You hear voices in your sleep, voices that tell you to do things, things that would get you in trouble, a lot of trouble, you've heard them all your life and they never bothered you, often you would ignore them or when you were with your master you would let them guide you. Kill her. Torture. Stab. Rib. Burn.
You were never bothered by the psychotic whispers, but it does explain why it got to you when everyone started calling you it. Crazy. Deranged. Psychopath. Freak. You weren't crazy you tried to tell them you screamed it at them, but they wouldn't listen, nobody ever really listened, you told them. You tortured them. They reminded you of your parents, whispering in the night about how their eldest daughter was troubled, wrong.
You were never the best at controlling your temper, you screamed at your parents and they were frightened, imagine being frightened of your own child. Your child the unstoppable troubled monster, you. You.
You made things explode when you were angry, once you reduced Andromedas face into a bubbling mess. She was in Mungos for three weeks, she didn't speak to you again. She thought you were wrong in your views, but how could you be wrong? You just believed what your parents had told you, you believed what your blood told you. How could that be wrong when she, she was the wrong one. Everyone said you were broken inside, messed up, but you knew, you just knew it deep inside your veins that it was her. She was the wrong one, and your blood how it burned inside your veins at the very thought of it.
The voices always told you what to do and you listened, you were powerful, unstoppable, when you were angry brave men fell to their knees and trembled. You were the personification of hatred, you couldn't help it, ingrained in you since birth with this damn whispering inside your head and the words your parents so often spat in anger.
You are a freak. No-one has ever loved you. Everyone thinks you're a freak, everyone wants you to die. And you are angry, so damn angry because you can't help but think that if someone, anyone had stopped and been kind. Maybe if someone had treated you like a human maybe you could have been one. If your father had not been so angry that you were not a boy he might have loved you, he might have not hit your mother. Him beating your mother solidified her hatred for you. And your sisters? Your flesh and blood, your siblings, the people who where meant to be your best friends? Where were they? Where were they when you needed them? When you cried out at night they cursed you for stealing their sleep from them. They ignored you, shouted at you. You wanted someone to hold you but all you got was a slap. You didn't have to become the monster you are today. But no. Nature vs. Nuture right? So you were doubly cursed. Your master showed you how great you could be, the world was afraid of you so you should show them just how dangerous you are.
No-one should have called you names, whispered behind your back. Crazy. Freak. Dangerous. Unnatural. Oh how you laugh your crazy, demonic, empty, psychotic, twisted, hysterical laugh as they spew those words at you, knowing full well they were about to die. You would laugh at them, cowering and weak at your feet. Scum. You showed them who was more powerful. And if you were stronger, then surely you were not crazy, if you were better than them, how could you be wrong?
But for all your laughter you know its just an empty shell, an imitation of the true feeling, you are the shadow of what you could have been, the worst possible outcome of Bellatrix Lestrange. Oh yes you are a monster, you know that now, even the whispers tell you that. And when you laughed that empty shell of a laugh, when you tried to sound happy how it made you want to cry. How it made you want to scream at the world for never giving you a drop of happiness in your life. You often had hope, but what was hope? Hope was the cruelty of the world taunting you. Hope? You spat upon hope. Every time you dared to hope you were stabbed in the heart. And now even your own mind, even those raucous voices inside your head taunt you, scream at you, shout at you, use the words of your family that slice through your heart every time. Even that part of you knows it now, you are the most disgusting monster. Even as soulless monsters float by.
Your feet are cold bloody and aching. Your whole body is covered in a filth. You stink of rancid sweat and you feel loathing at the thought of the animal you have become. You have lived with it so long you don't know how it feels to be clean anymore, you cannot remember the sun, you simply cannot fathom the thought of warmth anymore. You don't recall what it was ever like to be comfortable. You belong here, you know that, the world knows that. Justice put you here, justice? There is no justice. Because you were beaten and feared by your parents, because your sisters hated and ignored you, because your husband raped and despised you, because your master lied and used you. That is why you are locked up. The very worst victim of the disease known as humanity.
And certainly, you most certainly do not know what it is like to be loved. Because that. That is the one thing you never had.
And that is a blow in itself, because you still felt love, you just never received it, you were ferocious and fierce but you loved. You loved your family who left you one by one, you loved your master and your husband, you loved the very world that imprisoned you.
And now all you can do is hope. You used to mock hope but now you hope that death will come to you. Every time you wake up you wish you hadn't, every time you go to sleep you hope you will never wake again to the cold grey cell and every day, you hope that it will end. Because your memories are the only things you have, the Dementors torment you with them relentlessly and you cry and scream because there is not one happy memory to try to fight them off with. There is not hope for the future there is only hope for the end. And you cry and cry until you find yourself giving up.
Bellatrix you, yourself, your warped mind whispers oh Bellatrix you twisted freak, no-one loves you, no-one ever did, this is what you deserve, this and worse, you fool you stupid little girl, who were you to believe you had a right to be happy. You were nothing, you are nothing, the world hates you, your family hates you. Every single person that you have ever loved feels nothing but disgust when they think of you.
You cry out, you want to tell people, beg for forgiveness but you don't have the words, you can't put them together in a way sufficient to express the agony that you feel. You poor lost little girl, broken by the darkness in the heart of mankind, used and left to rot in a cell.
You could have been saved.
But no-one cared about you. And no-one ever will.