vicious [d.m]

twenty one: shadows & sacrifice

As soon as the shadows touch her skin, Khione gasps, a sensation like ice slithering down her spine.

She hears voices, some male, some female — but she can't place them nor make out the words, although the sounds fill her ears, so loud a splintering pain begins to spear through her temples.

She gasps, steps faltering, retreating — but a large frigid palm presses against the small of her back, a ghost of a touch but firm enough to urge her forward.

She blinks against the writhing darkness, unnatural in nature. She might as well be walking with her eyes closed.

She tries to reach out for the bond — to feel Malfoy — but is instead met with a surge of rage so potent, it steals the breath from her lungs. She halts then, unable to understand, her breaths coming in fast puffs as she tries to reorient herself.

But there is only that all-consuming fury ripping through her like a wildfire. She feels it wrap burning talons around her heart, feels it slither up her throat to make a home underneath her tongue. Feels it gather in the tips of her fingers, itching to maim, hurt, kill.

The darkness licks at her skin, freezing cold one second, burning hot the next — and then the rage fades into something deeper, something more muted.

Desperation. She's suddenly moving, forced into action by some unknown motive, tearing at the darkness with her hands like she can get it to part. But it doesn't — and she's faintly aware of her scream of frustration, although she can't quite hear it around the voices in her head, rising and ebbing like waves.

Her hands dig into her hair as she shakes her head, trying to disperse them, her movements jerky and frantic and then—

It slips away. Morphs into something heavier, something that settles deep within her soul and makes tears rise to her eyes.

Khione sobs. Collapses to her knees where she stands, alone and lost. She buries her face in her hands, that ache in her chest throbbing violently. Tears wet her cheeks, her fingers and she can't breathe, can't draw enough oxygen around her heaving sobs.

She's all alone. There's no one left in this world who cares for her. Not a single person who would sit by her in silence, just to be in her presence. She has lost everything. Somewhere along the way, against her will, she has become the queen of nothing.

The voices swell to an unbearable level, tearing at her eardrums, making her scream, the sound pure anguish although she still can't hear it.

And then — vengeance. She will have it. She will rip her justice from the claws that keep it out of her reach, will clutch it in between her fingers until her palms bleed. She will raze everything to the ground. She will leave no one alive. She will rip through them with her teeth, will tear flesh from bone with her nails. She will have her revenge — and she will slit the throat of anyone who gets in her way, innocent or not.

And then it stops — all of it. All at once, all those roiling emotions are ripped from her chest, along with the voices. As if someone flipped a switch.

Khione hadn't realised she had her eyes squeezed shut but as sensation returns to her body, she sucks in a loud breath, eyes flying open.

Heavy breathing to her left makes her twist her head — and Malfoy stands, a couple feet from her, one hand braced against the wall, his shoulders heaving. The look in his eyes makes her shudder, reminiscent of the night of the fourth Trial when they'd experienced those visions. When he'd had to kill her.

She can't drag his gaze from his but she asks a silent question, not even deigning to speak it in her head.

He gives the barest of nods, still breathing heavily — but his eyes stay on hers, returning the question, waiting for her answer. She takes a moment to assess how she feels — and then nods as well.