Tangled With The Fated Mates

Repercussion

She felt as she had the first time she got to the house — dejected, hopeless, the crushing feeling of loneliness threatening to squeeze her heart to a mute stop.

She paced the cramped room, sat on the too-small bed, and got back up in what was a mixture of confusion and frustration. Lumos sat in a corner of the room, napping.

It occurred to her that at some point she would need to sleep, too, to rest her body and mind, but with the way her mind ran wild with thoughts, she knew that would be impossible.

After a few hours, the weak light of dawn came into the room in dull slants.

"Morning," she said under her breath, realizing that Arielle would soon come for her.

And she was right, in a few minutes, the door swung open and Arielle — her face sagging and worn out, her disposition irritatable — walked in.

Claudine could see that she was in trouble. She stumbled to her feet to face her elder foster sister.

"G-good morning, Arielle," she said.

Arielle simply nodded — a gesture more of dismissal than it was of acknowledgement.
Claudine thought Arielle would lunge for her, grab her by the throat, rip her heart out, as she had surmised, but Arielle simply stood at the door. It was obvious that she was contemplating what to do with her.

"Ohh, Claudine, my beautiful younger sister," Arielle taunted, stepping inside fully, her every step a menace.

"I must say I am rather surprised; you have quite the spunk. Ahh, and you have made a friend. Not just any friend, a fucking witch!"

Claudine would have loved to tell her that she knew nothing about Ezrianna being a witch, that it was all new to her, that she still thought the events of the previous dream a sort of fever dream, and that witches and werewolves with supernatural speed were the stuff of fairy tales and fantasy novels.

"I-I..." She started, but by then, Arielle was in front of her, and she pressed her index finger against her lips.

"Have you forgotten so soon? Don't speak unless spoken to, baby girl."

Claudine stood still, stiff as a board, as Arielle circled her. She could tell that Arielle had anger and disgruntlement and discontentedness smouldering inside her, that she was looking for a way to channel these feelings, and that she, Claudine, would ultimately be the victim when Arielle unleashed her emotions.

Then she heard a loud squeal — Lumos.

She swivelled to see Arielle holding Lumos by the scruff of the neck; its limbs dangled helplessly as it meowed and meowed for Claudine's help.

Arielle held it up, her eyes fixed on Claudine's face, as if in suspended animation, gauging every flicker of her emotions.

"I'm sorry, Arielle," she finally said.

"Please. Please, don't hurt Lumos."

"Ahh, so the thing has a name," Arielle said, her lips curling in one corner as she smiled mirthlessly.

"Please, Arielle," she reiterated, falling to her knees this time, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Don't hurt it. I beg you."

"Shut the fuck up, tiny slut," Arielle yelled.

"Look at you, on your knees, crying and pleading like you're the victim, when I'm the one who has been victimized. You sneak out everyday to meet your psycho of a friend who calls herself a witch, I say nothing. And then you attend the Founder's Day Ball and rain on my parade? Who do you think you are? Just who do you think you are?"