Elysium: Desired by the Cold-hearted Princess [GL]
Chapter 194 194: Reset

Electra's POV

I followed Irina out of the auditorium, trailing behind her as she stormed down the hallway, her fists clenched and her jaw tight. I didn't have anywhere else to go, and what else could I do?

I was a ghost wandering the halls of my own school, completely invisible and unheard. At least with Irina, I felt a small connection to something real, even if she didn't know I was here.

She was walking pretty fast, her anger practically radiating off her. I'd known Irina for years, and I could count on one hand the number of times I'd seen her this furious since she wasn't the type to show her emotions fully. She didn't stop until she reached the bathroom at the far end of the hall.

As soon as she walked in, her voice rang out, loud and commanding. "Get out. All of you. Now."

A group of girls who had been fixing their hair and makeup froze mid-motion, their eyes wide as they turned to face her. For a moment, they hesitated, but one look at Irina's expression—her squinted eyes and clenched jaw—was enough to send them scrambling.

Without another word, they grabbed their belongings and practically ran out the door.

Irina didn't even wait for them to leave completely before she began checking the stalls, pushing open each door to make sure the bathroom was empty. Satisfied that she was alone, she let out a long, shaky breath and walked over to the sinks, gripping the edge of the counter tightly.

I stood near the doorway, watching her with a mix of curiosity and concern. Something about the way she moved felt different—tense, broken, like she was holding herself together with sheer force of will.

Then, without warning, she broke.

Her shoulders began to shake, and a muffled sob escaped her lips. She pressed a hand to her mouth, as though trying to stifle the sound, but it didn't work. The tears came anyway, spilling over her cheeks as she leaned forward, her grip on the counter tightening.

"Why did you have to die?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why, Electra? Why did you leave me?"

My heart clenched painfully in my chest as I watched her crumble. I'd known Irina for years, and not once have I seen her cry. She didn't let people see her weak, but here she was, sobbing uncontrollably, and it shattered something inside me.

She kept crying, the sound unrestrained, and it tore at me in ways I couldn't describe. I wanted to reach out to her, to put a hand on her shoulder, to tell her that I wasn't gone and that I was right here.

"Irina," I said softly, stepping closer. "I'm here. I didn't leave you. I'm not dead."

But she didn't hear me. She didn't even flinch. She just kept crying, her tears falling as she whispered the same words over and over. "Why did you have to die? Why?"

Tears welled up in my own eyes as I watched her. "I didn't," I said, my voice breaking. "I'm still here, Irina. Please, look at me. Listen to me."

But my words were useless, lost in the void. I might as well have been shouting into a hurricane for all the good it did. She couldn't see me. She couldn't hear me, and it was killing me.

She cried for what felt like forever, her sobs echoing in the empty bathroom. Every tear she shed felt like a knife to my chest, a painful reminder of how much I had meant to her and how much she believed she had lost.

"I don't want to leave," I whispered, my own tears falling freely now. "I don't want this to happen. I don't know what's going on, but I swear, I'm still here. I'm right here."

Still, no response. She was locked in her grief, and I was powerless to reach her.

Eventually, her sobs began to quiet down, though her shoulders still trembled. She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her jacket, her breathing uneven as she tried to pull herself together, but even as she straightened up, her reflection in the mirror betrayed her—red, puffy eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and a brokenness that no amount of composure could hide.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I should've been there for you. I should've known something was wrong."

I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me. "No, Irina. You were always there for me. Always. I'm sure it wasn't your fault."

She let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the counter so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "You didn't deserve to die," she murmured. "No matter what anyone says, you didn't deserve to die, and I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you."

After a while, Irina seemed to pull herself together. She straightened up, wiped her face with her jacket sleeve, and leaned over the sink to splash cold water on her face.

"You've got to stop," she muttered to herself, her voice hoarse from crying. "You've got to hold it together. For Roxie, Deena, and Pen."

She looked up at her reflection, her eyes still red and swollen despite her efforts to mask it. With shaky hands, she fixed her hair, smoothing it into place and dabbing at her cheeks to dry them. Finally, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and left the bathroom.

I followed her, having nothing else to do and no one else to turn to.

She made her way to the dorms and stopped in front of a familiar door. It was her room, the one she shared with Roxana.

Irina pushed the door open, and the sight that greeted us was Roxana lying on her bed, completely hidden under the covers, while Penelope sat beside her, trying to coax her out.

"Roxie, come on," Penelope was saying softly. "You have to stop crying. You're going to make yourself sick."

But Roxana didn't respond. She stayed curled up under the sheets, silent except for the faint sound of her breathing.

Irina didn't hesitate. She walked across the room, yanking the covers off Roxana in one swift motion. "Enough," she said firmly. "You can't keep doing this to yourself."

For a moment, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Roxana looked terrible—her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, her nose was red and runny, and her cheeks were streaked with dried tears. It was obvious she had been crying nonstop for days.

"Oh, Roxie," I whispered, even though I knew she couldn't hear me. "I'm so sorry."

Roxana sniffled, blinking up at Irina with glassy eyes. "What do you want me to do, Irina?" she said quietly, her voice barely audible. "She's gone. Electra's gone. How am I supposed to act like everything's fine?"

Irina's jaw tightened, and she knelt beside the bed, her expression softening. "I know," she said gently. "I know it hurts, but you can't continue like this. You have to take care of yourself."

Penelope, still seated on the edge of the bed, looked at Irina nervously. "She hasn't eaten since yesterday," she said softly, holding up a tray of food that had been untouched. "She won't even drink water."

Irina's gaze hardened. "Hand me the food," she said, holding out her hand.

Penelope hesitated for a moment before passing the tray to her. Irina placed it on the bed, then reached out and grabbed Roxana's arm. "Sit up," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Roxana shook her head weakly. "I don't want to—"

"I don't care what you want," Irina interrupted. "You're sitting up, and you're eating. Now."

With a not-so-surprising strength, Irina pulled Roxana into a sitting position. Roxana let out a soft whimper but didn't resist, her body too weak to fight back. Irina propped her up against the headboard, then picked up the spoon and scooped a small amount of soup.

"Open your mouth," she said firmly.

Roxana stared at her, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. "I can't," she whispered.

"You can," Irina shot back, her voice softening slightly. "And you will. Don't make me force-feed you, Roxana. Just eat, okay? One bite. That's all I'm asking."

After a long moment of hesitation, Roxana finally opened her mouth, allowing Irina to feed her the spoonful of soup.

I stood there, watching silently, tears streaming down my own face. This was my fault. Roxana was hurting because of me. Irina was pushing herself to the limit because of me. They were falling apart, and there was nothing I could do to help them.

"I'm so sorry, girls," I whispered again, my voice cracking. "I really am."

Just when Irina was about to feed Roxana again, she suddenly burst into loud, heart-wrenching sobs, shoving the spoon away. The bowl wobbled, but Irina caught it before it could spill.

"I can't!" Roxana wailed, burying her face in her hands. "I just can't, Irina! Every time I close my eyes, I see her. I see her skin—" Her voice cracked, and she took in a shuddering breath before continuing. "I just see her skin burning. I can't stop seeing it!"

I froze, my mind racing. Burning? My skin? What was she talking about?

"Roxana, stop," Penelope hissed, her eyes darting toward the door as if someone might overhear. She leaned closer to Roxana, lowering her voice. "You can't say stuff like that. Nobody's supposed to know what really happened, remember?"

Roxana looked up at Penelope with tear-streaked cheeks. "Why not?" she demanded. "Why are we lying? Everyone should know! It's not fair that her family is making us cover this up."

Penelope flinched, glancing at Irina, who was now staring at Roxana with a dark, unreadable expression. "Roxie, please," Penelope said, her voice almost pleading. "This isn't about what's fair. This is about protecting—"

"Protecting what?" Roxana snapped, cutting her off. "Protecting their reputation? Electra didn't deserve this! She didn't deserve to have her death covered up like this when they should be trying to find out what really happened to her!"

I stared at Roxana, my mind spinning as I tried to make sense of what she was saying.

What was she talking about? Burning skin? A cover-up? What really happened to me?

"Roxie," Irina said quietly. "Don't talk about this. Not here, and not now."

"But Irina—" Roxana began, her voice breaking.

"Not now," Irina repeated firmly, cutting her off. "We'll figure it out later, okay?"

Roxana sniffled, nodding weakly as she wiped at her face. Penelope looked like she wanted to say something, but she stayed quiet, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

I felt like I was drowning in confusion, my thoughts racing as I tried to piece together what I had just heard. What do they mean, "What really happened"?

Before I could dwell on it further, a strange feeling hit me, and then I heard it—a voice, whispering a single word: "Reset."

I froze, my entire body tense as I looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. "Who said that?" I demanded, but there was no response.

And then, just as suddenly, I heard the snap of fingers.

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