In the Shadow of the Valley of Death
-I don't own ANYTHING apart from maybe my take to the turbulent and loveable relationship of Dransy, the song is 'In the Shadow of the Valley of Death' by Marilyn Manson, and it is BEAUTIFUL.
I LOVE reviews, they make me insanely happy, mostly because it proves to me that people actually READ my fics, which is a lovely feeling. So yeah, any sort of review long or short, humour me.-
We have no future
Heaven wasn't made for me
We burn ourselves to hell
As fast as it can be
And I wish that I
Could be the king
Then I'd know that I am not alone
The night was colder than usual, the moon brighter and the breeze stronger. Draco Malfoy slowly paced his way down a sloping patch of grass, heavy boots leaving deep footprints on the frozen ground. Lanky arms and long legs swayed routinely with military precision as he stumbled his way, almost gracefully, through the darkness.
Every so often his face would catch the glow of the moon, and his thin aged face would sparkle, stark against the black. A thick mass of hair, dirty and greasy, knotted around his high cheekbones lay messed and lifeless. A halo of white glowed around him.
He could have been a fallen angel, with the face that he had.
He once had pale eyes, a wispy, periwinkle blue. The sort of eyes that seemed too light to be true, almost as if they were clouds detached from his face. He never looked concrete when he was younger. But more like a spirit or a ghost with his pale watery features and his soft glowing skin. As he aged he got rougher, harder, and darker. His eyes slowly began to seep at the edges, dark blues flooding in and tainting the purity. His face became sharper, jagged. Cold. He elongated, his body distorting to new heights, limbs growing out, thinning out, wearing out.
Maggots put on shirts
Sell each other shit
Sometimes I feel so worthless
Sometimes I feel discarded
I wish that I was good enough
Then I'd know that I am not alone
Pansy Parkinson sat at the edge of the great lake, her thin arms resting on a fallen log. The bruises on her arms bled purple rainbows in the moonlight, her kohl eyes stark like pandas. She was beautiful. Every so often she'd change position; dark hair would flutter softly in the night air. Draco once described her hair as a pack of black butterflies....but that was then, and this was now.
She had an ethereal presence about her, even her jagged features drew you in. The bones jutting out of her face and the spine that curved so gently radiated a dull glow and her full dark lips tainted with old blood. Her eyes rested in the distance, bony fingers tapping symphonies softly into the aged bark. Her ebony nightdress swayed and rippled around her as she sat, goosebumps pricked from her pale skin. The ring of bruises around her throat stung dark secrets into the pregnant night.
Death is policeman
Death is a priest
Death is a stereo
Death is T.V
Death is the tarot
Death is an angel and
Death is our God, killing us all
Draco wasn't sure exactly when he crossed the invisible line between boy and man, but Pansy could pin it down exactly to the day he met Voldermort. His whole self changed, the melody of his whole life altered and faded into one dark mark blazing upon his inner left arm. Voldermort was death in more ways than either of them had imagined. Voldermort was their leader, their commander, their God. And yet Voldermort was ultimately their death. Life was no longer fringed without death, life was death and death was life. The hidden paths between them had intermingled, no one was scared, and yet everyone was. There was nothing left.
She put the seeds in me
Plant this dying tree
She's a burning string
And I'm just the ashes
She put the seeds in me
Plant this dying tree
She's a burning string
And I'm just the ashes
As Draco Malfoy slid through the darkness along the lake, cloak brushing the ice off the frozen ground, he saw her. Saw her sitting beside the fallen log where they had first proclaimed a childish, youthful dare of love. The place where they had brushed innocent hands and whispered foolish secrets to one another, swearing never to tell. The place where he had first held her tightly in his marked arms, his soul so broken he could feel the shards in her, making her bleed.
Love was something they were never meant to feel, something forbidden and dangerous, something far more painful than any curse. Love was the only thing left in a world where everything they owned had already been taken, and Draco knew that once it was all over, she would be the only thing worth living for. Her and the beautiful ring of Pansies that she wore so proudly around her neck.