Proximity to Dementors is a worse punishment than the Ministry would have you believe. They remove every happy memory from your head and leave you a quivering shell of despair. Even the kiss would be kinder than that.
All thoughts of my sisters were stripped from me. I was forced to wallow in the misery of the memories of my father. These were the memories the Dementors could not steal as they brought me no joy.
My father showed no interest in myself or my sisters until we reached childbearing age. At this point my mother, ever unable to produce a son, was shoved to the side and instead his attention was showered over myself and Andromeda. Narcissa was spared his advances due to her blonde hair and blue eyes, not what my father was looking for in the mother of his potential heir.
After years of torture, I finally bore a child. Unfortunately, it was not the son my father was looking for. It was a beautiful baby girl. My father raged and tore the child from my arms, brandishing his wand over her. Weary from the labour I was unable to help her. My father muttered something in Latin, words I could not take in at the time, and her body began to transform. For a moment his eyes filled with glee, until the child scrunched up her tiny face and changed right back. He swore, throwing the child down onto my lap and stormed from the room.
The child was not allowed to remain in the house. My mother informed me that my father intended to drown her to cover up yet another failure of the Black family, unless I could find another solution without him knowing. Aware that I was not strong enough to protect her, I took the baby to the one person I thought might stand a chance.
Andromeda was surprised to see me standing on her doorstep, a bundle in my arms. I explained the problem and saw her expression change to one of pity. She called to her Mudblood husband to take the child from me. Once he had disappeared with her I knew I had to leave. Shrugging off Andromeda's welcoming touch, I fled from the house.
My father was furious when he found out the child was gone. He drew his wand and crucioed me until I could no longer think straight. He left me outside the wards of the manor, his statement clear. I would never be allowed to return home.
Rodolphus was kind to me. He had always loved me while we were at school. When I collapsed into his arms and explained the full story he held me tight and promised that he would never allow me to be hurt again. A month later, we were married. Two days after that—we deserved a honeymoon first, he later told me—he delivered me to the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord wanted no heir, and I was grateful. All he wanted was a willing, Pure-Blooded slave, and I played the part beautifully. All I asked in return was amnesty for Andromeda and her family. The Dark Lord granted me this wish, and for that I did everything commanded of me.
I learnt from Narcissa that Andromeda had named the child Nymphadora. It was appropriately beautiful, I thought, allowing myself only a moment of wistfulness before dragging myself back to reality. As long as she is safe, I thought to myself, it will all be worth it.
My first real mission after the escape from Azkaban was to the Department of Mysteries. The Dark Lord said that the Potter boy would be there, along with his usual cohort. Unfortunately, we were not prepared for the Order. I fought hard, even killing my own cousin. It was necessary. My being in favour with the Dark Lord was the only thing protecting my daughter and her adoptive parents.
Upon returning from the mission, I found Narcissa almost inconsolable. She told me of Lucius' capture—I had been rather too distracted to notice it happen. She also told me that my daughter had been there, fighting next to the rest of the Order. Narcissa said, she can change her form at will, probably a side effect from our father's spells on her in the first few hours of her life. For a moment my blood ran cold. I could have killed her, and I never would have known. Luckily, a brief torturing session with one of our ministry spies soon revealed that she was still alive and well.
Draco's induction to the Death Eaters was less than pleasant. One look at Narcissa and I could sense her distress. Her eyes pleaded with me to help her son. Thinking of my own fears for Nymphadora, I agreed with a swift nod of my head, already planning how to sneak out to see Severus.
It was almost too easy to convince Severus that the unbreakable vow was a good idea. I wished I could protect my own child as easily as I had Narcissa's.
I spent my last year in Narcissa's home, hungry for news and routinely begging my Lord to allow me to venture out. Nearly killing Potter's Mudblood girlfriend was the highlight of my year. Eventually, I was released to take part in the battle at Hogwarts.
Standing over the body of a young woman I had slain, I gasped as her bright pink hair began to change. I kept my wand pointed at her, wondering what kind of trickery this was. Her hair grew longer, darker, wilder. Her eyes were changing, too. My father's attempts to change my daughter into a boy were finally wearing off, leaving her in her true form. She was almost a double of myself. Screaming, the last shreds of my sanity destroyed, I ran back into the battle, praying that I would soon join my daughter in death.
I ran almost directly into a trio of girls. The bushy-haired mess I had tortured in a time that now seemed so long ago. The blonde one who had been locked away in Narcissa's home and yet had not uttered so much as a scream. The red-headed one who could be none other than a Weasley. These three were talented fighters, this I knew. Yes, they would do nicely.
I raised my wand and began to duel, curses flying from my lips and my wand simultaneously. The children dodged admirably, but were unable to land anything on me as a twisted and twirled through the corpses on the ground.
Suddenly I heard a scream, almost incoherent with rage.
"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"
I laughed, high and shrill as the plump Weasley matriarch freed her arms from her cloak and pointed her wand at me. I had turned my back on the girls to survey my new challenger and yet none of them took the opportunity to kill me. Perhaps the Weasley woman would be more willing. I, of course, knew the fury of a mother intimately.
I was surprised by the Weasley's dueling skill. I had expected her to be sloppy from a combination of inexperience and grief, but I was wrong. I had vague recollections of our time in school and remembered her being quite a competent witch before settling down to have her brood of red-headed spawn. Still, she was not capable of killing, this I knew. Not yet, anyway.
"What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" I taunted, hoping to goad her into finally throwing an unforgivable my way. "When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?"
"You - will - never - touch - our - children - again!" she screamed, still not angry enough to shed the teachings of Dumbledore and finally slay me.
I locked eyes with the woman and screamed. My spells became more erratic, none having even the slightest chance of hitting my opponent.
"WHY WILL YOU NOT KILL ME?" I shouted, finally allowing the madness to show in my eyes. "KILL ME, DO IT NOW OR I WILL SLAY EVERY LAST ONE OF YOUR CHILDREN AND MAKE YOU WATCH! I WILL RAZE THE WORLD TO THE GROUND AT YOUR FEET! I WILL DESTROY EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE IN MY PATH UNTIL YOU FINALLY KILL ME!"
I was done. I could not fight any more. I laughed, the laugh that belongs to all the Blacks, signifying that we have finally lost control of our minds. Seeing this opportunity, the Weasley woman smirked. Suddenly she looked far more dangerous than I had ever realised her to be.
A spell soared into my chest, freezing me in place. This was Dark Magic, one of the darkest spells I had ever seen Death Eater's use, one I had been too afraid to use myself.
I was frozen in my body. Not petrified, outside forces could still move my limbs if they wished. I was a corpse with full awareness of the world around it. I would be locked in this shell until my body expired naturally, forced to perish of starvation, thirst or old age, depending on what was done with me.
Once the battle was done, I was taken to the hospital. The healers kept my body alive through basic artificial means, but did not cure me. No-one had time to research a cure for the worst Dark Witch to ever live.
I had hoped for a quick death, but it seems I must dwell on the fate of my daughter, the one truly good thing I ever created, until I die from heartbreak.