The pain burned through her system, forcing tears into her eyes and her hair to stand on end. Nothing could have prepared her for this fabled love story.
When she had first fallen in love with him, everything had a dewy glow. She could feel shivers travel alone her spine like the legs of a centipede. Nothing could bring them down from the heights they had reached. And then the fiery slap had seared its way across her cheek. Pain flew into her mind and a pale hand tore at a red splotch. Surprise lit her mind, but wasn't this why she loved him? Why had she expected anything different?
She considered him an angel, even though he was the farthest thing from. An angel of darkness was the more accurate description. But when the bottle exploded against the doorframe, meant to be her head, she knew that he was a demon that she had transfigured into something different. Somehow she couldn't shake the feeling that he was the epitome of everything that was perfect. It was clear now that he had no desire or passion for her other than making her another devoted servant.
She had even been imprisoned for him. Never once believing that when he returned, everything would be worse.
She walked up her drive, anticipating changing into more comfortable clothing than those that she had on. Her feet hurt from the high heels and the hem of her dress was covered with black mud. Smoke stained the sky grey. The acrid scent turned her nose up as the orange flames licked the white clouds. She dropped to her knees. The mighty Bellatrix had fallen. She was felled by the one man who had claimed to love her.
Tears stained her sooty cheeks and harsh screams ripped their way out of her throat. But no one cared. She had a mask on, always keeping up the appearance of a strong lioness instead of a frightened kitten.
Her voice scratched with the effort of keeping up with his rising screeches. She screamed, yelled. Kicked and scratched. Nothing could keep them together, yet neither of them wanted to give up.
Glass covered her black dress as the bottle shattered on the ground at her feet. Blood dripped down her ankles and fire lit her eyes. Anger seared through her body and she pulled out her wand. He whipped out his own and disarmed her. She sank down onto her knees, laughing at the crunch of glass beneath her weight.
She missed the caress of his voice as he whispered "I love you." Now they were screams of hatred and terror that forced them apart with wounded prides and bodies. But the tears and fears was all that they had of what used to be a deep and passionate love.
Masochists they were, but neither wanted to change. The walls are built so neither can see any chinks in the armor and everything is burned in the wake of their hatred.
She looks in the mirror. A ray of sun falls across her pale, sunken face and black makeup is smeared across her face from crying herself to sleep. She turns to look at him, hatred burning in her black eyes. She whispers "You'll be sorry" and walks away, tripping over the smashed coffee table. He pushes her out of his mind, longing to find someone else to whisper false promises to.
She longs to wrap her arms around him, uncaring as to whether he screams at her or not. She misses the way he would follow her like a lost dog. The way he wrapped his arms around her waist and send shivers through her body. He might have been ugly, but they were feared when they together and nothing else mattered.
They would push and shove, but neither cared. They were considered crazy, almost locked up in St. Mungo's. Knives are shot through their eyes from across the table, no semblance of love recognizable any longer. They know that no matter what, they can run to each other. Love is hate and hate is love.