Her eyes flickered fleetingly to the side, deliberately catching a glimpse of her own reflection despite being certain that she knew there would not be a single stray hair. She was not vain, though, she glanced into her mirror only once in the morning, simply because she was not arrogant enough to make an assumption without evidence, and she knew that she had to be purely flawless. She was a witch for whom there are no whites or blacks, no blues or reds, only golds. Only perfection.

Closing the cupboard door and tucking away the mirror, she turned back to the sleeping figure curled under her blankets. She gazed longingly for a moment, silently admiring the forbidden creature before harshly nudging her awake.

"Whass goin' on?" muttered the sleepy non-witch, without opening her eyes.

"You need to get up," Constance replied quietly, but with a touch of urgency in her voice.

Imogen groaned as she leant across to see the clock.

"Const-," she yawned, "It's too early, it's barely even light out there yet!"

Constance stared blankly at her, perhaps confused by her concept of 'earliness'.

Imogen sighed heavily as she sat up and her fleece was thrown across the room and landed on her lap.

"How do we end up like this?" she asked quietly, avoiding her lover's gaze, "Would it be so bad for you to just lie here with me for a while?"

Constance looked hurt. She was always caught up in the eternal battle between the things she wanted, the things she thought she wanted, and the things she thought she should want.

"Imogen, I-"

It didn't matter that she didn't know what to say; she realised that Imogen would be upset with her anyway.

"What? Can't?" Imogen snapped, pulling on her sock and standing up, "Seriously, Constance, I don't understand you, sometimes you – you're just so unaffectionate!"

"That's not true and you know it," Constance said quietly, sounding defensive despite feeling Imogen's sharp words etching themselves into her chest, "Unless I've been imagining things which-"

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" said Imogen rather loudly, and perhaps more spitefully than she had intended, "Then everything would be exactly as you want it!"

"Shh!" Constance anxiously shushed her.

Imogen glared angrily.

"I don't mean to upset you," Constance whispered, reaching for Imogen's hand, "I'm just not very good at this kind of thing...and if anyone..."

Imogen snatched her hand away, but being unable to stay angry with the adorably annoying witch for long, changed her mind and wrapped her arms around Constance's waist, looking up into her eyes.

"It doesn't matter what anyone else would think," she whispered earnestly, "Things could be really good between us, you know!"

Constance was thrown by the sudden change in temperament, but content in their moment of closeness, she leaned in for a kiss. Imogen allowed her just one little peck before backing away.

"No more waking me up ridiculously early," she warned her, showing a slight cheeky smile, "See you at breakfast..."

Constance felt abandoned as her lover grinned and walked away from her. The unfathomable feelings tangling themselves amongst her magic turned to anger, merely because the magic sensed that rage seemed to feel less pathetic than sadness and uncertainty. Constance sighed, knowing that the baffling negative emotions had likely surfaced in retaliation of the happiness she had allowed herself to feel in the precious hours previously. Either way, she didn't like it.

She stared with intent at the bottle of deep blue liquid that had been hiding in her desk drawer.

Misery and confusion are not voluntary. But escaping from them is...