The Core of ...

"You don't want to live so vehemently, as if she died not seventeen years ago, but only yesterday." The girl was sitting on the dirty floor, bent over her dying teacher. She tried with all her might to save him: the blood was slowly returning to the veins and arteries, the wounds were healing, the body was reviving, but the soul... the soul was slowly fading away.

"Today I'm mourning not her, but you." He looked at her with his black eyes. They weren't empty, never for her, but now, anyone who looked into them would undoubtedly see love. "I know you're going to your death, just like the boy. And that, like him, you will not refuse this sacrifice. I won't be able to survive another loss, please don't make me."

"I wish we could both live." There was no point in lying, it would mean disrespect. For a moment, the girl's face was motionless, captured by a thought that flew through her mind like a white dove over an endless ocean. That moment was enough to catch it, hold it to the chest and believe it. Now, it would not go anywhere. Now, you could slowly study it, think about it. But first, it was necessary to convince him not to give up. "And I think it's possible. I think I've found a loophole. If I promise you to live, will you promise me the same?" The professor was silent in confusion. "Will you? If not, I won't even try!"

"I will!" He blurted out and leaned forward, as if to confirm his intention, and at the same time, in an attempt to unravel her. "But why do you want to die? You're not blackmailing, I can see that."

Each flap of the wings of the messenger bird was accompanied with some image; and one of them was a couple standing in the middle of a small home library: a man, her teacher, hugged a woman to him and looked at her the way he looked at his student a minute ago, and the woman, who looked very much like her only older, responded in kind. The girl knew that she was seeing herself, that she had caught the moment of their farewell, as unwelcome as it was inevitable, due to the obvious mess in time. But what was stopping them in this world? "Nothing." With an enigmatic smile, the girl leaned towards him even more, met his gaze for a second, in which he was surprised to find a spark of audacity, and gently kissed him on the lips.

"Remember your promise," she said, and left him alone, amazed, stunned, happy, scared, alive.

"I have to come back, I promised." Everything went as planned, and the girl stood next to her lifeless body in the form of an invisible essence. All she had to do was to want to take a breath, to want to open her eyes. That's all it took: to want to. "The boy did it, so I can do it too, and I still have time. What's stopping me?" For some reason, it was incredibly difficult to do this. "My father's power has gone - I will no longer be able to do what sets me apart from others. It took my mother's power with it - I will no longer be able to do anything that commands respect in this world. Why would he want me? Why would the teacher need me? What can I give him, how can I help him? I'll just be a burden. What are we going to talk about with him? But I promised to live... What am I going to do with this life? Will I be like my foster parents? Between two worlds, not belonging to either of them. In memories of the past, with nothing in the present. But I promised to live. I can't let him down, I can't make him suffer... again... What if I come back and he's been killed, again? No, don't think that way!"

"Evelyn!" A familiar voice rang out from the other side of the clearing; a familiar figure began to cross it uncertainly, but eventually ran to her and fell to its knees next to her, picking up her hands from the ground and pressing them to itself. "Evelyn, don't die. Don't go away. You can come back. Do you hear? You can come back!" The entity stood aside and wondered what this blond-haired young man was doing here. Of all of them, he was the last one she expected to see. She wasn't expecting anyone at all, much less him. Why did he come? For her? What did he care about her? Especially now that she's dead. What's the use of her? "He's alive, I've seen him, so you might be alive too. Please, please come back. You have to, you can do it, you're strong! You have the will!" He stopped, looked at her hands in his, blushed as if from his own insolence, and in embarrassment, like an unworthy one, put them back on the ground. "Unlike me. It's me who's good for nothing, but you, you..." He plucked up the courage to say what he wanted to say to her face. "I admired you, your fearlessness, your tenacity, your steadfastness... your kindness... to everyone, even to your enemies... you didn't even consider them enemies, had enough soul to forgive. Take me, for example. But I betrayed you after all. Betrayed..." the young man grinned bitterly and looked away again, "I have done this so many times... but declared that I love you... from that moment I did begin. Because I'm a coward. I was even afraid of my father, afraid of falling in his eyes. As a result, I fell as low as I could." And suddenly, with a strange mixture of anger and hope, he dashed to her and grabbed her by the shoulders, trying to look into her closed eyes. "Does that mean I don't love you? That's how they usually say. But I feel that I love you! What about this?... But this won't bring you back, you won't come back for the sake of me... then come back for the sake of life. Eve! Come back for life!" the young man shouted and shook her once like a doll out of desperation. And then he petrified, afraid to make even the slightest movement, because the girl opened her eyes and inhaled so abruptly, as if she had woken up from a nightmare in fright, because he was not sure that this had not happened by accident and that her soul would not fly out of her body again. But the girl continued to breathe unevenly and stared at him in a daze. "Eve?" he said quietly, "Is that you?"

"Yes." She still couldn't concentrate, because she really was frightened; frightened that she was ready to leave, "forever!... Yes, that's me."

"And... did you hear what I was just saying?" the lad blushed again.

"Yes. That's why I came back." The guy didn't know how to react correctly to what she said and hesitated. She helped him by putting her hand on his chest soothingly. "Thank you. That you came, that you found me and said those words. You saved me. It's the absolute truth; your words helped me make this exact decision. I would have left if you hadn't said them. Don't doubt your feeling, it's genuine, it's just not always enough. No matter what they say." He understood everything. "I'm sorry, I can't be with you. I love another person."

"Who?"

The girl continued without answering. "But if you need me, I'll be there for you, I promise." He helped her up. "Let's go." Responding to his raised eyebrows, she took his hand; she spoke calmly and confidently, as always looking straight into the eyes. "Come with me. We both need it. You need to be there, and I need you there. I can't defend myself, I'm not a witch anymore. Maybe I never was."

"How is this possible?" She just shrugged her shoulders sadly and took him with her.

They walked silently and slowly through the forest, towards the castle. The forest was empty and quiet. She held his hand all the way; it gave him courage and faith. He held her hand all the way; he stroked the back of it with his thumb; he was surprised that she allowed him to do this, took advantage of it, and was grateful, but he had no illusions - she always spoke honestly. The castle was also empty and quiet.

"It looks like it's over. My father lost." The girl walked from courtyard to courtyard, past the destroyed school walls, from hall to hall, through broken glass and stone chips. "We need to find those who survived. He should be among them..." she squeezed the young man's hand, "he should..." even more, "he promised." Finally, they came to where everyone was gathered, and after quickly examining the first rows, she immediately entered the excited crowd, intently scanning each figure. It was enough to look at the clothes to see that it was not him again. And again, again, and... "Teacher!"

The young man felt her fingers relax, as her hand began to slip out of his. His heart sank, but he didn't hold her back. Not because he didn't want to, but because he understood that it was pointless. Not because he was afraid of humiliation, but because he had the courage to let her go. And as he watched her figure scurry away down the corridor created by her scream, he realised how much he had lost, lost despite the fact that he had never possessed it.

"Teacher!" At the moment when she found him, the professor was talking to some people, but as soon as he heard a familiar voice, the world around him closed in on it. The man turned around and the girl rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Alive..." his hands closed on her back, "Alive..." a sigh of relief escaped from his throat. "I found..."

The whole school watched this scene in complete silence, but only three understood what was happening. Everyone had heard about this couple: a favorite professor and a favorite student; and only one knew: not favorite but beloved. The young man did not condemn her - what right did he have to do that? He didn't reveal their secret, because love is always a secret, and it's up to those to whom it belongs to decide who and when to trust it. She entrusted it to him. It was an act of gratitude for what he had done for her. It was an act of caring for him, he knew that. It wasn't a pity. Out of pity they throw a handout. Out of pity she could kiss him, go against her feelings. But she promised to be there for him; she wanted him to be strong; she cared about him, he believed in it.

At the trial, she fulfilled her promise. At first, she and the professors were judged. They had many witnesses on the defense side, whom the court considered reliable. When all charges were dropped, she was given the right to testify at his family's trial. "These people were your torturers!" - "No. They were just watchmen, not executioners. And I wasn't held in prison, it was house arrest." - "That was your father's order." - "Yes. However, orders can be performed in different ways. These people have been kind to me, always." - "Don't you think that they did this with some kind of intent?" - "Please, explain. What kind of intent are you talking about?" - "Maybe they were acting in contrast to your father." - "They didn't ask me the questions he was interested in." - "Maybe they wanted to use you against their master and..." - "Use me?!... No, I was not offered to participate in any revolutionary actions. But when my father went on school, they secretly organised my escape, and themselves went with him. And when I died, it was this young man who found me in the forest to tell me that I could be saved. It was he who brought me back to life." - "How did he do it?" - "He reminded me what's important in a person and what's secondary in life."

She attended each of his meetings, before and after her speech; she breathed a sigh of relief after the announcement of the acquittal, smiled at him and left the hall. Her teacher was waiting for her outside its door. After her trial was over, she was allowed to come here alone, and the ministry building became the only place where they could meet. He brought her to the cliff today. Everything was as usual there: the sun, the wind, the waves and the endless expanse.

"How did you find this place?"

"Based on your recollections."

"Do you know what it means to me?"

"Yes."

"So this is a test?"

"No, a reminder." The wizard muffled the sounds around them. "You have already passed that test. And I wasn't the one who helped you with it. So why are you here with me now, and not at the courtroom exit with him?"

"In my opinion, the answer is obvious." They were walking along the ragged shore in a randomly chosen direction. "And one sincere and courageous deed cannot change what has been forming over the years, even if it turned out to be the key one. He helped me, but his words are one of the elements of my puzzle. I owed him, and today I paid him back - I became one of the elements of his puzzle. But I came back for you, not for him."

"He loves you."

"And you?" The girl halted and stood on a low stone to keep up with the man's gaze. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I..."

"The way he does?" The man delayed responding, he hesitated, was afraid to tell the truth, tried to look away, but she didn't let go.

"Yes." He gave up.

"Then what's stopping you?"

"I'm not young anymore."

"I'm not a witch anymore."

"What does it matter?"

"Exactly the same as your age. You still don't understand anything? I love you. I don't need the burning passions of soap operas, I'm not interested in them, I need you. I don't want young rapturous fools, I've been through too much, I want you."

"But you..."

"I'm not your student anymore, you're not my professor. I'm eighteen, and I want it. The only question is whether you want it."

He wanted it. In a way he hadn't wanted for a long time. No. In a way he had never wanted before. Wasn't that why he made a promise to live and fulfilled it? Back then, he had only vaguely guessed about it, but now, he knew for sure. But he couldn't even imagine that this would actually happen. He knew his ward well enough to see that, despite her outward calmness, she was afraid that he would say no, and to understand that if he refused her now, she would leave him forever. She wouldn't throw herself off the cliff, she wouldn't go to the young one, she wouldn't look for a replacement for him, no, all this would already be over. She would just leave, find something to live for. The only question was whether he would find it.

She started to turn away, hiding her longing behind disappointment, and that was what he couldn't stand - he grabbed her nape and pressed his lips to hers. An uneven intake of breath, the same exhalation - she had already given up hope that he would do this - her heart was relieved, and she gently cupped his face in her hands, opened her lips and kissed him back. A strong hand pressed her to him, the world spun, and they relocated to a small bedroom, simple but clean and habitable. Covering her with kisses, he pulled out her blouse tucked into jeans, with confident and precise movements undid the buttons one by one, and suddenly stopped.

"You know that I've never..."

"I know. Me too." The girl took off her blouse herself, unfastened and took off her bra, also herself. After a few seconds, she proceeded with his clothes. She wanted to know what those hands looked like, which once lifted her so easily from the floor, almost lifeless, as if she weighed nothing, and held her on her feet until they left the hall, where her father was seated upon, and she finally lost consciousness. "Professor?" She exclaimed with exaggerated surprise (it was hardly without magic but still) and a slight note of condemnation. "Who would have thought that you do sports?"

"Sometimes I move cauldrons without using magic." He defended himself with the air of a man who was forced to reveal that he had a sense of humor when he was doing his best to ensure that this never happened. The girl burst out laughing, looking at this, and no less because her nerves were giving out. "Miss Greenwood, focus!" The teacher besieged her sternly, perhaps also factitious.

"Sorry, Professor."

She stopped laughing, but every now and then the twitching edges of her mouth and something like a hiccup betrayed that she had not completely overcome her hysteria. Soon she succeeded, when soft bed clothes appeared under her bare back, and his warm lips and, in contrast, cold fingers began to caress her body with light touches, exploring its already open parts, exposing its still hidden ones, awakening every nerve, forcing it to become a perception entirely. The first time, he did it so as not to hurt her, but to let her get acquainted with a new kind of pleasure, so that later the memory of it would give her strength and will to endure the pain; and to give himself the opportunity to find out what she likes, how her body reacts and what to.

"And now it's going to hurt," he said apologetically, letting her catch her breath, but giving her no choice.

It hurt. She clung to him as tightly as possible, pressed herself into him; tears trickled onto the pillow in thin streams, blood onto the sheet; her nails dug into his back, scratched his skin - she directed all her strength into her fingers to relax the rest. And she was rewarded for her endurance: pleasure replaced the pain again, even greater than it was before. And if she silently stood the pain, then she was unable to stand the pleasure likewise; if she quietly hid the pain, then she screamed the pleasure at the top of her voice. Slowly returning from the peak of bliss, she looked at him with surprise, joy, fear, and question.

"Oh, my little girl," he said, pressing her sweat-soaked head against his heated up chest, "what have I done with you?"

"You've made me your little woman," she whispered, smiling.

Gently, unhurriedly, she kissed his lips - lower, upper, - his nose, one eye, then another, tenderly ran her fingers over his forehead, smoothing out the few but deep wrinkles on it, lowered them down his cheeks and brought them together on his chin, and started all over again. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed this ritual, listened to the silence and thanked the stars that were not yet visible for taking this particular position out of all possible ones in the firmament.

The girl had been just looking at his peaceful face for some time. She stretched out her leg as far as she could to reach the man's foot with her thumb and tickle it. "We have to go."

***

"May I use your bathroom?"

While the girl was taking a shower in the master bathroom, which was no different from the guest bathroom, and getting dressed, the man quickly used the second one. Then he went downstairs, had a look at the larder and, without wasting a second searching, took several flasks of some liquids, boxes of powders, and bags of roots. In the kitchen, he methodically chopped, ground, dissolved and mixed it all, reluctantly speeding up the heating and cooling processes, due to which he had to spend a little time changing the recipe. When he returned to the bedroom, the girl was almost ready.

"Drink this," he commanded without raising his voice. For a second, the girl held still, looking at the small bowl in his hands, and then she screamed reddening.

"I hadn't thought of that at all! How could I?!"

"This is a typical mistake of your age," he still said coldly.

"Yes, but... I'm sorry, prof..." she didn't want to call him professor anymore, but she couldn't do otherwise.

"We both did it," the professor said in a warming voice after a sharp sigh condemning himself.

She drank the potion and felt the pain that was still pulling and stinging her insides recede. This person was always concerned about her, not only on behalf of the headmaster, but sincerely.

(On the morning of the fourth day, the girl cursed her stupidity. Her back was itching unbearably, the throbbing, incessant ache did not give her rest for a second. She couldn't think about anything, concentrate on anything, sit still, stand, or walk. In other words, she couldn't exist. Instruments and ingredients fell out of her hands, liquids poured past the cauldron. Only by a miracle she managed not to cut off her toe when the knife (the biggest as usual), after doing a somersault, stuck the tip into the floor. The head got interested in her condition. This student could never be accused of neatness, but what she was doing that day was already too much. At the end of the lesson the professor called her to him.

"What was that? The worst performance from you I have yet... What's... Are you sick?" The tone of the last phrase was alarmed, and the speed with which he rounded the desk to get next to the girl when she began to sink to the floor was high.

"No... everything is fine..." Everything was floating in front of her eyes like in a fog and her legs almost couldn't hold her, but she couldn't imagine how to explain, and even more so, how to show what had happened.

"So it's fine." He said disappointed. Then he spoke in an irritated voice. "You do not even try to lie. You have a fever, and the blood on the shirt. Why? Spit it out."

"Not here."

The professor's office was semi-darkness, tightly packed with cabinets containing many flasks. No less than a system of mirrors, they served to spread the light coming from several dim sources. He preferred it that way. He didn't need any sun or open space, just a place where he could be alone. Finding the most illuminated spot in the room, the student turned back to the man, took her hair, opened a few buttons of the shirt and lowered it, exposing shoulders and upper back. The breath that ran over her skin indicated that he came closer and bent down to examine the writing.

"What is that?"

"The detention. A quill that writes with the author's blood. But things didn't go the way she planned. I filled all the pages - there was space for this on my back only."

"So things didn't go the way you planned either. And what did you write?"

"Oh, silliness. Please, don't ask." The girl was so ashamed in front of the teacher.

"Ah! I see for myself. Well." He solicitously put the shirt back on her shoulders. "Go to the hospital wing immediately. I'm excusing you from classes for the rest of the day."

"No, please." She buttoned up and rotated to face him. The professor was taking out a paper from his desk to write memos for the others. "No one else should know about this. There will definitely be a fuss - who needs it? There won't be anything done to her in any case, plus, it may affect the others... Is there anything you can do about this?"

"The others..." He was rubbing his chin thoughtfully with his index finger.

"Say you can, please, say you can."

"I can. Yes."

"Oh, thank you!"

"Come here again... today after classes." With two quick and precise motions, he took the right bottles from the right shelves and handed them to the girl. "In the meantime, this is to bring down the fever, and this is a painkiller. Have a drink and you can study in peace." He was not very happy about following her lead.

"Thank you, professor."

He saw her shame and gratitude. He made his face a little kinder and nodded towards the door.

In the evening, when all the lessons were over and the auditoriums got empty, she came again. The head passed her a jar of some type of cream. The girl did not fail to open it and smell it. At first, a sharp and indistinct smell hit her nose, but then... If breathe in leisurely and lengthy, patiently, then in its subtle fragrance one could hear notes of loosened soil soaked in meltwater, juice running under the bark of awakening trees, soft greenery of swelling buds, then the sweetness of honey plants and the spice of pine needles heated by the sun, the astringency of stale ripe apples and rotten foliage, and finally refreshing tingling of frost crystals. Breath out.

"Apply this ointment to pre-washed cuts once a day. It will take several days for complete healing, but you will feel relief already in the morning. Don't worry, there won't be any scars."

"Thank you."

There was an awkward silence. They both understood that she couldn't do it alone. The student twirled the jar in her hands, tapped the lid softly with her finger, chewed her lip, and took air into her lungs.

"Could you help me?"

"If you let me."

They found a well-lit place once again. The girl sat down on a tabouret, put the shirt on backwards and left the buttons undone. The teacher brought a bowl of warm water, a piece of clean cloth and sat down on the edge of the chair behind her.

"Keep your back." He worked carefully, methodically, dispassionately, like a real doctor. In accordance with his own instructions, he first washed the cuts with water and then "It may sting." started applying the cream. The girl flinched.

"I did warn you."

"No, it doesn't. It's... Your hands are cold. Excuse me..."

"Oh. They always are... The back. ... Cold, yeah, due to this cause I did not become a healer."

"Oh, really?"

They laughed softly. The girl thought that it was a pity she didn't turn around - she had never seen this person laughing. He proceeded. The ointment had a pleasant texture, the movements of the hands were soothing, cold fingers on the contrary kept the mind focused. The student's cheeks and ears were burning, but she absolutely trusted this man.)

The girl continued getting ready; she searched the floor for socks and a small shoulder bag. The man walked away and waited patiently, watching her actions.

"I'll walk you home. I need to talk to your foster father."

The girl nodded thoughtfully, then lifted the edge of the blanket and was pleased to find both socks under it. All this short time, she had one thought flying through her head, but she was too busy to pay attention to it. Now she could do it: what business could the professor have with her fosters? The girl roused herself.

"About what?"

"About that," he replied calmly.

"I am able to speak for myself. You don't need to be present at all." The girl straightened up with an offended look. It wasn't that she was going to hide what had happened, but she wanted to talk about it at the right time, in the right words, and with prepared arguments...

"A hand is usually asked in person."

His words stunned her, dumbfounded her, completely knocked her off balance. She didn't know whether to sit on something or stay standing, to rejoice or to panic. Or maybe to get angry?

"But you're not obliged to... we're not... in the nineteenth century..."

"I'm not obliged to. I want to. I want not to look for an excuse to see you and hide my love in the shadows. Isn't that the kind of youthful stupidity that doesn't interest you? I want to have the right for that."

His statement caused a mixed reaction in her brain. On the one hand, in his performance, despite the severity and harshness of his voice, rather on the contrary, thanks to them, it sounded extremely touching. On the other hand, go along with people who consider signing a piece of paper to be an act of love, who rely on it as a guarantor?!... But they were going to live among these very people. If that blond-haired young man had been in the professor's place, no one would have said a word, but their age difference, their recent statuses, changed everything in the eyes of the public. Wasn't protesting against such a small thing, important to them and worthless to you, stupid in itself?

"Or should I have asked you for it first?"

"No, of course not. Didn't I propose it myself? I was pondering about some other thing."

"Have your doubts been dispelled?"

"Completely."

"Great. If we're a family, then I will be able to perform a ritual that gives you magical protection from me."

The girl's haughty gaze was drowned in remorse for her pride. There was no reason for it. She suddenly felt so pathetic: what a child she was still, and she was boasting about her life experience; and he, he thought about everything, took everything into account, found a solution to everything, in just a few minutes. She was ready to cry with anger at herself. The man's face finally softened; he approached the girl and, with a slight smile, and gently hugged her, putting his chin on the top of her head.

"Don't worry, you'll grow up, you have every chance... you're already able to find socks on your own." There was a tearful chuckle at his chest. "But I wouldn't want you to ever surrender to age."