Page 157 of Eternal
Two of them are huddled by the stove, plates in hand, and I step up to them, breathing in and out.
“Out,” I say. They freeze, their eyes wide with confusion, they don’t understand, but they don’t need to.
One of them tries to speak, stammering something I don’t care to hear. “Leave,” I repeat, my voice colder now.
Scare them away, Azra.
I don’t wait for them to argue. I pull my knife under my skirt, a quick flash, and they stumble backward. Fear pulses through them.Perfect.
They don’t even question it, they turn around and shuffle out the door.
I lock it behind them.
Now, it’s quiet, we’re all alone in this big house.
The guests are still talking in the dining room, oblivious. Antony Darveaux is sitting at the head of the table, laughing with his colleagues as if he wasn’t a monster.
They have no idea that this is their final dinner. That judgment is here today, here for them, all of them.
I slip into the room, carrying my tray of drinks. I’m not trying to be stealthy, I’m only doing my job.
A few glances are thrown my way, but no one pays attention. It’s the same with every event like this. Wealthy people only see what they want to see. They don’t care about the staff, they don’t care about who’s filling their glasses. The poison is in every drink, every plate. The subtle touch of it is easy, too easy. I’ve done it a hundred times before.
One by one, they start to drop. First, it’s a cough, then a choke, a shake of the head, a deep breath, too sharp, too sudden.
Darveaux watches, confused, eyes darting from the fallen bodies to the untouched plate in front of him. His face is pale now, his knuckles white on the table. The others are slumped, eyes wide with panic. But they’re already gone, lost to their own arrogance, their own belief that money and power could protect them.
I push one of the bodies on the floor, and sit down slowly, watching the chaos unfold, the room sinking into a quiet panic. I take out the hairpin from my hair. Darveaux’s eyes widen even more as I pull it free, the glint of the steel catching in the soft light of the chandeliers.
He starts to rise, panic stricken, but I stop him with a single motion. I pull my gun. “Sit the fuck down,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “We need to talk.”
His breath hitches, but he obeys. Good. He’s finally starting to understand.
“I’m gonna drag you out now. You have a beautiful, beautiful garden, and that fountain…divine. Let’s make it useful.”
And I do as I say.
I drag him outside into the cool night, awkwardly lugging the chair along with me. Once there, I drop him into it.
The moonlight is beautiful tonight. Beautiful. So fucking bright. Makes me feel like I’m floating in something celestial, something pure, even though I’m standing here with blood on my hands. I could feel his heart, thumping so hard under my palm. It’s not right to feel this good, but… fuck, I don’t care anymore.
I look at him, sitting there, tied to that chair. He’s shaking. Not like he deserves my mercy. But still… He’s got that look in his eyes. The one where he’s praying.
Praying I’ll let him go.
Praying I’ll understand him. I did that too… Back then, I did it a lot. Waiting for some pity and kindness.
But that’s not gonna happen.
I should cut him first.No, no,I should carve him open completely. Carve a little piece of his skin, right where the flesh meets bone, until he feels the pain so hard he’ll faint.
But I want him to feel everything, see him beg for more, watch his body tremble under my touch.
My eyes find the knife, and I trace lines in his body.
Should I cut it here?No.
I’ll start here, right under the ribs, maybe closer to the gut.
