Foreword: I don't own any of JKR's characters, nor am I she. I do, however, own what I have here written, and all diction and sentence structure is the product of my creativity. Please take the time to read it carefully. I'm an English buff and there are small nuances in the wording and placements that tell more of the story than that which is on the surface. For those of you who may grow befuddled by the lack of pronouns, this is told omnisciently, and the "she" is a Slytherin woman; Bellatrix, if you will. Personally, I never thought she was a "bad" woman, just misled. "Oh, what a tangled web we weave . . ." (Not sure who said that line, but certainly no credit goes to me for it).
Fear not, for all will be clear in the end.
She was calm, but torn between her desires and her obligations. She took short breaths, trying to remain quiet and unconcerned, unnoticed. It wasn't necessarily that she was hidden, she was in fact completely exposed, yet she could feel the darkness around her, suffocating her. It was self-imposed. All of this was created by her. She could feel herself thinking that maybe this wasn't such a grand idea, that somehow her plans had gone askew.
She shuddered, a tear burning a canal through her cheek and allowing several more to flow through as she screamed into the softly glowing night. All of her cried for what she had done wrong in the past, and what she could have produced as time went on. Was that not what life revolved around? Mistakes made through time were the essence of humanity, time the bottle that contained them.
The smell of salt was strong and she shifted herself so that she might unwillingly come closer to the dark. Her desires lay in the night emanating from an unknown source beyond her, but she was tied to the dark and if, perhaps, she could come close enough, she could slip away. She seemed to watch herself from above as she braced herself, her hands taut with the heat of the dark. It was all motion, and no time now, but she still felt her years sliding away. All of them given up entirely the instant she gave herself over to the dark.
The light had given her to the dark from the day of her birth, a promise made for finance, and now she felt herself drawn to the glow of a brighter darkness, to the softly glowing night. It would now be adultery.
Her being was meshed with the dark, but her soul would always belong to the night.
R&R please! All criticism accepted!