Narcissa Agatha Black stood in front of her foot-length mirror that hung in her room, eyeing her reflection with distaste as her mother, Druella Black, gently buttoned her pristine white dress with finesse and skill. She had done this very thing many times before - once with her own sisters and then with her daughter, Bellatrix. Her mother's cold fingers pressed into the skin of her back, causing goose bumps to form on her flesh.
Even though this was her mother's second time losing one of her daughters to marriage, she had already mastered the role perfectly. She had, of course, been bred for it and then trained from a small child to do this very thing.
"Narcissa, you are so beautiful," her mother gushed.
When Narcissa raised her eyes to meet her mother's soft blue ones, she noticed that they were filled with tears. Real, genuine tears.
"I know, Mother," she said, turning away from her disgusting image in the mirror to face the woman who had raised her from an infant. "And it's all because of you. Thank you."
She quickly kissed her mother's cheek before hugging her around her slim waist. She laid her head against mother's bosom like she had as a small child when she had been frightened of the dark or couldn't sleep at night. She used to scream and cry in the dead of night until her mother would wake up and rescue her. Her mother always promised security and love. And especially a shoulder to lean on.
Narcissa missed her childhood days.
Tears gathered underneath her eye sockets as they drew to the brink of falling down her pale cheeks.
"Shh," Druella soothed, noticing her tears. She used that same soft voice she always did when one of her children were upset. "Don't cry. It's your wedding day, Narcissa. You'll ruin your makeup."
She rubbed the tension from Narcissa's shoulders, trying to relieve some of the stress that had begun to build there. Narcissa wipe at her eyes, purposefully smearing her mascara. Maybe her future husband would peg her as an emotional wreck - someone not mentally capable of married life. Then, he would refuse marriage to her, and she would be free. A woman could only hope.
"Mother, I don't want to do this," she pleaded, giving up on wiping her tears away and completely subjecting to them now.
Her shoulders began to shake and her breath came out in gasps as she tried to catch it. She was beginning to resemble a senile person and she knew it; yet, she couldn't care less. She wiped at her eyes again, although it did very little to help her ruined appearance.
"I know you don't, Narcissa," her mother, still holding her, said. "But you have to. It's a duty. Your only duty to this family, mind you. You must carry on the Black family line through a Pureblood marriage. It's expected of you, darling. And the Malfoys are a wealthy family. It's what this family needs. You're the only one who can do this. Andromeda skipped out; we don't need you following in her footsteps."
Her mother turned her back around to face the mirror, pushing her long blonde hair out of her face, allowing her to get a good look at her appearance through the blurry tears and runny eyeliner. She mother stared determinedly into her eyes via the mirror; they were the same clear blue as hers. Like mother, like daughter.
"You don't have to love him, Narcissa, to make a baby. You don't have to care for him one bit as long as you carry on the family line. These are desperate times for Purebloods, honey. We are becoming less and less by the day. Mr. Malfoy will understand, I promise. In fact, he doesn't ever have to know your true feelings."
"But, Mother. What if he doesn't?" she cried. "I've read the books; the family diaries. That didn't always work. Their husbands always wanted more than just a baby. Always!"
Her eyes bulged at the statement as she stepped away from her mother indignantly. She thought her of all people would be able to understand her predicament, but she apparently was only set on one thing and one thing only.
She turned towards the mirror once again and fixed the creases of her white gown with a few pats of her hand. "In some cases, they were raped. Women were raped by their husbands, Mother! Innocent young women subjugated to spend the rest of their lives tending to their husband's needs; forced to let themselves be violated at the will of a man. Those women had no control over their lives. I don't want to let mine be controlled by sick maniac. I want to be able to do with mine whatever I choose!"
"What do you think Mistresses are for, honey?"
"Mistresses?!" her voice took on a shrill tone. "Marriage isn't supposed to be like this. It's supposed to be a beautiful union of two souls who care and love for each other. This..this..is disgusting and dishonorable."
A strange new sensation overcame her, lacing her voice with just the right amount of bravery for her to speak her mind and ask the question she had been wanting to ask her mother for a very long time.
"Was I the product of love? Or was it rape that caused me to be conceived? I want to know," he voice was flat; void of all emotion except determination.
She stood there, leering over her mother's weak form, demanding for the answer. She was practically begging when her father's voice, coming from the doorway, broke her chrarade. Immediately, she lost all will and fell to her knees, fear quickly diminshing any spark of courage she hand been harboring. She was once again the small fragile girl who spoke when spoken to and did whatever was asked of her. In her father's eyes, she was nothing but potential heir material.
"Narcissa Agatha Black stop this nonsense right this minute. You are acting out of character," her father said; his tone loud and reverberating throughout the small room.
From the floor, Narcissa glared daggers at her father through pale blonde strands. Her once ice blue eyes darkened a shade as all the anger and wrath that had built up during the years threatened to explode. She was shaking; her teeth chattering with rage in her mouth. Goose bumps formed on the exposed skin of her arms when the cold current coming from the doorways wafted against her. She was in no mood to be provoked.
"Narcissa, get up. You have a wedding to attend to,"her mother, who had been forgotten once her father had entered the room, spoke. She grabbed her upper arm and hoisted her off the ground to her feet.
Narcissa took the offer gratefully. When she was stable, she let go of her mother's hand, but not before she squeezed the cold fingers slightly for moral support. Then, she directed her gaze into the eyes of Cygnus Black. His eyes resembled two black unfeeling marbles stuck inside in skull - calculating and domineering; they surveyed every room quickly and a scary certainty. His hair was crisp black in color, hanging in small waves down his back. It resembled a dark halo, which seemed to emphasize his prominent jaw and gaunt cheekbones. His skin was slightly wrinkled due to old age, causing him to look centuries older than he really was. Any proof that she was his child didn't show. They were complete opposites from looks to personality.
Breathing heavily, she thought up a million awful things she could tell him, but she held her tongue. She refused to say any of them for fear of the punishment that her would administer. Instead, she pulled herself together; she gained control of her breathing and sent him a smile, surreal and fake, that stretched across her face.
She fixed her dress, leveled her glassy blue eyes to stare into her father's black ones, and said, "I hope I haven't kept anyone waiting, Father. I wouldn't want them to get impatient, even though it is my own wedding. I mean, this whole ordeal is just for entertainment, right? Just to show the Pureblood race that even though I'm being forced against my will, I'm more than happy and completely grateful to be given away to the most prestigious family of the age. It's all in the name of keeping our blood pure and clean." Each word dripped sarcasm.
She finished her rant and turned back to the mirror, ignoring both her father and mother's complete looks of outrage and shock. She looked the ideal picture of unstable; yet with one flick of her wand, her hair flew back into the half up-half down hair do it had been earlier and her makeup fixed. Her dress became unwrinkled.
She'd been left flawless.
She had transformed from the crazy emotionally wrecked girl into a woman who was about to be married.
Turning back around, she took a deep breath and smiled again, before picking the white roses up off the table beside her.
"I'm ready," she lied.
Even though it was far from the truth, something inside her sparked at the prospect of correctly faking the lies. No one would know as long as she played her part thoroughly.
She slipped her arm through her father's and squeezed. She may have been acting like a complete maniac a few moments ago, but now she was supposed to be level headed and in remain in control. If she were to get through this thing with some amount of dignity, she needed to take hold onto her raging emotions and keep calm and collected.
She inwardly told herself that it would all be over soon, but that was a lie. It was only beginning. Even after the wedding, she would be expected to play the role of wife. Of course it wouldn't be over, but she told herself otherwise.