A cry pierced the silence of the mansions halls. Cursing loudly, Blaise
fled her room and pelted down the corridor. The one thing he became violent
at was disturbance of his silence. Blaise ran faster as the cries grew
louder. She finally reached the right room and snatched up the little girl
crying in the middle of the floor.
"Shut up!" she hissed, her hand over the child's mouth. "Shut up you filthy brat!" the dirt-covered child cried even more, biting Blaise's hand.
"You little bitch! Shut up, now!" she screeched.
"Mama, no! No!" the girl wailed. Blaise slapped the girl, harder and harder until the child was positively screaming. The door burst open and he came in.
"What's this noise?" He demanded, eyes flashing. Blaise unceremoniously dropped the girl onto the hard floor.
"Abigail is crying again." She said coldly.
"Can't even control your own daughter?" he inquired stonily.
"She is your daughter also, as I recall."
"Bullshit. You were whoring around long before we married."
"Not after we were married. We've been married for five years and Abigail is two years old. Do the maths."
"All I know is that I can't wait until she grows up and I can marry her off. Where you and she will not disturb my silence." He boomed. Then he pointed his wand at her and her legs went weak. Ignoring the screaming child on the ground, he picked Blaise up roughly and pushed her against the wall. Tearing off her torn robes, he proceeded to have her there and then. Blaise would not allow the tears to fall as he had his way with her. She should be used to it by now. Finally he zipped up his trousers again and looked her square in the eye.
"You're getting old." He remarked.
"I'm only twenty-three." She protested.
"Like I said." Blaise knew that she would soon lose her temper, so she focused on Abigail instead of him. The girl was dressed in clothes far too small, stained and torn. Her ragged black hair and green eyes proved that she was her father's daughter.
"I used to love you. Blaise. You used to be intoxicating and wonderful. Now you're just a broken woman who has nothing at all." He said, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.
"Well Mr. Boy-Who-Lived, why don't you go back to the whorehouse and find another girl like that?" she retorted. Then she snapped.
She was sick of this. The endless pain and filth and blood. There was nothing left for her, nothing at all. There was no love for her anywhere. With an amazing burst of strength, she pushed away from him, grabbed Abigail again and ran from the room. She went up staircase after staircase. She could hear his footsteps following her, but he wasn't going fast enough to catch her. She reached the roof level and ran out into the night.
It was a bitter cold evening. She didn't know what month it was since she had lost count of time long ago. Dressed in hardly anything, having forgotten to reclaim her clothes, she walked out along the tiles. He followed.
"What are you doing, you fool?" he snapped. She didn't reply, but with one fluid motion tossed her screaming daughter off the edge of the roof. A couple of seconds later, there was the unmistakable sound of a skull cracking. The wails ceased abruptly.
"You just killed your own daughter, you murderer." He snarled.
"I don't want her to live this life anymore. And anyway, the brat's incessant crying was pissing me off." She said nonchalantly.
"You fool. I need an heir." He growled.
"You'll have one." Blaise retorted, gesturing to her round stomach. He didn't look at all surprised.
"How many months?" he asked indifferently.
"Four." She replied, looking into the hard green eyes. She knew what she had to do.
"Goodbye Harry." And she jumped into midair, awaiting the crash as she hit the hard ground. She would soon be away from him forever, she would be free.
"Shut up!" she hissed, her hand over the child's mouth. "Shut up you filthy brat!" the dirt-covered child cried even more, biting Blaise's hand.
"You little bitch! Shut up, now!" she screeched.
"Mama, no! No!" the girl wailed. Blaise slapped the girl, harder and harder until the child was positively screaming. The door burst open and he came in.
"What's this noise?" He demanded, eyes flashing. Blaise unceremoniously dropped the girl onto the hard floor.
"Abigail is crying again." She said coldly.
"Can't even control your own daughter?" he inquired stonily.
"She is your daughter also, as I recall."
"Bullshit. You were whoring around long before we married."
"Not after we were married. We've been married for five years and Abigail is two years old. Do the maths."
"All I know is that I can't wait until she grows up and I can marry her off. Where you and she will not disturb my silence." He boomed. Then he pointed his wand at her and her legs went weak. Ignoring the screaming child on the ground, he picked Blaise up roughly and pushed her against the wall. Tearing off her torn robes, he proceeded to have her there and then. Blaise would not allow the tears to fall as he had his way with her. She should be used to it by now. Finally he zipped up his trousers again and looked her square in the eye.
"You're getting old." He remarked.
"I'm only twenty-three." She protested.
"Like I said." Blaise knew that she would soon lose her temper, so she focused on Abigail instead of him. The girl was dressed in clothes far too small, stained and torn. Her ragged black hair and green eyes proved that she was her father's daughter.
"I used to love you. Blaise. You used to be intoxicating and wonderful. Now you're just a broken woman who has nothing at all." He said, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.
"Well Mr. Boy-Who-Lived, why don't you go back to the whorehouse and find another girl like that?" she retorted. Then she snapped.
She was sick of this. The endless pain and filth and blood. There was nothing left for her, nothing at all. There was no love for her anywhere. With an amazing burst of strength, she pushed away from him, grabbed Abigail again and ran from the room. She went up staircase after staircase. She could hear his footsteps following her, but he wasn't going fast enough to catch her. She reached the roof level and ran out into the night.
It was a bitter cold evening. She didn't know what month it was since she had lost count of time long ago. Dressed in hardly anything, having forgotten to reclaim her clothes, she walked out along the tiles. He followed.
"What are you doing, you fool?" he snapped. She didn't reply, but with one fluid motion tossed her screaming daughter off the edge of the roof. A couple of seconds later, there was the unmistakable sound of a skull cracking. The wails ceased abruptly.
"You just killed your own daughter, you murderer." He snarled.
"I don't want her to live this life anymore. And anyway, the brat's incessant crying was pissing me off." She said nonchalantly.
"You fool. I need an heir." He growled.
"You'll have one." Blaise retorted, gesturing to her round stomach. He didn't look at all surprised.
"How many months?" he asked indifferently.
"Four." She replied, looking into the hard green eyes. She knew what she had to do.
"Goodbye Harry." And she jumped into midair, awaiting the crash as she hit the hard ground. She would soon be away from him forever, she would be free.