Eating You - 1 - Dweling in the shadow

Content Warning: Mention of Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, Depressive State

"DAMN IT!"

Sélène explodes and angrily pushes her chair back, distancing herself from her terminal. Stella looks up, concerned.

"Is he asking for more changes?"

Sélène closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and then exhales slowly.

"It's worse. He suggests we completely change the lineup and replace our name."

"Change the lineup?"

"He wants us to kick out Mael... And you."

"What?"

Stella abruptly rises from the bed, approaches, and leans over the screen to read the producer's proposals herself.

"Fuck, I can't believe it!"

She steps back, clearly disappointed, and glances sideways at her friend. Sélène is slumped in her chair, arms crossed, staring at the monitor with a stormy expression. This look doesn't bode well.

"What are you going to do?"

Sélène snorts a humorless laugh. "What I should have done after the third modification."

"Which is?"

"Tell that self-important bastard to go take a hike in Lotaria and..."

"SELENE!"

Stella grimaces, horrified.

"You can't say that, even if he's not a Vrăjitoru."

Sélène turns back to her terminal, grumbling, "He deserves it though." Her friend's hand rests reassuringly on her shoulder.

"I know how angry it makes you when someone messes with the band..."

"No, it makes me angry that someone dares to suggest we get rid of the two most important members of the band for personal taste or profitability reasons. If we wanted to sell out, we would've chosen a different field."

"He's not just anyone, maybe we should follow his suggestions... I'm not essential..."

Sélène stands up abruptly and takes her friend's face in her hands.

"It's out of the question for you to leave. Without you, this band has no reason to continue. If you leave, I leave. It's always been like that. Don't even think it can change."

Stella gulps with a small click and suddenly hugs Sélène tightly. The young woman sighs and rests her forehead against her friend's. She knows she's not crying, but she also knows how much the band means to her. To both of them.

She gently pats Stella's back, and Stella steps away with a smile on her face.

"Go ahead, take him down."

Sélène nods and settles in front of the virtual keyboard. Until now, she had been conciliatory, trying to find solutions to give their band a chance. Now, it will be without him. His notoriety doesn't give him the right to exclude two of the founding members.

Stella has returned to sit on her friend's bed, nonchalantly scanning her psyche when her gaze lands on the nightstand and a seemingly forgotten plate. She smiles slightly.

"Hey, how about we go out tonight to clear our minds with the band after practice? I think we deserve to unwind together..."

"Mmh... Yes, what do you suggest?"

"There's an outdoor concert in town. Free."

"A concert? What kind?"

"The 'Revelation' kind..."

Sélène's fingers pause for a moment, and she smiles.

"Revelation in a free concert? It's going to be wild! Count me in!"

"Great... Should I invite the Coven?"

"Of course! They'll love it!"

"And would you invite Cendre?"

Sélène's fingers freeze, and she turns to the young witch, sitting against the pillows with a mischievous smile on her lips.

"What?"

"You casually forgot to erase the plate from last weekend at the Temple. You know, the one he gave you with his name and Psyche code."

She twirls it between her fingers with a mischievous expression. Sélène curses inwardly; she had completely forgotten about it. She inhales, pursing her lips. "No, I don't think I'll invite him. He's probably just a womanizer too confident in his charm."

"So what? Are you planning to marry him? Unless you find him unattractive... I can get rid of him if you want."

She rolls her eyes. "No, I don't find him unattractive, he's totally my type... But..."

"No buts! Contact him, invite him, have fun, and most importantly, don't come home tonight!"

"Again? If you want to kick me out of the coven, just say so!"

Stella stands up, grabs a pillow, and throws it at Sélène, who dodges it, bursting into laughter. She raises her hands in surrender, and Stella leaves, all smiles.

"I'll let you get dressed, but I'll come to check that you called him!"

To silence her, Sélène launches the communication on her Psyche and shows it to her friend, who smiles even more and closes the door. In the ensuing silence, barely disturbed by the trill of the mirror, her heart races inexplicably. Will he answer? And what will she say to him? Invite him to a concert? Wasn't he drunk that night? Will he remember her? Maybe he's already moved on since a week ago. Women must surely be lining up for him...

The trill stops. Apparently, he's unreachable. She sighs and her heart calms. It's not her fault if he doesn't pick up. She moves her finger on the mirror's surface to send it to a corner of her directory and avoid thinking about it, but she hesitates. She knows Stella won't be satisfied with just an unanswered call. She could make up an excuse to get out of it, but part of her wants to know if he was really attracted or not. She chooses to send him a message, not knowing when he'll read it, but hoping it will be today, and writes: "Hey, you gave me your contact during the party at the Temple a week ago. Maybe you don't remember me, or maybe you often give your number to strangers. But if you have nothing planned, my friends and I are going to the Revelation concert in three hours. If you'd like to join us, you're welcome."

She reads the message over and over, then sends it. She doubts he'll join a group of complete strangers just for her looks. But if he does show up, maybe...

She shakes off the thought, quickly puts on a loose, light dress cinched with a waist belt, applies some anthracite eyeshadow, and goes to join her friend. Stella raises an eyebrow questioningly, and Sélène brandishes her Psyche with the sent message.

"He didn't answer, so I sent him a text. Happy?"

"Absolutely delighted!"

Stella grabs Sélène by the arm and they head to the rehearsal studio.

¤¤¤

The studio is a bit outside the city. The band arrives in dribs and drabs, as usual. Most of the members don't live in the coven and reside in different places. Stella and Sélène are the first this time and start setting up, turning on the lights, connecting the amps. It's almost a ritual; the first ones there prepare the space for the others. Mael arrives next, followed by Kaylin, another coven resident, and Bran.

Each of them settles in, tunes their instrument, and plugs in the necessary connections. Only Kaylin doesn't do much besides sitting at her station. The drum set, with its drums and cymbals, is permanently connected in the room and never moves.

Sélène takes her place, her bass securely slung over her shoulder. She plucks the strings, ensuring it's in tune, and smiles. Every session starts with a joyful cacophony. Until Stella adjusts the effects on her mic and warms up her voice. The discordant sounds naturally soften, as if a subconscious communication pushes them to find the same chords, the same tones. The rehearsal can begin.

Without even consulting each other, Bran starts the first clear arpeggios of a ballad on his guitar. Mael adds a few notes on the keyboard, amplifying the melancholic impact of the beginning of the piece. After a dramatic pause, the whole band jumps in, transforming the romantic start into a powerful metal passage. Stella's soft voice blends in perfect harmony, tempering the aggressiveness of the instruments.

Sélène closes her eyes, immersed in the music, her fingers flying over the bass strings without needing to think. She knows the set by heart and barely concentrates while playing. She listens to Stella singing the tortured lyrics of a betrayal story, where a man cheats on the woman he promised the world to. The spouse, hurt, kills her beloved before ending her own life. The song is terribly sad, but the music expresses anger. She always loved this dissonance between the two emotions in this piece. But something troubles her. Not about this passage in particular, nor about the band. Among all of Björn's annoying critiques, one sticks with her because it echoes something she's felt for a long time. Something is missing. Not one of the producer's stupid suggestions, something else... But she can't put it into words.

Their band was good, excellent even. But with this something, she feels it would be perfect.

The songs flow smoothly. They should soon be able to move on, find places to perform, and maybe record an album.

After a break, the rehearsal resumes in a relaxed and carefree atmosphere. The second set is always the best; the instruments are warm, the muscles are loose, and Stella's voice is at its peak. They even take the time to play a cover of one of Revelation's songs to get into the mood. They always end up joking, throwing around ideas for a new song while closing the place before heading out. The band's cohesion is perfect and extends beyond the music. Sélène slips between Mael and Stella, grabbing them both by the arm, sighing contentedly, a ball of happiness rolling in her chest.

¤¤¤

The scene slowly lights up, and the crowd cheers with joy. The small group of friends positions itself slightly back in a less dense area but close enough to enjoy the full intensity of the concert. As Revelation steps onto the stage, Sélène discreetly casts one last glance at her Psyche, at the message sent and left unanswered. Of course, she is a bit disappointed, but also relieved. Sometimes, not knowing seems more comfortable to her than facing a cold and cruel reality.

The music starts, and Sélène lets herself be carried away by the crowd's emotions, which wash over her and silence her own thoughts. Stella hops in place and drags her into her joyful outbursts more than once. The entire group of friends radiates a positive energy that dispels all her uncertainties. Revelation exudes a strength and passion that infects and blows over the audience, aided by magic-created visual effects. Mael leans over to Sélène and whispers excitedly, “We need to do the same on stage! This extravagance is what we need!” Yes, he is right, but in the spirit of their music. Stand out, show their differences. Sélène smiles. They don't need Björn, they will make it without him, and they will prove him wrong for wanting to change them.

The melodic line softens, they are about to start one of their ballads, the most famous of all, the one about a man imprisoned by a witch's magic, pleading with her alternately to release him or keep him close. The conflicting emotions evoked in the song strangely echo in Sélène's soul, and she closes her eyes as the first notes rise, plunging the crowd into silence.

Suddenly, two hands slip around her waist, and she freezes. For a brief moment, her breath stops, her blood runs cold. She feels, deep within her, something stir, and in this sensation of heavy, relentless, dangerous movement, a dark wave crosses her. Anxiety grips her throat, warm and paralyzing. Her heart pounds wildly, her stomach contracts, and her mind goes blank. She is almost frozen, but she struggles and turns around abruptly, eyes wide, fists clenched, jaw locked, ready to fight. And she stops, surprised. The person facing her is none other than Cendre, who looks at her smiling, still holding her at arm's length. “You look very beautiful tonight...” He doesn’t seem to have noticed anything.

Sélène opens her mouth, stunned. How did he find her in this crowd? She glances at Stella, thinking she might have recorded his contact and sent him a message just in case, but she is as surprised as Sélène. Her heart slows down, and what had moved deep in her chest seems to fall back asleep, reassured. Cendre pulls her close and whispers, “I love this song. Will you dance with me?” He looks at her frankly, without blinking, and his smile is disarming. His long hair is tied in a loose bun, revealing the shaved sides of his head and the back of his neck. He also has several piercings in his ears. Now that he is so close to her, his scent intoxicates her. It's almost a miracle she hadn't smelled him earlier. Or maybe she was too engrossed in the concert?

He doesn't wait for her response and moves slightly, holding her in his arms, to a less crowded area. She glances at Stella, afraid she might worry, but she smiles and gives her a small encouraging wave. Mael, right next to her, gives two thumbs up.

Why am I not even surprised?

He presses against her, his cheek against hers, and whispers, “Don't worry, I'm not going to kidnap you, I just want a bit more space.”

She shivers and closes her eyes for a moment, his warm, deep voice seems to resonate through her entire being, slipping under her skin. How can he unsettle her so much when she knows nothing about him? She mentally shakes herself, she needs to snap out of this fascination. She wants to pull away, but he still holds her in his arms and starts dancing to the music with her. She sighs and surrenders, this song is her favorite. Waltzing with him is just a positive side effect, a good memory to keep. She wrinkles her nose. As if she could ever forget this unique scent.

She finally steps back a bit, and their eyes lock, as if magnetized. The intensity of his black eyes makes her tremble, there is a rising tension between them, like accumulating electricity, and she confusedly thinks he is going to lean in and kiss her, right there, in front of everyone. Total panic grips her, dizzying, almost annihilating the excitement that this moment should provoke. No! Not here, it's too soon, it's...

He frowns almost imperceptibly.

“Sélène, your eyes are sparkling...”

The anxiety chokes her, she takes a sharp breath and stammers, “Oh, sorry, this song is very special to me, I always get a bit emotional when I hear it.” Her tone sounds false, he will surely understand she is lying, but she cannot tell him, “Oh, sorry, I thought you were going to kiss me and I completely panicked!”

He nods, accepting her excuse, and releases her eyes to pull her closer.

“Mmh, it touches me too.”

He is lying as well, probably out of gallantry, to allow her to save face. Then she seems to realize.

“Wait, how do you know my name?”

He stiffens slightly.

“Sorry, I heard you talking the other night at the Temple, and I couldn't help but listen to know your name. A bit creepy, huh?”

The tension still present starts to fade. Sélène chuckles, the anxiety slowly ebbing.

“A real stalker!”

As the last notes finish, he releases Sélène and she steps back, a bit uncomfortable. What now?

Stella cuts short her thoughts by approaching them. “Hey, hi! Cendre, right? I'm Stella, Sélène's best friend.”

The young man smiles. “Good evening, nice to meet you.

“We're all going to the Temple after the concert, would you like to join us? Promise, no one bites.”

“I wouldn't want to impose…”

“None of that! Sélène's friends are our friends!”

She pulls him along without further ado to join the others, winking at Sélène. The latter shakes her head, smiling, thanking her internally. She could often count on her in such moments.

The group and the few members of the Coven gathered welcome Cendre as if he had long been one of them. Sélène observes how the young man interacts. He is sociable, charming, not at all uncomfortable. He blends in among them with a disarming naturalness, and she almost feels as if he has always been there, or as if he is reclaiming a place he had left vacant. The feeling seems a bit strange to her, and the accompanying idea too, but she thinks it’s like they are finally complete. He turns to her as she is lost in her thoughts, and his smile changes, tinged with something different. It is devastating.

The Temple is not normally a nightclub. It’s a typical pub with a cozy atmosphere, part of which is occupied by cozy lounges. Only the center of the bar with tables and chairs clears out on weekends to allow people to dance. The group heads towards the boudoirs, clearly accustomed, as the concertgoers start filling the place. The Temple's reputation is such that it wouldn't be surprising if Revelation ended their night in one of the VIP rooms at the back, and this prospect drives the curious to crowd into the brewery. As they settle, Sélène excuses herself and heads to the restroom, closely followed by Stella.

As soon as the door closes on the small empty room adorned with 5 sinks and a dozen closed toilets, Stella grabs her friend's arm.

“Sélène, are you okay? You seem completely out of it since the concert.”

“Oh! Yes, yes, I'm fine.

“Sélène...”

She sighs. Stella knows her too well. “I panicked.”

“What? Why, did he say something to you? Did he touch you or…”

“No! No... I... I thought he was going to kiss me, and I freaked out.”

Stella leans against a sink and crosses her arms, frowning, visibly worried. “Honey, I know everything you've been through. But…”

“No, it's not that. It’s just...” She shakes her head, searching for words, and sighs again. “I don’t know, it felt too fast, too sudden. I was scared he would get attached to me, expect things from me that I am not ready to give. What if he falls in love? Or wants a serious relationship? It crossed my mind in chaos. I don't feel ready. I don’t want to commit again like this, on a whim...”

Stella raises her hands, stopping her flow of words. “Ooh! Calm down. I don’t think he's already imagining you two in front of a druid!” Sélène abruptly stops and laughs a bit nervously, running her fingers over her neck.

“No, that’s true. You’re right. It’s completely irrational, I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

“Sélène... It’s not because of me, right? You know I tease you about your singlehood and when I joke about you not coming home for the night?”

She smiles tenderly and takes her friend's hands. “Don’t worry, I know, and I also know that all you want is for me to get better. And I am better, really. But... It seems I still need a bit of time for some things.”

Stella presses her lips together, then pulls her into her arms, resting her forehead against hers. “Take all the time you need, darling, but don't take everything so seriously. You have the right to have fun, to not always think about tomorrow. And especially to stop remembering the past. Everything you've been through shouldn't haunt you anymore."

"I don't want to dwell on it anymore. But I just want to make sure Cendre doesn't expect to find the woman of his life in me. I'm not ready to get into a serious relationship. Not right away, at least."

Stella smiles and hugs her again. She still feels a bit worried, but she also knows her friend's strength. She pulls back, holding her at arm's length. Sélène seems calm, reassured. Good.

"We should join them now."

"Go ahead, I'll be right there."

Stella leaves, and Sélène stays in front of the mirror for a moment. She runs cold water over her wrists, then the back of her neck, trying to dispel the unease that's been gripping her since the concert. She lied to Stella. She isn't really afraid of starting a relationship again. But if she says that, her friend will understand what truly terrifies her, and it will have consequences she doesn't want to deal with for now. She just wants to move forward. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, hands on either side of the sink, and takes several slow breaths. A maelstrom rages in her head, a storm of voices, screams, ghosts from her past. Her fingers tighten on the porcelain, and that curious sensation of movement inside her returns. She focuses on it, on guard, still overwhelmed by those cursed memories, and a shiver runs up her spine. She clenches her jaws to the point of pain. A wave of anger seems to wash over her. A total, marble-like fury knots her throat, foreign to her personality. A feeling as cold as ice, without any stray thoughts.

Kill.

She startles, thinking she felt the porcelain of the sink crack under her fingers, which is impossible, she can't be that strong. She removes her hands and looks carefully, but there's nothing. She exhales the breath she was holding. She's scaring herself now. Perfect. She straightens up, scrutinizes herself in the mirror. Everything seems normal. Even though she can't explain what just happened, it had the merit of silencing the painful memories echoing in her head. She is no longer that person. It's in the past.

She leaves the restroom without a backward glance. And doesn't notice the piece of porcelain that detaches and falls to the floor with a crystalline clink.

Approaching the group, she notices that the only free seat is right next to Cendre, unsurprisingly. He is in deep conversation with Loryan, Sylve's boyfriend. When he sees her coming, he stops talking and shifts a bit so she doesn’t feel trapped. She frowns slightly.

He smiles, apologetic, gesturing to the beer waiting for her. “I would have liked to order you an absinthe, but I imagine that's impossible without your presence.”

She feels her lips stretch into a smile despite herself and sighs. “It's nothing, I didn't feel like drinking it anyway. A beer is perfect.”

“If it's not too indiscreet... How come you're allowed to order it?”

She hesitates, wondering how to answer, but Loryan does it for her, smiling broadly.

“Haha, our little Sélène is full of surprises! And absinthe is just the tip of the iceberg!”

From his tone, she understands that he and Cendre have apparently become friends. Loryan isn’t usually this familiar with someone so quickly. He tends to be quite reserved and defensive. It reassures her. If he managed to befriend him, maybe he’s not a bad person. She turns to Cendre and freezes. He's looking at her as if seeing her truly for the first time. She quickly regains her composure, so fast that no one probably noticed her brief moment of surprise. She decides to go with the flow and answers him.

“I’m a Kavach, a shield. So, absinthe doesn’t affect me at all.”

Well... almost.

She continues:"That's why I'm exceptionally allowed to live with Stella in the coven, even though I'm a non-bearer."

Stella raises her glass, laughing. “I wouldn’t have let you live alone anyway!”

Cendre leans back on the couch, a soft smile on his lips. He murmurs, “Really surprising,” and Sélène blushes. How does he manage to unsettle her so much?

His smile widens. “Also, to answer your question, I do remember you, and honestly, you are the first and only person to whom I’ve given my contact information so boldly.”

She turns to him, shocked. “Oh! So you read my message and didn’t even reply!”

“In my defense, I just checked my psyche.”

She could let it go, but she suddenly feels like teasing him. She looks at him with narrowed eyes, pouting as if she doesn’t believe him. He clicks his tongue. “You don’t seem convinced. What should I do to make you forgive me?”

Loryan leans forward in his seat, conspiratorially. “Inviting her to dinner would be a good start!”

“Loryan!”

Sélène is horrified. Did they plan this? Did she fall into their trap? No. No, Loryan acts this way naturally, especially when he feels comfortable. He sinks back into the plush cushions of the couch, laughing. Cendre seems to seriously consider the idea. “Next Friday? 7 PM?”

Loryan leans in again. “Excellent! I'll send you the Coven's address.”

“Loryan, I’m the one being invited, you could let me answer!”

“No, you’d probably refuse!”

She raises her arms in defeat. “It's a mutiny! You’re all in on it!”

Stella looks at her, shrugging, eyebrows raised, a complicit smile on her lips. “Aye aye, Captain!”

Sélène breathes in, closing her eyes. She should have guessed it would end this way as soon as her friend forced her to contact him. But never mind. She turns to Cendre.

“Okay, next Friday at 7 PM. Don’t be late.”

¤¤¤

He gently closes the door to his apartment behind him and turns, leaning his back against the hard wood. He sighs. What was happening to him?

A week ago, his life seemed to be sinking into an ocean of gray. He would get up, go to work, come home to collapse on his bed, only to start over, again and again, with no prospect of breaking this monotonous cycle. Until that night when the ground shifted under his feet. When the walls of his apartment suddenly gave him the feeling they were closing in on him. He was short of breath, the atmosphere felt heavy and clammy. He had abruptly stood up and gone out into the street. Everything seemed blurry around him. Faces, avenues, time itself, everything seemed to disappear under the regular clack of his steps. He had passed by the Senne, its dark waters whispering promises he struggled to ignore. Then, after what felt like hours of aimless wandering, he looked up. His pupils, accustomed to the darkness, painfully contracted in the light illuminating the bar sign. The Temple.

People were coming and going, the heavy bass rolling out to him each time the door opened. Why was he there? What had guided his steps? He made a move to turn around and walk away, but something stopped him. He finally decided to step inside, to accept whatever had drawn him here, if something indeed awaited him.

He slipped into the anonymous crowd, let the music wash over him... Then he met her smoky gaze, and the entire world shifted.

From that moment, wherever his eyes landed, she seemed to place herself in his line of sight. Or maybe his own body betrayed him, while his reason screamed at him to leave, to get away from her. No. He sighs. He can't lie to himself: nothing could have forced him to leave the Temple that night.

Nothing could have stopped him from giving her his psyche code. No matter how.

He runs a hand over his face and smiles joylessly.

She hadn’t contacted him, forcing him to wait, alone in the shadow of his apartment, as he watched the mirror, expecting a message, anything from her. Until tonight.

When he read her note after work, he rushed to the concert, praying to whoever would listen that it wasn’t already over, hoping to find her in the dense crowd. He should have known the crystalline notes of her mind would lead him to her, wherever she was.

He had followed her, at her mercy, but not for a moment did she realize the power she held over him. He had slipped into their group like a missing piece of a mechanism, so naturally that it frightened him a little. He had immediately bonded with Loryan, like a lost brother.

And in the end, he invited her to dinner.

He laughs, disillusioned, and slides to the floor, his head hanging. He was losing his mind.