The Devil's Game 1

Contact As Promised

“Five minutes,” Eleanor said with a faint sigh, shaking her head as she glanced at the closed door. “Lisbeth hasn’t changed, has she? Always in control, always the gatekeeper.”

Ayra snorted, bitterness lacing her voice. “Control seems to be her motto, isn’t it?”

Eleanor gave her a small, wry smile and walked toward the bed where Ayra sat. She perched lightly on the edge, smoothing out her skirt.

Her perfume was subtle, a blend of lavender and cedarwood that reminded Ayra of gentler times. Times when her mother was still alive.

“You look pale, darling,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “Lisbeth’s words have a way of doing that to people, don’t they?”

Ayra let out a bitter laugh, sitting back down on the edge of her bed. “It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

Unstated was the fact that it still stung, and her visit had both demoralised Ayra and left her emotionally vulnerable.

Eleanor sighed. The bed dipped slightly under her weight, and she reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from Ayra’s face.

“That doesn’t make it right,” she murmured. “Lisbeth has always been... difficult, and she crosses the line sometimes.”

Ayra looked away, fighting back the tears and unwilling to admit that Lisbeth's animosity had hit where it hurt.

Sure, Lisbeth had always been intolerant of her existence, but she had never been this blatant... this overt and hostile.

“I heard what happened,” Eleanor said softly, folding her hands in her lap. “I came as soon as I could. Ayra, I am so sorry.”

The simple, sincere apology cut through Ayra’s defenses. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to keep her composure.

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do this to me. Or do you have a hand in it too?”

“No, but I should have stepped in sooner,” Eleanor replied, her voice overflowing with regret.

“I should have realised it when they started planning this arrangement. I didn’t know... I didn’t realize how far it had gone.”

Ayra let out a hollow laugh. “You just stood by and watched.”

“That’s not fair,” Eleanor said gently, but firmly.

“You know I’ve always tried to help where I could. But there are limits, Ayra, always. Even for me.”

“Limits,” Ayra muttered, staring down at her hands.

“That’s all anyone ever talks about. Limits and choices and sacrifices. As if I didn’t lose my choices the moment they decided I wasn’t worth anything else.”

Eleanor reached out and placed a hand on Ayra’s knee, her touch light but grounding. “You’re worth more than this. Don’t let them make you believe otherwise.”

Ayra looked up at her aunt, searching her face for any sign of falsehood. But Eleanor’s eyes, a soft hazel that glimmered, held nothing but sincerity. Something... seemed off but Ayra couldn't quite place it.

At least she knew Eleanor was sincere. That was enough.

“They’ve taken everything,” Ayra whispered, her voice cracking.

“My freedom, my future... How am I supposed to believe I’m able to live when they’ve turned me into a bargaining chip?”

“Because you’re more than what they see,” Eleanor said, her voice steady.

“And because you still have something they can’t take away: your will. It’s what makes you different from them, Ayra. You can still fight.”

Ayra blinked rapidly, trying to stem the tears threatening to fall. She bit her lip and nodded, just once.

Eleanor leaned closer, lowering her voice to a near-whisper. “Listen to me. I don’t agree with what’s happening, and if—” She glanced at the door, her words trailing off.

When she looked back at Ayra, her expression had hardened with quiet resolve. “If it comes to it, I’ll help you. I’ll get you out of this. To run.”

Ayra’s breath hitched. She stared at her aunt, searching her face for confirmation. “You’d... you’d really help me?”

Eleanor’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “I’m not entirely useless, you know. I’ve made my share of connections over the years. And I can be very resourceful when I need to be.”

“Why would you risk it?” Ayra asked, her voice barely audible.

“Because you’re my niece. And because no one else in this family seems to understand that you deserve better.”

Before Ayra could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. Eleanor straightened, her face slipping back into its composed mask.

“Time’s up, it seems,” she said softly, rising to her feet.

"I heard you have already tried to flee. If you think you're up for another try, I would have someone contact you soon. You just need to respond positively and follow her instructions."

Ayra grabbed her hand, holding it tightly for a brief moment. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Eleanor gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before pulling away. “Stay strong, Ayra. And remember - you’re not alone.”

As the door opened, Lisbeth appeared, her smirk firmly in place. “I hope you used your time wisely,” she said, her tone dripping with mockery and barely concealed hostility. "Though I doubt it."

Eleanor did not bother to give her a response. She cast one last glance at Ayra, her gaze filled with encouragement, before stepping past Lisbeth and disappearing down the hall.

Lisbeth stood at the doorway, arms crossed, watching her as she left. When Eleanor rounded the corner, she turned to Ayra and scrutinized her thoroughly. Ayra gave her a bland stare back.

Lisbeth scoffed and slammed the door shut as she left, rattling the window panes. Behind the door and out of Ayra's sight, she sighed, her shoulders dropping as she leaned against the wall.

Seconds later she roused herself, patted her cheeks, and muttered: "You have work to do, work to do. Don't worry about the little chipmunk. Not now."

With one last lingering look at the door, she strode down the corridor, her heels clicking against the floor sharply.

"Seriously, f**k aunt Eleanor," she muttered under her breath. "I think father trusts her far too much.”