Love Fury Energy Passion
My time had arrived, he told me. Though I knew it not to be true, I would have no time. This much I knew. He lied, they all did. I can't help knowing the feelings I have, for they are sometime far too much for me to handle. I tried many times to tell him and them how I felt, but no one cared to listen, too busy for the feeble ramblings of whom they presumed to be an innocent. They had no idea. They laughed; my attempts at deity were scoffed at. Lets see who has the last laugh. I don't get a time. No moment of my glory, nothing to bask in, no light for me. That's what they have made me believe. I hate them, every one of them. I'm not too sure how I came to this not so astounding revelation, but I am fairly certain it will change my life and theirs. Mine for the better, theirs for the worse. But I don't care. If they cry, they will be tears I will relish. Love fury energy and passion, all things that fuel my rage. I was ignored for long enough, and now its time for me too act upon my own sadistic impulse, my fantasy. I would paint my face; it was my sword to claim. The thought of it all makes me laugh, though it is a laughter I do not recognize. No one would expect it, more so they wouldn't have expected it from me. That's the beauty of it. It will come as surprise. I would laugh if not for the childish fear that presents itself. It has become too much to handle, these horrible feelings. A sick pleasure whose origins are even unknown to me. Compelling me too act, act upon the morbid yet desirable deed. Could I do it? Would I do it? The questions taunt me as I go over the plan, set in my head. I converged as much courage as was possible, I would need it. I have to do it; there is no other way. It is the only way to end my pain, my suffering. He caused it, he will pay for it. They might hate me for it, but it compares in no way to the fury bubbling, boiling in me. My love became my hate, the hate that pushes me on. There probably was a time when these disturbing thoughts would have scared me, but it is a time that I can't remember. Nor do I care to. I know what has to be done. It doesn't help that I might have once loved them, him especially. The remnants of those feelings are the only thing that hinders me. Perhaps I will get my light, my moment of glory. I will make them notice me. His blood will stain my hands, a stain that will never be removed. A memorial to my sinister abilities. A memorial to my crowning moment. Tonight I will have a time; I will make it my time. Tonight will be my night. I will force myself into their eyes; make them see who they helped create. Who they helped destroy. Tonight is the night I, Virginia Weasley, kill Harry Potter.
My time had arrived, he told me. Though I knew it not to be true, I would have no time. This much I knew. He lied, they all did. I can't help knowing the feelings I have, for they are sometime far too much for me to handle. I tried many times to tell him and them how I felt, but no one cared to listen, too busy for the feeble ramblings of whom they presumed to be an innocent. They had no idea. They laughed; my attempts at deity were scoffed at. Lets see who has the last laugh. I don't get a time. No moment of my glory, nothing to bask in, no light for me. That's what they have made me believe. I hate them, every one of them. I'm not too sure how I came to this not so astounding revelation, but I am fairly certain it will change my life and theirs. Mine for the better, theirs for the worse. But I don't care. If they cry, they will be tears I will relish. Love fury energy and passion, all things that fuel my rage. I was ignored for long enough, and now its time for me too act upon my own sadistic impulse, my fantasy. I would paint my face; it was my sword to claim. The thought of it all makes me laugh, though it is a laughter I do not recognize. No one would expect it, more so they wouldn't have expected it from me. That's the beauty of it. It will come as surprise. I would laugh if not for the childish fear that presents itself. It has become too much to handle, these horrible feelings. A sick pleasure whose origins are even unknown to me. Compelling me too act, act upon the morbid yet desirable deed. Could I do it? Would I do it? The questions taunt me as I go over the plan, set in my head. I converged as much courage as was possible, I would need it. I have to do it; there is no other way. It is the only way to end my pain, my suffering. He caused it, he will pay for it. They might hate me for it, but it compares in no way to the fury bubbling, boiling in me. My love became my hate, the hate that pushes me on. There probably was a time when these disturbing thoughts would have scared me, but it is a time that I can't remember. Nor do I care to. I know what has to be done. It doesn't help that I might have once loved them, him especially. The remnants of those feelings are the only thing that hinders me. Perhaps I will get my light, my moment of glory. I will make them notice me. His blood will stain my hands, a stain that will never be removed. A memorial to my sinister abilities. A memorial to my crowning moment. Tonight I will have a time; I will make it my time. Tonight will be my night. I will force myself into their eyes; make them see who they helped create. Who they helped destroy. Tonight is the night I, Virginia Weasley, kill Harry Potter.