Prompt: Bellamort one-shot set during the second war, maybe after she was released from Azkaban.
Note: Not all that happy with this. Might try and write another one this week. I blame my insomnia for this trash.
The dark beauty sat back pressed against the chair, her back straight as if it had a rod implanted below the skin, impaling her spine perfectly perpendicular. Her face would move every so often catching the smallest of movements her lord made. Her eyes trained on his own, dead deep once chocolate eyes, which were now deep set and onyx in appearance oozed admiration as they bore in to blood red rubies, eyes nonplussed by the violence taking place around the room. The woman sat not gazing at the 'attraction' but rather at her master. Her eyes dare not leave his own, her gaze would soak up every ounce of him offered, much like a flower to the sun after a storm. After being void of his divine presence for fourteen finite years she would savour every part of him he offered, even if was just his mere presence. Her body was leant towards his own as she admired him, her gaze was barely noticed, as rubies sat trained on the muggle who was floating above the table. Her skin was nearing blue now as her blood was pulled from her body by the many men around the table. Rabastian being the main attraction of the room as he carved in to the woman skin as her dirty filthy blood infiltrated the table, coming to pool at the centre of it, collecting in a pool of scarlet. The liquid barely noticeable it's self against the ink backdrop of the table. But this attraction did little to steal attention from the dark maiden. As his gaze shifted slightly towards her direction her gaze dropped ashamed at being caught. It was clear she was out of practice of hiding such, once she had been skilled, but her skills like her body had been whittled away from her. Her body now a sickly composition of skin and skeleton. Her once grand curves nothing more that the marrow they were formed of. Her skin had once been a flawless canvas of ivory flesh of which perfection was abundant. Now it was sickly and had a tainting of yellow, it was also married to flaws such as the scars they littered her. Most she was proud of, they showed her true devotion to her lord, she would wear them proudly the merits of her pure devotion. But this did not mean they did not corrupt her appearance.
She when finally broke from the misery of her appearance meet those blazing rubies she felt her cheeks themselves inflame as if the fire from his ever glowing rubies had started the wildfire of her skin. She noticed that the once full room now hosted but two. She felt what she could only call excitement crawl northwards towards her spin, creeping in like a spider and sending her body a blaze.
She sat silent. She had learnt before what speaking out of turn could cost her and she did not wish to have his hatred aimed at her, she did not wish to anger her lord. No she only wished to please. She sat once more bowing her head, submission screaming from her body as it always did when his presence shone it way to her.
"Bellatrix." A cold voice penetrated the room, his tone chilly, but somewhat holding a tone of amusement which twisted out in his words in an almost sneer.
"My lord." She spoke her head still bowed eyes boring in to the table, unable to meet his gaze.
"Look at me when I speak to you Bellatrix." His words were spoken lowly, as if speaking to a child. Condescendence rung out above all else.
The moment the word reached and caressed her ears her onyx pits meet red oceans.
"Better." He shifted slightly. He stood as the words pasted past thin unturned sneered lips. His body fully leaving his throne like sittings. As he came towards her, his feet creaking confidently across ancient floor boards, the soft hushing marriage of wood and leather was the only sound that danced between the two twisted souls, aside from the soft depression of breaths.
The witch sat pressed against the high back chair, not turning to meet his gaze, knowing that was not what he wished. As she felt his cool breath ghost her neck she fought hard against the need to shiver. His closeness causing all functions of her brain to flick their switches off. Her eyes fluttered closed her body inhaling the simple closeness of the two. His presence overbearing and strong in her mind even beyond closed eyes.
"You know your lord rewards dedication. What is it you wish to receive as your gift my Bella?" Her eyes flicked open surprised. She went to answer him but her mouth felt dry and gagged. She swallowed nervously a matter of times.
"I wish for nothing but to serve you m-my lord." Her sentence ended uneasily. Her thoughts traitors to her. Her thoughts bursting off to places she knew she would never visit.
"Your thoughts speak other wise." It appeared there were many things she were out of practice with. She was a talented legitimist. But all that training feel apart in this moment. The walls she had spent years tailoring to perfection had crumbled. He did not need to break them down his presence simply dissolved any and all trace of such.
He side stepped so that not he stood against the table, his lower back pressed in to the hard wood as she tugged the lightly trembling woman to her feet. She stumbled some what as his hand guided her skywards. She stood a few mere feet away from her master. He then grapped her harshly by the shoulder pulling her towards him, his hands pressing in to her, the skin bruising under his touch. His nails sunk in to her skin as he pressed his own cool indifferent thin lips on to once red pouting lips that were now lifeless but still fairly plump. The aching flare of pain melted in to the back of her mind as her eyes fluttered shut once more. Her long black think eyelashes tickling her cheeks, grazing them soft before falling still. It was not chaste, it was not soft. It was hard and bruising. He moved against her pulling her back before pulling her back in to a teeth against teeth kiss. It was not nice it was not sweet. It was not a kiss of lovers, but it was the closest to bliss she would get, the closest to heaven her twisted and sick soul would drift. It was something she had dreamed and fantasised about for years, the thought that kept her hope warm in the bitterest and darkest of nights in her draftee cell. Her fantasies were the only thing to hold her mind together, he was the reason she was alive, he was the reason she lived. Literally, he was her life. She knew he saw her a little more that a love sick little girl, pathetic in nature. He had told her such on occasions. But in the end he was her God and she was his follower, she would shower him her sick and twisted pathetic devotion to the end of her days.
This was the last thought that was allowed to enter her mind before she was pulled from her light delusions and pushed away. His hand no longer marking her skin blue. She failed to gain her balance and felt to the ground. The wooden floors icy under her ivory bone like fingers, empty onyx eyes looked up to see his leather loathers as they steeped away from her in haste. His disgust evident in the heavy fall of his hastily mapped out steps as he swept away from the now suffocating room. Her eyes fell once more to a bowing motion as her eyes carved in to the wooden icy dead flesh on the floor.