Thorns and Brambles
Summary: "Slowly, a shadow crept over her soul, darkness seeping into her heart and twisting her spirit away from all the things that she had once loved so dearly". A tale of what happens when love's heart is not pure.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K Rowling, and sadly I am not her.
A/N Okay, this is just a little something I did of the top of my head, nothing special, just a nice little one-shot that flowed out of my finger tips into the keyboard and onto the page. I hope you like it, and I'd definitely appreciate it if you reviewed because I'd like that. All flames will fed to my friend Anail who happens to be a dragon (That's pronounced 'An-eye-eel', dingbat). Hee hee hee.
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He could see now that she was never meant for this.
How could she be, with her warmth that once blazed so brightly, and burnt him like a flame?
She was intended for another, meant to be a queen of light alongside her valiant and noble king. Not for this, where, in their eyes, she was the heroine of a tale with tragedy as the final curtain.
Once, not long ago, she was ill-suited for his world, where thorns and brambles made pretty crowns for black hearts and cold fires burned in deepest agony. Better matched was she for the affection of mummy and daddy, with protection from pain and where suffering was unknown, where the love of her family was given and received with no hesitation, and was treasured above all.
But passion overrides all things, swathing the heart in lust and love and drawing a veil over eyes of innocent youth. She was spirited away to a world of innermost black, where creatures of the night prevailed and where the sun, that which she needed most of all, never shone.
Slowly, a shadow crept over her soul, darkness seeping into her heart and twisting her spirit away from all the things that she had once loved so dearly.
Soon they were forgotten, cast aside as she grew strong again with the moon as her new guardian, it's light casting silver shadows over skin as pale as it's own face. Red curls burned bright in moonlight, like the cold blood flowing through her veins, and her beauty grew as she did.
But her heart did not forget all things.
Her love for him remained, and in their passion burned a power rivalled by none. For they were the children of magical descent, each with their own handful of powerful ancestors who's blood belonged to them. Higher they rose, until no more could they ascend through authority and reverence.
They were the prince and princess of sin, death brought down by their hands on more than one occasion and sure to be given again, a gift of darkest rule to those who were no longer valued or needed.
Oh, they were cruel.
Crueller even than his own father, who he had once looked up to with such blind faith, but now despised more than any other present before them.
Still, his position was such that he could dispense with the old man at any time, should he wish too. But that part of her that still lingered in the sunshine had once asked him to spare his life, to leave the one remaining piece of flesh and blood he had that was not imprisoned within it's own shell of madness alive.
But she was not a merciful creature, and when at last the old man displeased her greatly, she had him killed by her lover's own hand, as he had wished to do for so long.
And so, in clothes of darkest black did they inflict devastation on the world, cloaks shadowing their faces from their innocent victims as life seeped from bodies that would be sorely missed in the morning. Through town after town they went, leaving behind them a trail of destruction and obliteration, sparing few and only those who would serve them well as slaves.
In her flowing garments of midnight, expensive silks and velvets, she was an image of what he had turned her into.
She was no longer the little child who treasured family and friends above all, but a young woman of greatest cruelty, a vision of dark serenity now with a crown of thorns and brambles atop her own heart, even if some remnant of her former self could yet remain within it's beating frame.
But even if it existed, it was buried to deep too be found again.
Indeed, she no longer needed warmth. Even in the winter months her skin was impervious to cold, and in the summer her skin remained like ice even when she made a rare venture into the heat.
For when your heart is cold, you body cannot be touched by warmth as much as your spirit cannot be touched by compassion.
She was like steel; cold and hard and unbending, with an iron will, a cunning mind and charm of heavy nature beneath enchanting beauty. And beauty mixed with cunning is always dangerous.
And now she fits within his world almost better than he himself. She is it's perfect master and perfect slave, both one and the same; never far from the darkness and never one to taste the light.
She is a shell of a person now; more demon sovereign with human likeness than pretty maiden of pleasing form. But a shadow of her former self, she is no longer a little girl with good intentions, but something more powerful than any before her have ever been.
She is his princess, her twisted soul belonging to him in more ways than one. For it was he who gave her the darkness, and took her away from the light.
He is both her corruptor and her saviour; her captor and her liberator.
She is his, and he is no one's.