Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and is protected by copyrights.

I had a book of fairy tales, when I was little. It was a Muggle book, with faded pictures and worn edges, and if my parents knew I had it, they would probably have destroyed it. My parents didn't think much of Muggles. They were tall and liked to wear black and frown. All day long, they frowned and talked in sophisticated tones to their frowning, black-wearing friends about how the wizarding world was going to the dogs. I decided that they were like the evil step-parents I read about in my fairy tales, and that someday, my Prince Charming would come and carry me away from them on a white horse and everything would be perfect.

And when he first kissed me, we would be illuminated by beautiful sunbeams, and roses would fall all around while doves fluttered overhead, just like in the picture in my book. I would lie in my big, cold bed for hours, dreaming about that first kiss.

I lived in a dark, looming mansion in the country, that had been owned by my family far back beyond the realms of memory. It was full of ebony and silver and dark green carpets. It was a dark place; even the perfectly polished silver was somehow dark. A forbidding castle ruled by a stony king and queen. Sometimes, I decided that they could not have children of their own, and had therefore kidnapped me and taken me to be the heir to their shadowy realm. I chose to ignore that I had the same raven-colored hair as they — although theirs was silver-threaded. I ignored the high cheekbones I shared with them, and the thin form, and the cold eyes. Perhaps they had bewitched me to appear as they did.

When I was eleven, I went to Hogwarts. My parents wanted to send me to Durmstrang, because Albus Dumbledore, a 'Muggle-loving old fool,' had become the headmaster of Hogwarts a couple years before. Apparently, though, there were so many pureblood families from Britain trying to send their children to Durmstrang that the school had been forced to cut off the flow of British students. I remember that my parents were in a rage because they were not considered important enough for their child to take the place of someone else's. But there was nothing they could do, and I went to Hogwarts, with dreams of meeting my Prince Charming at last. Eleven years old, and I thought he was taking too long to show up. Then again, eleven years is an entire lifetime when you're eleven.

Hogwarts disappointed me. There were no Prince Charmings there, only bumbling idiots who couldn't speak a sentence without tripping over their words. I was filled with contempt for these pitiful excuses for human beings, turning down their feeble attempts to ask me out with a true Slytherin sneer. At first, I decided that all the potential Prince Charmings had gotten into Durmstrang, and grew bitter over my parents' failure to get me into the enigmatic school, as well. Eventually, though, after I had met a few of those lucky boys who had been accepted into Durmstrang, I came to realize that it was the entire male gender that was flawed, not merely the members of it that dwelt in Hogwarts. As time passed, I placed myself on an icy pedestal above my peers, looking down on them and their pathetic lives with utmost scorn. I never dated — how could I, when men were such complete morons? I wanted only power. I no longer cared for fairy tales — my faith in them had faded like the pictures in my book.

And then, on my seventeenth birthday, when I at last came of age in the wizarding world, I took the Mark. Ah, the Mark — burning black on my arm, searing pain and soaring ecstasy. It embodied my lust for power — it gave me all that I thirsted for, and I became drunk with its heady wine. The Mark became my life.

At first, the Dark Lord wanted me to stay in school, to spy for him. But I convinced him that his other student Death Eaters could do the job, and he allowed me to enter the service of the Mark full-time. I don't remember how many people I killed, how many innocent children I tortured. I don't want to. I don't care. I loved every moment of it, and I laughed and took fierce joy in the Mark. I reveled in pain, both others' and my own.

And then they caught me.

I don't remember it clearly. Night. Flames. Curses flying. I think I killed an Auror. But there were too many of them — a circle of faces around me. Wild laughter — my own, I think. A shout. Blackness.

Then my eyes opened, and I was in a cell. Small, gray, dingy, dark. I lay crumpled in the corner. I was awoken by the pain in my arm, the pain of the Mark. And I tried to plunge into it, as I always did, and to find myself in a new place, with the other Death Eaters, as I always did. But it didn't happen. I remained in the cell. I could not enter the sea of pain. For the first time, the Mark had failed me.

It was then that I cried.

I don't know how long I sat there, crying, oblivious to anything but my tears. I was called back to reality by a sharp voice saying my name. I looked up, and distantly heard the Ministry official that I would be given the Dementor's Kiss the next day. I'm not sure I realized the full implication of that then. I'm not sure I realize them now, even as I'm being led outside to where the Dementor waits. I'm in a daze. They're taking my soul — the utmost punishment. But I don't care. I've already lost the two most important things in my life.

First, I lost my dreams — I'd burned that book on the night of my seventeenth birthday.

Then, I lost the Mark.

So here I am, seventeen-going-on-eighteen, facing the end of all ends. I can't help but wonder if things would have been different, if, perhaps, I had found a Prince Charming before it was too late.

Then again, maybe, just maybe —

The Dementor glides forward, and I turn up my face, closing my eyes and opening my mouth —

For my first kiss.

A/N: Morbid, much? Oh well. Inspiration comes from "Before the Kiss" by She's a Star and "Fairytales" by drama-princess. Both good stories. Read them. And the character is an OC. Just some Death Eater. Sort of Bellatrix Lestrange-based, so you can pretend it's an AU about Bellatrix Lestrange if you want, but it's really not her. And this story is the fourth thing I'm getting out today. Just goes to show what being suspended for a week can do to you. Please review; I will love you forever. And even better, go and review some of my other stories, too!