I had been waiting for the Malchior episode for months. !!!!!! Greatest thing that ever happened in Teen Titans.
I'm all for Raven/Melchior, so here's my fic, set one month after the episode, Spellbound.
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Ever since him, she buried herself more in her beloved books. However, they weren't not the orthodox books of fantastical heroes or horrific creatures: no, she would only read books of history, books of magic. Any piece of literature and writing that pertained to him.
She was searching for answers. He was on her mind almost every second of the day and she didn't know why. She was hoping that in studying his past, in studying his creation and evil, she would learn to forget him and possibly even move on. The wounds he had inflicted on her had become permanent scars and never ceased to torment her when she found herself alone. Poisoned with his image and drugged on his scent, she could still feel his paper arms around her. His soft, melodic words whispered through her ears in the night, beckoning her to the comfort of past memories. She was haunted by his ebony eyes and did not know if she wished to efface him from her mind forever or keep him close to her heart. There was too much pain in both options.
And it was only a month after.
The book would not become another item in Robin's collection. No, Robin did not need to be reminded of Malchior: he had been her responsibility. The book was carefully locked in Raven's chest where she could be aware of it at all times. During the first few days of Malchior's imprisonment, she expected to hear his voice calling from the book: it did not come. There was a strange mix of relief and disappointment she could not quite understand. Then again, she didn't understand anything with Malchior anymore.
She hated to admit that Malchior broke her heart. If he had broken her heart, that meant that she had been in love with him. She didn't do love. It was against the laws of nature. And she certainly could not believe that she would have loved such a heartless person… beast… whatever he was, such as Malchior.
A month had passed by and it seemed that everyone else in the Titans Tower had forgotten about the incident. For some time, Beast Boy couldn't look at her the same way. It was all because of that damn hug. She wished she could have taken it back; after all, the embrace had been out of her ultimate grief and the look on Beast Boy's face had not comforted her. Her friends knew she was heartbroken but all had had their share of torn emotions due to the cruelty of love.
Cyborg and Beast Boy played Stankball for about a week more until they got bored of it and invented a new form of mindless entertainment. Robin was too preoccupied with his search for Slade and Starfire was discovering the many joys of the beauty salon at the mall. Raven spent a month reading every book she could find on the subject and story of Malchior. Every moment she was not fighting alongside her team, she spent in her dark, desolate room, flipping through ancient pages of history. Straining her eyes in candlelight on cold, quiet nights, she crawled up on her bed and intensely studied every word. One finger pressed beneath a string of words, she would read one page, then the next, and the next. This one month had passed and she had completed all reading.
She had completed all reading and she found no answers.
This was a frightening and dissatisfying thought. Previously, she had been so confident that she would find the solution in her books. She had always been able to find the answers in her books, whether it had been a way to soothe her rage and irritation or a place to escape to in her solitude. Now that her books had left her as empty as she had been a month ago, she was helpless. There was nothing she could do. How was she to ever find peace?
It was well past midnight, she knew that much. As she peered into the never changing darkness, she shivered under the protection of her blanket. There was no motion in the Titans Tower; only the monotonous sound of the air slipping in and out of her lungs. Her hand lay lifelessly on the book she had recently completed. She closed her eyes in futile attempt to succumb to the blackness. Lately, she found herself praying for dreamless nights of serenity where she was free of all suffering. There was no burden in her slumber; just the secure feeling of nothingness. It was funny how before she wished she could feel anything but barrenness, and now it was ecstasy compared to the regret that strangled her.
It was impossible. There was no way she could will herself to sleep; not with so many unanswered questions. Her eyelids jolted open and the first thing she caught sight of was the chest. The chest with that damned book.
However, a new idea suddenly gave way in her head. With circumspect contemplating, she debated the consequences. There was obviously consequences, but perhaps this was the only way. Yes, perhaps it was the only way she could ever learn why she thought of Malchior day and night. If she was careful enough, there would be no consequences for her actions. She would keep her emotions under control. As long as she was in control, nothing could go wrong.
And it would only go on until she realized the answer. She could lock up the book again, lock up Malchior for good and go on with the rest of her life, truly content. Maybe, just maybe, she would even learn to hate him.
Pushing her covers to the side, she slipped out of her bed and awkwardly rose to her feet. Lighting a candle with some of the magic Melchior had taught her, she took the stick of wax and clasped it tightly in her fingers. Her footsteps were gentle and life, a graceful glissade across a dance floor, when her hand trailed the lock of the trunk. With the wave of her hand, the lock snapped open and clumsily collided with the floor. As she lifted the top of the chest, it groaned with a droning whine. There lay the white book bordered with jet-black designs at the bottom of the chest.
Her fingers trembled as they reached for the spine of the beautiful book. It was indeed, a gorgeous book. It was not afflicted with age and shimmered with the dim light of the fire. Levitating the candle in the air, she lifted the book out of the chest and held it in her lap for many a minute. She could not bring herself to open the pages again. She thought she would never have to.
But she had to. She had to feel the softness of the pages on her fingertips. She had to gaze upon the eyes of the young man she had become so enamored of. She had to hear his voice at least one more time if she was ever to find some answers.
A small sigh slithered from her lips as she opened up to the center of the book. The pages moved like magic under her fingertips, flying beneath her like sparks of fire. The torn page with coal colored eyes still remained, ever haunting, ever beautiful.
"Raven," a charming voice spoke her name with amusement and astonishment. "I did not think your delicate fingers would ever handle my pages again... To what do I owe this honor?"
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Prologues are supposed to be short. The chapters will be longer.