[Completed]
An alchemist who poisoned himself, an assassin who stabbed his own heart, an arsonist who burned herself, and a hero who couldn't defeat his inner monster.
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( A re-enact of Hades...
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"One hundred." Regulus had been counting down on jumping nifflers and his bed creaking constantly. He tossed his body to the side, darted his vision to the dimmed candles, melted wax sizzling in a sync to the ticking clock. He stirred to the other side, tossing his head deeper into the cotton pillow and he'd hoped he would get tired soon. Platinum eyes narrowed irritably to face his emerald curtains, through the gaps he noticed the light had poked through.
He shut his eyes, and after all familiarity of the torture of azure eyes and melted-chocolate locks in his dreams, he couldn't tolerate it this time. Floral fragrant poked his flaring nose through memories, he didn't even know that it was even possible. The cold prickled each of his senses, his mind re-enacted the gentleness of her lips, like petals brushed against his skin—ah, fuck—he wanted nothing more than to annihilate the memory out of his brain.
No, you don't.
He hated it. He loathed the way he could recall her features better than potions ingredients in pitch twilight. Veins pulsated against his skin, a thrill that he still couldn't decipher why he felt that way each time his eyes met the azuline opia, and stupidly it picked up his heart rate the slightest.
No. That wasn't what he wanted or expected. His consciousness flushed back to what was right and wrong, though it was ironic how devil-minded being like himself—drew the line of immorality and virtues in his definition.
Regulus had plans, many of them—or at least it was what he was groomed into. Walburga's voice echoed in his ears: Slytherin prefect, head boy, graduated top class, good career, and an equal pureblood suitor. That was it, that was the path he should have had and always had been so.
It was patented, settled like a set of dominoes, but then wild card of life was threaded by the fates. First, it was Sirius's runaway, now a witch that he so, frustratingly adored and loathed at the same time. The Irish had crafted a throne of vine and flowers inside his head. He should not have been finding solace in her, no, she crossed far too many rules that applied for him.
She associated herself with blood traitor, less than pureblood, and alike. The reality of the girl's rebellious demeanor agitated him to an uncertain degree. It felt as if he was consuming a forbidden fruit and he just waited for celestials to punish him, kicked him out of Eden. Yet, when humans gained clarity and all-the-world knowledge, Regulus didn't get the clarity of what he felt.
