𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒.
Eris Achlys believed nothing could save her. She was another puppet waiting to be mastered. A witch crafted from Hades' hands and cast to Tartarus, doomed for all eternity to fail. A talented girl born purely to be used...
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July of 1975 Malfoy Manor
⋆ 。° ⋆ ━━━━━━━ ⋆ 。° ⋆
The manor was suffocating, even the dead could agree. The eerie darkness was never-ending; no amount of candles ever seemed to dull out the darkness that reached for Eris Achlys. Eyes trained on her as freshwater to the burning pits of hell. She was beautiful for a girl walking to her death.
Her hair caught in the moonlight, woven from the black heavens, cascading down. Posture perfect, eyes straight ahead, never veering too far from her path. A slow pace to her steps as if to slow the inevitable; the last time she would command her own life.
She had been instructed by Lucius that all would be well as long as she held her tongue (she only ever had a problem with this when it came to him and his persistence that she should learn to fly; one should know that she and brooms are a nasty pair). All was not well, however, not in the slightest.
Eris stood silently, all eyes trained on her in a back room of the Malfoy Manor. Tongue trapped between her teeth to hold in the screams as the monster branded her. Her brain failed to wrap around the idea of Lord Voldemort, who stood before her, wielder of death, burning his calling mark onto her arm.
A foot stomped down on hers, heel dug into her toes - surely, they would bleed. Her gaze shifted to meet their dead eyes. Dead eyes all around, all the same, hidden behind masks, cloaked in dark robes. There was no distinguishing the culprit, but she could not bring herself to care. Let them try to beat her down, she would prove otherwise.
Her attention was brought back to the devil who stood before her. Her arm had been released, now accompanied by a new set of scars in the shape of nails and a mark of death. She had been branded by the devil. "Eris Achlys let's hope you prove to be better than your brother."
She would be written into history books, a villain to some, a pawn to others, depending on the victors.
"Kneel before me."
Her iris' circled the room coated in red. Her mother hid behind the faceless, a frown forever etched into the apples of her cheeks (Eris tended to have that effect on people), gave a single nod toward her, before casting her eyes back to the demon in front of the teen as she lowered herself, kneeling before a man with morals or murder.
She blinked. Regulus came into view. Blinked again. Instead of striking silver, she was met back with masked, faceless men.
"By taking the Dark Mark, Valeris Achlys, you have declared yourself worthy of my inner circle, an honor brought to the rarest and most talented magic wielder. The terms which were agreed upon . . . "
She shouldn't be there.
" . . . shall be withheld by both end of the party . . . "
Prim would not be happy.
" . . . However . . . "
Her arm itched. Horribly. She wanted to tear it off. Part of her remained aware of the eyes upon her, waiting for a mistake. Waiting to catch her weakened state of mind.
"Shall you fail to be deemed useful, you will announce your position as my apprentice and fellow Death Eater and your punishment will be decided. Death is not forgiving. You are expendable, Valeris, do not forget. Bring justice upon the world in the name of the new order and thus, none of your friends will be harmed. Do you understand?"
Eris nodded and thus the deal had been stuck. Thus, her execution had been signed.
She had already been sentenced to death the moment her damned brother sold her soul. Her death was in his hands. He had filled a graveyard and Eris Achlys would be just another body amongst the hundreds. An eternity spent in a cushioned coffin, darkness shrouding everything. And all she thought was how she wished she had been the one to kill him rather than some muggle bastard with a fucking gun. She would've preferred a bigger mess if she was honest. Perhaps a knife? Then she would be able to draw in intricate details across his pale skin. Or maybe a mallet? She pictured the blood falling from his punctured skin and the gruesome sounds rioting as he fell amongst the other rats. The pounding emerged in her head, the slowing of his pulse . . . She could hear them again, the voice shouting, cheering her along. Eris Achlys had never been violent, but how heavenly it would be to feel the warmth of his blood splatter across her face.
Fuck him. He just had to fucking die and leave her to fill his position as Voldemort's protege, didn't he? Even in death, he was a pain in her ass.
The Death Eaters placed chains around her, which caused her cuffed hands to jingle together to sing a lullaby as she was dragged down the endless halls occupying the Malfoy Manor. One particular Death Eater sank his claws deeper into her sickly pale skin. To spite him, Eris tried to wriggle away from her manic guard - and again his grip only tightened. He had threatened to do things to her if she kept this act up, things that made her nauseous at the thought. He spat at her - all those foolish enough to strike a deal with You-Know-Who were met with the same fate. She had spectated many executions from those enslaved - prolonged and painful. She did not, however, expect to potentially play the role of victim.
She felt another tug at her arm (the arm she had been given the Dark Mark to all but two minutes ago), biting hard on her tongue to not release a sound. The footsteps of another came into earshot, heels she noticed, and she craned a neck to get a view at who would be her next tormentor.
A maniacal laugh erupted, nothing, however, in Eris' opinion, was humorous about her situation at all. It gained the attention of all four of the Death Eaters who'd been appointed to accompany her out of the manor.
Bellatrix Lestrange was a loose cannon. A madwoman, a mind twisted and torn to pieces, who required You-Know-Who's validation for everything. She lived and breathed to please her master.
"Is that the itsy bitsy baby Achlys?" She cooed, crackling to herself afterward. "Letting these dogs drag you around? Pathetic excuse of a witch."
Eris chose to not respond. Thus, prompting the crazed witch to take matters into her own hands. "I'm talking to you, girl!" She cried, "Do not ignore me, fool!"
"Find your own plaything, Bitch," The man to her left sneered, tugging forcefully at Eris' chained hands.
A blinding, painful enough Eris was forced to evert her glare away from Bellatrix as a flash of green cut across the tension filling the room and hit the guard to her left in the chest. His face grew slack, his soul off to the River of Styx.
The other Death Eaters grumbled about having to drag another body. Eris, however, remained frozen; a statue of beauty and status loomed above with a dead man at her feet. Staring into his empty, open eyes, she gagged. At least it was quick, whether he deserved it or not.
Too busy holding back her lunch and trying to remain stoic, Eris hadn't noticed that his grave would not be the only one dug; the three remaining Death Eater's bodies were thrown across the marble, like dirt beneath her shoe. How many fucking funerals can she attend before 18? Bellatrix Lestrange twirled her wand between her index and middle fingers and let out a breathy laugh, "Those half-bloods deserved it."
