds of something wooden being hit. "I'm in a filthy room," said Sarah's struggling voice, "and there are these freakin' boxes—Jesus!"—She stumbled upon one—"There are many cabinets made on the walls."

"Did you drink or eat anything they gave you here?" Nathan asked. "Are you sure you are not hallucinating?

"No, I did not receive anything and even if I were hallucinating, how'd I know?" she replied. "Your inquiries can wait. I'm trying to find a way to open this huge box. I can't find the other end of this."

Nathan felt totally helpless and stranded. "Is it like a huge treasure box? Crap, why do I sound like I watched Pirates of the Caribbean yesterday?" he mumbled to himself.

"Guess I've got this. This is quite massive."

"Yeah?" he said in a very forcible manner.

There was a long silence from both the ends.

"Sarah? Are you all right?" Nathan said in proper Northern England accent. His Yorkshire accent shot up when he was worried which was something Sarah didn't like.

"These aren't just any boxes. I'm in a room full of coffins, Nathan."

"Coffins? Well, who's in the possession of the one you've opened?"

"I'm trying to open it." Then came a loud noise—BOOM.

"Uh, the lights got on as I opened this. No one's lying here.

He shrugged and instructed to look closer.

She said in a gravelly tone, "It's sort of hard to miss a dead body lying in front of you, you know. But—aha! God, this is a wedding dress. There is note too. Amazing, with my name on it."

She opened the note into one paper and read:

All roses have turned black,

Lust for undead that we have.

Hatred in the masquerade of love,

Or is it the other way round, oh sinner?!

Kiss me on cheeks; bid night,

Curse I am the synonymous,

She died, you didn't cry,

Why was it not the other way round, oh sinner?!

Considerate I am: have left many signs.

Unbury me of miseries,

Oh brother mine.

For this cannot be the other way round.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh my god, your sister," squealed Sarah.

"It cannot be her, not this time." Nathan's voice was shaking. His body was trembling at the thought of what Sarah had said.

"I thought her poetic skills were very sharp—"

"She must have made some random bloke write it which explains the shabbiness. Writing to the point isn't her writing style."

Sarah let Nathan process it by seeking shelter under silence.

Passing few lapses of silence, Nathan said, "You're a Witch, that too a descend of the most powerful ones the world has—wait"—his voice became grimmer, something striked him—"what is your last name?"

"It's Red. But how's that supposed to be connected?"

"You're lying," he accused. "Your surname's not Red."

"I am so not lying. It was my father's last name I adorned; Mother's was Quinton. I don't remember her name." That was a bit of a lie. She didn't not remember her mum's, she didn't actually know. She didn't ever ask her dad after her mother left them.

"Quinton. But if you really are one of them." he didn't complete the sentence and make Sarah tense but he did know that being a Quinton meant being a fragment of the Devil; something that could destroy Heaven and Hell, something terrible and most unholy.

"It just can't be you." The following quarter of a minute went by hearing him cursing.

"I've read about this," Sarah said, at last, "that Witches go into a trance sort of thing, but this feels different."

Because this was different.

"It is an ancient tale," Nathan started. "There are people in existence who are, um, different than others. They comprehend the truth and see the world in a more versatile way than we do; they get lured to menaces and perils on higher chance rate. I didn't believe in this fable until I got to know my sister was one of them. Please, Sarah, don't freak out. It—"

"No, tell me what happens. How are we connected, your sister and I?" As she said, she kept staring at the dark brown, ghastly coffin.

"Listen to me, trust me," he snapped. "You're still fine, a lot better than my sister. I have talked to you and I still can't believe that you're—you're one of the Franstire. Each one of you is posed to bring about a drastic change in the history, in ways no normal person can endure; supernatural or not."

"So," she said. Her voice started to crack, "I'm lunatic?" There was just so much happening around her that she didn't know how to react. It was just so impossible.

"No, you're not! You've got to hear me out: My sister has built a purgatory where only a Franstire can enter. Solve the puzzle and you can come out of this. She somehow has contacts with magic to know that I've come here from present although that's seems impossible."

"I trust you, a little," Sarah assured him. She felt sick. Was this the reason Elliot never let her out of the house? Was she supposed to thank her? But she couldn't afford to think about all this. She'd come here for a reason, a task. "So what do I have to find?"

"Perhaps a coffin that is actually in possession of someone my sister and I both are aware of," he said in the most serious way humanly possible.

"Among these thousands of them, searching for a an odd coffin after knowing I'm part of a some ancient community? I better start my work."

***

 March 24, 1909:

London saw almost all the seasons in one, but for Will Cordova, it was gladly not raining that night. The moon shimmered on the puddles of water created an hour ago on which he stamped with his cheap sneakers. With a lit cigarette held between his two fingers, and two packets of cigarettes resting in his trouser pockets for future consumption, walked he with his gelled hair sticking together. His head still buzzing with the last conversation he had had with that person:

"It's come to my fear that I can no longer continue on with this," said the other boy exasperatingly.

William put his hand on his forehead and said angrily with a tinge of suspicion in his voice, "Is this about that girl? Your ex—"

The other boy cut him and said, "Christ, Will! Why don't you get it? I just can't be with you. I have other things to attend to. I'm ageless, you'd grow old and die but I would be the way I was a hundred years ago and as I will be after the next hundred years. People do notice."

Will raised his hands and said, "Now this is about what people would think? Come on, you of all people haven't cared what others thought. And that was the reason why we were together."

"That's not the only thing."

Will came towards the boy and said, "Then reason with me and prove me wrong, in the name of one last time."

The boy put his hand on the elbows of Will and explained, "I'm afraid if I'll stay with you for a second longer, I may never forgive myself of the consequences."

He took his wallet and walked to the direction of the exit door. He said before leaving, "Thank you Will. You're a great person but this time it's me, I can't—I just can't. You can take your stuff, I'll take mine, but all this, please reserve for tomorrow. I take your leave now."

"Listen—

The door shut with a loud BAM. And the sentence forever remained incomplete as it remained a mystery.

After two hours, the other boy had called Will on telephone and without giving Will an opportunity to speak, sputtered, "Am sorry. I truly apologise for the way I talked to you this late evening. We—"

"There's no 'we' anymore. I hope to—to call you later." Will lied and hung up the telephone.

He stared at the black telephone. He had no idea what he'd say the next day. But knew that the next day he'd have to have it all fixed, so he had only a few hours left to himself.

He had gotten out of his house and walked wherever his legs made him reach. He looked up only to find himself in front of a three-story aristocratic apartment. He swallowed and walked pass it. On the nameplate of mansion was carved the name of the person with whom he last talked to--his  official ex-boyfriend, Nathan Wilson.

(Play the song: "Love is a Laserquest" by Arctic Monkeys)

***

Thank you so much for reading till here. It really means a lot to me.

Question: Had you given the chance to visit your past-self, what would be the one sentence you'd say to her/him? I know this question is a bit personal but I hope to open up your memory-lane and reminisce the days passed. 

I wanted that song to be like an outro and hope you guys liked it. To avoid confusion for people from other countries, 'suck it and see' in British English means to try something before judging it.

Song name: "Love is a Laserquest" by Arctic Monkeys.

All Rights of the song go to Arctic Monkeys and Domino Recording Co Ltd.

Infringement of copyright not intended.

(I know that writing all that isn't needed but I like to give credits to the producer/maker of the song I'm using as a sign of appreciation, respect and in a way, of gratitude as well.)

Date for next upload (for me today is 29/05/21): 1/06/21

Wish you a fabulous day!

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Please DO NOT promote plagiarism AT ALL. It is a punishable offence. If you do, serious action may be taken against you.

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