"𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝; 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐨𝐮𝐬."
"Haven't I given enough? Must I sacrifice myself upon the altar of man's p...
Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath; We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death. Laurel is green for a season, and love is sweet for a day; But love grows bitter with treason, and laurel outlives not May.
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In her dream, she becomes a knife.
She becomes the honed edge of every blade she has ever wielded, seeking the flesh of those who hurt her. In her dream, she tastes blood as it covers her, as it covers the blade, as she is the blade, as she merges with it, slicing through skin, flesh, relentlessly, as she hacks hacks hacks away at muscles and veins.
In her dream, she is iron and copper, steel and stone, swift and slender and she is cutting cutting cutting away. Ceaselessly.
In her dream, she transcends the role of butcher or prey; she is the knife that was thrust into her back, cleaving, carving, craving the phenomenon that resided within her desperate for liberation. She is the glinting steel that severs bonds and ties and rope that twines around hands and enfetters creatures.
In her dream, she has no eyes or ears, she hears nothing and sees only red only red only red in her dream of "Mad from life's history, glad to death's mystery, swift to be hurl'd— anywhere, anywhere, out of the world!" In her dream dream dream. Red of those she touches, red of those she holds red red red staining her teeth and tongue. She is marked in the essence of all who come near her, who hold her, who dare to want her, to love her.
In her dream, she hurts everyone she touches.
In her dream, she wishes to never wake up.
It's a cruel irony – that she can no longer tell if she's asleep or awake anymore.
◤━━━━━━━━━━━◥
The scene replays incessantly in his mind – the water sloshing around his feet, the flash of green light directed his way, Malfoy hunched over the sink – and then. . .red. Just red. For enemies etching itself onto every wall and surface he passed. Malfoy's face when the spell slashed through him. The echo of Malfoy's anguished moan. Malfoy's chest torn open, blood seeping out, a stark contrast against his otherwise pale features. Malfoy on the ground, dying.
