antebellum [t. riddle]

lxi

february 1945

there were many things sicaria hated about humanity, but none more so than its defining trait.

chaos.

she often wondered why her soul had formed her personality in a way that made her the source of her greatest pain. why was it that her destiny was forged in disorder and mayhem?

chaos was uncontrollable. sicaria craved nothing more than stability. monotony. calm.

chaos was also the trait she hated most about every person in her life, because then she couldn't predict how they'd react to certain situations. she wanted to have a constant monitor in the minds of her surroundings so that she would always know what they'd do or say next. without that, everything was out of her hands and left up to chance.

and if everything was chance, then what was the point of doing anything?

she didn't want anyone else meddling in her affairs, because then she could not control every outcome.

there should be a purpose for everything, she thought. there should be no coincidences. there should never be a time when sicaria didn't have unilateral control over every aspect of her life.

that is why her existence was misery. she never had control of anything. at any moment when she had even a sliver of control, her hands were forcefully removed from the situation.

sometimes by macusa, recently by dumbledore—

now by tom.

tom, tom, tom.

every thought in her mind seemed to revolve around him. every dream when she rested her eyes featured him. she'd see his corpse in place of people she'd killed. he'd be inserted into scenes she vaguely recognized from past memories and traumas. she'd see him killing her, stabbing her in her sleep, and it felt so real that some days, she wished it was.

and then she'd wake up, and he'd kiss her, and she forgave him over and over and over again.

he had pushed his way into her life and stolen the last bit of control from her.

it was what she hated most about him— and she hated quite a lot about him.

usually when preparing for missions, there was a calm sort of anxiety rolling around sicaria's mind. there was always that small possibility that she'd die, but it never drove her insane. she resigned to death in a way that left her in the void between apathy towards life, and wanting to die. it was sedated paranoia that drove her to preparedness. she'd read her case objectives and go over any pertinent information macusa had given her, or that she had collected on her own.

right now, she felt absolutely manic.

three calming draughts deep, and she was still dizzy with anxiety.

if tom died—

the thought hit her like a bombarda every time it crossed her mind.

my fault, my fault, my fault.

she hadn't tried hard enough. she let a student figure out government secrets. she—

was so. fucking. angry.

rage like this could only be described as homicidal.

in the back of her mind, she knew that he was a perfectly capable wizard, and would survive any duel if need be, but the irrational part of her brain couldn't help but think that one spell could be the difference between life and death. one small piece of advice or information could be the difference between his freedom, and life in azkaban.