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Next chapter will be up by the 3rd of July.
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Allow me that
The Dark Lord noticed what he was doing in the moment the words left his lips. He was killing Bellatrix Lestrange – and it was too late, the spell was done and the green light was flashing, the whispers of the wings of the seraphs of Death were approaching and soon his most loyal servant would lay limp on the floor. And why?
Uniquely because of her weakness. She was no traitor, no, she had broken no vows, her devotion was unwavering. She was guilty only of her foolishness, of her hope. Could he call it hope? He did not sense hope in her mind – he sensed only her deep-rooted wish, that had torned her while growing. No, she had no hope. And now she would die.
When the light subsided, he dared to look in her direction and something that seemed like relief fluttered on his chest – she was fallen, but trembling with her cries, crumpled by the bed.
Before he could walk up to her, she blurted out, her pitch so high the words were barely discernible.
"Forgive me! I-... I'll accept it! Forgive me..." and her voice died once again in the middle of her sobs.
With a few easy steps, Voldemort was in front of her. She clasped his robes, in desperation, murmuring her apologies, saying she wouldn't escape her punishment again. It was so pathetic, her eyes wide in fear – but it nudged him somewhere in the depths of his mind, so he knelt.
"It's alright, Bella. It was just a scare... You won't have to die to pay for your mistake. Everything is fine." , his voice, though never soothing, was firm enough so she was able to speak again.
"Forgive me, my lord! I tried—I... please, forgive me!" it was the first thing he heard, as her knuckles turned white while she held his robes.
The Dark Lord knew what she meant: she could never abdicate of her human nature as he did. For Bellatrix was always his shadow, his puppet, the one that mimicked his actions and his thoughts in order to grasp his power – to perceive it as something more material. But no, she could not give up what was the basic characteristic of human nature, because she had to feel something.
It was by suppressing it that it had developed. She swore to serve him. She knew that would displease him. Therefore, she kept it out of his eyes.
"I know you did, Bella."
He was bound to notice that someday, of course. Voldemort knew instinctively that Bellatrix never intended to keep this forever – she was not above him, he was wise enough, was mighty enough to find out where she kept her tormented feelings.
"Forgive me, my lord... I did not want it to... Stop me from serving you..." she murmured, fearful.
"Why would it stop you, Bella?"
"I thought I'd be cast out from the Death Eaters!" her shrieking did not surprise him, for her temper never changed during sadness. "I thought..."
"You thought I'd kill you?" he retorted, as a slight anger crept up inside him.
"I'd rather be dead than not being able to follow you!" she exclaimed, very passionately. Since the instant she had dropped her last shield he had no barriers inside her mind, truthfulness and affliction dripped from her words and her gaze was once again intense as a void.
Her crying was now almost entirely subdued.
She was leaning on him.
His control over her had never been so complete. He could feel her entirely now, he could see her as whole – nothing stopped him from being her, being inside her mind and soul. Never before Bellatrix Lestrange had been so undone. She was stripped of her own self, for there was nothing that he could not see, nothing that he could not feel. This overwhelming possession was desired. Lord Voldemort longed for possessing more knowledge, more power, more loyalty...
It was her affection – her raw human weakness – that left him so much in control of all. And Bellatrix knew that now, and she rejoiced, because she never wanted to hide anything from her master, nor wanted to escape from him. Therefore, she only stared at him with her hard, devoted eyes.
The Dark Lord's smirk was snake-like.
He leaned and kissed her tear-marked lips.
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