I lay behind bars in Azkaban, each day a living hell. The dementors sucking my soul away, the feel of being away from The Dark Lord, not being able help. My teeth grow dirty and crooked, my hair turns as crazy as me. The screams of others keeps a smile on my face, filthy Mudbloods screaming, "Help, help help!" The taste of blood from the walls, the feel of dust on outside halls. "I was accused, false! I swear, it was not me, I swear!" The screams go on, bringing more smiles to my face. My prison mate is long dead, she committed suicide just two long days of hell in. I lay in bed alone every night, keeping myself somewhat sane with Mudblood screams. Until the day I, Bellatrix Lestrange, escape, I will keep on listening, listening to screams.
