Disclaimer: Anything you recognise... I don't own.
Note: Okay, so this is my first attempt at fan fiction and I'm actually quite proud of it. I would really appreciate some reviews just so I know what other people think (go easy on me though, it is my first try). Thanks and enjoy.
A Tortured Soul
She sits in the corner of a cold, dark room, on a floor of stone. No light can claw at the shadows, as no opening to the outside world is there. Every second the walls close in on her; the room feels like the arctic, pulling any form of heat as far away as possible.
As night falls nothing changes. The room is still black, still crawling with despair and hopelessness. One wall like a child's chalk board, lines tallied across it in years of a red substance. The pattern grows daily, counting out the length of her misery. Howls of fear echo around that empty cave; locked for all eternity, just for her.
She was just a young woman when she was sentenced to life in this hell hole; sat like a queen in her throne as the order was given to lock her away. Strong, fearless eyes showed no remorse as her petite frame was dragged down the winding corridors of bolted doors. Those two black holes had glared in anger at the skeletal guards as they threw her to the ground, her waterfall of jet black curls devouring her shining pale face. A BANG. A bolt. A scream of rage released from her ruby red, rose petal, lips. Silence.
That was years ago, now her curls had gone wild, streaked with age. Decades of neglect had turned that shining face grey, with sunken cheeks and eyes. Rose petal lips, now wilted and lifeless; still blood red though. But that anger lived on in her dark eyes; always fixated on her escape route. They still glared with flames frantically flickering within. Holding on for the moment when she could pounce like a leopard from her cell and take her revenge on those who opposed her lord.
Pain. She so longed to harm the snakes that had put her in this pit of doom; those who stopped her from finding the dark lord and bringing him back to his full power. Anger, hatred, blood lust; the only words she ever thought. A tortured soul is what always lay behind the shadowed eyes. Inside she howled and pleaded for freedom, for magic and the power that she craved like oxygen; while outside she kept her dignity. She was a proud being, never showing weakness. Emotion only whispered in her mind. Some would say she was insane; but she called it strength and purity. She said she was the strongest and purest being in existence. A pureblood witch. A Black.
She sits in the corner of a cold, dark room, on a floor of stone. She waits calmly for the day when her lord will save her from this torture and reward her above all others for her loyalty. But somewhere behind that serene mask, a caged animal awaits; willing to do anything for the power to flow through her body once more, and dance in a sickly green beam to its target.
And Bellatrix Lestrange has no doubt that the day she has dreamed of will come, and when it does she will be waiting.
