The Puzzling Nature of the Cross
The incarceration of Sirius Black in Azkaban and all the blanks yet to fill. M for violent/grotesque imagery.
First
When Sirius Black looks closely, he can still see the shadows of the welts that once circled his wrists.
But he doesn't actually see them, he supposes. His skin is too filthy to make out any sort of mark anymore—his other blemishes have all long since disappeared under a layer of grime.
But he knows that he still sees them if he only looks hard enough.
There are times when he can still feel his hands shaking like they did on that day. He can still feel the rawness of his throat from screaming himself hoarse. He can still feel the sting of the shackles themselves, the shackles that had rubbed up against his skin and left self-imagined scars.
The sting will worsen if he lets himself dwell on the memory, so he tries not to dwell.
The problem is, there isn't much else to do in a place like this.
More parts to come, all are relatively short. :)
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