Lemon.

            It was the first thing he remembered. Yellow and the smell of lemon. Then the yellow faded. The next thing was white. All he saw was white, solid and unencumbered. Blinding. Consuming. He wanted to succumb to the white. Then white became light, and the light faded into walls. It was still there, however, the light was still there, only brighter than the walls. Only now it moved upward, only now the walls became dimmer, he could see them, the walls, that's how Oliver knew they were walls. They were dimmer than the light. Still white, but a dimmer solid white than the light. The Light was up, and he couldn't look directly at the light. But he could look down, the walls were down. He could look at those.

The next thing he knew was grey, grey in the walls, and then the grey turned into black. The black became a line. Door frames started forming, they formed out of the black line and eventually that line stretched into the frame of the door, after a few blinks. Once the door formed he could tell he was in a room and the room formed itself and the rest become clear rather rapidly. And suddenly the room was there and in the room were people, shadowy people, but he knew they were people.

"Reagan." It was his initial response to consciousness. "Reagan" He called. "Please. Please answer me! Reagan"

"She's alright." Someone explained but that someone wasn't Reagan. "Oliver. She's alright." He could see someone trying to get him to look to his right. Obligingly, he did. There she was. She looked like she was asleep. Peaceful. It didn't make him hopeful. It made him feel worse. Peaceful meant death. "No!!"

"Sedate him. NOW! Sedate him!"

"Nooo! Reagan, no."             

"She's alive! Oliver! She is alive." but he was out. Then he was back. It was all very confusing. He felt like he was out longer than he was but nothing had changed. The lemon was the same. Even the light was the same, however, it happened instantaneously. He was gone and back in less time than it took him to recognize the color white like the first time he had gained consciousness. He had more important concerns. The second he regained consciousness he thought only of Reagan.

"Oliver." Someone was trying to get him to focus but there was something more important. Something he needed to focus on.

"Reagan." He called to her.

Someone was standing over him, hovering. "Oliver, please, listen to me. Oliver, you're too unstable. Please. Oliver, Please." They pleaded. He knew it was important what they were saying. He knew if he didn't listen something bad would happen. But there was something else important too. Something his life depended on. Reagan.

He forced his eyes open, forced himself to look at her. She was lying there, in the bed next to his own.

"Oliver," Someone tried reaching him again with more urgency before his grief could overwhelm him. "She's alive."

"Alive?"

"Yes, She's alive." She said relieved she was finally reaching him. "but I need you to relax Oliver. We need you to relax before you kill us all. Your powers nearly irrupted. I need you to reign in your emotions or you will kill us all. You'll kill Reagan." That registered. More than anything else she had said. He heard that.

"Ok. I'm trying."  He tried to pull himself up but the woman rested her hand on his arm preventing him from moving.

"Bear with me for a few more minutes. You nearly died as well Oliver. Take it easy. She isn't going anywhere. She's a fast healer. Faster than you would expect."

Oliver laid back down but only for a moment. He got his bearings and when it looked like he wouldn't topple over Madelyn let him sit up. "Take it easy."

"How bad?"

Madelyn watched his reaction judging how much he could take. "Bad. And when it comes to Reagan that is saying a lot. She always fared better than the other children. She could always handle more, she has a strength about her that is unparalleled. She's not a Witch, we learned that but even so, she can withstand magic more than others. Had she been a Witch I'm afraid she wouldn't have lasted in that room with you at all, let alone for as long as she did. And, because of that, she is recovering considerable faster than she should. She'll wake up soon, I'm afraid to say that had that been any of the Healers here I wouldn't be saying that."

"The Witch?"

Madelyn made a small smile. "You managed to help lift some of the horror in that room. Enough that the Healers can enter it now. We will do what we can."

"I was worried my spell wasn't working."

Madelyn gave him another questioning look. "Your spell didn't work." She could tell he looked confused. "The hate resonating off that young woman hadn't changed, not until Reagan collapsed and you stopped your spell. Your fear of losing Reagan filled that room with the only thing in this world that could fight such hatred. Love. Oliver, your love for Reagan countered some of the damage done to that pour woman."

He didn't know what to say, so he turned to Reagan and watched her sleep. Madelyn waited a few minutes. "I'm afraid there's more. Your efforts to help the Witch may have countered any healing you may have already performed on yourself."

Oliver turned back to Madelyn. She could tell by the stiff look on his face he knew what she was talking about. "Reagan doesn't know."

"I figured as much. The glamour spell you used to hide it failed. At first I couldn't understand why you would use a glamour to heal a Consacro curse but then I realized you weren't trying to heal it."

"So that's what hit me."

"Nearly hit you. Had the spell made contact..." she didn't finish.

Oliver nodded. "I know, I wouldn't have made it out of the alter alive."

Madelyn gave him an expression he knew was the same look all doctors get when they have to give someone bad news. "Not exactly. I'm afraid you would have lived. The origin of the spell comes from Gehenna."

"Jerusalem?"

Madelyn wasn't surprised he knew the location it was a very powerful and sacred place for many reasons, "Precisely, it's a place of great pain, and torment. The land is scarred and damned by the deaths of so many sacrifices. The earth itself is cursed. I don't know how the Warlock did it but this spell came from the very blood soaked soil profaned by evil. It won't kill you, Oliver. It's living death. It will torment you. You've managed to stay off the worse of it but I'm afraid I don't know how to heal you. Or how long before the effects set in. It didn't hit you directly so it could be short lived or it could take weeks, maybe even years before anything happens."

"What do you mean? What could happen?"

"I'm not sure." Madelyn was clearly upset. "You could hallucinate; maybe turn on yourself or others. This spell was meant to destroy you not to kill you. Consacro is Latin it means to set apart, hallow. The literal translation is the curse of curses." Madelyn explained.

"I know what it means." He argued but she went on as if he hadn't spoken.

"It's the worst form of hate. He wanted you to suffer, endlessly. This will take your worst fears and make them a reality but only in your mind. I've never seen it in person but it's blasphemous to conjure such a spell. You could hurt and even kill the very people you love." She purposefully didn't look at Reagan as she said this.

"They missed. It didn't hit me, it ricocheted off the wall and hit another. I need to get to the alter. They may still be alive."

"If it was meant for you it's too late." She had reached out to stop him from getting up again. "The curse was born out of sacrifice, Oliver, if its intended target was you than you are the only one it would react to. If your brother took the hit for you he is surely gone."

Oliver just stared at the floor in shock. "This was intentional meant for me?"

It was hard to see him come to the realization. Madelyn was overcome with pity. She could feel his shock and hurt. He was confused and she shared in his misery. "I don't understand. What have I done to cause this much rage? This wasn't some random spell, I didn't get caught in a fire fight. This was conjured up specifically for me."

"I don't know." Madelyn tried to comfort him but this was unprecedented. "I can't come to terms with any of this or rationalized the motivation behind it. He could easily be blaming you for something he feels had wronged him in some way. There is no justification for any off this. It could be jealousy or envy that had boiled into loathing. I myself have never been an advocate for the Warlocks but you are the exception to my judgements. You have proved my assumptions wrong. Maybe that's also his impression but instead of respect he views it as defiance. You are who he should be and it has inspired the opposite reaction. Self-loathing can project itself onto those he once looked up to. I'm only guessing. I can't give you an explanation. I'm worried his reasoning won't be acceptable either. But curses like this one, they are given a name and only that name will complete the spell. Similar to potions these spells require specific ingredients; if it has harmed you then you are a piece of the spell otherwise you would have died. Spiteful curses are like hell hounds, once they get a scent they are near impossible to call back. "

Oliver considered her words. When he found the man responsible he was going to beat a reasonable answer out of him. "Thank you, Madelyn." He looked back at her. "Truly. I am thankful. You're an exceptional individual." He turned to watch Reagan. "Will she be alright?"

She smiled at him before standing up. Placing her hand on his arm she patted him. "I have felt many things in my time. What I felt from you back in that room was pure and beautiful. Not something I have had the privilege of witnessing very often. With that kind of love supporting her I don't think there is much in this world that could harm her." She waited till he looked back up at her. "You should tell her as much. To keep something as wondrous as that to yourself would be a horrible way to live. For both of you." Then she left them.

Oliver considered what she had told him. Not thinking about that room or about having a target on his back but about how he had felt when he thought Reagan was gone. He knew she was right, the sheer anger it took to inflict such a curse on a person could only be combated by its counter point. There was always a balance.

Shoving the blankets off he legs he stepped off the gurney. It took more strength than he predicted but he recreated the glamour over his torso and made it over to Reagan's bed. She was warm. Very warm. As if she was burning up from the inside. Her skin was flushed and damp. She almost glowed he could see the heat rising off her body. The edge of her hairline was sweaty. He placed his hand on her forehead and one over her heart. He knew it was too soon for him to be doing another heeling charm, regardless, he kneeled chanting, pouring his love into it. They were running out of time.

She felt hot. Like she had fallen asleep outside and had a horrible sunburn. Her own skin felt like a furnace. Her heart was racing. It was beating so quickly she felt nauseous. Her head hurt. She could hear someone talking but she couldn't make it out. It sounded strange, she tried to figure out what they were saying than realized someone was chanting in a tongue she didn't know. She tried opening her eyes but they didn't seem to be working. She couldn't get her muscles to move. The chanting was getting clearer, the syllables more pronounced. Her throat was dry, she found it hard to swallow but she could almost move her fingers and toes.

"Oliver." Her voice was rough; barely discernible.

"Ah, thank the gods." Oliver was kneeling next to her. "Reagan. You're alright." 

She could barely open her eyes, but she could see his face.  "What happened?"

"I happened." He looked devastated. "I couldn't stop and I thought." He put his head down, face into her comforter. "My love, I nearly killed you." He pulled himself back up and started pacing, hands in his hair pulling at the roots. "I couldn't hear you. I didn't know and you were." He turned back to her lying in the bed, dropping his hands palms outward. He looked so lost. Heartbreakingly so. "You were dying because of me. I was killing you." dropping back down to his knees next to the bed once more as if to plead for forgiveness.

"I have a feeling I'm alive right now because of you too."

"Only because I put you in the position to need saving."

She reached out to grab his hand. "Oliver, you didn't ask me to do anything I wasn't willing to do myself. None of this is your fault. You tried to help that woman and you were the only one capable of doing anything for her. We both knew the risks. Oliver. I trust you to be there for me but I am my own person. This is going to be a rough enough road without you making it harder on yourself."

"I almost lost you." He whispered but she heard him.

"You could never lose me." She placed her palm on the side of his face until he looked up at her.

"I love you, Reagan." He felt better as he said it. Felt the power of his confession healing his wounds. Felt his energy rise. Saw her face shine with a glow that had nothing to do with her high temperature.

"I love you too." She said smiling back at him.

He leaned towards her bracing himself on his elbows to support his weight as he kissed her. She brought her arms up to rest one on his arm and the other back behind his neck to deepen the kiss. The intensity of their kiss shifted.

He could feel the magic stir around them. Encouraging them. They both felt nothing but love for each other, that love turned into need. She put some pressure on his arm to pull him even closer to her. It didn't take any more persuasion than that. Or effort, he crawled onto the bed were she was ready for him.

It wasn't like before, this was gently and rejuvenating. Before was a forest fire, out of control and consuming, this was a glowing ember, beautiful and soulful. This was slow, like a rising tide. They allowed their love for each other to heal. They both needed this.

He untied the strings of her hospital gown and kissed her skin. When he slide inside her heat it burned away the pain, fighting fire with fire. This wasn't for their physical aches, this healed the soul. He coaxed their bodies slowly higher, driving away the ugliness that had nearly killed them both.

She met him stroke for stroke, he couldn't take his eyes off her, couldn't stop touching. She responded to every sensation, every movement and it mesmerized him. The pleasure he could bring to her body and the look in her eyes as she came was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. They replaced the sickness with hope, with faith and as she cried out his name the last of the Hate was gone.

They were running out of time but they needed each other. Needed to lose themselves in their love for one another and allow themselves to heal. The best cure nature could provide.