A Little Bit Creative
There was nothing there
but a mist so opaque
it had penetrated all life.
And she was now,
nothing more than a breathing
shell, an imitation of something
that was.
But her eyes still showed hints of fire.
And life, she would clutch it by its throat,
throw reigns on it as though it was a horse.
For she was still Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black.
Azkaban might have made her somewhat insane,
but she couldn't complain, for it had amplified her cravings,
and had maybe even made her a... little bit creative.