Chapter 8 : “The Interview”

*Roanne’s POV*

The world was a smudge of grey when I peeled my eyes open, the predawn light barely scraping through the blinds. Sleep had been an elusive predator, circling me with silent steps, always just out of reach. I lay there in the half-light, a tangle of sheets and heavy limbs.

Gingerly, I reached up to feel the tender spots on my neck, wincing at the contact. My fingers traced the dark blooms of bruises, a cruel garden Sebastian had planted with possessive hands. A sigh escaped me as I turned to face my reflection in the mirror, confronting the canvas of my pain. The girl who stared back was a stranger — pale, her blond locks in dishevelment, her green eyes clouded with unshed tears.

‘Cover it up, Roanne,’ I whispered to myself, reaching for the silk scarf hanging over the chair. Its softness was a lie as it grazed my skin, hiding the marks with a careful drape. I chose a light jacket next, one that clung to my form without pressing too close to the bruises on my arm. The fabric was a shield, but it couldn't guard against the memories that clung to me like a second skin.

A knock on the door shattered the silence, sending a jolt through me. Lizzie's voice followed, gentle but laced with concern. "Roanne? You ready?"

"Almost." My answer was a pale imitation of normalcy, my voice hollow as I secured the last defences against prying eyes.

Lizzie entered, her gaze sweeping over me with the precision of a hawk. She missed nothing, her eyes lingering on the scarf, reading the hidden script beneath. "Hey," she said softly, "how are you holding up?"

"Been better," I admitted, forcing a curve to my lips that felt more like a grimace. "But I'm here, aren't I?"

She stepped closer, her presence a solid thing in the room's uncertainty. "You don't have to do this alone, Ro. We're going to make them pay, remember?"

Her words were a promise wrapped in steel. I nodded, drawing strength from her conviction. "I remember," I said, and the tremble in my voice was not from fear, but from the fire that began to kindle within.

"Good," she replied, her hand finding mine, squeezing tight enough to chase away the ghosts of other touches. "Let's go show them exactly who they're messing with."

I felt the hush of the deserted corridor pressed against my skin. My heart beat out an erratic rhythm. ‘Justice,’ I thought, repeating it like a mantra, the word a sharp blade in my mind, ready to cut through the darkness. Today, we would take the first step. Today, the scales would begin to tip.

"Almost there," Lizzie murmured, her voice threading through the stillness like the flicker of a candle in the dark. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and secrets; every inch we travelled felt like a descent into a world where the rules I knew no longer applied.

As we reached a heavy oak door, she paused and cast a glance over her shoulder—her eyes holding a gravity that tethered me to the moment. "Ready?" she asked, though it sounded more like a confirmation than a question.

"Let's do this," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

She pushed open the door, and we stepped into a space that was less a room and more a sanctuary of shadows and whispers. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, laden with tomes that had seen centuries pass—a testament to knowledge and power. My gaze drifted across the volumes, wondering what tales of vengeance they might tell if their spines could speak.

Then I saw her.

Violet Flanagan stood by a large mahogany desk, the light from a stained-glass window casting azure and crimson hues upon her form. She was the embodiment of controlled chaos, her hair a spill of midnight silk, her posture that of a queen—or a dictator—one who knew the impact of her presence.

"Roanne, this is Violet," Lizzie said, her words slicing through my trance.

"Violet," I echoed, forcing my feet to move forward. As I approached, I couldn't help but feel as if I were being drawn into her orbit—a lunar pull that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"Roanne Mailen," Violet's voice was rich, a melodic tone that belied the sharp intelligence in her eyes. "I've heard much about you."

"Hopefully, only the good parts," I tried for levity, but the attempt fell flat even to my own ears.

"Everything is useful," she replied, a cryptic smile playing on her lips. Her gaze scanned me, lingering on the scarf at my neck. The bruises beneath screamed silently for justice—the same justice that pulsed in the very air of this clandestine library.

"Welcome to the beginning of your reclamation," Violet continued, and I felt the weight of her words settle into my bones. This was more than an initiation; it was an induction into a world where the lines between victim and avenger blurred.

My mind raced with the possibilities, the paths that lay shrouded in darkness and desire. "Thank you," I found myself saying, the words feeling both inadequate and momentous. "I'm ready."

"Good," Violet's approval was a flicker in her eyes, a subtle shift in the air. "Because once we begin, there's no turning back."

I nodded, my resolve hardening like steel tempered in fire. This was my crucible, and from its flames, I would emerge transformed.

"Roanne is determined to reclaim her life, to right the wrongs that have been done to her," Lizzie continued, her fingers squeezing once before letting go. It felt like the snap of a tether, leaving me adrift in Violet's oceanic presence.

"Tell me, Roanne," Violet began, folding her hands together with the deliberateness of a chess player contemplating a crucial move. "What shadows lurk in your past? What drives the hunger for justice within you?"

My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a drumroll of fate. "There's darkness," I started, voice barely above a whisper, "that clings to me like a second skin. It's thick with the stench of betrayal." I paused, swallowing the fear that threatened to choke my words. "I want… no, I need to strip it away. To stand in the light again."

"Your present," she prodded gently, yet each syllable thrummed with unspoken demand.

"Is a battlefield," I confessed, feeling the bruises beneath my clothes like medals of an unwanted valour. "Every day, I fight to maintain control—to not let the times he stole my peace define me."

"And the future?" Violet leaned forward, her interest sharpening into a point that seemed to puncture the veil between us.

"Will be different," I said, conviction rising from the ashes of my turmoil. "I see a horizon where the sun isn't tainted by his shadow. Where I am the arbiter of my destiny, not a victim of his whims."

"Justice," she mused, the word a caress and a dagger all at once. "It can be a flame that cleanses or an inferno that consumes. Are you prepared to wield its fire, Roanne?"

"I am," I affirmed, my resolve crystallising. The dance of candlelight on Violet's face cast her expression in a flickering tableau of intrigue and promise. Her approval wasn't given; it was earned, and I intended to prove myself worthy.

"Fire can also illuminate," I added, allowing a sliver of my hidden tenacity to show. "And I intend to shine its light on every dark corner he's lurking in."

"Indeed," Violet's lips curved into a smile that held secrets. "We shall see if you can harness the blaze without getting burned."

Lizzie watched silently, her pride in me a tangible thing, and I realised that this was more than an interview—it was a ritual, a passage through the gates of vengeance and retribution that Violet guarded with enigmatic grace.

"Consider your deepest desire for justice," Violet's voice was a silken thread weaving through the tension in the room. "Tell me how far you're willing to go, Roanne."

I felt her gaze like the touch of a sculptor on clay—moulding, assessing. The weight of my past, the bruises that marred my skin beneath the silk and cotton, they were the clay she spoke to.

"Sebastian thinks he owns people, that he can shape them and break them at will," I began, my fingers pressing into my palms until crescents formed. "I want him to understand what it feels like to be powerless, to be at the mercy of someone else's design."

"Revenge is an art, not a blunt instrument," Violet observed, her eyes narrowing with an academic curiosity. "It requires finesse. Precision. Can you be our artist, Roanne?"

"I can," I asserted, my heart thrumming with the promise of retribution. "And I will paint his world in strokes of fear and regret."

"Passion is good," she acknowledged, her head tilting slightly. "But passion unbridled can lead to recklessness. Have you considered the price of this path?"

"Every night," I whispered, "when sleep eludes me, and all I have are the shadows of what he did... Yes, I've counted the cost. And I am ready to pay it."

"Interesting," Violet mused, her lips parting in a predatory grin. "You speak of sacrifice as if it were currency. Tell me, Roanne, do you see yourself as a martyr or a warrior?"

"Neither," I countered, finding strength in the clarity of my vision. "I'm an avenger. A bringer of balance. He took something from me; I will take his sense of security."

"Balance," she repeated thoughtfully, as if tasting the word. "That's a delicate thing to achieve. Do you believe you possess the necessary equilibrium?"

"Balance isn't found," I stated, feeling the swell of my conviction. "It's created. By those bold enough to tip the scales."

Violet leaned back, her gaze lingering on me for a moment that stretched into eternity. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"Your answers intrigue me, Roanne. You have the makings of a worthy member. Your determination is clear, your intent sharp."

"Thank you," I said, the words barely more than a breath. Yet they carried the weight of my world, the gravity of my newfound purpose.

The library's silence was a tactile presence, wrapping around me like the silk scarf concealing my bruises. Violet stood by a towering bookshelf, her silhouette etched against the dim light filtering through stained glass windows.

"Tomorrow night," she began, her voice a melody of dark promise, "you will join us here at the stroke of midnight. We convene under the veil of secrecy, where the world outside ceases to exist."

I nodded, swallowing hard against the knot of anticipation and fear lodged in my throat. The air seemed to thicken, charged with the electricity of the unknown.

"Others like you will be present," she continued, her gaze piercing through me. "You will not be alone in your quest for retribution."

"Others?" My voice betrayed a flicker of vulnerability, which I quickly smothered beneath a steely veneer. "What should I expect from this... task?"

"Expect nothing." Her lips curled into a cryptic smile. "And be prepared for everything."

My pulse thrummed in my ears, a rhythm set to the tempo of danger. There was no turning back now. This was the crucible that would either forge me anew or consume me entirely.

"Your first task will be assigned then," Violet said, moving closer, her presence suffocatingly intimate. "It will test your resolve, your cunning… and your sensuality."

A shiver traced its way down my spine, igniting embers of both dread and desire. Sensuality—Sebastian had once been my masterclass in its practice, but now it would be my weapon.

"Am I to seduce someone?" The question spilled out, raw and edged with the jagged remnants of my past entanglements.

"Perhaps," Violet whispered, close enough that I could feel her breath on my skin. "But remember, Roanne, in our game, seduction is not just about pleasure. It's a means to an end—a dance of power and control."

As she retreated, the distance between us felt like a chasm widening, leaving me stranded on the precipice of change. "Until tomorrow, Roanne," she said, her words laced with secrets yet to be told. "Prepare well. The night will unveil what truly lies within you."

Her footsteps echoed, a receding tide leaving me stranded on the shore of my own trepidation. I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding.

Excitement warred with nervousness inside me, a tempestuous storm threatening to tear me apart. Yet beneath it all simmered a fiery core of determination. I would do whatever it took to claim justice—to reclaim my power.

"Midnight," I murmured to Lizzie, who stood next to me with a wide smile, tasting the word like a sacred vow. Sebastian's face flashed in my mind, a spectre of the past I was ready to confront.

With every step I took away from the library, from Violet's enigmatic presence, I shed a layer of the old Roanne. Tomorrow, I would walk back through those doors and my journey of redemption would truly begin.