Disclaimer: Severus Snape is the property of JK Rowling, and I'm in her
debt for creating such a wonderful, inspiring character. May he find a
long life within the pages of her books.
Love's sweet embrace wrapped
its languid hands around
the splendor of
joyous matrimony.
The young couple kissed, passion in
their gentle touch. Forever, to be one.
Their lips parted, their smiles
a proclamation to the world of their
mutual devotion. Together they took
their first steps into their future,
their new life, and their
simple destiny.
The young bride, her feet bare,
her dress golden and the flowers of the season
woven into her hair, threw petals to the crowd
but stopped --
her smile frozen into a look of
unspeakable horror.
Death stepped forth in the guise
of a woman, wrapped in a veil of
midnight black.
Her eyes glowed like the sunken pools
of decaying dreams spun only in nightmares
and woven with the delicate strands of human misery.
"I offer you my blessings for your happiness
on this glorious day," the guest said, her voice
devoid of emotion, of joy. In her pale hand,
she extended a flower,
a white rose,
a gift that was not freely taken.
"I feel your fear," said the guest, "but I beg you to
hear me,
to listen to the story of my sin,
my mistake, my eternal damnation.
"Then," her eyes cut to the bride,
"make your choice.
"I was like you, once. And how
I longed
to be something beyond the excuse
that was my mediocre existence.
I sought escape, adventure, love.
My own mundane
world offered me
nothing.
Dusk's dying embers brought him
to me, in a swirl of mystery
and darkness. At first glance I knew --
here was one who could make heaven
his dungeon and hell
his playground.
In his eyes I saw burning
embers of torturous solitude
and velvet, wanton desire.
In his face, I saw beauty in the
tormented, dignity in
the despised.
Others stepped back and turned
from him
when he approached.
"Leave him be, that one," they said.
"He cares for no one, knows not love.
His past is darkened.
With him, you'll suffer."
But I could not turn away.
In bold ambition, I went to him.
But his look was cold and rejection
was left in my hands. With arrogant disregard,
I went to him again. His response was soaked
in venom.
"Go. I will not have you."
In quiet humility and
blatant desperation, I came to him
once more, but this time as
sacrifice of new beginnings and
fresh temptations.
His response was wrapped
in curiosity, his lips into a snear.
"An offering? Of yourself?"
He took me to his most hidden
of places.
It was the chamber of his
toil, his work,
his despair.
My hand in his I entered his
world, knowing I could never
return the same.
His robes glided like silk
across the floor
as he lead me to my fate.
And with the Harvest Moon
as our witness, he gave himself
to me in one forbidden kiss.
I was born, I lived,
I died.
The sum of my existence spent
In the moments that followed.
I was broken to be re-born
as a servant of this man, this
wizard, this
Slytherin.
Cradling me in his arms
like a mother nursing
her newborn,
he lowered me to the cold floor.
"Non omnius moriar," he whispered, leaving me
living in body, but dead --and enslaved -- in spirit."
The couple stood in stunned, muted shame.
The guest, now silent, once again raised her flower,
an offering, of herself.
The sweet aroma and delicate petals
the color of purity and innocence
were too enticing to the bride. She
took it.
"Come away, she is mad,"
said the young groom as
he grasped the arm
of his mate.
But the innocence in her
was dying already.
They turned to walk to their future as husband
and wife, yet he failed to see
the withering flowers in her hair,
the decaying leaves floating
gently to her shoulders.
The rose she still clutched,
white no longer but darkened, with the frost
that is death.
Her hand then opened to
release not a flower but
a serpent that slid quickly
to the Earth below.
The bride turned back, her eyes
no longer tender and sweet, but
smoldering with a deadly
new desire.
She mouthed the words the two women knew –
"I am yours as well, Severus."
One more for the cause, and
Yet another soul, claimed.
Love's sweet embrace wrapped
its languid hands around
the splendor of
joyous matrimony.
The young couple kissed, passion in
their gentle touch. Forever, to be one.
Their lips parted, their smiles
a proclamation to the world of their
mutual devotion. Together they took
their first steps into their future,
their new life, and their
simple destiny.
The young bride, her feet bare,
her dress golden and the flowers of the season
woven into her hair, threw petals to the crowd
but stopped --
her smile frozen into a look of
unspeakable horror.
Death stepped forth in the guise
of a woman, wrapped in a veil of
midnight black.
Her eyes glowed like the sunken pools
of decaying dreams spun only in nightmares
and woven with the delicate strands of human misery.
"I offer you my blessings for your happiness
on this glorious day," the guest said, her voice
devoid of emotion, of joy. In her pale hand,
she extended a flower,
a white rose,
a gift that was not freely taken.
"I feel your fear," said the guest, "but I beg you to
hear me,
to listen to the story of my sin,
my mistake, my eternal damnation.
"Then," her eyes cut to the bride,
"make your choice.
"I was like you, once. And how
I longed
to be something beyond the excuse
that was my mediocre existence.
I sought escape, adventure, love.
My own mundane
world offered me
nothing.
Dusk's dying embers brought him
to me, in a swirl of mystery
and darkness. At first glance I knew --
here was one who could make heaven
his dungeon and hell
his playground.
In his eyes I saw burning
embers of torturous solitude
and velvet, wanton desire.
In his face, I saw beauty in the
tormented, dignity in
the despised.
Others stepped back and turned
from him
when he approached.
"Leave him be, that one," they said.
"He cares for no one, knows not love.
His past is darkened.
With him, you'll suffer."
But I could not turn away.
In bold ambition, I went to him.
But his look was cold and rejection
was left in my hands. With arrogant disregard,
I went to him again. His response was soaked
in venom.
"Go. I will not have you."
In quiet humility and
blatant desperation, I came to him
once more, but this time as
sacrifice of new beginnings and
fresh temptations.
His response was wrapped
in curiosity, his lips into a snear.
"An offering? Of yourself?"
He took me to his most hidden
of places.
It was the chamber of his
toil, his work,
his despair.
My hand in his I entered his
world, knowing I could never
return the same.
His robes glided like silk
across the floor
as he lead me to my fate.
And with the Harvest Moon
as our witness, he gave himself
to me in one forbidden kiss.
I was born, I lived,
I died.
The sum of my existence spent
In the moments that followed.
I was broken to be re-born
as a servant of this man, this
wizard, this
Slytherin.
Cradling me in his arms
like a mother nursing
her newborn,
he lowered me to the cold floor.
"Non omnius moriar," he whispered, leaving me
living in body, but dead --and enslaved -- in spirit."
The couple stood in stunned, muted shame.
The guest, now silent, once again raised her flower,
an offering, of herself.
The sweet aroma and delicate petals
the color of purity and innocence
were too enticing to the bride. She
took it.
"Come away, she is mad,"
said the young groom as
he grasped the arm
of his mate.
But the innocence in her
was dying already.
They turned to walk to their future as husband
and wife, yet he failed to see
the withering flowers in her hair,
the decaying leaves floating
gently to her shoulders.
The rose she still clutched,
white no longer but darkened, with the frost
that is death.
Her hand then opened to
release not a flower but
a serpent that slid quickly
to the Earth below.
The bride turned back, her eyes
no longer tender and sweet, but
smoldering with a deadly
new desire.
She mouthed the words the two women knew –
"I am yours as well, Severus."
One more for the cause, and
Yet another soul, claimed.