—Next chapter coming when we get; 100 votes, 150 comments!
TW; mentions of rape, character distress, abuse, death

  IN TONIGHT'S NIGHTMARE, Seven watched the chariot rattle down the cobbled streets of Sloth once more, —watched the mangled corpse dragged before her eyes all over again.
  Only this time she couldn't move, —couldn't speak, relegated only to stand and stare as the red-haired girl broke free once more, trying to free the body and the Crawlers descended upon her.

  Most nights Seven heard the mother's scream in her dreams; a shrill, guttural sound of something far beyond grief as her daughter was violated before her eyes.

  They beat her black, they beat her violet, they beat her blue, —until she was hardly recognisable, laughing and jeering all the while. They broke her bones and tore her clothes from her body. They didn't use magic, they didn't need to, somehow this was far more cruel.

  Then they held her down and raped her in the street in front of her mother, taking turns in taking what little she had left.
  —And then when they were done they fastened a noose around her neck and strung her up alongside her lover.

  She was still breathing when they set off and for a brief moment her eyes met Seven's; cold, hollow and milky white.

  Seven sat up in bed with a jolt, her skin slick with sweat, fumbling blindly for her wand.

  "Lumos!"

  —But the light did nothing to fade her fear, casting wicked shadows up the walls of her hotel room, shaped like gnarled hands and dog teeth and a thousand portraits of agony.

  Everywhere she looked she saw her eyes, in every moonlit glint of light, or glance of white peaking from the pearls tucked neatly behind the mirror on the dresser.

  Even now, in the relative silence she heard the screams, always echoing at the back of her mind like a broken record.

  She forced herself from her haven of silk and fine linen, fastening her robe around her waist and heading to where she knew she would find solace.

  She dug deep into her enchanted purse, and it took a minute, but eventually she found it, pulling out the bottle of Fire Whiskey the barman had given her and grabbing the glass from her desk; it was used, the inside still sticky with the remains of last night's poison, but she didn't care. She was just desperate for something to dull the pain.

  She tossed back glass after glass, until three-quarters full became one and the world seemed a little less wicked.

The clock showed it was nearing eight, the last light fading from the Lust District with the setting of the sun and she knew that soon the people of Lust would begin to rise. That also meant that in a few hours Draco would show at her door, just as he had every day this week, so that they could plan their impossible feat.

Only this morning wasn't quite as monotonous as the rest, for today they would begin their travel. Only ten days remained until Gluttony would arrive in Greed, and until they managed to track down Echo, they had no hope of ever finding her alone. If it came to the day of the meeting, when the rest of the Sins had arrived, then it was already too late. They needed to catch her alone or not at all, and only Echo could tell them exactly where to find her.

She knew she should start to pack, but she couldn't bring herself to, not yet at least. So instead she grabbed her bottle in one hand and headed to the balcony.

The sun had just began it's final song between the tall buildings of Lust, casting the sky a beautiful array of pinks and purples as the last cadence dawned. The scene reminded Seven somewhat of a dream she'd had once; sat alone atop roof of a fine mansion, far finer than she herself could ever hope to own, simply watching the sun rise and fall, over and over and over again. In the dream she stayed there for what felt like days, months, —years even, watching the change of seasons as the light died and was reborn one thousand times.

That one was her favourite dream, it made her feel calm, warm; safe. She revelled in the feel of the sunlight on her aching bones, she'd spent so long in Lust, where everyone slept during the day and woke at dark, that she had almost forgotten what sunlight felt like.

As she sat on the balcony she craned her head back, trying to soak up the last few fleeting rays before the sun disappeared behind bleak, grey, skyscrapers.

She took another swig from her bottle; letting the liquor quell her angst about the coming day. At the start, Seven had found liquor as a way to drown her demons, —they scared her mostly because she felt they weren't hers to haunt, instead the remnants of a past life long forgotten, like snippets of memories she could never quite decipher.
  —But as time passed, she grew older, wiser, and as did they. Her demons learned how to swim, until no amount of whiskey could drown them out. They were always with her now, in her nightmares, in her waking, —in every shaking breath she took.

  She told herself that to overcome them she must become strong, fearless; feared.

Seven had never wanted to be anything other than feared. She didn't want to be a goddess or deity; a thing of beauty and fleeting admiration.
She wanted to be God himself, terror incarnate, the embodiment of divine destruction.

  With the death of the Sins she hoped she could be just that; feared instead of afeared.

  A knock at the door caused her to jump and the bottle to slip from between her fingers, shattering irreparably across the tiles. She knelt and tried her best to scrape up the pieces, only to his when a rogue sharp pierced her palm. The world wasn't nearly as stationary as it had been when she'd sat down, so she swayed a little upon standing, clutching her hand on route to the sink when three more knocks sounded. "I'm coming hang on!"

  Seven cursed as the water met the wound and threw the final shards into the bin. He knocked again; louder this time, and when Seven finally stumbled to the door her foot caught on the corner of the telephone table and she fell to the floor in a heap.

  "Seven!" The shout pierced the door, "Open the door right now! —What the fuck's going on in there!"

  —But no sooner could she make it to her feet before the door flew open with a bang. Draco looked furious; though the only thing Seven found herself able to think in that moment was how strange it was to see him in this way. She had never seen him be anything other than cold, stoic, austere. She had never even seen him from this angle before, —him towering down upon her like some sort of monstrous storm cloud.

"You're drunk." He said blankly, —face quickly falling back into that all too familiar mask as he stared down at her in disgust.

Seven tried to pry herself from the floor, only to fall back down again. Her limbs felt heavy, far heavier than they had an hour ago. "—And you're early."

Draco sneered, "You never specified a time."

"—You're still early!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you," He snarled down at her, "Today of all days... —I didn't know you were a drunk!"

Seven didn't like this nasty side of him, she much preferred him witty and impartial. "Now, that's because you don't really know me at all, do you Draco?" She slurred.

His jaw ticked, "Get up." And he grabbed her roughly by the collar, dragging her to her feet. "—God you're pathetic."

  She swayed in her feet for a moment, standing up was so much harder than laying, she thought, and clutched the sideboard for support.

  Draco flashed her a wicked glare, one that would make the devil himself cower before him in fear. "Pack your bags. Now."

  Only Seven wasn't afraid, not of him at least. It took her a few attempts to grab her purse, fastening it around her waist alongside the dagger at her hip.

  "Where's your passport?" He hissed, as Seven began throwing everything she had into the enchanted purse.

  "—On the dresser."

  After the war, as well as dividing the districts, the Dark Lord made it mandatory for all Wizarding persons to carry a passport, containing their blood-status, name, age, height, district and just about every other little detail about them. Seven had never really seen the point in them, they were only ever needed when crossing the borders and it wasn't exactly like there were any muggle-borns left for them to find. They'd made sure of that much after the war...

  "Asel Sadem?" He asked, and Seven looked up to find him reading through the small, leather-bound book.

  She nodded; that was the name of her alias. Of course not even Seven herself knew her real name or blood-status, so right at the start, after the war, she'd bought a counterfeit passport from the black markets in Sloth.

  "So how are we going to do this?" Her head still felt light with Fire Whiskey, but at the edges it was starting to dull; sense peaking through the sanity.

  "It doesn't matter." He said darkly, "Just trust me."

  Seven scoffed, "So what are you? Some sort of smuggler or something?"

  He didn't look up, "Or something."

***
QOTD- Who do you think the Sins are? -TFOA