25. Dorian

Chapter 25

Dorian

I’m staring out the window again, watching the snow pile up. It’s all white and gray out there, the wind howling like it has a personal vendetta against me. I perch on the sill, one leg dangling precariously over the edge, my ghostly eyes fixed on the abyss below. The scent of aged paper clings to me like a second skin, a reminder of the endless hours I’ve spent lost in the musty tomes scattered around my prison of a room.

Forever.

God, I hate that word. It rattles around in my chest, mocking me. It’s not just a long time—it’s an eternity of watching everyone else move on while I’m stuck here, same as always.

Here I am, frozen at twenty-two forever. Everyone else gets to grow old and die, but me? I’m just... here—a monster playing dress-up in a college kid’s body. It’s exhausting.

Uncle Everett’s voice, dripping with centuries of mischief and pain, whispers in the darkest corners of my memory. “That’s the fear of forever, kid. Immortality survives in time only. The mind can’t handle it—can’t even fathom it.” His words are a dagger, twisting in the wound of my eternal existence.

A wry smile tugs at my pouty lips, a mockery of joy. Uncle always has a way of stating the obvious with the subtlety of a battering ram, hammering home the truths we both try so desperately to ignore.

The sudden groan of my door shatters my brooding, and there he stands, Uncle Everett, in all his irreverent glory, munching on what appears to be...

“Are those chickpeas?” I ask, my tone holding a mixture of curiosity and disdain, two emotions forever at war within me.

He grins, chocolate smeared at the corner of his mouth like a child’s messy secret. “Chocolate-covered chickpeas,” he declares, rattling the bag with a flourish. “Brought you some for when you’re done contemplating the great abyss. Or was it moping? I can never tell with you.”

I turn back to the window, letting the icy wind bite at my skin, a futile attempt to feel something. “I’m pondering the intricacies of our eternal existence,” I mutter, the words heavy with the weight of centuries. “The burden of forever that threatens to crush us all beneath its merciless heel.”

“Ah, yes.” Everett chuckles, the sound hollow and brittle. “Back in my day, we didn’t have time for such lofty musings. We were too busy dodging saber-toothed tigers and inventing the wheel. Simpler times, really. Just survival and the occasional existential crisis.”

I’m about to retort when a heavy thud behind me catches my attention—suitcases. My eyes narrow as I swing my leg back inside and slam the window shut, the glass rattling in its frame like the bones of the dead.

“What is that?” I hiss, the storm in my eyes matching the one outside.

Everett’s eyes twinkle with mischief, a dangerous light that speaks of secrets and sins. “Stuff,” he says, crunching another chickpea. “You know, the usual family heirlooms—cursed artifacts, fond memories, and the occasional fossilized mammoth tusk. Just the essentials for eternal damnation.”

The silence between us is awkward as hell. There’s so much we’re not saying and so much history we’re both trying to ignore. It’s suffocating. My fingers twitch, longing to grab him by the collar and shake some sense into him. Instead, I take a deep breath, tasting the mingled scents of chocolate and ancient magic that always cling to my uncle like a shroud.

“Seriously, Uncle?” I groan, eyeing the suitcases. “What kind of trouble are you bringing with you this time? And don’t tell me it’s just your laundry.”

Everett kicks the door closed with a resounding thud, his smile faltering for a moment before regaining its usual impish gleam. He flops onto the empty bed across the room, the ancient springs groaning in protest like the souls of the damned.

“Can’t a humble, eternally youthful uncle drop in on his favorite brooding nephew without him assuming I have nefarious intentions?” he asks, feigning hurt. “Besides, I heard the campus cafeteria serves a mean immortal soup on Tuesdays. Tastes like regret and lost opportunities. Thought you might appreciate a taste of home.”

“Uncle,” I repeat, centuries of shared history and unspoken pain laden in that single word. “I am your only family—the last thread tying you to this wretched existence we call life.”

He sighs, tucking his hands behind his head, his facade cracking just enough to reveal the weight of eternity. “Fine,” he says, his fog blue eyes—so similar to my own—fixing on me with an intensity that makes my immortal heart skip a beat. “I got a job.”

I raise an eyebrow, incredulity evident in my voice. “A job?” The word tastes like ash on my tongue, bitter and acrid. “Have you forgotten what we are, Uncle? Time doesn’t heal our wounds, it merely gives us more chances to bleed, suffer, and regret.”

“Two hundred years since my last one,” he finishes, tossing a chickpea in the air and catching it in his mouth with practiced ease. “Give or take a decade, but even immortals need a change of pace sometimes. Eternity gets so dreadfully boring without the occasional curveball.”

My curiosity piques despite my brooding state, a flicker of interest in the endless void of my existence. “What game are you playing at? What new torment have you devised for us?”

“The dean called,” he says, his tone suddenly serious. “She told me you have a beast prowling the island. I’m honestly mildly offended you didn’t call me yourself. I thought we had a special uncle-nephew bond, you know? The kind forged in the fires of eternal damnation, tempered by shared suffering and midnight snack runs.”

I clench my jaw, muscles tightening with the strain of unspoken words. “And what do you intend to do about this beast? Charm it with your centuries of running from responsibility? Offer it a taste of your chocolate-covered chickpeas and hope it chokes on eternity like the rest of us?”

“Oh, nephew,” Everett replies, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light I know all too well. “You underestimate the beasts I’ve danced with. This creature? It’s but a waltz compared to the infernal symphony we’ve survived. The hellish opera of our existence makes this beast look like a mewing kitten.”

“To do what?” I ask, dreading the answer. “Regale it with tales of your misspent youth? Bore it into submission with stories of the good old days when mammoths roamed Earth and humanity was but a glimmer in the universe’s eye?”

He sits up, grinning, the expression a mask that barely conceals the pain beneath. “Teach defense against the dark arts,” he announces with a flourish. “Figured it was time to put my centuries of running from responsibility to good use. Plus, I hear the faculty lounge has an excellent selection of snacks. A man has to have his priorities, even when that man is cursed to walk Earth for eternity.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, a wry smile tugging at my lips despite myself. “And the beast? What of the monster that stalks our halls and threatens to shatter the fragile peace we’ve carved out of this cursed existence?”

“Oh, you know me,” he says, his tone suddenly serious. “I’ve picked up a trick or two over the centuries, but first…” He tosses me the bag of chocolate-covered chickpeas, the gesture almost gentle. “Eat these. You look like you could use a sugar rush. Being broody is exhausting work, even for an immortal. Trust me, I’ve had eons to perfect the art.”

As I catch the bag, the rustle of the packaging unnaturally loud in the sudden silence, a thought occurs to me. It’s a secret I’ve been harboring, a darkness that threatens to drag us deeper into the abyss of our cursed existence.

I can tell my uncle, because he may have some kind of advice to offer, or perhaps it will finally push us both over the edge and into the madness that’s been nipping at our heels for centuries.

I set the bag aside, my heart heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, of sins committed in the name of love and protection. “Actually, Uncle,” I say, the words clawing their way out of my throat, “there’s something I need to show you. Now that you’re here... officially... there are things you should know—darkness that makes our curse look like a blessing in comparison.”

Everett’s eyebrows shoot up, his usual smirk fading into a look of genuine curiosity tinged with a fear he can’t quite hide. “Well, nephew,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “it seems we’re about to add another chapter to our family’s book of eternal regrets. Lead on, my brooding Virgil. Guide me through the hell of your making.”

The weight of my secret presses down on me as I lead him out of the TA dorm and through the bustling lobby where students chatter. Uncle waves to a few students, his easy charm a stark contrast to my brooding demeanor.

I don’t wait for him, my steps quick and purposeful on the worn stone floors, each footfall echoing with the weight of my sins.

My stomach’s in knots. I’d forgotten what real nervousness felt like. Guess being immortal doesn’t make you immune to guilt or fear.

I’ve been keeping a dirty little secret, a darkness that threatens to drag me deeper into the abyss I’ve been teetering on the edge of for so long.

Of all those who surround me, which are very few, Uncle is the only one I feel even a little bit confident about telling. He’s the only one who might understand the depths of my depravity and the lengths I’ve gone to in the name of love.

I’ve been haunting Shadow Locke’s halls for years, long before my acceptance, chasing shadows and secrets, but lately, it’s all about Frankie. God, the way she looked after that incident with Amanda and Chloe and the raw power she unleashed... It’s terrifying and exhilarating, and it’s why I’m about to show Uncle Everett the darkest secret I’ve been keeping in the bowels of this cursed place.

Men.

So many men.

“You remember Francesca?” I ask as we descend into the library’s basement, my voice barely above a whisper. The silence down here is oppressive, making even the softest words seem too loud.

Everett nods, his usual joviality subdued, replaced by a seriousness that speaks volumes. “The girl you’ve been watching over? Hard to forget, considering how often you mention her. She’s the thread that keeps you tethered to this world, isn’t she? The light in your eternal darkness.”

I stop in front of an ancient oak door, its surface carved with intricate runes that seem to writhe and shift in the dim light, a living testament to the horrors that lie beyond. The wood is warm to the touch, pulsing with an energy that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, a warning I’ve long since learned to ignore.

“Look, there’s stuff about Frankie I haven’t told you,” I say, my hand on the door. “It’s bad, Uncle, really bad, and I’m in way over my head.”

As we descend, the temperature drops noticeably, the air growing thick with the scent of old magic and something darker. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder of the terrible burden I carry and the lines I’ve crossed in the name of love.

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and I feel my gut clench. The room’s huge, and the air feels... wrong, like all the pain and fear of the men I’ve kept here is pressing down on us. It’s hard to breathe, and not just because of the guilt.

Lining the walls are dozens of shadowy cells, each one holding a figure barely visible through the swirling mist. The occasional rattle of chains or muffled groan breaks the eerie silence, a symphony of suffering that I’ve conducted for far too long.

“Dorian,” Everett says, his tone uncharacteristically serious as horror and understanding wars within his eyes, “what have you done?”

I clench my fists and dig my nails into my palms, drawing blood that wells up and falls, staining the stone floor with the proof of my living curse. “These men,” I explain, my voice tight with the weight of my actions and the burden of my choices. “Francesca thought she killed them. She was pushing her abusers through the veil and into the shadow realm, but I couldn’t let her bear that burden, so I’ve been... collecting them, shouldering the weight of her vengeance.”

Everett’s eyes widen as he takes in the scope of what I’ve done, the gravity of the situation reflected in his usually carefree gaze. “You’ve been watching her for that long and intercepting her victims?” He places a hand on my shoulder, his touch warm against the chill of the chamber, a reminder of the humanity we both cling to so desperately. “Oh, nephew, the chains you forge for yourself... They are heavier than any curse could ever be.”

I nod, unable to meet his gaze, afraid of what I might see reflected there. Understanding? Disgust? Or worse, the same darkness that I feel growing within myself? “I couldn’t let Frankie become a killer. She’s been through enough, and I... damn it, I care too much. Every time I see her, it’s like my cold, dead heart tries to remember how to beat. I’d rather be the monster than let her light be tainted by darkness.” I swallow hard, the words I’ve never dared speak aloud finally tumbling from my lips, a confession and a plea for absolution.

He raises a simple brow. Uncle is always chatty, and his silence speaks volumes of shared pain and understanding.

I lick my lips, tasting the salt of unshed tears and the bitterness of regret. “The ocean calls to me, Uncle. Its depths promise an escape from this endless existence, yet I remain tethered to this cursed life by a thread of hope I dare not name.” I wave an arm, encompassing the chamber of horrors I created. “This... This gave me motivation to continue my existence… to protect her, even from herself.”

“And you’ve been carrying this weight alone,” Everett murmurs, squeezing my shoulder, his touch a lifeline in the sea of darkness I’ve been drowning in. “The burdens we choose are often heavier than those thrust upon us, but Dorian, my boy, this is a weight that would crush even the strongest of souls.”

I look up at him, my eyes a storm of conflicting emotions. Love, fear, guilt, and hope all war within me, threatening to tear me apart. “I didn’t know what else to do, but now that you’re here, I thought maybe you could help me figure out what to do with them and how to tell Francesca the truth.”

Everett’s expression softens, and I see a mix of pride and concern in his eyes, tinged with a sadness that speaks of shared suffering. “Well, I always said teaching would be more exciting here. Looks like I was right.” He squeezes my shoulder again, a gesture of solidarity that bridges the gap between us forged by centuries and secrets. “We’ll figure this out together, Dorian. That’s what family’s for, even when that family is cursed with eternal life and we become the very monsters we once fought against.”

As we stand there, surrounded by the consequences of my actions and the echoes of Francesca’s pain, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. The oppressive atmosphere of the chamber seems to lighten just a bit. For the first time in a long while, I’m not facing this alone. The darkness that’s been threatening to consume me recedes a fraction in the face of understanding and shared burden.

Maybe we can make something good out of this mess. Hell, maybe I’ll even get that pack I’ve been dreaming of, with Frankie at the center of it all. It’s a long shot, but hey, I have forever to figure it out, right? A family forged in the crucible of immortality, bound by something stronger than blood—shared suffering and a chance to atone for the sins we’ve committed in the name of love and protection.

The thought brings a glimmer of warmth to my cold, immortal heart, a spark of hope in the endless night of our existence. It’s a dangerous feeling, hope. It’s burned me before and left me scarred and bitter, but like a moth to flame, I can’t help but be drawn to its allure.

As I stand there with Uncle Everett, surrounded by the physical manifestation of my sins, I realize that maybe, just maybe, forever doesn’t have to be a sentence. It could be a chance at redemption, love, and finding a place in this ever-changing world that has left us behind so many times.

“So what now?” I whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter this fragile moment of understanding between us.

Everett’s eyes roam over the shadowy cells, his expression a mixture of horror and determination. “Now, nephew,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of centuries, “we clean up this mess. We face the consequences of our actions, no matter how noble our intentions might have been.”

I nod, feeling a strange combination of relief and terror. “And Francesca? How do I tell her what I’ve done? How do I make her understand that I became a monster to keep her from becoming one herself?”

Uncle’s hand tightens on my shoulder, grounding me. “With honesty, Dorian, and with love. She’s stronger than you give her credit for. She’s survived horrors we can scarcely imagine. The truth, as painful as it may be, could be the key to her healing and yours.”

As his words sink in, I feel something shift within me. The weight I’ve been carrying for so long begins to lighten, and for the first time in centuries, I allow myself to consider a future that isn’t shrouded in shadows and secrets.

“It won’t be easy,” I say, more to myself than to Everett.

He chuckles, a hint of his usual humor returning, though it’s tinged with a darkness that matches our surroundings. “Nothing worth doing ever is, kid, especially not for us eternally damned types, but that’s what makes it interesting, isn’t it?”

I push away from the wall, straightening my shoulders. The burden is still there, but it feels more manageable now that it’s shared. “Where do we start?”

Everett’s eyes gleam with determination and mischief, a reminder of the man he was before eternity wore him down. “Well, first things first, we have a bunch of ne’er-do-wells to deal with. Can’t exactly keep them locked up here forever, can we? Then, we’ll have a heart-to-heart with a certain shadow wielding lady. And after that?” He grins, the expression both comforting and terrifying. “After that, we’ll figure out how to turn this curse of ours into something resembling a blessing, or at least something we can live with for the next few millennia.”

As we begin the monumental task before us, I feel a spark of something I haven’t experienced in centuries—hope. It’s small, fragile, and easily extinguished by the slightest breeze of doubt or fear, but it’s there, burning in the depths of my cursed heart.

For now, that’s enough to keep the darkness at bay and give me the strength to face Francesca, to bare my soul and show her the depths of my devotion, even if it means losing her forever.

As we ascend the stairs, leaving behind the chamber of my sins, I can’t help but wonder what the future holds. Will Francesca forgive me? Will I ever forgive myself? Can we truly find redemption, or are we doomed to repeat the cycle of pain and regret for all eternity?

As I glance at Uncle Everett, seeing the determined set of his jaw and the glint of hope in his eyes that matches my own, I realize that perhaps the answers to these questions don’t matter as much as I thought. What matters is that we’re facing them together, no longer alone in our eternal struggle.

Maybe that’s enough for now, at least.

There’s a whole world of crap waiting for us out there—stuff I can’t even begin to imagine, but you know what? For the first time in forever, I actually want to face it. Yeah, it’s going to hurt like hell, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

After all, what’s a little pain to those cursed with eternity?