The dawn broke with the silent orchestra of light. The sun started to squeeze forth from the edge of the earth, its rays new and warm. The black of the night began to ebb away, and in its place there was purple, which then faded to pink. There was a sliver of gold, a short time that the sun relaxed, recharged, before it burst into life. An explosion of hot orange fire engulfed the sky, the sun not distinguishable in the haze of color on the horizon.
Bellatrix watched, completely still. Her skin was aglow in the handsome light. Her eyes stung slightly from the sudden brightness. She blinked, cautiously, lest she miss a second of this phenomenon of nature.
"Bella."
She was in a trance, only half-aware that Rodolphus was still present, in the room with her; only half-aware of the room itself. It was just her, and the sun's power; Bella, and the fire.
"Bellatrix!"
"Hmm?" She slowly peeled her eyes away from the window and turned her head. "What?"
He stared at her, funnily, for a while.
"What?"
Frowning, he shrugged. "Nothing," he mumbled.
She turned back and looked out the window, but the flames of sunrise were gone; they had melted into the blue of day.