The room was dark. Her eyes had adjusted long ago. Her heart had adjusted long before. The stench of blood filled her nostrils, insulting her senses with every fiber of its being. Wet, dripping blood, fresh blood. Her hands were covered in it. Her clothes drenched. A pool of the red liquid appeared a deathly black, lying in front of her feet. She didn't care about that. The smell. The smell is what she couldn't take.
A single turn of her stomach heaved everything it could manage forcefully to her throat. Small pale arms found their way wrapped around her stomach as it heaved again and it all spilled out onto the floor, mixing with the blood. That awful smelling blood.
For a moment she wondered if he hated the smell of blood too. If Harry, if he, the boy-who-lived, couldn't stand the smell of blood. He probably could. He could do anything. He was everything. Was. Now he wasn't. His body produced the blood. The blood she couldn't stand to be around. It made her hate him more. Even in death, he dared spite her once more. Even in death he mocked her childish weakness. In death however, he had understood her love. Her love for power.
Tom was right. Tom was always right. Harry had said he loved her. When she was killing him. He had begged for his life, when he'd told her he loved her. And she'd laughed. Because Tom was right. Everyone would love her, now. They wouldn't have a choice. Everyone would love and admire her, lust for her. Lust her power, lust her body. Lust her love.
She'd always been the one in love. But no one, no one loved her back. Always in love. But Tom. Tom loved her. Tom saved her, he showed her the truth. Tom. Where was he now? Where was he when she wanted him, when she needed him. No where. Tom. He didn't love her either. No. No one loved her. She would have to kill him, too. Kill them all. Make them see.
She wasn't just the youngest Weasley...she wasn't just the only girl...she wasn't a Muggle loving fool. No. She was no ones daughter. She was no ones sister, lover, admirer. Not anymore. Never again. Blood stained fingers caressed her stomach. Maybe the smell of blood wasn't so bad after all. Just maybe...