Author: Fogs of Gray PM
All those moments we never saw of Macon Ravenwood. His feelings, his thoughts, his relationships. Little snippets of missing time.Rated: Fiction T - English - Macon R. - Chapters: 3 - Words: 8,706 - Reviews: 13 - Favs: 7 - Follows: 7 - Updated: 02-14-13 - Published: 03-31-12 - id: 7975298
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
m still putting it out here. Quite honestly, I am terrified about how well this will do. Anyways, I hope you like it. I shall see you on the other end. OH! Slight spoilers for the first book, Beautiful Creatures. Read at your own risk if you haven't finished it.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine at all. I own nothing of this, nor anything you connect with it. I stole a few lines from Dr. Who, I believe. Correction: I also took a line or two from Sherlock. (Amazing show, by the way. Thank you to 'Guest' for pointing that out) And the character is from Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl.
He smiled softly as his vision disappeared, dissolving into another image. The view was jerky, moving with the bounds of the canine. He could see everything today. The sun shined brightly, warming the dog's fur. The light illuminated crevasses that were usually solidified by shadows. Windows remained open, whispers billowed through the street. Boo shook his head gently, tilting his ears under the tree's shadow. He couldn't venture further into the light. A stranger might find him, report him, and Macon would have to venture into town at night to find him. The dog blinked twice, his eyes adjusting to Macon's. Macon's smile dimmed slowly as he found himself back at Ravenwood, a monster permanently caged. He would be lying if he said he didn't love Boo. He gave sight to his blind owner, knowledge to the curious. He was everything he needed in a companion, everything he needed to carry on with life, and not teeter off the edge. He was one of the only things keeping him alive.
Do you ever wonder there's something wrong with us?" Macon's eyes moved away from the window, gazing forlornly at the deserted road in front of him. Of course nobody turned left. He felt his father's hand tighten on his shoulder.
"Caring isn't in our nature, Macon. It certainly is not an advantage. All lives end. Every heart is broken." Macon nodded slightly, Silas's hand loosening to a gently urging tone. He noticed the soft distant gleam in his son's eyes, hidden behind the masked indifference of immortality. "You will understand someday, son." Suddenly he was staring back at his own reflection, harsh and unstably shot back at him.
"What if I don't want to understand?" His young lips parted for another question before pressing firmly closed. Doubt rushed through his mind. It's quite alright, Silas. Abraham warned you that he might disappoint in the end. You still have Hunting, and he seems to be quite a promising endeavor. He squeezed his son's shoulder tightly, forcing him to look at his father.
"You will understand someday. Every Incubus does in the end." Macon nodded. Silas's hand loosened, just barely resting on his son. "You are a Ravenwood, Macon. You will understand, no matter how much you fight it. You will succumb to temptation eventually, son." Macon's ebony eyes hardened, but he didn't speak. Any day now.
His head rose from the thickly bound book, its pages brittle and its print worn. A woman knocked on the door jamb, her fist poised for another hit. "Delphine," he breathed. He stood carefully, as if not to break the delicate silence. Her brilliant green eyes were fogged with tears. Shimmering streaks dried on her faintly blushed skin. Her body shook with ine tremors. He Traveled in front of her, his hand sweeping away stray hair from her forehead, his thumb brushing away her salty sorrows. With both hands on the sides of her face, he lowered himself to eye level. "Del, what is wrong?"
Her eyes stared glassily at him, before shattering, sobbing into his shoulder. "Sarafine had her baby. A sweet little girl." Macon held her close, one arm wrapping securely around her feeble frame, the other stroking her hair gently.
"I don't believe I understand, Del. Please elaborate, dear." She shook in his arms.
"She's a Natural, Macon." Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and still painfully familiar. His hand faltered slightly at the realization. "We...how do we choose, Macon? How do you seperate your family and send them to slaughter?" He couldn't hear her. His mind was already cataloging every facet of this new gem. His voice was low when he spoke again.
"She has to choose Light." Del quieted, her sobs unbearably soft and completely useless to him. She tried to protest, but he cut her off. "Delphine, think about it. She would be doing us a favor, would she not? Choosing to save the better half of her family?" She shook her head, tears beginning to soak through his jacket.
"Macon, she's going to kill you." He nodded gently, his arms tightening at the thought.
"I won't be the only one, Del." A shudder ran through his sister's frame. "I'm only one man, Delphine. And, if what Silas taught me is remotely true, I am eternally damned. There's no going back...especially not now." Delphine nodded into his shoulder, turning her head to look at him again. "She can't go Dark. You have a family, a husband, a future, Del. The rest of us...we hardly know where our souls are, let alone our futures." Her body relaxed into his. "Please, Del. Do this one thing for me. Give me the comfort of knowing that you're safe." His voice faltered slightly. She nodded.
He allowed his fingertips to graze the doorjamb, fleetingly feeling the pain dissolve, if only momentarily. Her voice echoed in his ears, quiet and trapped. I promise, Macon.His lips pulled up slightly at the memory of her, even in such a dampened state. He distantly heard cracking and pain flowered in his palm. A quick glance confirmed his suspicions. Red trickled down the white, staining and standing in stark contrast to the cleanliness of the room. He gently moved his fingers, pulling them off the wood with no resistance. A crack curled its way down the nearly impeccable wood, opening itself to his eyes. He closed his eyes, his eternal fire stoked by visions. His mind was betraying him again. Where no one stood, a figure manifested, with long curling brown hair and hand outstretched to him. Macon... He growled and ran a tired hand over his face, grief tightening its grip on him. She's gone. She isn't yours anymore. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, his injured hand curling into a fist. This isn't your home. Ravenwood is. It always has been. You were absurd for thinking anything different. He barely felt the cold sweep through him, the fire's flames whipping around at the wind. He was breaking, second by second...and he couldn't help himself. He straightened his suit and stepped forward once. The fire fought futilely against the wind. He could feel the will to live draining from him, emotions and humanity eroding with each thought. He cast another fleeting glance around his room. She isn't yours to remember. His fist tightened. He stepped carefully and quickly, and with no time he found himself down a flight of stairs. He briefly noticed an invisible wind sweeping around him, rain scattering itself in his hair as he opened the door. Tears pricked in his eyes. Macon turned and closed his door, murmuring a Cast softly under his breath. She isn't yours to forget. His eyes lit for a moment as power surged through him, his voice draped in finality. He ducked his head and looked out into the night. Cold lapped at his skin, seeping through, deep inside him. He continued walking, his thoughts wandering, forcibly occupied with comments on the weather and how proud his father would be. Flickers of her face threatened to consume him. By the time he caught them, they were out of reach. He didn't notice the silence. She isn't yours to regret. The embers flashed gently before dying.
His hand settled against the window glass, staring into the shadows. The wall creaked from the force, the pads of his fingers sensing the resistance. He pushed back, a growl starting in his throat. The man he saw, his reflection, hadn't been himself at all. His eyes were bloodshot. His hair was in disarray. His body had thinned. The Cast ran through his mind, vague and reassuring. Capture, Cage & Crusify. He briefly pondered what it would feel like, trapped for all eternity, until someone chose to open the door. He sighed and shook his head. He was already trapped, unable to leave Ravenwood in the daytime. Unable to see-he stopped the thought before it hurt him. His fingers trailed across the glass, expecting the pricks of pain that assaulted him. He had Bound Ravenwood countless times, with just as many Casts. If an intruder made it inside, albeit the chance was few, they would be caged here...like him. His father's voice rang through him. Ravenwood Manor is your home. As my son, it is your responsibility to take charge. He would have laughed at the situation, if the silence wasn't so comforting. Taking charge...he hardly believed Silas meant for him to slowly kill himself. Piece by piece, with every passing thought, he was loosing. He put up a front for his family, faked a smile more than sincerely, and had a faulty drive that seemed strong. This is your past, present and future, Macon. He turned sharply from the window, anger roaring inside him. What was he? The son of Silas Ravenwood. He wasn't his father. An Incubus. No. He was far more evolved. A caged Demon. He winced slightly as he started on his glass of scotch. The alcohol helped dull his pain, take the sharpness of his thoughts away. He was a Ravenwood. No matter how much he hated it, he belonged here. The glass settled beside the others, empty and unfulfilling. Murmuring a Cast, he turned to the door. He needed Delphine.
His eyes flashed over the pages, drinking in every detail, every flick of a wrist. Noticing the cracks in the ink, the slight eroding of substance. The Natural is untamed, unclaimed to a side, neither Light nor Dark. He cursed softly. He couldn't save her. She was her own demise, the one thing keeping this curse from finally unfurling. He closed his ebony eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. Lena...he was doing this for his niece. She still had a good fifteen years before she had to choose. Hell, she was barely toddling. More than enough time, he reassured himself. Macon breathed a sigh and continued reading. The end of a family, the beginning of another, one must decide whom to save and whom to damn. "Damn," he murmured. The idea was tossed around for the last year, who she should choose, Light or Dark. The answer seemed painstakingly clear to him. She had to Bind herself to Light. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Fifteen years left. Fifteen years to contemplate, to remember, to protect. His eyes burned slightly. For a moment, he almost worried that she'd find him. The idea was absurd. She was safely holed away in Barbados, with her Grandma Emmaline. All of the family's strongest Casters had visited, Binding the house to the Light. It was only a matter of time before they came here to Ravenwood. Are you Light or Dark, Macon? He knew the obvious answer was Dark. He was a creature now. One that would fade in brightness, die in the smallest glimpse of sunlight. He didn't know what would happen once he Bound himself to Light. Would the effect be similar to sunlight? Would the decision somehow change him? He doubted it...although he let the thought bounce around. If he did die, it would be an early loss, years before he was supposed to. It would perhaps lessen the blow towards his family. Towards Lena. Jane...Lila could move on, finally forgetting him. All in all it wasn't an unpleasant thought. His brows furrowed, and a glass of scotch appeared. He quietly thanked Kitchen, and brought the glass to his lips, letting the alcohol slide down his throat. A small smile teased his lips. God, it had been so long since he had tasted, felt, the familiar burn racing through him. He gingerly set the glass down and breathed deeply. Fifteen years.
Wide eyes stared back at him. The pads of his fingers brushed across her skin, marveling at the Mortal heat resonating from her. Her raven hair was comparable to his own, and from an outsider's perspective, they could have been father and daughter. A dull ache bloomed deep inside him. He couldn't have that. He might grow close through the years, but whatever he did, he would never be her father. He felt phantom pangs behind his eyes, as if impossible tears finally blossomed. Her small hand pressed insistently against his cheek. "Uncle Macon, why are your eyes black?" He struggled for an answer. How did you tell a young girl that you are a Demon? How did you justify sleeping all day?
"It's nothing you have to worry about, Lena." She stared into his eyes a bit longer before nodding her head. He smiled softly and ran his hand through her hair. She leaned into his palm slightly. "Lena, I promise, I'm no different than I was before you asked." He leaned in, murmuring in her ear, "Besides, I'd never let anything harm you." Even myself. She rolled her eyes and turned her head to kiss his cheek. He smiled softly. With a quick swing of his arm, he pulled her onto his lap. She giggled at the surprise, her young eyes jubilant. He could see the intrigue still looming in her emerald depths. She stared back at him, this time content with the lack of answers. She buried her head into the crook of his neck, wrapping her small arms around his frame.
"I love you, Uncle M." He felt a shiver form deep inside him. He kissed her hair lightly, fighting to keep his composure.
"I love you, too, Lena."
Macon wanted to close his eyes. The words were true. Five months. It wasn't enough. Not by far. He had tried everything he could, deterred Lena from going to school, tried to Bind the house again. It wasn't enough. The boy, Ethan, had the nerve to challenge him. As if he had not given all he had already. You aren't enough. Once again a flare of fear hit him. His words replayed through his head. Do you know what lengths I will go to, to keep her safe for five months? What it will cost me? How it will drain me, perhaps, destroy me? Lena squeezed his hand. Of course. Five months would never be long enough. When the time came, he would forfeit whatever was needed to keep her safe. His powers. His freedom. His life. Most illuminating. He met her eyes, veiling the whirl of emotions that had gripped him. His eyes flickered to the door. Lena smiled, an expression that nearly made him smile back. Nearly. She kissed his cheek and slipped through his fingers. Blew out the door. He distantly prayed it wouldn't be the last time.
His skin was warm, charged with Mortal dreams and desires. Figments of ideas and memories. His skin was heated lightly, fueled by the death of a Mortal, their blood coursing freely through him. His face was almost always a mask of perfect composure. His features were usually twisted into a condescending smirk. His eyes were distant, set on nothing and everything. His eyes were sharp, not missing a beat. Cigars found themselves between his lips occasionally, more so a few glasses of scotch. His preference was cigarettes. He fed from the hopeless ideas of Mortals, saving them the disappointment following such harebrained dreams. He stole the life of a Mortal, sucking their blood greedily. He always had a witty comeback on hand, and stayed to the more polite side of speech. He openly spoke, sometimes without turn, sometimes directly segregating a person and pouncing, verbally or physically. He knew that his years were running low. He was under the illusion that his years spanned decades. In the end, they were brothers, no matter how different.
He had dark hair, aged by the Binding of Ravenwood. He had the same dark hues, still youthful. Both claimed pale skin as their tone. Both knew exactly what atrocities Casters and Incubi alike could commit. They'd witnessed it first hand from their father's fist. They both loved and lost, one forever losing himself to torment, the other holing himself away for quiet self persecution. Both frequented themselves with others, whether it be a Blood Pack or more than decent family. Both were branded to the supernatural world by their father's name. Both brothers shared the deepest black as their eye color, the trademark of an Incubus. Both had been mutated to said form, and both resented their father for it, no matter how hard the younger brother tried to hide it. In the end, they were brothers who understood each other more than any other, because they were the same.
He held back a sigh as the moon glowed down on his face. He could feel the coolness lapping at his skin, the gentle fear and apprehension that had been his constant companion for the last five years. Just a few hours more. He couldn't deny that it scared him to an extent, what would happen once he passed. He was damned. He knew exactly what was on the other side for an Incubus. He knew that he wasn't in any state for redemption, if there ever was a chance for such a thing. His hand settled at his side, his thumb pressed against his ring. He brushed over it a few times, memorizing the words engraved into the aged silver. Testing the power that surged through his body. He cast a glance around the room. This was the end, he noted. The end of his life. The end of his caged life here in Ravenwood. For a brief moment, he felt pride rush through him. He doubted his father had anticipated this move. He had expected the prison of Ravenwood, in which his son holed himself away from the world for his life. He expected the few times that Macon had tried, and succeeded, in drinking himself into dreamless bliss. Killing himself, certainly. He was dying this whole time, with every second, every stolen breath, every footstep. His lips pulled into a regretting smile as he closed the door behind him. He let the wind rush through his hair. The warm air caressed his skin, welcoming him back into the world. His eyes caught a flash of white and gold. Welcome back, Sarafine.
They had promised eternity. Two hundred years. All the time in the world. A life of leisure where the only worry would be when to feed again. However, they had twisted the reality, molding it into an unreal fantasy. Irresistible. He had known from the moment his shoulder snapped, it wasn't true. It couldn't be. Forever...it wasn't as simple as that, was it? His father had been so proud. He had not only one Incubus son, but two. Two capable sons to inherit his legacy. Macon sighed and rubbed his eyes. From the readings today, he knew it wasn't all so black and white. Someone was going to die, one way or another. According to the text, sweet innocent Lena would be deciding his fate. And although the thought chilled him to the bone, he knew he couldn't change it. He gently closed the book, his fingers trailing over the leather cover. Forever. He had forever...confined into a decade.
A/N: Okay? Terrible? Needs a ton of work? No matter how strong your opinions are, I need a review, because I can't read your minds. Too bad... So, press that little blue button, please!