Pain throbbed in her temple, visions of what she had seen flashing in her mind. It took over her senses and excited her very brain. The kill.
She was only eight when she saw someone murdered, life cut off like the snapping of fingers. He killed them just like that. A flick of his wand and they were dead, neck snapping off its shoulders and blood splattering across her face and hands. She could see the anxiety and distraught in her mother's eyes at what she had seen, but she knew she mustn't say or do anything about it with him, the Dark Lord, around or she just may be his new victim.
Bellatrix was in awe with the whole ordeal. The man leaked power and authority. She'd shake and tremble in her shoes around him, but she couldn't look or move away. The way people fell at his feet and obeyed every word had Bellatrix's skin itching for it. She wanted that. She wanted to kill.
It came as a fascination first, quickly brimming into an obsession that branded her skull. She couldn't stop thinking about it, the blood of her enemies on her hands, the vile despicable Mudblood creatures gurgling and begging for her to stop as filthy liquid seeped out of their veins.
As she grew older she'd ramble about it around her sisters, not even realizing she was doing it. Andromeda would look slightly disgusted and uneasy, but Narcissa would burst into tears. She could feel what she thought was guilt in her belly at seeing her youngest sister's tears. If she loved anybody it was Narcissa. The thought of causing her distress always pained her, but the annoyance that came with her weak stomach occasionally cancelled the guilt out. Narcissa needed to learn how to become numb to it. She believed in the cause after all.