𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒.
Eris Achlys believed nothing could save her. She was another puppet waiting to be mastered. A witch crafted from Hades' hands and cast to Tartarus, doomed for all eternity to fail. A talented girl born purely to be used...
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August of 1976
Wiltshire, England
⋆ 。° ⋆ ━━━━━━━ ⋆ 。° ⋆
Polished black heels sounded against the marble tiles, echoing through the Malfoy Manor, a ticking clock to her incoming demise. As Eris Achlys pulled herself through the halls, crossing to the south wing, her shadow crept up the walls, leeching onto any space where it might escape from the all-consuming monster Eris crept closer toward. The Manor is a maze, a vast labyrinth of pathways and corridors - a hundred miles long, full of twists and dead ends. The paintings followed her, leaping through their neighboring frames, following the girl in the darkness of the Victorian mansion, illuminated only by the few scattered candles near the grand piano.
She kept her eyes to her feet, knowing better than to catch the eye of the creatures hiding in the corners. She found this out when watching Alexander Gastrapio (a pureblood biased journalist) journey into a forbidden room and come back with missing limbs. When walking to the Dark Lord's office, one does not let their eyes wander from the path they were administered to follow.
Eris stopped in front of the Dark Lord's office, the 10-foot-tall doors bolted shut, stained with a tint of unwashed blood. The house was built from the poetry of looming nighttime trees, phantoms sought answers to the pain in the form of chilly winds throughout the mansion. She felt herself nervously grab at her hidden knives, across her waist, her thighs, her pockets, touching each of them, a reminder that she was not defenseless in this. Her wand would be rendered useless in a fight with Voldemort himself, she could only rely on her tuned skills of blades.
She knocked gently, announcing her presence to the realm of darkness that lay inside. There was no response other than the doors to Hell opening, creaking as if they had not been oiled in centuries.
The room had been lit only by a chandelier that hung above the desk, a chair fit for a king behind it. The walls were lined with books, all titles that fell under the findings of dark magic. This had once been a proper library, she was sure before Tom Riddle had taken over, chasing away any remanence of happiness.
Eris watched as the doors closed behind her, locking her in the room with the most feared wizard in history.
She noticed immediately the few snakes coiling across his desk, deep green-tinted scales, but one gold placed at the tops of their heads. One had already been foaming at the mouth but upon noticing their master's gaze reside on his apprentice, they swerved toward her and began hissing, foaming at the mouth. Eris was familiar with their species, the Gorgon Serpents, nicknamed after Medusa herself, famous for their uncanny ability to turn their victims to stone upon gazing into their eyes.
