Black Swan | Ghost & König [I] ✓

chapter 21

He aimed for the heads, and then took out both the men with ease.

"Move," Ghost commanded. He and Soap moved to the door. He tried the handle. Padlocked. It was rusty, old metal. Damaged.

"Let's pry her loose," said Ghost. Soap nodded, and Ghost got his bolt cutters out. He cut the chains. They fell to the floor with a reverberating jingle.

They exchanged a glance, nodded, and opened the door to reveal what was inside.

...

Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes became hours.

The show was almost over. Throughout the production, your performance manipulated the prince to believe you were Odette, when in true reality, you were Odile.

At the end, you were Odile. And Odile wins. Odette dies nothing can change that.

The black swan prevails.

Your dark, ebony eyeshadow, deep rouge lipstick, and black, feathered outfit was hypnotizing to the audience as you stepped towards the prince. The music intensified. It's like every pair of lungs in the audience were constricted, unable to breath, unable to move, incapable of action.

The black swan prevails.

It was over. In this tragedy, the prince kills himself by drowning himself in the swan lake. You had won. Odette had won. Once the prince had already fallen in love with you, Odette died. And Odile rose.

The black swan prevails

The prince was dead. You stood over his body, contorting your arm movements to replicate that of a swan's wings flapping. But it was not graceful. It was sharp. Evil. Dark. Your chin rose, and your eyes were narrowed. The prey was dead. All hope was lost.

The black swan prevails.

The audience was eerily silent.

Your met eyes with König's.

He was crying.

The air was stifling.

Your body was sleek with sweat, your muscles twitching with extreme strain; you felt as if you were going to pass out.

The lights dimmed.

The music faded.

The audience erupts into a cacophony of applause and cheering. You sigh deeply out of your nose, allowing your body to relax. The red curtains slowly close until the audience is no longer visible. Your body sways into an idle stance. You stare down at the man beneath you.

"Aren't you gonna help me up?" he scoffed. You only then realized who he was. You had gotten so caught up in the whole performance you completely forgot that you were supposed to be Clara. Lukas.

"You," you seethed under your breath. You wish you could do more than just metaphorically drive him to suicide.

He looked sheepish, scared. Lukas's hair stuck in matted strings to his forehead, which was shiny with droplets of sweat. His eyes crinkled from the brightness of the lights backstage; he lifted up an arm to shield his eyes.

"Get up yourself, cunt," you hissed. You then spat on him. He flinched, groaning in disgust.

You walked away back to your room, leaving him behind still on the floor, but before you could get there, a familiar voice called out your name— er, Clara's name.

"Claraaaaa!"

Ada dashed up to you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You once again felt unable to breathe. Does she suffocate her friends as a hobby?