To The Dark Lord,
I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B
Rose tugged her coat around her bare arms, desperately tucking away strands of hair that had come loose and drifted with the wind which blew too harshly for it to be appreciated. She'd always wondered why people only considered things that were temporary or weak or almost diluted to be beautiful. Like the nature of its existence needed to be dulled down to the pale grey we were all so used to, otherwise, it would strain our eyes, make us squint, glazing it all over with a blur so we can't comprehend it, so we insult it rather than marvel at it because it's not quite in focus. So we mock instead of adjust the lens. But on this particular night, it was not the array of purple and navy littered against the night sky that held her attention, but a small note discarded on the floor that had been caught in between her toes. She dusted her fingers over the faded ink, intrigued by the strength and courage behind the words but the shaky strokes piecing them together. It's almost as if guilt or even shame was eating the writer's flesh at that very moment. She knew what that felt like. But as she read the last three letters, a twisting cone of light emerged from the centre of the note, but a hologram of moving pictures quickly materialised in front of her, flicking through the life of a boy with silvery skin and grey eyes who seemed to be in every image. Rose sunk onto the ground and crossed her legs, watching his life be diminished into an album of perfectly curated images featuring the tightening of his smile into a stoic gaze and the disappearance of a boy with broad shoulders, a half smile, the iconic romantic era poet haircut and a raised chin, who initially had a firm grasp on the smiling boy's shoulder. Just as the slow flicking reached what seemed to be a rather somber birthday, footsteps were making their way up the astronomy tower, and Rose shoved the piece of parchment in her coat pocket and attempted to make the contraption disappear, but just as the tip of her wand tapped his cheekbone, the entire image rippled and pulled her into the hazy black of a burned circle on the wallpaper behind him.