Disclaimer I don't own Harry Potter
this is pretty short and I wrote it at like 2oclock so i skimped on editing and kept it pretty much the same as when I first wrote it. I posted it mainly cuz I wanted to participate in the Halloween festivities
Blood. Everywhere, there was blood. Dripping like rain from the wall, resting like morning dew over each splashed surface.
So many shades of red, deep and dark in the pools of it, rusty in the stains of the jacket and on hands.
Like rubies, it was so bright when it started to spill but the more that flowed the darker it got, until a river of black ran from their veins and over the blade. It coated their handsome clothes and ruined the carpet.
The blood was so copious and spilled so messily, it drenched and dyed the skin of their nephew, as his knife plunged deeper and stronger each time.
But he couldn't care, not when a mad, sort of strange delight took place of any fear or anger that plagued him before tonight, no, the blood was so vibrant it covered and hide each memory of bruises, the violent, crimson liquid rushed in waves crashing over him and washing away every thought that haunted and clung to the dark corners of his brain.
Euphoria filled his senses, he trembled with life as he took it. He was free, he was finally free from the shackles clutching his sanity, how funny that it had been so easy, that all along he could have found peace in the edge of a blade.
The fingers around the hilt shook, he couldn't keep still, it was only after a while his brain had settled enough to look down and see that his relatives weren't moving, they were corpses, they'd been for a while now.
His arm kept moving, the knife slashed with it, the blood trickled sluggishly into the lake on the floor. It was hard to stop. The bodies couldn't be recognized anymore and with all the red the room looked like it was blooming, blooming like the pretty flowers of the garden he'd tend every day.
His aunt would be pleased if she knew she was such a lovely bed of roses. He was red too. Quite drenched in blood, he wasn't sure who it belonged to, all of it was swirling together, so inter tangled and mixed you'd never be able to tell if it came from an uncle, a cousin or aunt.
Was some of it his own? Maybe, maybe but he'd never know. It was lovely, so lovely, he'd never known how beautiful it would be to see a family so intimately bathed in red, forever together. How perfect.
Very sad and lonely he felt alone at such a sweet scene, but he couldn't join them, they'd made it very clear he wasn't a member of the family. He wouldn't soil the perfect picture he'd painted for them.
Yes, yes it was perfect, it was wonderful and perfect that they die this way. They would be so thankful, he'd made them neat and perfect and lovely, his aunt loved perfection.
There wasn't a chance they'd have been so perfect in death without his blade and raging turmoil within that urged him towards this. He hated them each and every one them, but he was thankful they could part ways in this bittersweet fashion.
This was never meant to see the light of a screen but idk I felt like posting something
To those who reviewed or read; you're fantastic thanks homie
