Bellatrix Lestrange sat anxiously in her seat, almost exploding with excitement. They were in Lestrange Manor, and there were death eaters seated along the long table, waiting for their Dark Lord to arrive and take his place at the head of the table. Bellatrix felt him enter and she grinned ear to ear, turning her head to look at her majestic Master. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent, sitting on the edge of her seat. Other death eaters shifted uncomfortably. In her mind, she threw them all dirty looks. But she didn't have the patience to do it physically, she couldn't bear to look away from her Lord. All the petty little followers at this table, most of them followed him out of fear, out of status, or some other dumb reason. But not Bellatrix Lestrange. She followed him out of complete devotion, love, and obsession. She admired his power, his elegance. She would give all to him and request nothing in return but his faith in her. He took his seat, very elegantly, looking as graceful as ever. Many described Lord Voldemort as the Byronic, or Romantic hero. Someone was amoral, not immoral, but amoral. Who was self-absorbed, and wanted everything he could have in the world. She gazed at him from under those dark, heavy lids. Many others dropped their gaze, but not her. She looked into her Lord's eyes. Red like rubies, like a fire burning in her body. How magnificent! His skin was deathly pale, and cold and beautiful. When she was close to him, she could sense that coolness radiating from him that sent chills down her spine. Oh how she longingly desired to have those long pale fingers wrap around her body. Bellatrix shook those thoughts away. Although she didn't care. As good of an Occlumens she was, she didn't bother to hide any thoughts away from her Lord. She was most open to him. He knew her better than her own sister. As much as she was loyal to his cause, devoted to his power, a huge part of her wanted his care and his love and his body. She loved him with a fire that never died. She didn't know she was capable of such strong emotions. Her Lord was perfection. Beyond perfection. He was her safe haven. A place where she could fully dwell with happiness, even if her longing was unrequited. When she was out for his missions, there was a fire in her eyes that burnt through people's souls. There was ecstasy in her laughter. There was confidence in her shrieks. There was an aura of power surrounding her. One that no one could surpass. She did it all for her Lord, and expected nothing in return. Still she desired. A single brush of his fingers across her cheek gave her the sensation that not even the best nights with her good-for-nothing husbands could even come close to. But Lord Voldemort cared for nothing more than a servant-master relationship with his little Bella.