the seven devils [completed]

chapter forty-three

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

WARNING: slightly mature, torture, death, knives, someone kicks a rat

Their walk back to the complex had been a quiet one— the kind of tension that was welcome, and yet thoughtful. Tom had never answered her question, as it seemed that the realization that he had let another person in his circle had rattled him beyond comprehension, and while it did amuse Varya, it also worried her.

He was reticent and did not even speak up when they passed by a garden of flowers, and Varya made it whither out of irritation. Riddle did not scold her for her waste of magic, and she found that odd.

When they reached the living room, the boy only shut himself in his room, and the girl stood in the common area perplexed. Had she said something wrong? It seemed that for the first time in a while, the two were spending time together without arguing, and yet Riddle had once again secluded himself.

The balcony doors were still open, and she looked at the storm that approached. Varya made her way outside and gripped the balustrade, eyes trained on the rapacious lightning, the way in engulfed the horizon in a network of light. Thunder followed closely, a sound that vibrated through the air, a sign that the storm itself was close. The rain started pouring in, hitting the balcony's marble with plaintive drops, and the girl let the drizzle hit her flesh as she closed her eyes and felt the spring cascade on her skin.

A hand reached out to her, and lightning struck again a few blocks down. She was not sure if it was Tom's fingers on her arm or the boastful thunder that made her shudder, but when the witch turned around to meet chaotic pupils that darted to every corner of her face and drowned in the color of the Mediterranean Sea — she thought she might have a clue.

"Yes?" she inquired, voice amplified as she tried to speak over the sonorous dripping from the sky's granite. Tom moved his lips, but Varya did not really hear much, "Let us go inside; I cannot hear you."

Nevertheless, he grabbed her hand and pulled her right back, making them both stand in the rain as it poured over them. His shirt had started sticking to his skin, and his curls fell in damp strands over his face as he continued to look at her. His eyes carried some conflict, and he kept pressing his lips almost as if he was irritated by something.