A/N- Something really odd happened with this that caused all of the text to become surrounded by hypertext, and for all the paragraphs to be out of order. I've deleted the hypertext but left the paragraphs that way, because I think it rather adds to the encrypted nature. Also 'cos I don't know how to do it... :)
More A/N- I wanted to call this "Please," but it sounded really familiar and I couldn't remember why, until I realized Dala wrote a fic or two called that. Thus, Maybe The Sun.
Warning- Amazingly, no slash. How d'I bear it? (You can tell I'm only pretending to be British.) There is, however, a lot of darkness, a bit of OOC-ness, and confusion all around.
Other Warning-This character is usually written super-in-character or kinda-out-of-character, but the latter is more accepted. Mine is somewhere in between, so I'll probably irritate lots of people
Disclaimer: They all belong to JKR, unless she sold them without my knowledge. And believe me, I'd know.
I should have started earlier but I was so stupid when I was young, I didn't understand about things at all. Stupid now, too, I know you would say that if I asked. I really do try, I memorize everything and I stay up late into the night repeating formulas but she always- I should have let them do it to her, the whore. She deserves it for being the way she is, I believe.
Cut to: a dungeon. Ornate, of course. Chains and handcuffs, naturally, many rusted with age. I know people have been killed here, years back. Naturally. I've rarely been chained myself; not necessary. The dungeon is enough.
I am very sorry I was angry. I shouldn't have been because you are right. Please. I am sorry. It's just so cold in here, and you put me in just at sunset to last the night like you always do except last year when you found out what I told them. I am sorry, I know they should be cast out, bullied, tortured, but I was so scared. I could bear the floating in the sky when I hadn't spoken to them but I had to. I'm sorry I am always so weak but there is not so much I can do anymore.
Third time this summer. I sit, my back against the stone wall, and I shiver. It is so cold, always so very cold. Why is it always so cold? It never stops, the cold, seeps into my bones (the skeletons are still here, some of them). I am the lord of the ice and I never stop shivering. And pleading.
I don't hate you because I know you don't hate me. I know you don't want to hurt me; I only need to learn. If you hated me you'd chain me more, and I'd have scars from it. You told me that once when I was little and I was angry, which I am not at you so much anymore. Then put me in the dungeon.
Please. I will be better, I promise. I'm sorry. Really. I was never brave enough to do what you wanted- I am sorry. I am loyal to the cause, really. I know they are scum; I know they ought to be tortured, bullied, driven away. The killing does frighten me, I admit that readily, but I know it shouldn't. Let me out and I'll learn- I promise. Please. Please. Please?
I'm sorry. I am so sorry. Maybe- why did you put me in here the first time? Was I crying too loudly for you, or was I- didn't I understand about the classes? I should have- they are all scum and they ought to be tortured, bullied, driven away. Maybe me too for not being brave enough.
I know I'm whimpering. You told me never to whimper, makes you sound like some stupid little animal. All I am, really, so why not act the part? But this is the place of my nightmares, has been since I was the littlest child in the world and you put me in here first, for cowardice. The dungeon is haunted not just with spirits but with me, in all my deepest incarnate wrongs. Incarnate, I know. Incarnate.
I am sorry. I am so sorry. I know I've never been good enough, I'd get caught first try and stuck in Azkaban and they all just bring back the dungeon memories of not being good enough. Ever. Please. I am sorry. You just want me to know how it is when you're weak and stupid and when you are so very not good enough.
And it isn't that I don't hate him. I do. I know I am stupid and not good enough but there are things beyond my control that should make people listen to me, you told me that. He shouldn't spend his time with scum, he should have listened to me. I would want to kill him if I wasn't so weak and as it is I want to slice off his fingers one by one because he didn't listen to me and I want a huge gash in his head to cover up the other one.
It really is cold. I don't know why it is so cold, all of the stones against my back chilling me to the quick. Your eyes always do that to me and I am so sorry. Really. I know I forced you and you don't want to, I only have to learn. I am really very, very sorry. Please. Let me out.
Maybe the sun will rise soon. Please. I won't see it though because it is so dark. I wonder when I will be back here again, dressed in the thin, too-small robes I've never let anyone see, crying like a fool, wishing I was better, just a little bit better. Please. Please. Please?
Maybe the sun will rise soon.
"You know," she always says, half-sad (does she really even care?), "how much it hurts him to have to do this to you. He doesn't want to; you force him. If you were better-" And breaks off. I've been as better as I can be, and the more I think about the more I begin to consider being worse.
Reviewy reviewy reviewy! Please? I don't mind flames; they'll warm the poor boy up, no?
More A/N- I wanted to call this "Please," but it sounded really familiar and I couldn't remember why, until I realized Dala wrote a fic or two called that. Thus, Maybe The Sun.
Warning- Amazingly, no slash. How d'I bear it? (You can tell I'm only pretending to be British.) There is, however, a lot of darkness, a bit of OOC-ness, and confusion all around.
Other Warning-This character is usually written super-in-character or kinda-out-of-character, but the latter is more accepted. Mine is somewhere in between, so I'll probably irritate lots of people
Disclaimer: They all belong to JKR, unless she sold them without my knowledge. And believe me, I'd know.
I should have started earlier but I was so stupid when I was young, I didn't understand about things at all. Stupid now, too, I know you would say that if I asked. I really do try, I memorize everything and I stay up late into the night repeating formulas but she always- I should have let them do it to her, the whore. She deserves it for being the way she is, I believe.
Cut to: a dungeon. Ornate, of course. Chains and handcuffs, naturally, many rusted with age. I know people have been killed here, years back. Naturally. I've rarely been chained myself; not necessary. The dungeon is enough.
I am very sorry I was angry. I shouldn't have been because you are right. Please. I am sorry. It's just so cold in here, and you put me in just at sunset to last the night like you always do except last year when you found out what I told them. I am sorry, I know they should be cast out, bullied, tortured, but I was so scared. I could bear the floating in the sky when I hadn't spoken to them but I had to. I'm sorry I am always so weak but there is not so much I can do anymore.
Third time this summer. I sit, my back against the stone wall, and I shiver. It is so cold, always so very cold. Why is it always so cold? It never stops, the cold, seeps into my bones (the skeletons are still here, some of them). I am the lord of the ice and I never stop shivering. And pleading.
I don't hate you because I know you don't hate me. I know you don't want to hurt me; I only need to learn. If you hated me you'd chain me more, and I'd have scars from it. You told me that once when I was little and I was angry, which I am not at you so much anymore. Then put me in the dungeon.
Please. I will be better, I promise. I'm sorry. Really. I was never brave enough to do what you wanted- I am sorry. I am loyal to the cause, really. I know they are scum; I know they ought to be tortured, bullied, driven away. The killing does frighten me, I admit that readily, but I know it shouldn't. Let me out and I'll learn- I promise. Please. Please. Please?
I'm sorry. I am so sorry. Maybe- why did you put me in here the first time? Was I crying too loudly for you, or was I- didn't I understand about the classes? I should have- they are all scum and they ought to be tortured, bullied, driven away. Maybe me too for not being brave enough.
I know I'm whimpering. You told me never to whimper, makes you sound like some stupid little animal. All I am, really, so why not act the part? But this is the place of my nightmares, has been since I was the littlest child in the world and you put me in here first, for cowardice. The dungeon is haunted not just with spirits but with me, in all my deepest incarnate wrongs. Incarnate, I know. Incarnate.
I am sorry. I am so sorry. I know I've never been good enough, I'd get caught first try and stuck in Azkaban and they all just bring back the dungeon memories of not being good enough. Ever. Please. I am sorry. You just want me to know how it is when you're weak and stupid and when you are so very not good enough.
And it isn't that I don't hate him. I do. I know I am stupid and not good enough but there are things beyond my control that should make people listen to me, you told me that. He shouldn't spend his time with scum, he should have listened to me. I would want to kill him if I wasn't so weak and as it is I want to slice off his fingers one by one because he didn't listen to me and I want a huge gash in his head to cover up the other one.
It really is cold. I don't know why it is so cold, all of the stones against my back chilling me to the quick. Your eyes always do that to me and I am so sorry. Really. I know I forced you and you don't want to, I only have to learn. I am really very, very sorry. Please. Let me out.
Maybe the sun will rise soon. Please. I won't see it though because it is so dark. I wonder when I will be back here again, dressed in the thin, too-small robes I've never let anyone see, crying like a fool, wishing I was better, just a little bit better. Please. Please. Please?
Maybe the sun will rise soon.
"You know," she always says, half-sad (does she really even care?), "how much it hurts him to have to do this to you. He doesn't want to; you force him. If you were better-" And breaks off. I've been as better as I can be, and the more I think about the more I begin to consider being worse.
Reviewy reviewy reviewy! Please? I don't mind flames; they'll warm the poor boy up, no?