Hands; Narcissa had the most delicate hands. Perfect, pale and dextrous, smooth and elegant. Nails of painted crimson red. They were cared for and pampered, just like the rest of her.
Bellatrix knew those hands almost as well as she knew her own; she knew the feel of them as they caressed her bare flesh, she knew the feel of them as they clutched at her arms, as they tangled in her hair, as the nails scraped and pierced her skin whilst Narcissa screamed her name.
She knew those hands, she knew those fingers, and God, did she appreciate them.
