The Bane of Light

Cruel Words

"You are shaking fists and trembling teeth. I know: You did not mean to be cruel. That does not mean you were kind"- Venetta Octavia, The Burning

∞

When we pulled back into the school, Paris and I were still not talking. Or atleast I wasn't. He attempted to start up conversation twice, the multiple hours that we were driving back, but I shot him down each time. After that, he seemed to understand that I was in no mood to deal with him.

Upon returning to school, I beelined for Cera's dorm while the ingredients were still fresh. She had promised me that she could do it in the span of a single night, as long as I made an appearance at her party with her. She was hellbent on it, which only meant that she was more than willing to lose a night's rest to finish my concoction.

For most, it would take weeks of careful measuring and precaution to successfully prepare it, but she had neither time nor a care in the world about safety or self-preservation. In fact, I sometimes worried that her behavior was a direct result of years worth of inhaling poisonous chemicals and hazardous substances, besides simply being a drakaeri.

When I found Paris trailing after me in the direction of Cera's room, my already depleted mood prickled with irritation. Surely me ignoring him for multiple consecutive hours, would be a clear enough sign that I did not want to be around him. Being trapped in his vicinity for so long was torture as it is, I hardly had time for this. Not to mention, Cera violated several health codes and legal regulations in her lab. I did not need another person to be at risk of Paris.

"Paris Arobynn, what do you want?" I demanded, suddenly swiveling around. A hand was placed on my hip as I glared at him with narrowed eyes. He simply stared back at me, standing dumbly in the middle of the hall. 

"I'm coming with you to get the locket cleaved" He stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He actually had the nerve to attempt to side-step me and go past. With a fling of my shadows, he was pushed back, his skin tinting white from the contact. He skidded back a few feet, nearly toppling over from the shove.

"I asked you to stop doing that" Paris grit out, straightening out while rubbing his jaw where he was struck particularly hard. It was not intentional. To an extent.

"And you were stupid enough to believe I would listen" I snapped, marching forward. The sudden desire to have my wyvern-hide boots on struck me, feeling that the heavy stomp of the general attire would make my marching more impactful.

They were specially made for me, with blades tactfully inserted between the front sole. If I were to kick someone with them, they would not see nor feel the blades, the pain of the kick overwhelming the stab, but they would bleed out in seconds. Delightfully convenient contraption.

"I'm coming" Paris continued, trailing after me again. Oh how I wished I had my boots.

"No, you're not. I have no need of you"

"It's my locket" He pointed out matching my stride. He did technically have more right to it than me, but he was only nitpicking the technicalities because he wanted something from me. In any other instance, he would not care who it belonged to. He was just doing this to irritate me.

"It's your dead inamorata's locket. Big difference" I snapped, speeding up quickly. He made no change in pace, managing to keep up all the same. I cursed the Fates for my rotten, stubby legs.

"It belongs to me. I'm coming" He announced again, refusing to take no for an anwser.  I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. I wanted to strike him, knocking him out so hard that I could have a few moments of peace. I couldn't deal with him any more for today; My patience had reached its breaking point. I had reached my breaking point.