Second Coming

by Violet Residue

'What if these roles we've convinced ourselves of were never really there? The messiah and aniahlist.' I never understood what you meant until now, it's too late anyhow. It's God's will. Desolation is all that we'll inherit. H/D slash, violence.

Second Coming
by Violet Residue.

Warnings: Fragmented thoughts, eventual H/D slash and analogy of God, religion and the role of a messiah. Nothing much today, just be wary in the coming chapters...
A/N: My intro, yay! My first Chapter, yay! My first fic, yay!

Longing.


There is a mirror in my room. My ornate cell. I lower the hood and stare back at
all the perversions I've cultivated. A symmetrical face, blonde hair, gray-blue eyes.
Something else is here, altogether different. A hint of something yet to come, sickly. My
father brought me here, he told me he'd do even this before the day he saw himself
outlive his only son. Even offer this child to our despotic messiah. A long alabaster finger
traces my collar bone, I close my eyes, I can't see his reflection, I never can.

Father said this was the only thing to do. Nothing could save us now, no deep
ancestral name, no arcane magics. None of it mattered anymore, none of it. Harry was
gone, a conduit for greater powers. Now we were all insignificant, vague little powerless
creatures, angels and demons blind to our presence alike. This was the only way. There
was only salvation sought from him.

It starts as a trickle, a thin vein split and a minute river of blood. Like the all too
red blood substitute you see in theaters. I look at the mirror, I see no god, no divinity. Just
a pale defeated boy, slowly bleeding dry. I can feel him though, God is everywhere and in
everything, buried in my flesh. God is all around you he says. His voice is smooth and it
carries with it a thousand deadly promises. A voice so familiar and yet so distant,
something else altogether. Sweet, sickly, poisoned. Do I imagine you lord? Do I feel you,
know you in the tremor of my bones? Shaking, creaking, aching. Is there something else
there that we can still ressurect.

You're beautiful Draco... A whisper.




I remember emerald eyes, warm verdant eyes. I shudder.




The eyes of Lord Voldemort are black as midnight ash.




















A/N: Hey first chapter of what will hopefully be a long fic. Please excuse all the God refences and I promise you this is going somewhere. No flames and please review.