the seven devils [completed]

chapter thirty-five

THE ANATOMY OF LOPHEUS EVERGREEN - THE WILDCARD

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The mellow hum of a melodious voice permeated the dreary room, and Matron Lawrence wandered around with crucial steps, mopping the spilled blood that had adorned the stone ground in a dismal red. She dipped the mop in the bucket, although the water had become the same shade as the liquid on the floor, then proceeded to swipe at the crimson.

Fewer beds, fewer children. Half of them had not made it through the winter, and that was a disappointment altogether. Their weak bodies could not take the anguish, nor the torment, and the tombs continued to scatter amongst Scholomance's yard.

The woman shifted to the two children that were awake and responsive and saw them gawking at the corpse that was laid out on the surgery table, stomach open, and intestines dangling from the cavity. Oh, she had forgotten to discard that, so silly of her.

Varya blinked away the repugnance that pooled in her guts and swatted away the flies that had started buzzing around the windowless room. The metallic smell of human discomposure was predominant. Her eyes fell on the plate in front of her— stale bread and a stew that had only bone in it. She found that she was no longer hungry.

Ivan was in a similar state, and when the Matron was not looking, the girl reached out to clasp his tremulous fingers. They only had each other now, and they had to look after one another if they wanted to get through this.

The lycanthrope had been going in and out of the catacombs, more so than her, and every time he came back, he would have his memories altered. They toyed with their brains, testing various methods on both of them. Lawrence had said multiple times that if anyone were to make it through it all, it would be Ivan and Varya. They were more potent than the rest and could endure so much more.

Nevertheless, they all had their breaking point.

The door swung open, and the children detached their hands as Dalibor walked in, accompanied by a western witch dressed in exquisite clothing. He sneered at the body on the table, and with a flick of his hand, let it burst into black flames before it was gone entirely.

"I told you we had a guest; you should have prepared," he gnarled, and even with half of his face in the dark, Varya still felt her eyes water at his hideous features. He was a dark, dark man.

Lawrence apologized speedily, then pushed the bucket beneath a table. It did not do much— the room would always be filled with the metallic smell.

The western witch approached the children, and her features pulled in a tight smile. She was breathtaking, an odd addition to the macabre scenery. Varya looked at the badge on her azure robe— V.R. in a pleasant font.

"Is this the one?" her French accent made her even more alluring, and when Dalibor grunted an affirming sound, she turned to Varya. A delicate digit trailed the girl's sooty face, where dirt had started to cling to porcelain features covered in transpiration, and then she hummed in understanding. "Grindelwald wants you to block her memories, not abuse her to the point of malnourishment. Look at her—" she grabbed Varya's shirt and pulled her to her feet, then let her fall to the ground in her weak state, "— how will she lead a battle if she cannot even stand up? You know how important she is to the cause; she is not another one of your usual repulsive experiments."