A/N : For Furryraree. Happy birthday! \(^o^)/

Special thanks to Drew for helping me beta this. :D

Here are the terms for "A Syberian Challenge", quoted verbatim:

- Must include a mammoth. NOT an elephant, mind you. They are completely separate things. And you must include more than just the word in passing. It doesn't need to be the focal point, but include in some clever and ingenius way so that it is relevant to the plot.

- Must have a title starting with the letter "I." It's a cool letter. Enough said.

- Must include three Latin words. Don't ask why.

- Must include the phrase, "I think it's melting." No POV switches allowed.

- Must be an angst. (Sorry, no humor in this one. I specifically want these weird requirements to be used in a melancholy scenario.)

Ingenue

Cora Wizard was no fool.

She was the esteemed leader of the Janus branch, an artist, a writer, a sculptor and a painter. She was many things and so much more. But she definitely wasn't a fool.

Heavy footsteps on the wooden floors echoed through the long hallways lined with art created over the centuries. She heard him coming even before he made his presence known. How could she not when her ears have familiarized themselves with his elegant, velvet tread?

The aroma from his eau de toilette wafted through the air like the sweet fragrance of spring flowers being carried by a zephyr. Cora could smell him from metres away. How could she not when her nose was so sensitive to his scent?

He stood in front of her, looking as impeccable as always with the powerful aura he was so known for radiating from his being. She did not need to look to know who it was. How could she not when he was one that she had known for so many years?

"Cora," Vikram greeted her coldly, just like he did everything. His face remained as impassive as ever, like it always was.

'No,' Cora thought. 'Not always.'

Because there had been a time, long ago, when she had been on the receiving end of his only smiles.

Cora nodded slightly at him. "Vikram," she acknowledged, albeit slightly rancorously. "Can I help you?"

"Obviously. If not, why would I seek you out?" He took in the sight of his old friend in her extremely overused sculpting smock. "The gallery is short of a few Picassos and Van Goghs."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So you and darling Isabel," Cora practically spat out the other female's name, "are still posing as art dealers?"

"Why would we not?" he inquired indifferently.

"Maybe because I created those pseudo-identities for us to use," she replied.

"What is this barbaric place?" Vikram gestured towards the exhibit, completely ignoring her. He peered closer towards a huge mound. "And what is that titanic block of ice?"

She held in the urge to roll her eyes, wondering how someone who barely appreciated art could keep up the pretense of being an art dealer. "This is the Ice Age section, you philistine," she retorted, "and that block of ice is actually a sculpture of a woolly mammoth."

His gaze pierced hers. "I do not take well to being insulted," he told her coldly, his tone as gelid as ever. "As for your mammoth," Disgust tainted the timbre of his voice. "I think it's melting."

"It's supposed to melt. It represents—"

"I care not for its symbolism," he interjected dismissively.

"You should," she retorted while glowering at him, "because it represents you. I placed it near all the sources of heat I could find, because it is a metaphor of how much I want you to burn in hell."

Vikram sneered, as though feeling thoroughly amused. "Vindictive, aren't you?"

"It's your fault for springing a wedding on me," Cora pointed out. "Would it have killed you to send me a notice?"

"You would have made a fuss."

"And you thought that forcing me to be her bridesmaid would placate me?" she asked incredulously.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I didn't think that you would want to miss the wedding. And what better way to enjoy a celebration than to be part of it?" She opened her mouth to protest some more, but he shot her a warning look. "Enough. You are wasting my time." He pinned her gaze with his intense stare. "The deed is done. I married her, not you."

And that was when a wave of bitterness washed over Cora. Because it should have been her. The ring was supposed to be on her finger. She was supposed to be the one to have walked down the aisle at the wedding. It was supposed to be her in the veil.

It should have been her, because she was the one who had loved him since they were children. She had been his partner in crime and his only confidante for so long. She was his only companion for so many years, but now her role was being usurped by some unknown woman from Oxford.

Cora was no fool. She knew that she was so much better than Isabel. She believed it with all her heart. And yet…

"Why her?" she blurted out, even though all she felt like screaming was: "Why not me?"

The whole thing just seemed unfathomable. She was Cora Wizard. She didn't understand why anyone, let alone Vikram Kabra, would choose another woman over her.

"Inter caecos regnat strabo," he said simply.

She had been friends with him long enough to pick up Latin. "That's a quote from Erasmus. Among blind people, the squinting one rules," she translated. Cora was no fool. It did not take long for realization to dawn upon her. "What have you seen? What do you know?"

Vikram did not reply.

She glanced at him, the cogs in her mind turning and whirring vigorously. "Isabel is just a stepping stone, isn't she?" Cora concluded. "She's just a pawn in your quest for power."

Vikram made no move to deny her accusations. Happiness erupted in Cora akin to a dormant volcano that found a new lease on life. She knew that she was levels above that Vesper, though how Isabel was going to be useful was still something that confounded her.

"But she's just a Vesper that you plucked from obscurity somewhere. She's nothing special. How can she—"

He smirked at her utter confusion. "One day, Cora, you'll see my plan unfold. You will marvel at it, and then you'll understand why I did what I did."

She had been around him long enough to know that she shouldn't meddle in his plans. And so, just as she had always done, she accepted the fact that he would not tell her his strategy. "I had a feeling that you wouldn't have chosen her over me without cause," Cora added arrogantly, not being able to resist taking another snipe at Isabel.

"I do not choose anyone without reason," came the lackadaisical response.

Her eyebrows furrowed into a frown. "Meaning?"

He gestured carelessly as he told her that: "It all depends on how useful someone is to me. In your case, if you had already outlived your purpose to me, we would not even be friends."

She blinked. "I learned long ago to not hold hope that you're capable of love. But surely our fri—"

Vikram did not even bat an eyelid. "Finis coronat opus. Besides which, I thought it was a given that neither of us were ever friends," Vikram uttered the last word disdainfully, "albeit we kept up the pretense for public purposes." He raised a fine eyebrow. "You didn't actually believe it, did you?" He barked a cruel-sounding laugh. "Preposterous."

"Why is it so preposterous?"

"Really, Cora, I had never pinned you down as an ingénue," Vikram annunciated. "Then again, you are the girl who has been harboring feelings for me since we were—What? Ten years old? It's been around twelve years since then, and you still haven't grown up, have you? Don't tell me that you still keep that terrible rhyme you wrote for me," he jeered. Cora bit her lip, feeling slightly hurt. Because she had kept the rhyme. "What was it again? 'Let's commit the perfect crime, I'll steal your heart, and you steal mine'?" he mocked. "Do wake up.

"Whether it is you or Isabel, it does not matter. Everyone is the same to me; if they can be used, I will use them. It is as simple as that," he remarked without care. "Love and friendship, on the other hand, are about the most useless things I have ever encountered. Assuming that I would actually willingly associate myself with someone like you without good reason…." Vikram looked at Cora in contempt. "Don't make me laugh."

Cora Wizard was no fool. Albeit she was feeling verklempt with hurt, she knew that displaying her misery would only add to Vikram's sadistic satisfaction. "Leave," she commanded, hoping that whatever strength she had left resonated through her voice, as she hid a storm of tears behind a stony façade.

He analyzed her face. "I take it that you will cease supplying artwork to our gallery," he mused. "Don't take it too hard, dear friend," he told her mockingly. "It's nothing personal; just business."

"Then you will understand that my business is now to eliminate your branch," she told him harshly.

"With an ingénue like you at the helm, the Janus will not even come close," he scoffed as he took his leave. "Do try, though. Your failure will be good entertainment."

She watched as he left, before picking up a forgotten ice pick off the floor. She stabbed the mammoth with it in a fit of rage as she saw her pitiful reflection. Her expression hardened, just as her heart did.

Cora Wizard was no fool. She knew that love would always be out of her grasp. But friendship?

Infinitus est numerous stultorum.

Infinite is the number of fools.

And Cora Wizard is one of them.

A/N : So here is my attempt at this challenge. And, Syberia, if you ever read this, will you please tell me why you wanted a mammoth of all things?

In any case, this idea popped up because I always wondered why Vikram and Isabel posed as art dealers. They could have done a think tank company or strategy planning, but they didn't. And I find it interesting to note that you can say something sweetly, bitterly, tastelessly and tastefully, but you can't say something saltily or umami-ly. English is weird.

Latin is awesome. Dead languages FTW! ;)

I'd like to make a challenge of my own, but I doubt anyone would enter. I'd call it the "Pork Chop Challenge".