Beautiful Crime

.𝟒𝟐 - 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄
⋆⋅✧⋅⋆
(little devil)

𝐓he feeling within Nyx's bones had all evaporated whilst she sat tied to a chair within the Handler's office. Her face remained blank and her eyes dull as she stared plainly ahead. There was no emotion left for her heart to give and the emptiness had taken its course over both her mind and spirit belittling her into nothing. She had nothing left to give and certainly nothing to take. The tears had long run their course and with them taken any ounce of sadness she had left. Now as she sat, her heart had grown so used to the betrayal she doubted she'd ever get it to beat right again. 

The Handler had never been more pleased in her life. Not only had she solved her situation with Nyx but she rightfully resumed her position of control, maybe even stronger than she had before. Only a blatant fool would be so stupid to oppose her now. With talk of her death diminished, the board members dead, and Nyx's successful capture shortly to come execution; The minds of the Commission were at her fingertips and she couldn't wait to twist them into her will. Five Hargreeves had fallen into her trap so easily and it wouldn't be much longer before he realized his only hope for salvation was within the walls of the Commission. Soon he would realize that he would never be able to save his family and would either perish with them or be bent to her will like the others.

Nyx kept her eyes trained on the table beside her as the Handler stood before her extravagant mirror. A few of the low ranking Commission members worked tirelessly to fit the beginnings of her dress for the night's activities. The four had been gifted with the privilege of designing the outfits for both her and Nyx. She had insisted the inspiration to be Lady Liberty coming to save them all from her barbaric shadow. Though Nyx still couldn't wrap her head around why she needed to have a specialized outfit to die."Whether we like it or not, you are technically my child. No child of mine will die in yesterday's clothes. Not even those as evil as you, my dear." The Handler had told her. 

But Nyx saw through her lies the second the outfit was presented before her. It was a recreation of the suit she'd once worn as part of her execution squad. The black kevlar fabric clung tightly to her skin almost suffocatingly as they fitted it to her. Her old holsters had been fastened to her thighs, her belt wrapped tightly around her waist, padding was strapped to her knees and shoulders, and finally fingerless gloves pulled over her hands. It looked nearly identical to the suit she'd been forced to wear as a child only now, traces of silver lined the seams in the fabric. Her breathing came shakily from her lips as the prep team worked to do her hair. Not even in death could she escape the Commission. She would die shrouded in their reigns. 

She had expected her hair to be done the same as it had worn it in her youth, two braids that wound together in a bun at the nape of her neck. But much to her surprise when a mirror was finally presented before her she saw nothing of the sort. Some strands of her hair had been braided up to resemble two horns resting on either side of her head, a silver chain wrapped around them accenting the silver added to her suit. To top it off silver beaded headband was pinned into her hair with a crescent moon at its center that rested just below her hairline on her forehead. It was prevalent what it was meant to symbolize now. Not only was she diminishing Nyx by forcing her to die as the Commission's pawn but she was revealing her to the crowd as she truly was. A witch to be burned at the stake.