A/N: For the Sherlock Competition (Part 1, Prompt 14: write about someone who's not particularly nice)
You are destruction. Alecto, the Fury. Unceasing anger.
Your very name has cursed you, has burdened you with this cruel expectation to live up to.
But you wear it so well, making boys cry and girls run away in fear.
You are a Fury, and maybe you're okay with that.
.
"Who would ever love you?" Amycus teases with a sneer.
You answer him by introducing your knuckles to his cheek.
You are a Fury, and you don't need love.
.
"Why can't you be a normal girl?" your mother demands in frustration when you run off the latest man she tries to marry you off to.
You glower and curse at her for trying to make you into someone you're not, someone who would be so unlike the creature you are named for.
You are a Fury, and you can not be chained to some poor bastard who will on look to break you.
.
She sees you for the monster that you are, and she loves it. "You're beautiful," Bellatrix purrs, stroking your side. "A beautiful earthquake."
You laugh against her lips because you know you're not.
You are a Fury, and Furies are not beautiful.
But maybe, just maybe, you can pretend.