Hello, loves! How are you all? I'm sorry to disappoint you...I can somewhat imagine that you thought I'd update "Voldemort Get's A Cold"...sorry! I haven't given up, but I wrote this last week...in my head, so I had to get it down before I forgot it! (No, I'm not sure how you write in your head...hmm...)
Mmm...pie...pie's good...Sorry! I just had some pie...it was pumpkin...It's priest, have a little priest...(Sweeney Todd! Sorry, I'm obsessed!)...is it really good? Sir, it's too good at least.
Anyway, I suppose you all want me to get to the point. I'm going to write a super-duper long BellaMort story that involves them having a kid together (For all of my "Voldie Get's A Coldie" readers, this is why I was asking all those questions at the end of my last chapter), so I figured that before I dive into that story, I should see if I can actually write a BellaMort...this is my test story.
Be happy, people...I've stopped my incessant Blackcest writing in exchange for this! Yay!
That doesn't mean that I don't still totally love Bella and Sirius together...flame me if you dare.
I'm not really sure what the plot is...basically, Bella just "lost" the prophecy and the Dark Lord isn't too happy with her...understand? I hope that they aren't too OOC...I really tried writing this angsty...
It's called Beautiful Death, because Bella means beautiful and Mort means death (or dead, but Beautiful Dead sounded weird), and the pairing is BellaMort. Get it? Good.
By the way...the skippy, sort of choppy sentences, run-ons, and fragments are just the style I chose to write this in...it's not because I have zero writing skills.
Reviews are great, constructive criticism is better!
Her nails scratch across the floor, leaving deep rents in the wood. She shuts her eyes as pain shudders through her body. She's kneeling on the floor, head down, praying to god that it'll stop sometime…anytime…soon. She can't breathe and she's lost track of how many minutes have gone by since it started…for all she knows, the feeling that she'll pass out any moment could just be a figment of her imagination…it'd be nice if it was, but she knows it's not…
All she knows is that her body's numb with agony and fervor.
Bellatrix looks up, up through the tangled mass of ebony hair that hangs in front of her face, straight into the red, mad eyes and pale skeletal features of her captor.
His mouth moves, he utters words she's lost the will to comprehend-not that it'd matter even if she could. The blinding pain lifts off her body for the first time in what seems like ages and she allows herself a breath, shaking her head and willing the dizzying feeling to go away.
Everything she sees is blurry, her vision swimming with tears, half of pain, half of shame.
She lifts her head, looks up, shocked. She dares to believe, or to hope for one desperate second, that he's taken mercy on her.
He raises his wand as his pale, lip-less mouth curls in disgust and he utters something once more.
Bellatrix laughs internally. Mercy is not something he would give.
She clenches her fists and bites her lip as the pain slices through her once more. It's a wrenching, searing agony, one that doesn't make her writhe and shriek like all the others, but one that feels as if it's breaking her from the inside out.
The pain reaches a new level of torture and she swears she can feel her ribcage splintering. She bites so hard on her lip that she cuts right through it, but that feels like joy compared to what the rest of her is feeling. She shuts her eyes once more, her body threatening to fail as she sees white spots cloud beneath her eyelids.
Almost as soon as it began, it stops. The pain lifts once more. She straightens up, her chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to regain some normal breathing. There's a coppery taste in her mouth and as she unclenches her hands, she finds that there are four bloody rivets on each palm.
Bellatrix watches in mild, sick fascination as blood runs from the cuts, down her wrists. She resigns her hands to her lap, folding them. Some sort of chill runs down her spine and she looks up, dark eyes locking with eyes that would only seem right on a snake. She realizes that she's being watched.
oooo
Lord Voldemort tears his eyes away from Bellatrix's and paces back and forth, a few feet away from where she's kneeling upon the floor.
He sits down, drumming his fingers idly on his wand, watching the mangled heap in front of him.
Rivulets of blood run down her wrists, falling on her lap and her dress. She's bitten clean through her lip and the light from the fire reveals that there are tears running down her face.
The tears don't unnerve him at all. He knows it's not for the pain that she cries. Certainly not for that…she was never one to be sensitive to pain. In a sick sort of way, she lived for it. She was the only Death Eater he'd ever had who had seemed to crave the Dark Mark. He could still remember her smile as she watched it burn into her skin.
It's for the sheer humiliation that she cries.
He stands up, paces again, the time circling around her. Her head's bent low, her fingers entwined in her lap. She bites down on her lip again, splitting it further and staining her teeth with the blood. He sees and feels her shudder as he walks by.
He halts directly in front of her and places an ice cold finger under her chin.
"Look at me." It's not said as a command, but she understands it as one. She looks up, meets his gaze with feigned bravery and defiance.
She is the Dark Lord's disappointment…and she knows it…
He looks into her eyes. It's as plain as if he could see her soul: Looking at him, seeing her failure spread out in front of her, hurts more than any degree of torture.
The Dark Lord steps back, sits down once more, sighs. "You have failed me, Bellatrix." He has abstained from using her pet named, and this is not lost on her. Her mouth, ready, no doubt, to make some snipe or remark, closes immediately.
She's seen where her begging at the Ministry got her…she'd rather not relive that.
Obediently, as if she were some child, as if this were a game, she says nothing and drops her gaze.
"I'm sorry, My Lord."
It comes out as barely even a whisper and he wonders for a moment if she even meant to say it out loud at all.
Judging by the way her eyes widen in shock, she had wanted that plea to remain unspoken inside her head.
She hesitates, as if there's something else to say, but decides against it, and shuts her mouth once more. The Dark Lord smiles.
"Go on, Bella." The way he says the name, she knows that it's not meant as a term of endearment. "I'd like to hear what you think."
Bellatrix looks up for the briefest moment and the shock is written across her face. He can hear her take a deep, shuddering breath.
She's walking straight into a trap...
"M-my Lord…the e-events at the M-ministry…" Her voice wavers. She pauses, takes another breath, and continues. "My Lord, what happened at the Ministry was not my fault…" She pauses once more, looks up, checking his face for any sign of displeasure. Her next words come out in a rush, almost strung together into a single sentence
"There was nothing I could do, My Lord…I tried…we all did…but the boy…My Lord! You must understand that we couldn't stop them…honestly, if I could have done something, I would have! I'm sorry and…" Her words get cut off as Voldemort rises from his seat with a roar.
"No more, Bella. I've heard quite enough! Enough to know that you have no sense of what it takes to be a Death Eater!"
She looks down, mutters. "We were outnumbered, My Lord…"
"By a group of teenagers, Bellatrix. Teenagers with no outstanding magical prowess!"
He steps closer to her, closes an ice cold hand around her throat and hauls her off the ground.
She has the inconvenience of being particularly close to a wall, so he slams her against it, holding her by the neck.
"Did your father not tell me that you were exceptionally good at Hogwarts? Did he not tell me that you had mastered spells others only dreamed of?" Bellatrix nods. "Did your father lie, Bella?"
She shakes her head, blinks rapidly a few times, a few tears running down her face.
"It's always excuses with you, Bella. Always. 'We were outnumbered.' 'We tried, My Lord.' 'There weren't enough Death Eaters.' For God's Sake, Bella, stop! You know perfectly well that all the failures are your own weakness, not anyone else's. Had there been less people there tonight, you would have still failed. Now, most of my Death Eaters are back where they started and you, who deserves to be there most of all, are the only one who is free."
He releases his hold on her neck, throws her away from him. She lands hard on the floor. Her knees are already bruised, her hands already bloody. It doesn't faze her. She knows what's coming and doesn't even bother wincing when she hears "Crucio."
The shame weighs heavy in her mind. All other senses don't matter anymore.
When the torture stops, she's smiling.
The pain is her utmost joy.
oooo
The Dark Lord watches her.
Red rivers of blood still run down her wrists, staining her black dress. Her face is tear-streaked and her eye-lashes glint with unshed tears. Even though her body is in obvious agony, her lips are turned up in a faint smile.
He smiles as well.
She's his Bella. Beautiful, tormented, agonized…but not broken…
Not quite yet.
Like it? Love it? Hate it? Think it's more cheesy than angsty? Well, press that little purple-ish button and tell me, please?
Did I set myself up for another chapter, or is a one-shot enough?
Well, I'll see you next update, loves! Have a fantastic week!
R&R, please!