Tidal | Neuvillette

XXXVI

- A full confession of the case -

....

"Enter, fool."

"Y/n L/n is dead. Officially, the mission has been carried out. Does that mean—"

"I'll be taking that sword back now. Such a shame it has the traces of the l/n family's remains. It's such a pretty sword, tainted with the blood of the filthy."

"..."

The killer, a cold stoic man. But the familiar energy of him. And there he sat, waiting impatiently for his members. He had killed his best friend, as he couldn't stand to see his perfect childhood torn apart, but now he had to tell them that everything was over. He felt anxious and nervous, knowing that this news would change everything.

They weren't best friends anymore.

As he sat there, waiting for them, memories flooded his mind. Memories of a time when they had played and laughed together, of a time that was now long gone.

"Ajax threw a snowball at me!"

"Hey, no fair. You're a sore loser!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

And the endless laughter that came with it.

...

"Hey.. Ajax, can I borrow your paint?"

"Of course."

"Hey... you got paint everywhere...!"

...

I'm truly reckless.

"She was pathetic anyway, just like her mother! What are you so upset for?"

"For god sakes, can't you shut up? Do you know how shit that made me feel? She was my best friend, and had been my best friend for years. You're a set of sick bitches if you think I'm not even going to be slightly upset." Tears welling up - threatening to leak lingering in the tear ducts of his eyes.

He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the memories, but they just kept coming. He felt overwhelmed by the emotions and before he knew it, his cheeks had been dampened with the pure agony of his own actions. He didn't want to be weak, but he couldn't stop them.

Suddenly, the door to his office opened, and three of his fatui team members walked in. They were serious and disciplined, as they always were, there faces signed with a warrant of warning. As if satan himself had signed his legacy upon their every move.

His thoughts traveled back to happier times, the sound of footsteps approached. The tsaritsa herself sat down in front of him, her expression severe. The killer could feel the intensity of the situation rise like a heavy weight in his chest.

"Tartaglia."

"Tell us, is it finished, my dear?"

"It is."

Killing his childhood best friend was a gruesome task. He remembers the terror in her eyes as the light faded from them. It was killing him, his nerves raw and his guilt eating away at him.