A/N Severus Snape is an embittered, tortured man with a haunting past. If we were to look inside his dark musings, would it surprise us to find a young girl with a bewitching aura? And just what catastrophic event happened that caused such a life of hiding behind stony masks?
Inspired by Nabokov's 'Lolita'.
This fic will not be very long, but not one-shot
"It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight..." -'Lolita', Vladimir Nabokov
PROLOGUE:
Beauty wounds the soul.
This is true, this is so hopelessly, brutally true. Perhaps if there were no beauty in this world many a person and many a life would not have been hurt and have been broken.
But this is the past and I can do nothing to change the past. No special charm nor spell that will allow me to erase the horrors I have inflicted upon the world. How far and deep has my treachery taken me? Oh, I do not know. There are countless errors I have committed, countless sins, and I have dug my grave deep and wide.
I look about me and I still cannot believe that the Fates would let such luck befall a man of such dark history. It's not fair. There are others with cleaner slates, with whiter souls and purer hearts. Why do they not lavish in a stable job, a respectable presence in society and the trust of others? Why has it all come to me?
I deserve none of these. In fact, I do not even deserve death. That would be too quick a resolution, too easy an absolution to the number of my sins. I wouldn't mind if they packed me off to Azkaban and let me stay within my cell, thrown to the mercy of the Dementors. No...even that would be too painless. I have no happy thoughts for them to feed off of.
I think the most suitable place for me is some institution. Some institution where the walls are a dazzling, blinding white. Where the air is thick with the smell of sterilizer and crisp cleanliness. Where there are nurses and wards that walk about in their starched, becoming uniforms and they crackle with the demand of authority and respect. Where other patients would dribble on themselves, clap their hands and grotesquely hum to some ditty or other, where they would stare blankly at a wall or have frightening hallucinations, which required a quick sedative and calming session.
And I would sit within my cell and look about at the token image of what cleanliness and order was. And I would laugh bitterly within myself and claw at my unworthy flesh and see the dirt and blights upon me. I, not even worthy of an institute for the people who have been forgotten and abandoned by the world.
And I would think of her. Trapped within my own vicious cycle of thoughts. That would start from happiness and the memory of bliss and I would make my torturous way through the guilt and horror and depression and finally end back to where I had started. Broken and ever poisoning myself with beauty.
With Lo.
A/N Please review!