Chapter Thirty Eight
A Terrible Curse
I couldn't remember the last time the wind had blown so hard in the hills of England, howling against the walls and chilling my very insides. Every gust, every bang, seemed another hole in the very pit of my soul. I couldn't sleep, I lay there, and on the eve of my birthday I cried. I had never cried so hard as I cried that night, the cold air nipping at my nose, the sound of water dropping on hard stone sounding quietly from behind me.
The moon shown in through the bars of my prison cell. I could see my own blonde hair in the corner of my eye, damp and tattered as I lay in a small ball on the floor. Other then the water droplets the only other sound I could hear was that of my own heartbeat, thudding gently against my chest, my very life singing for its freedom. My eye lids flickered open and closed with a weakened flutter, red and raw from crying all the night before.
That night I held on for my life. For, on the eve of my birthday, I had been so badly beaten, and so badly ripped, that even my soul felt broken. Every bone, every limb in my body ached, as I shook uncontrollably on the cold wet stone floor. Every spasm of my feet and every closing of my eyelids tore me further and further from reality. I could feel myself fading, and I tried to hang on.
Then I saw his face, the one person that brought me happiness and joy. He smiled at me, his silver eyes glimmering as they so often did. I missed him more then anything or anyone, ripped away from me by one cruel man. I saw the boy smile at me, and I smiled. My heart gave a sudden jerk, making me feel as though I had just about had it. I didn't know how much longer I could hold on for. Every breath was torture.
A curse he called it. A curse indeed. The deadliest of all the curses. I would never forgive him for this, not ever. Forever I would be held in Limbo, between life and death, I would float in a sea of un-forgiveness, and un-acceptance. Every moment, every second after death would be a far worse torture then any other, and he knew it. The Dark Lord knew it. He had no remorse, no morals, just a need for hurting others.