Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, etc…here borrowed for non-profit, purely entertainment reasons.
Author's notes: A mere shadow of a mere wisp of a mere persistent half-thought. Don't expect much.
A Whispered Why
by Adelaide E
xoxox
There were times when she asked him, lovingly, sweetly, Why did you propose to me?
And he would answer, carelessly, teasingly, Because nobody else would have you.
She had always known it would hurt to love him. But it was a sweet sort of pain, the sort of searing, burning ache that made her yearn for peace while still reveling in the excruciating bliss. She had always known that his love with bring others' hate. But it was a satisfying sort of hatred, one that told her that bearing their animosity was a small price to pay if it meant his caresses.
When she was very low, very sad, she would murmur, Why don't they serve me, like they serve you?
And he would reply, truthfully, painfully, Because they don't consider you my wife.
Oh how it hurt. How it hurt to have him, and only him, to speak to. How it hurt that her friends, her family, would see past her as if she had faded into the wind. And he tried, god damn it how he tried, to fill the voids, to make her blackness light once more. But he was only her love. He was not her life.
When she was so numb, cold, missing the aches, she would wonder, Why don't you care that they see through me, as if I were nothing?
And he would tell her, firmly, strongly, Because I see you, and you are my everything.
Naturally, she became restless. The grey, silent world did not hold enough for her usually active mind, and she wanted a change. He should have understood. He loved her for her mind, for her spirit, didn't he? Surely, he would understand.
When she felt trapped, when she felt chained, she would whisper, Why can't you let me go?
And he would confess, with his whole heart trembling with shame, Because I can't trust you to return.
And so she sat, bound within the prison of her own creation. And dangerous, suspicious happenings occurred in the recesses of her soul. Stirrings, questions, the faint coppery taste of blood. The love she had clung to tightly now shook and cracked, slightly, the spider web of fissions revealing it to be a mere facade. Where were her friends? Where were her family? She had not seen them in years...
When she was very wise and not so blinded, she demanded, Why did you kill me?
And he would say, without regret and without joy, his living, breathing body quivering with shock, Because Death was the only thing to bound you to me, when Love could not.
xoxox
The End.