the seven virtues [tom riddle]

chapter thirty

THE ANATOMY OF ALEKSANDER DOLOHOV — THE SEER

CHAPTER THIRTY

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Nicholas Avery pushed through branches, ignoring the way they pulled at reddened skin as the cold turned his limbs frigid. His breath fogged his surroundings, and he spun on his heels, scrutinizing the shadows that swirled through darkened trees. The moon swapped over the forest, silver traces of blessing glistening in the ominous woods, tinting the turbid snow a fluorescent hue. The blood thickened underneath his skin as he gripped his dagger, the faintest tremor in his wrist all the more irritating as he scanned the perimeter for sienna curls and blazing irises.

The sound of clashing swords perturbed his focus, muffled by the depth of the forest, and he drew in a sharp breath and slithered between two trees as a group of acolytes passed him, trailing a fresh set of footsteps in the snow that undoubtedly belonged to one of the Knights. Avery made to move behind, but right as he was about to startle them, he caught sight of something moving towards the West.

Like a silhouette of smoke, eddying from one spot to another, her feminine contour basked in moonshine. From afar, Nicholas discerned something feline about her, as if she bore bloodied fangs behind a swindling tug of her lips, sadistic flicker in ore eyes. He tarried her form, accelerating through shadows as he had been trained all along. Every movement was a calculated risk, a balance between peril and advancement, so disturbingly addictive for a person such as him, who prevailed in the thrill of the night.

The scenery molded as he followed Ophelia into one of the outskirts of the woods, where bricked buildings bloomed from within the town square, fencing the streets like red-caped soldiers. The witch snuck through the plaza, and Nicholas knew she was trying to escape the scene. He gripped onto one of the sooty pipes that hung on the edge of the homes and dragged himself up slowly, escalating the sides until he reached the rooftops.

"Scrawny little bitch," he cursed as his eyes fell on the traitor again, and he set into motion, jumping from one root to the next, gripping on balustrades and smashing pots as his feet slid on the icy edges. Avery used all of his strength to catch up with the girl, ignoring the way winter zephyr gashed at his face with such wrath that the smallest touch would have drawn blood. There was one purpose he had in mind, and it was tightening his hands around Ophelia Evergreen's slim neck until he left bruises.

Beneath the high tops of Londonese townhouses, the witch pushed through the harsh weather, cloak over her face as to hide away delicate features and dreary eyes. Nicholas eyed her movements from above, and like a rapacious hyena, waited for the exact moment to pounce and rip out her throat, plummeting from the sky akin to a fallen seraph with severed wings. The thick snow ameliorated the impact of their bodies in the obscure alley, and the wizard barely felt the painful rattle to his spine, too focused on the way Ophelia's skin felt underneath his—softness he wished to slice with his most beloved dagger.