Sweat, love, hate, anger and above all the stench of death. Not decay, not yet, but not far off it. The salty, metallic smell of blood. Of her blood, as it poured from her body. Her very life force dripping, useless, from the many gashes and cuts that cover her once beautiful body, seeping into the dirt bellow her. She does not scream, she knows there is no point. Instead she wishes her last breath to have a purpose. She knows she has failed. She looks up into scarlet eyes and begs 'forgive me my lord'. As her last breath is pulled from her lips and the madness fades from her eyes, Lord Voldemort strokes her face. 'Ah my dear Bella, you of all people knows that the Dark Lord does not forgive easily'.