♟️nineteen | Tristan

♟️Moth to a Flame by Swedish House Mafia ft. The Weeknd

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Aella Wells Diamantini is a sin created by the very hands of the fallen angel Lucifer to torment my life, and the worse of all sins. I knew that from the very moment my eyes first landed on her, and all I met in those dark emerald eyes was anger and defiance, before I had even known who she was. And when I did learn who she bloody was, I knew that the mission of her very existence was to clash against mine.

When I first met her, it was on a international winter teen competition that happened in New York City, on December 10th of 2021, the first one post COVID-19, when I was 16 and she was 15 years old, in which I was participating together with the hockey team of my private school in England, after we passed through the nationals and classified to the international competition that gathered teens of all over the world. My father, Damien, had travelled to Malta with my step-mother, Juliette Wells, who he had married back when I was 10, and who's been an amazing mother to me ever since.

She, on the other hand, was competing as a figure skater, a gold medalist who had even been part of the Olympics, and had been taking all the competitions she had taken part on since she was 6 years old, by a storm. I had never seen or heard about her before, since I had never been a follower of figure skaters, but the coach made us watch all of the competitions that took place. However, most of my teammates knew who she was.

Aella Diamantini, the "Diamond of the Ice", she looked different from all of the other competitors, the second she skated into the ice with the majesty of a swan, her fiery red hair half loose in a way it would float to her face, and in a navy blue attire on her white metallic blue skates with white silk lace, all the oxygen in the entire arena was sucked by her, and everyone watched her as if enchanted by a siren. She owned the ice, her emotions were contained and nearly frozen like the atmosphere she was in, there was no smile on her full round lips, she looked... lethal like the sharp blades of her skates.

When she was done, all the little emotions she showed were drained from her face and she looked determined, deadly, heartless as she bowed to the judges in respect, like a Princess would a King. But when her eyes skated up, they stopped on me, as if she knew I was there, and her eyes darkened in the rawest form of hatred I had ever seen in my entire life, she glared at me as if she thought my very existence was a plague. As soon as the anger bloomed, it vanished as she stared at the judges again, as they evaluated her stellar performance.

As she was leaving the ice, her eyes met mine again and she scowled in disgust, before getting off and going to a tall men with wavy fiery red hair and two kids, and though the men didn't hug her, the kids did, and only then, did she seemed to soften and smile. Her smile was playful, full of mischief, and just knew, in that right bloody moment, that if the bane of my existence were to exist somewhere in the world, it would have been her. That she meant destruction, and to a destructive person, that felt dangerous.

I didn't understand why she had glared at me with such hatred, and that stayed with me, it rang on my mind for the eight days we were in New York for. My teammates asked me if I had met her, if I had done something, because it was bloody damn obvious she had glared at me and had some imaginary beef with me. But it made no bloody fucking sense at all.

A part of me hoped not to meet her again, because she felt dangerous to my very soul, letal, in a terrifying way that made me ravenous, but another wanted to hunt her down and make her tell what the hell her deal was to be glaring at me so defiantly for. And as fate seemed to be working for my bad side to take over, when me and five of my teammates were on the lounge of the hotel, we met her with the men and the two kids. She looked different then, she was in a black long sleeved dress with knee-high heeled black boots, her hair was entire loose, and she looked... breakable, smaller.

They insisted in bumping into her, to ask about her competition, since she, again, had gained a gold medal, and she seemed extremely hostile. Especially when she fully glared at me, from up close, close enough for me to see how she had gold freckles in her dark emerald eyes with a hint of turquoise in the surrounding outer edges of her irises, and when I glared back, annoyed, she dared to raise her eyebrows at me. "What the hell are you glaring at me for, De Vere Beauclerk?" She hissed and I frowned, confused with how she knew my damn name.

"Ella, don't be so rude," the guy exclaimed, in a reprimanding tone that made her tense and clench her jaw.

"I am not being rude, father," she muttered, confirming my suspicious of what he was to her, "this is me being as kind as I could possibly fucking be to this,"

"Language, Aella," he censured her. "I've warned you not to curse in front of your baby siblings, didn't I?"

She took a longer time to answer, jaw clenched so tight I thought she was going to shatter her own teeth, "Sorry, father," she swallowed, breaking the eye contact with me and turning her the couple of kids, both with golden blonde hair instead, which made me think they looked more like their mother. "I don't want to catch you cursing, understood?" This time her tone was softer.

"Yes, sister," they both said, but side-eyed me, looking indecisive into being angry like her or curious about me, which bugged me even more.