Writhing in agony, arms flailing, beating against the ground, teeth clenched so hard they might break, Bellatrix was happy. The Dark Lord does not show love, does not show kindness, does not show mercy or forgiveness or rest... but he can show displeasure. And this displeasure, this torture, was only because of high expectations. A torture as a sign of respect.
Sweat pouring throughout her dress, urine released, blood in her mouth, there was nothing but pain in her mind. Pain and satisfaction, pain for his displeasure, satisfaction for his regard. Nothing is worse than being ignored, but being held to a standard far higher than anyone else is a cursed wonder. His curse. His wonder. Insomuch as he can show.
Weeping with shame, drowning in guilt, failing to feel anything but incompetent, Bellatrix wanted the torture. The Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, Master, my Lord. Bellatrix repeated his many names to herself, a mantra of how much she deserves this. She had failed going beyond his requirements, failed to exceed his expectations. He was purging her of weakness.
Some call her insane. But they do not understand, are completely incapable of the depths she has dwelled. Insanity is just a way of others to say "not normative". There could be nothing normative. There could be no other man. There could be no other lord. There could be no other god. There is no other will. There is no other way. There is nothing but his torture, for that is as close to love as she will get. There is only agony, for that is her only pleasure.
There could be nothing sweeter.
Made for the December Monthly Het-Tastic Drabble-Athon Competition, Connect the Characters Challenge.
Prompt: 92. Agony
Story length: 272 words
Character: Lord Voldemort
Pairing: Lord Voldemort / Bellatrix Lestrange