Ghost in a Shell | Azriel ACOTAR

Sorry yall I lowkey forgot this existed😭 will try uploading more soon :)

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"Again," Madame tsked.

Sweat rolled down her back as Eillia fought the aches in her muscles. Her feet howled in agony, desperate to escape this torment. Each second felt like hours, the pain a constant shadow, scorching through her legs and back, nearly seizing Eillia in its grasp. She will not give up. She cannot give up.

"Useless girl, how many times have I told you to straighten those knees?"

Eillia silently winced with each twirl and leap, burrowing the slight crunch of her feet into the back of her mind. With every inch of the sun, her body tips ever so closer to oblivion. She will not falter. Eillia pirouetted around the room like an arrow, her slippers her vessel throughout this vast battlefield.

When the clock struck three, Eillia collapsed on a nearby chaise and chugged down water like there was no tomorrow as her chest heaved up and down. Her pants filled the silence as the bony figure came up beside her. The elderly woman studied her from head to toe. Dread pooled in her stomach.

Madame pursed her lips.

-

Eillia shot up, somehow on her bed. She could never forget the look on Madame's face that day—she never will. She could not disappoint Madame again. She needed to practice. Tick tock. And it had to be perfect.

Eillia did not remember entering a room and placing her hand against a wedge in the wall; muscle memory did not fail Eillia. She bent and twisted her ankles exactly like Madame had said, her hands featherlight in the air. No—not good enough. Again. She lifted her feet. She ignored the twinge in her muscle. Never again, she thought. Never again. Eillia had replayed that afternoon over and over in her mind and had driven herself crazy thinking what could've gone differently. What could've prevented that afternoon of undiluted torture. Madame had forced her to dance until pools of blood literally trailed after Eillia. She will not disappoint her.

Never again.

-

The night air ran an uneasy hand along Azriel's back as he glared at the moon. How many sleepless nights had been spent like this? He listened to the quiet chirps of crickets and the gentle rush of the river as he leaned against his balcony, savoring nature's harmony. 

It was when the hush scrap of the floor cracked through the silent night that Azriel knew he wasn't the only soul awake. Huh. Azriel was usually the only person up at this hour, for it was too late for fitful sleep and too early to escape the warmth of the pillow. With nothing better to do, he went to investigate this new mystery.

What surprised him the most was when he ended up beside a room with the door half-way shut. He peered in the gap, nevertheless the nosy spy he was. His breath caught in his chest.

Eillia was dancing. Just like that one night he observed her in her room all those years ago, back when he had only been a spy and she a general's daughter. A wave of memories crashed ashore as the same determination was plastered onto Eillia's face. Azriel remembered how Eillia's candle had burned through the night and all the way into the young rays of dawn, her shadow silhouetted by the glow of the flame as she repeated her turns over and over.

But now, watching her this close, he realized what Eillia has been doing all these years was pure art. She spun in a whorl of silk, tiptoeing across the room with the lightness of a feather. Her brows were ever so scrunched in a way he had seen a thousand times before; it had appeared every time he tried to teach Eillia a new way to weld a knife or some flash new footwork. Azriel wondered if Eillia still remembered those days. He wondered if she reminisced the hours that ticked by as they laid beneath a canopy of wisteria after a particularly cruel workout, the sun transforming her eyes into a molten color undeserving of words.

Blinking back his daydream, Azriel returned to observing Eillia. She moved in fluid grace, her knee perfectly straight.

Eillia was still about despite the withering of her candle. Time seemed insignificant, a mere grain of sand that trickled down the hourglass. But it was the little tells that started to show that worried Azriel; the slight tremble of Eillia's feet and the heavy pants that started to escape out of her chests. Back in the Autumn Court, Azriel did not need to see to know that Eillia often bled through her slippers. He watched her spend too many breaks between their training hunched over her foot when she thought he wasn't looking, massaging the bruised spot between her Achilles' heels.

Sweat trickled down Eillia's neck as she winced when she landed on her foot not quite right. He knew she often overexerted herself when it came to pleasing Madame back at the Forest House, but Azriel expected Eillia to take a break. He frowned when Eillia chose to keep going—he feared something like this would happen. Azriel noticed a few spots of red that appeared on the soles of her slippers. He knows he should say something. He knows he should intervene. But his body betrayed him, his feet bounding itself to the ground. Pure fixation blazed through Eillia's face, and a cloudy gaze engulfed her eyes. She seemed oblivious to her body's objections, utterly fueled by the need to be perfect. Absolutely perfect. When she mis stepped, she tried again. When the angle of her arm wasn't quite right, she tried again. And again. And again.

Light had started to flit through the curtains, but Eillia made no moves to stop. Azriel feared she may never. At least, not until she was perfect. But Eillia decided that every attempt still wasn't good enough. Azriel could see Eillia battling the thoughts inside her head, switching from one emotion to another. It was then that Azriel decided it was enough. He stomped his way to the only person he thought that would provide some insight. 

-

A stream of curses trailed after Azriel as he led Nesta towards Eillia, calling him a thousand different names for waking her up this early. But Nesta stopped in her tracks when she came upon the doorway. Azriel could see the admiration that appeared in Nesta's eyes as she took in Eillia's form as she leaped through the air. He supposes it takes an artist to truly appreciate another's craft. Azriel mentally chuckled when he remembered how Nesta had danced at one Winter Solice ball and Eris' jaw was practically on the ground.

"This is what you woke me up for at Mother knows what time? You know I need my beauty sleep."

Azriel gave her a side eye. "She's been like this for...God knows how long!"

"Cauldron boil me, you are such a snob. Let her do what she wants! One way or another, she will tire." Nesta whisper shouted.

Azriel opened his mouth to speak but stopped. Who was he to question what Eillia was entitled to or not?

Nesta huffed, "Next time, remind me to triple lock my doors." And walked away.

Maybe Azriel should stop being bothered about Eillia's strange behaviors. At this point, he was like a whiny child after being refused seconds of dessert. After all, he wasn't the one who spent 500 years in solitude.