OF SERPENT AND ANGEL ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎➝ tom riddle ¹ | ✓ |

FORTY-THREE

It had been weeks since Eliza had decided to kill herself. Though the basic premises of that statement felt inapplicable to her situation; after all, in order to die, one had to live first, and the state of Eliza Galway was not one could describe as being alive.

She knew it would be the only possible method of escape. There was no way she could get out: she had tried running, she had been helped by Thaddeus and he had been killed. Tom had managed to unavoidably and inescapably trap her in the mansion in the middle of nowhere. But this, the act of taking her own life, would be done with the last bit of agency and autonomy that she still possessed, that Tom could not take away from her.

The only problem was that whatever she tried, would not work. The protective enchantments around the house that stood at all the windows and balconies like invisible walls made it impossible for her to jump from any height. And there was no chance she would ever get her hand on anything sharp enough, not after she had stabbed Tom.

She had attempted to drown herself in the bath, but her traitorous body would not remain underwater no matter how hard she had prayed for it to.

But now she was alone in her bedroom, Tom somewhere else in the mansion, and she knew her last resort was to hang herself with the bedsheets.

And so, that was exactly what she would do.

She ripped the sheet, creating one long but thinner rope which the tied into a knot. There wasn't much to hang her make-shit rope from except the chandelier of her room, and though she thought there was a high risk that it might break, that is what she did.

Eliza had the noose in her hands, ready to place it over her head where she stood, teetering on the footboard of her bed frame, and then it suddenly disintegrated. No other word could describe it; the noose turned to dust in her hands.

She fell from the bed frame, having already been close to losing her balance and hit the ground with a small thump.

"What are you doing, Eliza?"

She didn't turn to him. She didn't want to see Tom leaning against the doorframe where she knew he was.

His footsteps came nearer until she could see the hem of his robes.

"Do you desire death?" his voice asked her. It sounded like a genuine question. She nodded slowly and only then turned her head to look up at him. From his robe pocket, Tom procured a kitchen knife, much like the one she had used to kill her family. "Here"

Tom held it from the blade so that the handle was pointed into Eliza's direction so that she could easily take it from him. He was taunting her. He didn't think she would have the guts or the cognitive power to really do anything.

Uncertainly, Eliza stood up and stepped forward to take it. Tom lifted an eyebrow, egging her on. She held the knife. Time was ticking by and Tom began to smirk as she stood still. He knew she wouldn't be able to do it in such a gruesome manner, and she hated the arrogance in his countenance as he mocked her.