Disclaimer: I own nothing
AN: contains themes of self-harm and hints of abuse. Not for the light hearted.
Perfect
The weight of her sorrows and worries pressed down on her like the merciless squeeze of a breaking heart - her mind twisted and warped with the manipulation, the fear and the stres that constantly beat her down.; beat her down till she hid, a shrivelled wreck, weeping in her privacy for nobody ever to see.
Being the perfect pureblood daughter was not a task she took lightly after all. She would curse herself, cut herself, wish the most horrible things upon herself should she slip from grace for only a moment. And rightly too. If her mother had known what sins she had committed then surely she would have wished the same ill being upon her.
She sat now, knees tucked up at her chest in the darkest corner of her bedroom as she rocked herself back and forth, tears pouring like streams of salty water down her pale cheeks from raw eyes.
She tried to control herself, tell herself it would all be alright but how could it be? She was nothing without her reputation after all. She had nobody to love her, nobody to wish her well, nobody to care for her or for her to care about.
With a quaking, delicate young hand she reached out for the silver handled dagger she had stolen from her father's study, the blade glinting with blinding beauty as it caught the light of the moon.
In it was reflected all of her horrific, mind cramping memories that chilled and yet burned her to the bone. How could she live with such things in her past?
...Her father looming over her as he came to visit her in the dead of night, his hands sickeningly caressing her body... Watching her older, raven haired sister through the slight crack in her bedroom door as she undressed for bathing... Swallowing the searing amber liquid that she stole from the liquor cabinet in the forbidden room in the left wing... And the dagger...
She squeezed her eyes shut and recoiled inside herself; disgusted.
She stifled a sob, taking short, sharp gasps of breath and closed her leaking eyes tightly as she pressed the sharp side of the weapon in her hand to her shaking wrist, applying slight pressure so that a muffled squeal escaped her and the porcelain skin broke.
Her cries became louder, more desperate at the burn of searing pain shot through her arm and unable to continue as scarlet beaded to the top, the dagger clunked on the floor, a stream of blood dripping onto the wooden floor beneath her.
She bit down hard on her lip so not to scream for she knew, knew very well, that she could never be caught doing this. She was the cream of the Black family, of pureblood society. She - Narcissa Black - was perfect.
Slowly blackness consumed her as her body, frantic and shaking, collapsed on the wooden, blood stained floor in a cold sweat, her cheeks flushed and tears still flowing.
In her nothingness, it was bliss.
It was perfect. Perfectly dark.
No...
Perfectly Black.