As I Descend
Chapter Five: The Start of a Story
"Contrary to Chrollo's belief, I was not cast out from heaven—thrown form paradise. I like to think I fell much like a star: bright, burning, furious…and with no regrets. I can't see why I would have any when all I've ever wanted was to join him in his darkness."
"No."
Zuri Uriel, Azyel's mother allowed herself a laugh, pushing her violet curls from her face as if they muffled her hearing. Eagerly, her pretty lips moved into a smile and she leaned forward from her seat. "I'm sorry dear…what did you say?"
Azyel swallowed, glancing nervously from her mother to her father who shook his head curtly, as if to warn Azyel, but Azyel was never one to take warnings. "I said, no. I'm not going, Mother and you can't make me!"
Her mother waved her hand to Greta who held a three-year-old Iris, and Greta swiftly left the room. Iris scrambled over the tall, older woman's shoulder to grab for Azyel. "Put me down!" she demanded, reaching, violet hair falling everywhere as she clambered and cried.
Iris was born with the ability to read the room, so to speak. She could feel the atmosphere the second it began to change, and made it her mission in life to rectify it.
At first it was annoying, the reaching, the little soft hands cupping cheeks, her little face pressing into sides as she embraced her target, but…as time went on Azyel almost looked forward to it. She even went so far as to pretend to sadness just so the girl could turn from whatever she was doing—far across the manor—and rush to Azyel's side. "Kiss me, sister," Iris would say, "You'll feel better." It worked.
This time, Azyel wanted to at least turn, to tell Iris not to worry, but she couldn't move. She was a gazelle in the presence of a lion. One wrong move could spell the end. Azyel was not in the business of endings, she preferred beginnings above all else. She couldn't count how many movies she'd start and then stop just before the end came. She wanted to live with the knowledge that she could always return to it. She could end it, only if she wanted to. It was one of the few things her mother didn't encourage, and one thing her father allowed. He understood her dislike for the idea down to the very sound of the word, "end." It held no music, no rhythm or beauty. It was curt and ugly. A wizened, broken word—
But she was going off on a tangent, lost in her thoughts. Immediately, she was back again, the heat from her mother's gaze biting at her neck.
A bead of sweat appeared seemingly out of nowhere, it rolled down, hooking beneath Azyel's chin. It was as if someone had turned up the heat, just to make Azyel second guess herself. But no. She would not bend on this. It wasn't fair.
Her mother's silence rung through the room, seemed to reverberate against the tall glass windows to Azyel's right. A hand appeared over her mother's shoulder, her father's large hand, softening the lightning strikes in the room. Mrs. Uriel sighed, giving her husband a 'thank you.' From Azyel's experience, her mother had been just seconds from losing her temper. There was nothing worse for her. She hated being angry, it made her angry.
"Azyel," her mother began softly, "Why don't you want to go?"
Azyel quickly glanced up to her father, ensuring this wasn't some trick, before she took a step toward her mother and another until she was in front of her. She sunk to her knees, placing her hands on her mother's crossed legs. "You see, Mother. My friend, you know, Chrollo? He's just came back into town. I know him, he's always traveling. Always gone! I know he won't be back for a long time and I thought I'd see him at least this week."
"Azyel," Her mother leaned forward to caress Azyel's cheeks as she spoke, wiping those nervous drops of sweat away. "We've been planning this for months. You decided on this week. I asked you for this very reason."
"I know, but he came back earlier than usual."
Her mother leaned back, "And you'd work your schedule around him, love?"
"Well…" Azyel hadn't considered that, how silly and dependent it sounded. It hardly sounded like an Uriel thing at all. "I…"
"Do you have plans to marry this boy?" Her mother's voice was serious. Her father looked like he'd been struck. Of the two of them, her father was the only one who had actually met Chrollo. "Do you have a crush on him?"
Azyel's expression soured, disgusted, "Of course not, I'd rather die."
Her father laughed. Her mother said nothing, but her eyes could not conceal her relief, "Then why are you dedicating so much time to this boy?"
"It's not so much time," Azyel argued, but wavered none the less, "He's my friend, Mother."
"I know, Daughter, but if he's your friend then as your friend he should understand that you have commitments. And besides, would you really have your family's honor besmirched just to keep your boyfriend?"
Azyel's face burned, and she flared forward to her feet, "He is not my boyfriend!"
Her mother laughed, the sound sweet like honey, "Fine. You win."
Azyel brightened, jumping onto her toes. "So, I can skip?"
"Of course not. You win the boyfriend argument, but you are still going." Her mother stood up, "I suggest running to him now to let him know he won't be able to see you."
"I don't run to anyone, Mother." Azyel insisted, offended that she'd even elude to such a thing. Uriels don't run to anyone. We don't even move in their direction! She thought stubbornly, stamping her foot.
"No?" Her mother asked innocently, "That's a surprise, but you'd rearrange your schedule for him when he didn't feel the need to do the same for you?"
Azyel leaned back, her fingers tinkering with her right earring, fumbling over the pearl nestled in a gold loop, "…no. I wouldn't."
"That's good to hear." Her mother finished, leaning down to kiss the top of Azyel's head, she adjusted her hair, the extravagant pins holding it at bay. "It would have been most disappointing if you said yes. then you'd have no choice but to separate yourself from him," she said, "if he held so much sway over your heart. It couldn't be helped."
Azyel stayed glued to her spot, listening to her mother's footsteps as the clicked away out of the room and down the corridor. The disappointment and shame mixed and danced in her stomach. Was her mother right?
Her father kneeled in front of her, placing his large hand on her shoulder and she stubbornly turned her head away from him.
"You're no help." She said through her teeth, "I'm mad with you."
He chuckled, warmly, not bothering to turn her face, the way her mother would have. "What if I told you…I had Kuro find your friend?"
Azyel didn't drop her frown, but she turned to her father, honey eyes hard but hopeful.
The mirth was smooth as the sea in his eyes, there was a slight tease to his voice as he said, "What if I also told you…I had Kuro invite your friend…here?"
She screamed and threw her arms around his wide shoulders and he spun her around, balancing her in his arms like she was three years old again. She kissed him against his cheek. "I love you, Father! You're the best!"
He accepted the kisses like he was getting keys to the city. "Go make up with your mother."
Azyel frowned, "Why?"
"Because it was her idea."
Azyel looked absolutely baffled, "You're lying."
"You know I wouldn't lie to you. Lies are—"
"Reserved for criminals." Azyel quoted him easily, despite not abiding by this rule herself. "But why say all that? Why make me angry?"
Her father shrugged, throwing a hand up in the air, "Because your mother is your mother, and, unlike me, she thinks you have a crush on Chrollo. And you know how she feels about crushes."
That, Azyel could quote as well, "Unless you want to be crushed, Azyel, don't crush…on anyone, not even your husband. You should be above such silly things. What about marriage? Oh, yes, you can love your husband certainly…after you've vetted and married him, not before. That would only make things difficult for you. You don't want difficult. You should hate the very word."
"But I said I don't."
"And I believe you," he said soothingly, "your mother calls it her sixth sense. She thinks that unless you have complete control of him…that boy will control you." Her father laughed. "Can you believe that?"
Azyel's frown came again, crinkling her brow, "That's completely wrong!"
"Well, don't convince me. Convince your mother, and don't just convince her, show her."
Show, don't tell. The art of writing a poem. Fine.
"I can do that." Azyel said, "I'll start with this betrothed of mine. I'll make him love me so much, he'll long to be with me even when I'm not there," she boasted, making her father laugh, "He'll hate anyone else who loves me too! You'll see."
"Ooo, scary." He said, shivering. He carried her from the room. When they left, Azyel had her head held high, gazing down on all else as if she herself was both sovereign and god.
Chrollo's eyes drunk in every piece of art strung on the walls and delicate instrument presented at table and shelf. From the moment he stepped through the front doors, there was a sense that he had been guided into a fine palace armed to the teeth with riches. Chandeliers sparkled with gold overhead, the deep ruby of the grand stair opened wide as if it were trying to embrace him or intimidate him from stepping forward. Ivory statue beckoned him forward, offering flowers and twists through the air, wings and waving cloth. The cream marble beneath his feet, echoed his footsteps, reflecting the scenes of sky above. It was an indulgent extravagance. As such, his normal attire wouldn't do.
He'd taken a suit from a nearby store just for the occasion, Paku had insisted on picking out his steel gray tie, "To match your eyes," she said. He, like everyone else, found it funny. All of his Troupe members joined, everyone all too excited to, "Assist the Boss with his play date."
His lips quivered as he controlled his smile. As it would certainly appear that way, Chrollo had other plans, a grand endeavor, one that required all the time and effort he was now pouring into it. He'd hardly put so much effort into a single person before. Certainly, it was a rapid change in pace, an alteration in course. It was never supposed to take this long at all. Simple massacre and theft hardly did after all. Still, the bandit was patient, careful. Although they longed to, none of the Troupe questioned him, trusting Chrollo with his grand scheme as always. How ever this unfolded was in his grasp, under his watchful eye. As it should be.
A sudden threat of aura distracted the bandit from his musings. Kuro, the butler that had found him, kept his eyes burning into Chrollo's neck, teeth set.
My, Chrollo mused, trying his best not to grin back. Such bloodlust.
Chrollo found it strange that a mere servant, someone supposedly only on the payroll, to be so protectively territorial. From Chrollo's reconnaissance, Kuro was assigned directly to Azyel, watched her with eyes unblinking. He even would glower at Helia, Azyel's friend, whenever he felt the girl had overstepped herself.
Chrollo had always noticed him, of course, the sudden growl of killing aura whenever Chrollo came into Azyel's reach. The fury now as his heart hammered heavily in his chest, irritable and outraged. Such emotions were so fascinating to Chrollo, enthralling even, like he'd fallen into his very own novel.
Yes. Chrollo thought, his heart beat skipped. That's what all of this was to him: novel. Its scarcity had superseded the importance of the effort expended. What were the chances? What series of events had transpired to gift him with such a tale, a moment to change the very course of his own life? This was a chance of a life time. A means to an end. He would have his end, by any means necessary, of course. It was him after all. Who but he could author such a tale brought to life? So many choices he had! Would she be Belle to his Beast? Juliet to his Romeo? Guinevere to his Arthur—
No, Chrollo shook his head at that, his enthusiasm had gotten the better of him, but perhaps: Lady Macbeth to his Macbeth? Or— He was Victor, and this tale, this story, this…princess, would be his monster. Better yet, it could be all. Why should he settle when he could orchestrate so much more?
A righteous calm had settled in him, and when Enova Uriel greeted him at the doors of his study, Chrollo's smile was deeply genuine.
"Mr. Uriel," Chrollo began, but was cut off by a firm shake of his head. "Forgive me, Enova?"
At that, Azyel's father looked over his shoulder with a smile, all white teeth and friendly dimples. Such a friendly face for a man with a daughter who scowls more than she smiles.
Chrollo chuckled before asking, "Where is Mrs. Uriel? I'd like to greet her as well. I'm afraid I've only ever seen her from a distance."
Her father gave him a sheepish look, "She's a little busy at the moment. She's the only one who can make Iris stay in her room without bribing her."
"I see." Chrollo's soft voice lingered over the words as he brought his cup of tea to his lips. "She must not like me very much then."
Her father turned around from his pacing to hold Chrollo's gaze. Chrollo found the eyes of an honest man staring back at him. Chrollo enjoyed the juxtaposition, such irony.
"I wouldn't say that," Her father began delicately, "Iris is just very affectionate, even with those she doesn't know very well. My wife is trying to…tame, those urges."
Chrollo laughed, reclining, "That's quite alright. I completely understand. To be honest, I was a little shocked to be invited in at all."
Her father waved his concern away, "You're practically family," He said, turning to look over his shoulder again as he said, "afterall…it's not as if you've never been here before. Although, you do come mostly at night."
Surprise woke up his eyes, Chrollo smiled slyly, how very interesting. "So you knew."
"My butlers are quite thorough." Her father said.
This changes things. Chrollo thought, but said, "I hope you don't think—"
Enova cut him off, "Don't worry, son. If you wanted to harm her, you would have done so."
Son? It took every muscle in Chrollo's body not to lose his composure and laugh at his good fortune. Chrollo found himself utterly floored, but managed to look grateful, "Thank you."
"I just…want to know your intentions." His eyes finally managed to harden, a spark of fear pulsed through his hazel eyes. "as you know, she is everything to me…to the family. She is…one of a kind."
Oh, I know. I know very well. Chrollo held his eyes, pouring a sense of sympathy into his own that he did not feel. Mimicking it though? that was easy. Child's play. "I just want what's best for her. I ask that you allow me to stay in her life, that is all. She is, as you say," Chrollo softened his voice, trying to hide the greed there, wondering idly if he had succeeded, "one of a kind."
The house was dark to Azyel, grand but dark. Her home was glass, gold, and fresh flowers in translucent vases, smiling butlers, happy servants and her father giving her cake after training her until dusk.
This place, to Azyel, was like stepping into a world reversed. Everything stiff and still, a picture paused.
Oddly enough, it reminded her of Chrollo. But, in all fairness, a lot of things reminded her of her secretive friend. He had a habit of sneaking in where he was not invited.
"Hello, dear, you must be Azyel." The woman in the kimono and visor, smiled at her. she was pale with angular face sharp enough to cut steel. "Such a gorgeous girl."
Azyel magicked a smile onto her lips, curtseying, and forcing pleasant thoughts into her mind. That of course, required removing Chrollo. "Thank you, Mrs. Zoldyck. It's wonderful to finally meet you. My mother said the two of you were old friends?"
Kikyo Zoldcyk's painted lips curled into a smile, she appeared to look over Azyel's shoulder to Zuri Uriel. "Yes…all the way from back home."
Azyel sensed a barely concealed secret. Part of her wanted to unravel it, but…it wasn't tempting enough to earn a death stare.
As Kikyo stepped aside, Azyel greeted her husband, a man with blue cat eyes and silver hair, every bit as tall as her father. "It's nice to meet you as well, Mr. Zoldyck."
"Silva is fine." His deep voice seemed to tremble its way through its chest, the voice of an apparition. His eyes shot up to her father, "Enova."
Her father gave a hearty laugh, "Good to see you too, Silva. The cool silent type as always."
Silva wrinkled his nose, but he appeared at least a little pleased by the compliment. "And this is little Iris?" he gestured to Iris, clinging to father, but smiling at Silva like he'd just given her candy.
"Yes." Father said, and then Iris Immediately reached for Silva, "She's friendly."
Silva said nothing, but didn't reach for Iris all the same. Kikyo did though, "Oh! So cute! You know I've always wanted a daughter, now I get two!" she held up Iris like she was a baby, but Iris wasn't one to complain.
The entire Uriel family blinked.
Silva noticed this and smirked, "She means one. My wife is excited."
"Very excited!" she declared, still holding Iris in one arm, and hooking her arm around Azyel's waist as they were led further inside. She looked adoringly down at Azyel, "You're so stylish too, my dear. Those earrings are precious."
"I love diamonds." Azyel said quickly before she could stop herself, and then sheepishly added, "Among other things…of course."
A giggle echoed out of Kikyo's lips as she led the girls in further, into a sitting room. There they met a chunky boy with a splattering of dark hair with his hands in a chip bag. He reminded Azyel something of a frog when Kikyo easily glided her past him without even saying the boy's name. He didn't seem at all surprised to be ignored, and Azyel didn't want to be rude…so she ignored him too.
Kikyo pulsed with energy as she finally placed Iris on her feet, gesturing her forward toward a little boy with bright sapphire eyes. He was easily one of the prettiest boys Azyel had ever seen, with his sweet smile and his curious eyes, jumping from her to Iris. "This is my Killua! He's going to lead the family one day!" she gushed.
"He's…" Azyel didn't quite know how to phrase this, "He's four."
Kikyo leaned into her waiting, as if she couldn't understand. After a moment, she clapped her hands, "Oh! No! My dear, he is not your betrothed." Kikyo pushed Iris into Killua's direction as she told Azyel this. "Oh, no, no no! The age gap would be inappropriate!" she shook her fan at the idea, laughing.
Azyel breathed a sigh of relief, smiling as well, "I didn't mean to assume."
"That's quite alright. Here's my eldest son, Illumi. He's your betrothed." Kikyo gestured someone forwards, a boy who Azyel had not taken notice of at first. It was as if he blended in with shadow. She'd ignored him the way she would a mannequin in a window. "Come, come!"
At that, she left Azyel to this Illumi's company and made herself busy with the little ones. Azyel's mother joined Kikyo, not sparing a single glance for the phantom who stood before her eldest daughter.
Eyes, more pit than jewel, looked down at her with a hollowness Azyel couldn't comprehend. His bangs dangled against his forehead, unmoved by a single breeze. His hands were in his pockets, but Azyel got the sense that if she saw them at all they would be immovable like cold, white marble.
Azyel turned her head and to her shock found that her family had abandoned her, left her alone to face this—creature. His head tilted, ticked to the side like the screw holding his head to his neck had come undone. His skin—colorless—and without expression, without a hint of the blood beneath, his nose sharp, and pointed as his face. He was more mask than boy, more of a thing, more of an it—a machine.
A doll.
The doll didn't speak, only stared without expression, blank. She saw no falling stars or distant galaxies in this boy's gaze. Nor did his eyes remind her of dusk (as Chrollo's did), or even a starless midnight (as Chrollo's did). His gaze did not even remind her of satin or jet velvet, a black diamond or even an onyx.
Bile rose in her throat, her mind spinning out of control.
This…can't be, she thought. I'm mistaken. Surely Kikyo is testing me? It had to be a test. Otherwise, why leave her there with a doll for company? She hardly played with her own as it was.
Taking a deep breath, the panic subsided and Azyel chuckled at her own ridiculousness. Silly.
Azyel laughed aloud now, telling the pretend boy, "Your mother is such a comedian. What a wonderful sense of humor, don't you agree?"
The doll only blinked.
Azyel shrugged, reaching up to run her fingers against his cheek. He blinked again. He was cold to the touch, as expected. She smiled, "Sorry, you probably can't speak, can you? I didn't realize. You are a very nice present though…although, truthfully, I wasn't expecting you. I'm thankful, none the less."
Azyel felt the relief warm her fingers, "Illumi, was it? Pretty name for a special doll like you. Here," she gestured for the thing to come down to her level, "Bend your head so I can give you a present."
Another blink! Poor thing, smiling to herself, she watched as it leaned forward, and she kissed its forehead. It didn't return to its previous position, and so she kissed it this time on its right cheek. When it still did not move, she kissed the other. Finally, it returned to its previous position, eyes staring at her still, now one hand cupped its right cheek. The head tilted to the left.
What a wonderful joke! She laughed, and then soberly said, "Well, I'm off to find my parents. See you!"
She gave it a deep curtsey, and a gleeful wave. With that, she turned and walked from the room. To her surprise, the doll followed closely behind her, not stepping on her feet, but close enough to do it.
The panic began to unfurl again, but she shooed it away. Surely, surely, she was mistaken. Azyel laughed, looking back at the mask behind her, careful not to tread on her heels. My parents wouldn't give me a monster for a husband. They love me too much. A monster? She giggled, that doesn't even make sense! She reasoned, I'm the oldest, after all. The head of the family, the special one. I mean why would anyone—with any sanity—place a piece of gravel next to a diamond?
Oh, her parents were such pranksters! Truly, she could not wait to tell Helia and then Chrollo about their greatest joke yet…or ever. It would be their first practical joke they had ever played on her. Her parents were not usually the types to joke in such a way but, hey! First time's for everything!
Azyel began to skip through the hall's, eyes glancing about rooms. She followed the sounds of cooing laughter, her father joking. I bet they're rolling on the floor about this. Azyel shook her head, adults could act like such children sometimes. Hands on her hips, she strolled right into the fun.
When she entered, imagine their surprised faces!
Her mother actually stopped what she was doing—doting on the beautiful, white-haired boy—to turn to her, to frown!
Azyel giggled. "What a prank!" she declared, she walked over to Kikyo and gave her an embrace. The woman squealed before hugging her back. "I adore your sense of humor. You are hilarious as you are beautiful." Another laugh, they were coming fast now, uncontrollable. "Where is my betrothed, now more than ever, I long to meet him. I hope he's just as clever and as funny as you!"
"Oh, my dear—" she paused, a tilt of the head, another bout of not comprehending. Really, she was quite the actress. They don't make awards grand enough for this woman, no sir! Kikyo placed both hands on Azyel's shoulders and turned her around. Azyel looked and looked, but saw no one, no betrothed certainly not. "There, do you see him?"
Azyel looked, trying her best to search the room. "Illumi, dear, could you step to the side?" she asked her doll. He obliged, taking a step to the right. "And now the other?" He did as he was told.
Azyel shook her head in wonder, "Lady Kikyo, I'm sorry. I haven't quite mastered nen yet. I am learning though. Is he using nen to hide himself?"
All of the adults took this moment to look at her, really look at her. She looked back, trying to show how concerned she was. She was trying to be a good sport, but this joke was really starting to wear on her. she was, after all, not one for lengthy guessing games. Her parents knew this all too well.
"Azyel," her mother spoke slowly, stepping toward her, pulling her close, "Are you feeling okay? Your eyes, they're not hurt, are they?"
"My eyes? Why would they be hurt?" she asked, looking up at her mother.
"Because your betrothed, your Illumi-Dear, as you called him," Her mother smiled, "is right there…in the blue hoodie. The tall boy, black hair. Five years your senior. Very handsome."
Quietly, Azyel echoed her mother, "Handsome? Handsome." Handsome had been a word she often associated with Chrollo, a boy who on her first meeting, she thought immediately was wicked, a faerie, a changeling. Too pretty to be more than a trick of the light, a lost illusion, an angel fallen from the sky. Again, she repeated the word as if saying it once more could change it's meaning, turn it into something else, "Handsome."
Azyel looked back up to her phantom doll…and burst out laughing.
Her mother dropped her arms like she'd been burned. She took a step back, eyeing her daughter with wide eyes, the eyes of someone watching a stranger sprawling around on the ground, foam spewing from their lips.
Her heart was hammering, beating wildly. She felt the world spin, felt it flicker like heat rising off the heat of an engine. The laughter died.
No. She thought. No. She thought again. That…couldn't be. If it were, then, that would mean—
It all made sense now, the way Kikyo had declared she'd have two daughters. The way she was overjoyed at seeing Azyel but over the moon over Iris' cuteness, her friendly reaching and smiles, the gold of her eyes.
Azyel found the white-haired boy, he chattered with Iris as she clung to his back. Smiling and happy. He was to be the head of the family. He was special, unique. A prize. And Illumi? What was he but second place? What was he but not good enough? Moreover…what did that make her? What did that mean for her?
Azyel's eyes landed next on Iris. The dimples, the curly, violet hair, the round bright eyes full of captured sunlight. If Azyel was special…what was Iris if not perfect? If not superior?
If Azyel was to be the head, the best, why give her seconds? Why set this rock of a boy next to her? Why curse her with this ugly revolting image of a boy? They had to know, didn't they? There was no mistake. Look at him. He was a creature, a stone gargoyle. At any moment, Azyel half expected a slimy, rotting four-legged creature to slither out of his mouth and claw at her face!
The thing barely blinked for crying out loud! He hadn't said a word to her at all. He hadn't teased or tested. He hadn't smiled or smirked. The light didn't even hit him right. It fell on him awkwardly, like a piano thrown from a second story window. He didn't seem to have any grace about him either. Azyel knew like she knew her own name that there would be no compliments. She wouldn't sit next to him on her Starlight bridge to watch passersby compliment them. No one would gawk openly. No girl, certainly not Helia, would try to spirit him away from her. He wasn't funny. He had no humor. He didn't even bother to smile at her. What could he even do but walk and blink?
Azyel wondered what she had done to deserve this. Haven't I behaved? Haven't I exceeded all expectations? Why would I settle then for a thing? Why would she, a princess in all but name, settle for less than a King? And King he was certainly not. King he would certainly never be! What was he but a follower? What was her betrothed but a machination of wood pretending to be human? HIM? KING? The eldest but not the preferred?
No. No. Azyel would not accept it. She would rather die. She would rather throw herself into an abyss before she settled for that vile, hideous, monstros—
"Enough, Azyel!" Her Father demanded so suddenly, she almost couldn't believe her ears. His voice was raised, he stood to his feet. His eyes burned through her. "You control yourself."
The room wavered before her. She noticed now that both Iris and Killua stood with wide eyes, having retreated to hide behind Silva. They were shaking. Silva watched her with eyes slightly surprised, but they didn't narrow.
She could see it then, the way her nen, immature as it was, had reached out—it was justice incarnate. Her will alone was enough for it to enact its…its…ire.
Her eyes flashed toward her father, but his eyes narrowed warningly. She didn't like the challenge she found there, like she'd stumbled upon a new world, an onlooker peeking through an open window.
His voice was quiet, but thunderous, "Move. Or I will move you."
Rebellion flashed again. Me? Just who exactly was he talking to? Not me. Not Azyel.
She lifted her brow, waiting, daring.
"Go upstairs." Her father suggested, expressionless.
Her lips trembled, she felt her eyes burn. Azyel looked away from him and almost stumbled as her aura came down and flowed back into her.
"My, my," Came Kikyo's impressed whistle, "How wonderful! Her bloodlust was so palpable! You must be so proud."
My father took a deep, steadying breath. "Thank you," he said and then nodded to me to leave.
Kikyo reached out to stop me, "Please wait! I don't mind, if she stays. She won't do that again, will you?"
Tired, and angry, what could she do but shake her head no.
"Tell me, what is it that made you so angry?" She asked sweetly.
There wasn't enough energy left for Azyel to lie, "Everything."
Smiling, as if she found this answer amusing, Kikyo began again with her doting, brushing hair from Azyel's face, "What a wonderful daughter you will be! I'm so excited. Illumi, aren't you pleased?"
"I am." A low voice said, low and empty. "I am very pleased."
Azyel could feel her revulsion tear and spit in her stomach. She would not look at him. She would not look at anyone. She would follow her betrothed's lead and fall into the background, disappearing like a doll.
Disappearing, as the days wore on, was difficult. She was quiet yes, but that Illumi dogged her footsteps per his mother's instructions. She tried to talk to the butlers, a young boy in particular—he was about her age—but when Illumi appeared he made himself scarce. She didn't see him for the rest of her visit.
"Do you read?" She asked Illumi, after he'd spent the day trailing after her.
"Not particularly." Was his simple reply.
"Of course, you don't." she said bitterly, before she noticed her mother's urging wave. Azyel turned back to him, taking a deep breath she asked, "Do you paint or draw?"
"No."
"Do you write poems? I write poems." She smiled at that, "Father says I can probably do it for a living."
"No."
"Do you like to watch the sky?" she asked, pouring a little hope into her voice. Perhaps then he'd understand he was supposed to have some semblance of a personality.
Still, without expression, he said, "Not on purpose."
"Do you dance?"
"No."
"Do you collect things? I have a friend who collects things—to be fair I think he actually steals them." she said, trying for a bit of humor. "He says he's something of a professional. I don't think he realizes I know…but it's obvious. Even father thinks so, and he thinks the world of everyone."
Illumi ignored everything she said to reply, "No."
"What about your friends? What do your friends do?"
"I don't have any. I have no need for friends."
She narrowed her eyes, "That friend of mine. He has lots of friends, but…when you're good looking that happens."
Nothing.
She turned and walked away from him. "I would prefer it if you wouldn't follow.
Almost as if he hadn't heard her, he came anyway, walking close.
At the end of the dreadful week, Azyel chose silence as her friend as she made herself comfortable by the window in the aircraft. She held her knees to her chest, chin resting on her knees. If her parents noticed her mood, they didn't address it.
Iris sat beside her, little fingers cupping her left cheek.
Azyel glared down at her, forcing fire through her eyes.
"I'm sorry." Iris said, and then pressed her head into her arm, snuggling close. Azyel relented, cursing her weakness, and wrapped her arms around the girl.
"It's not your fault."
Once in her room, Azyel had found her calm. Her tears poured from her eyes, of course, but she was thinking straight. She paced her room, up and down, up and down until she heard her window shoot open.
Chrollo stepped down into her room, his black coat flapping behind him. Just then, admittedly, she was never more grateful for the smug, prettiness of his face. At least he felt something, at least he was alive. His eyes glowed with their mischief, and he walked into the room as if she were the guest, not he. He settled at the foot of her bed.
"What is it that has you in such a state?" he asked curiously, his eyes held every planet known to man she swore. And she was not sad to find that her face warmed at the sight of him. She was not angry, not at all, when her heart decided to trip and lose its footing. She embraced the feeling, dived into it like a woman fearing for her life, breaking the surface of water. The feeling of a racing heart, she decided, was hardly the worst thing in the world. "You hate pacing."
Azyel was too over the moon to snap at him, at his noticing silly things, instead she pressed a piece of paper into his hands. She couldn't say it aloud just now, the words would betray her, sound stupid in her mouth.
Still, her heart was steady. Her mind was made up. She would not, not ever settle for hand me downs. If Azyel was such a princess, it would make sense that she would need to find her prince. A king was preferred, but who was keeping track of these things?
He unfolded it. She watched his eyes as they slipped over the words. As his gaze found the letter's end, it moved up.
Mesmerizing, she remembered Helia saying about his eyes. She hadn't thought so before now…they were merely pretty before, but…mesmerizing wasn't…it wasn't an awful word.
Azyel met his orbs of moonlight, the clear acceptance there. Azyel found something else as well, she didn't care enough to unravel its meaning. It was immaterial. Unnecessary, just like those feelings that Illumi had allowed some stranger to abscond with. To destroy.
She knew the letter word for word, had wrestled over its contents. She'd scratched out a great deal of it before she settled for:
"I need to escape. And I need your help to do it."
Azyel hesitated, her voice quiet as she asked, "That's not so horrible, is it?"
Chrollo folded the paper, stowed it into his pocket as he gestured her toward him, in closer. He held his hands out, palms up. She watched them as she stepped forward. There was a warning, a shadow had fallen over the two of them.
There were many stories her father had made her read. One book in particular stood out to her, the bible, it was one of Chrollo's favorite's as well. He could quote it verbatim. The flickering shadow, the strange, alluring unease was not lost on her. It was all too familiar. The feeling of falling, of doom. There was no greater comparison.
She was Eve. He was Lucifer.
Regardless, her light fingers trailed over his palms, warm to the touch—alive. She grasped them readily, allowing him to pull her into his arms. Azyel had never been this close to him before, had never smelled the scent of his cologne at such a distance. She almost felt awkward now, unsure and shaky. She could not meet his eyes anymore, not when she barely knew what to do with herself.
He wrapped his arms around her, held her close like he'd agreed to take her on as his ward, his own. Chrollo spoke against her ear. His voice was so soft, like satin. He had a rhythm to it, a flow. It didn't tumble out like a pre-made sentence fed into his ear. It didn't drop down like a box out of a shoot. "No," he told her, so simple and yet so much more than simple. "Not at all."
Author's Note: As I said, I'd written this part already and had to make only a few adjustments. I appreciate the support! Critique welcome!