Sequel to Shadows (Read that before this to understand).
"Like a black rose, her darkness was beautifully fatal." ~ E. Corona
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4 years. 4 years a villain. Within those 4 years I lost emotion, I was a killer, and I didn't care. I flipped a switc...
I don't own anything but original characters and my original plot
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Chapter 4 - Pain
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"WE ALL GET ADDICTED TO THINGS THAT TAKE THE PAIN AWAY."
Allegro.
Balancé.
Ballonné.
I ran through the movements in my head, moving across the floor gracefully, I had been at it for nearly two hours. Going through the same routines over and over again. They had to be perfect. I always found something wrong with it, wrong foot placement, wrong timing, not graceful enough, small stumble.
Even through all of my harsh treatment towards myself, I was kinder when it came to ballet than anything else I practiced. It was difficult, and I started late in life. The dances meant for flexibility and possible missions, on the other hand, I was much more determined to get perfection from.
Two days before that I was released from conditioning. Within those two short days, nothing big had gone on with the heroes or villains, and I wasn't given any missions. With my newfound free time, I was training. Dance, combat, strength, flexibility, intelligence. A never-ending cycle of hard work and incompetence.
"You could have taken him out, you could have killed him. Why didn't you?"
"He got out of the shadows," I panted, closing my eyes tightly as a burning sensation ran through my arm.
"You could have torn out his shadow," Klarion hissed. "You're weak, hesitant. What have I told you about hesitating?"
"Hesitations lead to death," I quoted his common advice.
"You need more training, more intensity, so it takes these hesitations out of you. I'll be watching (Y/n)."
I finished off the routine, my foot slipping. I growled in frustration. The training was supposed to take my mind off of conditioning, not put me back there. I sighed, grabbing my water bottle from the side of the room and taking a few sips.
"Scar number seventeen," I traced the length scab on my mid-calf, my most recent one, "Not nearly as bad as the ones on my stomach. But shit, it hurt."
"What do you think, lemon juice?" Klarion picked up a glass, shaking his head after and setting it back down on the table, "Holy water? That'd be interesting, wouldn't it?"
"Holy water?" I whimpered, my voice muffled against the leather gag in my mouth, near unintelligible. At times I hated the muzzle. It was dehumanizing. Other times, I was thankful there was something to stop my screams from reaching the air.
