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She was never a princess. Andromeda used to look like her, but she doesn't anymore – that soft gaze, the glowing face – that was never written on Bellatrix. Andromeda looks human now – spooned out of flesh and blood, not carved of ice like she used to be.

Narcissa was always the real princess. She had those sea blue eyes and a waterfall of blonde hair that never needed charms or potions. But she always needed her sisters – somebody, anybody – to shield her, always needed them to be there. She was never made from ice. She was always too human for her own good.

And what is the point of being a princess if you can barely lift a wand for yourself?

Carving is slow, backbreaking, delicate work.

Bellatrix was not carved from ice. She was hacked from it, cold and brutal. Jagged axes make up her edges, raw and deadly. She's sharpened herself until she's fast to catch and slow to kill, smiling and sadistic all at once.

She's never needed anyone else, never craved the simple human contact her sisters crave. Narcissa has Malfoy and Andromeda has Tonks. They're not the companions she would have chosen for her sisters – Malfoy's a fool and Tonks isn't what Bellatrix regards as human – but they're companions anyway.

Bellatrix always imagines them as towers. Spiraling, delicate, twisting twin towers, made of warm marble and comfy stone. Sometimes snow-topped, straight out of childhood fairytales. Like icing on a wedding cake.

She's her own lone tower.