"Blood Lies on My Hands"
A short drabble by Romancing Heartbreak
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does.
People have died at my hands. Blood coats my hands, gleaming in the light. It sickens me. Families cry because of me. Husbands and wives sob in despair. It's my fault.
Why is it I don't care? Why is it I don't feel anything? Why is it that it doesn't bother me? Why do I not feel guilty? I don't feel amusement, sadness, guilt, anger, I do not feel anything. Yet, at the same time, I feel everything while I feel nothing.
The blood that flowed in their bodies, making their face flush and their skin warm covers me. I bathe in it. It's the reason I live. It's the reason I die. It's the reason my soul is split in seven.
Immortality. It's the one thing I crave. It's the reason I am no longer human. It's the reason Lily Evans and James Potter died. At my hands. Blood is the very reason I live. Blood.
Lord Voldemort sits in a throne on a dais, staring at the wall.
Their blood lies on my hands.
