AN: Written for the Variety Drabble Challenge (4/50: PansyNarcissa ) and the Weekly Paring Drabble
Competition (Week 9: PansyNarcissa)
Pansy lays beside her, absently tracing her fingers over Narcissa's stomach. The older witch shivers with a delight she hasn't felt in so long.
The spark with Lucius has long since died. The thrill of their marriage has faded into the dull, endless monotony of sleeping in separate beds and only speaking when absolutely necessary.
Narcissa is not made to be alone. Her heart is too big, her need for affection nearly suffocating. Lucius is monster with his cold neglect, his heartless words.
And Pansy is so young, and Narcissa knows how very wrong it is. The girl is her son's age, after all. Her skin has not yet been etched with time's cruel lines. Her mind has not yet been broken by the harsh realities of life.
But it's her youth that keeps Narcissa calling night after night. She looks at Narcissa as though she is goddess, and the bed is the altar of worship. So young, so eager to please.
Narcissa knows that she should let the girl go. Playing this game is cruel, and Pansy is wasting her youth on a woman who can never fully be hers.
But Narcissa is more selfish than she would like to admit, and she can't bring herself to care.