EXILE | TOM RIDDLE

00. In Life And Death

1001 A.D.

"Your sister is dead."

My mother's face is a cold winter day, unfeeling and unforgiving as she speaks, her tone equally as frosty.

"What?" I blink, rising from the chair I'm seated in and onto my feet, though it's a mistake, as I struggle to keep myself upright, the shock like a slap to the face, a knife to the heart. It's been months since we have heard from Helena, when she'd taken that precious diadem and ran off into the night. Months of praying to the Lord above that she would return. Months of waiting, when sending William after her resulted in nothing. When he, too, vanished into thin air.

"How...how are you certain?" I sputter when my mother gives no response. "Was a body recovered? Are you positive it is her?"

She nods ever so slightly, her jaw firmly clenched as she stares down at me through those brown eyes so like my own, so like Helena's. "She was in Albania."

"Albania?" I repeat, hating the way the word sounds on my tongue. My eldest sister, alone in a foreign country. Dead.

It's as though I've been punched in the gut, over and over and over again, my stomach cramping up into a ball as I struggle not to hunch over, not to cry out in physical pain.

Another nod.

"I am sorry, Rebekah," my mother takes a step towards me, a hand outstretched, searching for mine. She finds it, and her skin is cold to the touch, as cold as her tone, as her expression. I know it isn't for lack of care for Helena's death, if our mother had not cared, she would not have spent months attempting to search for her. No, this is the only way she knows how to comprehend such a loss — shut down. "I know you were praying for her safe return."

"As were you," I bow my head, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "What...what happened to her? How did she...?" I can't bring myself to finish my sentence, bile building in my throat.

For the briefest moment, a look of sheer agony eclipses Rowena Ravenclaw's expression, before it returns to one of neutrality, as though never there in the first place. "She was murdered. By William."

My breath catches in my throat, and this time, I do stumble backwards, my feet creaking on the wooden floor as I struggle to keep myself from falling over. "William? No, he would not..."

My mother shakes her head. "He did, my dearest. He stabbed Helena in the heart, then himself."

"William would not!" I repeat with more urgency in my tone, though as I speak, I realize I am trying to convince myself, and not my mother. "William would not murder Helena, not when he loved her so! Nor would he turn his blade upon himself! He would not!"

"That was the scene discovered," Rowena presses her lips together. "Rebekah, denying what occurred will not change it, despite how we may wish for it to. I know you cared for him deeply, but he was troubled. Perhaps it is for the best that he is gone."

I want to argue this, I want to scream and shout some more, but I manage to hold my tongue. My mother has a point, though I may hate to admit it. William had never been well, that was clear as the day sky whenever we spoke. "Why would William do such a thing? He loved Helena, more than life itself."

"Love can drive you to do the cruelest of things, Rebekah. The line dividing passion and insanity is thin. Remember that," My mother sighs. "There will be a funeral, in four days, for the two of them. It is in your best interest to attend."

"For William? When he has committed a mortal sin?"

"He still deserves to rest. It is the Lord's judgement to bestow upon him, not our own." She bows her head, and I do the same, staring down at the floor, at my bare feet, cold from the autumn weather, and feel my stomach churn once again and a shiver run up my spine. Ice, is all I feel as I step outside of the living quarters, to make my way outside. Ice on my skin, in my throat, gnawing at me as tears build in my eyes. I doubt I will ever be warm again.