elysium | tom riddle

8 | act i, scene viii

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𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

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𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐃𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 to be a killer. She had never intended to stain her hands so much that the only thing she could always smell was blood, as if her victims were reminding her of the price of her sins. She was a specter never fully formed yet drenched in blood.

Velasquez never had nightmares of her victims, though. She even relished the destruction she left in her wake. Since Velasquez was six, Tao had subjected her to tests so Ariadne couldn't feel remorse, but it was not easy to eliminate something as natural as empathy. The feeling—or the lack of it anyway—had only ever been there slightly. Of course, Ariadne had forced herself to feel wrong about committing such a heinous crime, but she was a fatalist to the core. The assassin knew that fate had punctured the fabric of her life, stitching her mouth so she would never have a choice.

There would be no whispers of fate that could redeem the assassin. There was nothing in this world that she could do, so the winged seraphs in heaven would forgive her. Hopelessness had already doused her putrid soul with poison.

Although she did not want to admit it, after the light emptied of her victims' eyes, there was a moment of perfect quiet, a sliver of peace that felt so right. But Ariadne had buried that deep in her mind, and like all the other problems, she ignored it.

If she finished all this, Ariadne knew her father would save her. If he claimed her as his child, she wouldn't worry about the world, but she would always have to fear him. She would always have to restrain the urge to look up at him in defiance, but Ariadne would only take three steps back in fright. She supposed it was better than dying and rotting in a ditch.

Snoring was the only thing Ariadne could hear as she rummaged through her clothes, trying to find something to wear to run around the school. The assassin knew she had to keep herself from becoming too rusty; otherwise, she couldn't give her best in a dangerous situation.

The sun would not rise for an hour, and most students were asleep. Ariadne would have a sufficient amount of time to exercise her body. She yearned to feel the soreness in her muscles, to do anything but keep listening to the teachers give lectures knowing that their words were as ephemeral as a bird's song.

Ariadne creeped out quietly and shut the door, leaving the cold dungeons behind her. She strolled outside the castle and broke out into a run. Her sneakers hit the earth as Ariadne ran, the wind kissing her face softly. Velasquez didn't know where she was running, only that she had to feel her lungs burning.

To maintain the position of a ruthless assassin, Ariadne trained for years on end. And here, with so many eyes on her, she could not train properly. The only thing she could do was exercise and stay in shape.