OBSESSION
This is my take on Virginia Weasley. She's red, white and tall. Sounds fairly simple, doesn't it? Yes, that's another thing she is; too simple. Her simplicity charms me. Perhaps because it's something different. No one's very simple these days, not me nor I would think anyone else in Slytherin. Hell, I don't even think Potty and the rest of his gang are any where near being called simpletons.
Ah, Virginia Weasely, why do you torment yourself by letting others abbreviate your classic name into something as ugly and downcast as 'Ginny'. Ugh. Horrific, if you ask me. You're so simple yet so hard to figure out, this mysterious aura draws my unworthy eyes towards you. Yet you remain unnoticed by so many of the other male species. A rare little girl, indeed.
I can see you now, my sweet, browsing your delicately long fingers along a shelve of books. Frustration is in your deep brown eyes, how abnormally cute. Right now, I ponder whether to approach you to inhale your wondrous scent or retreat back into this secluded corner of mine, just to admire you from afar as eye candy. I choose the latter.
Your stature intrigues me, young one, a pity for being in Gryffindor, I'm sure you would have made a fine Slytherin and a rather tasteful one at that too. And so I undress you with my eyes as I have done numerous times, sadly that is as far as I would ever get. I would never lay a finger on your white, pale skin, nor take a nice hearty squeeze on that tight bottom. Your waist is small, a perfect fit in my arms I would say, and your bosom beckons at me to come closer but I can only restrain my lustful hunger. Long legs and skinny ankles, who can ask for more perfection?
Yet, I know I would be the only one who fantasies about you in such a manner because this is all what my imagination is telling me. How I wish I could fling to you some of the finest Wizarding robes, the finest jewellery and of course shower you with all that I have to give.
No, this is not love, but lust. For love only comes after friendship and acquaintance and all that other stupid things. Lust is immediate wanting and desire, which is what I have.
Sometimes, I see you wander the corridors aimlessly, head bowed and posture bad, laden with books, quills, parchment, endless things hanging around you. I may not know you but I see it in your tired eyes that you are sick. Sick of the disgusting world, filled with disgusting people. So am I, Virginia, so am I. Hateful, isn't it? To see the ones you were taught to love while growing up, betray you in a flicker of an instant.
My dear, you are still in the early stages of dementia. Not long from now, you'll become like me. Bitter, bored, tired and just plain counting the years till you are dead or someone comes along to kill you. And in the glorious moment of death, your life flashes by you and all you will see is emptiness. I'm getting too deep for my own good and I would gladly admit, it scares me. My state of dementia has gone beyond simple depression and hate for the world. My madness has actually made me happy, it keeps me satisfied - for now.
I wish not you go through this, Virginia, unlike me, for your frail mind will not be able to handle it, it will drive you to your demise sooner than planned. Truth hurts, Virginia, realise now that Potter and his gang couldn't give a rat's ass about you or your body, as a matter of a fact. Ah, Virginia, you're full of surprises, a mystery waiting to be unravelled.
I see evil glints in your eye when you are insulted or bullied. You curse silently under your breath, wishing your enemy dead. I know, beyond that terribly sweet façade is something else more, how should I say, devilish? Such purity is too rare to be in these times of war and destruction. Not even you, I doubt, would have an ounce of true Gryffindor spirit left.
It's never ending describing you, Virginia. I am actually beginning to wonder if you've caught me looking at you all the time, for your eerie glare keeps me fascinated. Your eyes look shifty, stealing glances at my scratching quill. I would almost be afraid if I didn't know how oppressed your dark side is. You wouldn't dare confront me and what joy it is to know it. Sadly, my dear Virginia, my wretched piece of parchment has come to an insignificant end and I cannot muse about you any longer. For now, this obsessive piece of parchment goes into the fireplace.
REVIEW PLEASE THANK YOU
This is my take on Virginia Weasley. She's red, white and tall. Sounds fairly simple, doesn't it? Yes, that's another thing she is; too simple. Her simplicity charms me. Perhaps because it's something different. No one's very simple these days, not me nor I would think anyone else in Slytherin. Hell, I don't even think Potty and the rest of his gang are any where near being called simpletons.
Ah, Virginia Weasely, why do you torment yourself by letting others abbreviate your classic name into something as ugly and downcast as 'Ginny'. Ugh. Horrific, if you ask me. You're so simple yet so hard to figure out, this mysterious aura draws my unworthy eyes towards you. Yet you remain unnoticed by so many of the other male species. A rare little girl, indeed.
I can see you now, my sweet, browsing your delicately long fingers along a shelve of books. Frustration is in your deep brown eyes, how abnormally cute. Right now, I ponder whether to approach you to inhale your wondrous scent or retreat back into this secluded corner of mine, just to admire you from afar as eye candy. I choose the latter.
Your stature intrigues me, young one, a pity for being in Gryffindor, I'm sure you would have made a fine Slytherin and a rather tasteful one at that too. And so I undress you with my eyes as I have done numerous times, sadly that is as far as I would ever get. I would never lay a finger on your white, pale skin, nor take a nice hearty squeeze on that tight bottom. Your waist is small, a perfect fit in my arms I would say, and your bosom beckons at me to come closer but I can only restrain my lustful hunger. Long legs and skinny ankles, who can ask for more perfection?
Yet, I know I would be the only one who fantasies about you in such a manner because this is all what my imagination is telling me. How I wish I could fling to you some of the finest Wizarding robes, the finest jewellery and of course shower you with all that I have to give.
No, this is not love, but lust. For love only comes after friendship and acquaintance and all that other stupid things. Lust is immediate wanting and desire, which is what I have.
Sometimes, I see you wander the corridors aimlessly, head bowed and posture bad, laden with books, quills, parchment, endless things hanging around you. I may not know you but I see it in your tired eyes that you are sick. Sick of the disgusting world, filled with disgusting people. So am I, Virginia, so am I. Hateful, isn't it? To see the ones you were taught to love while growing up, betray you in a flicker of an instant.
My dear, you are still in the early stages of dementia. Not long from now, you'll become like me. Bitter, bored, tired and just plain counting the years till you are dead or someone comes along to kill you. And in the glorious moment of death, your life flashes by you and all you will see is emptiness. I'm getting too deep for my own good and I would gladly admit, it scares me. My state of dementia has gone beyond simple depression and hate for the world. My madness has actually made me happy, it keeps me satisfied - for now.
I wish not you go through this, Virginia, unlike me, for your frail mind will not be able to handle it, it will drive you to your demise sooner than planned. Truth hurts, Virginia, realise now that Potter and his gang couldn't give a rat's ass about you or your body, as a matter of a fact. Ah, Virginia, you're full of surprises, a mystery waiting to be unravelled.
I see evil glints in your eye when you are insulted or bullied. You curse silently under your breath, wishing your enemy dead. I know, beyond that terribly sweet façade is something else more, how should I say, devilish? Such purity is too rare to be in these times of war and destruction. Not even you, I doubt, would have an ounce of true Gryffindor spirit left.
It's never ending describing you, Virginia. I am actually beginning to wonder if you've caught me looking at you all the time, for your eerie glare keeps me fascinated. Your eyes look shifty, stealing glances at my scratching quill. I would almost be afraid if I didn't know how oppressed your dark side is. You wouldn't dare confront me and what joy it is to know it. Sadly, my dear Virginia, my wretched piece of parchment has come to an insignificant end and I cannot muse about you any longer. For now, this obsessive piece of parchment goes into the fireplace.
REVIEW PLEASE THANK YOU