A/N This is Blaise Zabini thinking about his work for Voldermort and how he has destroyed his existence working for his master.
I hate this.
This ugliness that is my existence.
Another year gone and I'm constantly reminded by the lonely card set on my mantelpiece. The card I can't bear to burn.
The card from the only person who still cared.
The person who can't care anymore.
Not after what I did to her.
The crimson of the blood mixed with the flow of her brunette hair. The old laughter lines etched so deep you could see them even in her death. The mouth that had smiled at me when I had no-one, the mouth that told me things that made me think it was worth living again, the mouth now spilling cold blood over the tiles. Her hands that had caressed mine when I had been deserted, now hanging limp, never to even twitch again.
The broken glass reflecting the nothingness in her eyes.
Next I took her real children, who were my pretend brothers and sisters.
Their eyes, filled with fear, burned into my mind like a bright light, and no matter how much I want to scratch my eyes out I know even without my sight I will see them for eternity.
They were too scared to run. I made it quick, but it was far from painless.
When I told him what I had done for him, he nodded me curtly out of the room. That was all there was.
In a daze I wandered until I found myself back here, staring at my only birthday card.
She had given it to me mere hours before I killed her.
By my own hand I have made sure I have no one.
The ones I work with are heartless, and everyone I don't work with I work against.
Anyone outside would find me repulsive anyway.
The things I have done for him. Every breath brings in a torrent of guilt. I make myself sick just existing.
Even thinking about my one desire….just the thought that I could still deserve anything, even the air I breathe, makes me physically sick.
But the thought that my wish might never come true causes a pain I can't describe.
Someone.
All I wish for is someone to caress my hand, and see through my ugliness and actions.
To see through and maybe want to carry on this ugly existence with me.
And maybe let me share in some of their own ugliness.
Then maybe when we share a drop of trust we can entwine our repulsive existences to make it something beautiful.