In the midst of war and chaos, Eve struggles to find and keep her true love - but also herself.
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Eve and Regulus desperately wish to find their way out of their siblings' shadows - but they might just find that the darkness is the best place to be...
"It was so, so cruel, and Eve could not bring herself to regret it, and she didn't have too, because Regulus Black was Regulus Black; he matched her anger, felt it as if it was his own, and gave everything she said right back. He wasn't weak. He met her head on, words flowing just as quickly and cruelly as hers did."
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EVE EXHALED AND WATCHED the smoke twist and twirl into the sky, wavering in the chilly March air. She tapped the cigarette lightly against the side of the Quidditch stand railing, sighing as black ashes fell onto the field.
Smoking was a bad habit to fall back into, Eve knew, but Lily wasn't her friend anymore so there was no one to scold her for the risk of lung cancer, so she inhaled, and let it burn out her insides until she was near coughing.
It was an early Monday morning, and so cold in Scotland that Eve could practically feel her fingers freezing off at the tips. The fact that she was wearing her school uniform probably didn't help; the skirt barely went down to her mid-thighs and her white button down shirt was unbuttoned three times. The only thing keeping her warm was one of Sirius' old Gryffindor scarves and one of Cissy's unreasonably soft coats that Eve had found stuffed in her trunk. It was soft and sky blue, and Eve ran her fingers down the soft material, watching it move beneath her hands.
The pattering of feet against steps made her pause, glancing up at the figure approaching. Eve watched as the man came closer, his steps measured against each other. There was only one boy Eve knew with that sort of precision, and she sighed again as the familiar face of Regulus Black walked determinedly toward her.
Eve lit another cigarette.
"I don't suppose you'd give me one," Regulus said, voice as quiet and steady as it always had been. Eve studied his face, searching for anything that could clue in what had occurred a month ago, but he looked the same way he always did; his hair falling in smooth waves, his lashes long and dark, teeth straight and white. His tie was loose around his neck and his shirt was wrinkled, but that was nothing new; he never hung anything up properly, just threw it on the floor and picked it up the next morning.
"No," Eve said, taking another drag. The cut that she had healed on his eyebrow had mended perfectly, no scar in sight. She wondered if the deep gash across his stomach had left a mark. It had been ten times deeper, and dark magick had pulsed from his blood.
She watches him, and he watches her, and even though their shoulders are touching she has never felt more distant from him than she does now. Regulus Black had used up all of her grace and now she had nothing left to give him except for the pain he had left her in.
She turned back toward the field.
"You didn't celebrate Ostara with us," Regulus says. It's a question, an accusation. Eve can hear the hurt beneath it.
