It is the taste of darkness on her tongue and it frightens her.
She lies on cold stone floors. The ceiling is high and ornate, the sounds of dripping water echo.
It tastes like she imagines muggle wine might. Dark and sweet and bitter and intoxicating.
She hates it. She knows, if she lives, the taste will always linger.
-
She hears him enter, shoes making sloshing noises all the while. There had been crashing noises, too, earlier.
She hears him talk. She hears Tom
She hears him sooth and frighten and sneak and fight and explain, and she wonders if Harry might die, too. She wonders if she is sad.
-
Her eyes are closed and she wishes for light. She wonders if she will ever dream again.
There is something seriously wrong with me. I have written two completely insane fics in as many hours and I could care less. Well, I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. I quite like this one, I think.
The Humbly Willful Servant to Her Keyboard,
-WhiteRoses96