“Would you have hurt me even if it was true?” Pandora asked, her chest heaving as she tried to get breaths in between the words and sobs that were wracking her body.
“Would you?”
The words tore from somewhere deep inside. It tumbled out, the shriek leaving her before she could hold it back. She gasped for air, suffocating on her own words, betrayed by her own body. The pain in her chest grew. She fell to her knees, grabbing uselessly at anything that could support her. She dug her heels into the hard, wooden floor, pushing herself back, as far away as she could from him.
“Oh, Pandora, don’t be like that. Come on, you’re a sweet girl aren’t you?” He coaxed, reaching his hand out. It was a choice. She could make it out alive if she played by his rules, or she would die trying. Either way, both options were death. Pandora used to be a sweet girl, yes, naive, some would say. She was gullible, believing every word she would hear.
The old Pandora had died soon enough.
It was before she knew the real world. The harsh reality she learned the hard way was that the world was cruel. It had hardened her, killing off the old Pandora quickly. Pandora let out a forlorn laugh. Dying sounded better than living at this point. But at his hand? She’d rather kill herself.
“There, Pandora. Your laugh is as melodious as ever. Come on. Take my hand, and you’ll be safe. It’s for the family,” he continued. Pandora stared up at him incredulously.
“I am your family.”
Her cry broke off as her voice cracked. Almost like she had broken herself instead. It hurt. Everything hurts. She felt strangely light-headed. She backed away, eyes going everywhere. Oh. A window. She’d much rather die by falling off the window. She couldn’t make a run for it. So there was just one other option.
She took a deep breath to collect herself. “Fine. I’ll go with you,” she stared up at him, doing her best to appear piteous. He softened visibly, and Pandora pushed herself up to her feet. “Could you open the window? It’s so very stuffy. I might faint, I think,” Pandora said in a small voice. He obeyed, pushing open the window, and Pandora moved over to it, lifting her skirt, clambering over the railing to sit on it. He let out a surprised gasp. “Oh, don’t you worry, it is quite safe. I’ve done it many times, sitting on the railing to watch the sunset and read. It’s so very peaceful,” she said cheerfully.
He looked dubious, but shifted back somewhat. She glanced down. She was about forty stories high, and that knowledge simply assured her death. She edged closer and closer to the edge, as subtle as possible. Taking another deep breath - possibly her last - Pandora started leaning forward.
Bang. “Pandora!” A voice yelled her name. Pandora startled, shock causing her to turn around, almost snapping her neck. Regulus stood there, a gun in one hand and a knife in another. He looked disheveled, and Pandora couldn’t blame him. The house was hell to get through if you were an enemy. “Pandora, what are you doing?” Fear was creeping into Regulus’ voice.
It was too late. Pandora had been thrown off balance, and she tipped slowly over the edge. “Regulus,” the name escaped through her lips, loudly. “Dorcas. Evan. Barty.” Her friends’ names all tripped their way out. Tears pricked her eyes. One final name pushed past her lips. “Lily.” It was released with a soft breath. Her light. Her love.
She was falling.
The wind whipped around her. She was weightless. The faint figure of Regulus. She turned her attention to the sky. A sunset. It was beautiful. The orange, red and yellow streaks painted a beautiful picture, with hints of pink. She couldn’t see the sun. So she didn’t. She stared at the sky, lost in its beauty, before she closed her eyes.
The next day, the death of Pandora Lestrange was reported on the news.