There was a pinprick of light coming through the ancient
bronze keyhole. It played on the stony walls for a second,
as if deciding whether this room was the one. Then,
settling on a dark form huddled in the corner; the light
seemed to almost sigh in relief, as if it didn't want to be
alone either
The light grew brighter, amalgamating with the piercing silver moonlight that peeped through the heavy red drapes. It slowly unveiled the crouched-over form on the ground. Almost at once, the light jumped back, as if scorned by some invisible force on the body's skin. It was a boy; a brilliantly beautiful boy. The light almost paled in comparison to his striking features; alabaster skin, platinum blonde hair, silver eyes, with hues of white light dancing in them sometimes. His razor sharp teeth glinted. He was bathing in light; basking in the presence of something a little less than darkness.
There was something inside this boy. It was almost as if he had never been in the light. Everything paled in comparison to him, to his beauty, and his expensive clothes. Indeed, everything was a dark room for this creature, hunched over like a primitive beast. You could sense it, feel the vibrations of tension in the air. He was hiding. And he was crying.
There were deep, rust colored stains on the stone floor. They seemed old, and long forgotten, as if waiting for some fresh ones. Memories flooded back in that room. Screaming nightmares, pain, and fire. This boy was born of pain and fire. *A wolfish howl pierced the night, chilling his bones and his very soul. Rough finger curled around his wrist, leaving red bruises as ghastly souvenirs. The ground was cold; splinters dug into his skin as he bit his lip to keep from crying out. The weight on top of him was too much sometimes. There was always animalistic panting and moaning, and he couldn't breathe. He was suffocating and tears made their way freely down his face. He let out a deep cry of anguish as fingernails raked designs down his back. Then he was thrown onto the ground forcefully; a deep, gruff sigh of satisfaction resounded above him. * He would periodically touch the bruises on his thighs, his arms, and his lower back. There were whip lashings on his shoulders; a little taste of leather and cruelty. He would always remember the piercing pain that seeped through him like a drug, as he lay still on the floor, hardly breathing.
He was afraid; afraid that no one would touch him if they knew. Maybe he had some kind of mark on his skin; a sign of what had happened. His touch would burn their fingers and singe their hair. His eyes blazed like that of a demon's.
He rocked back and forth on the floor, knees to his chest, huddled for warmth. He was scarcely breathing, and deathly still. Suddenly, he let out a short, vengeful chuckle. A scrap of paper floated gently to the ground. It read:
"Lucius Malfoy; found dead in his office this morning."
The light grew brighter, amalgamating with the piercing silver moonlight that peeped through the heavy red drapes. It slowly unveiled the crouched-over form on the ground. Almost at once, the light jumped back, as if scorned by some invisible force on the body's skin. It was a boy; a brilliantly beautiful boy. The light almost paled in comparison to his striking features; alabaster skin, platinum blonde hair, silver eyes, with hues of white light dancing in them sometimes. His razor sharp teeth glinted. He was bathing in light; basking in the presence of something a little less than darkness.
There was something inside this boy. It was almost as if he had never been in the light. Everything paled in comparison to him, to his beauty, and his expensive clothes. Indeed, everything was a dark room for this creature, hunched over like a primitive beast. You could sense it, feel the vibrations of tension in the air. He was hiding. And he was crying.
There were deep, rust colored stains on the stone floor. They seemed old, and long forgotten, as if waiting for some fresh ones. Memories flooded back in that room. Screaming nightmares, pain, and fire. This boy was born of pain and fire. *A wolfish howl pierced the night, chilling his bones and his very soul. Rough finger curled around his wrist, leaving red bruises as ghastly souvenirs. The ground was cold; splinters dug into his skin as he bit his lip to keep from crying out. The weight on top of him was too much sometimes. There was always animalistic panting and moaning, and he couldn't breathe. He was suffocating and tears made their way freely down his face. He let out a deep cry of anguish as fingernails raked designs down his back. Then he was thrown onto the ground forcefully; a deep, gruff sigh of satisfaction resounded above him. * He would periodically touch the bruises on his thighs, his arms, and his lower back. There were whip lashings on his shoulders; a little taste of leather and cruelty. He would always remember the piercing pain that seeped through him like a drug, as he lay still on the floor, hardly breathing.
He was afraid; afraid that no one would touch him if they knew. Maybe he had some kind of mark on his skin; a sign of what had happened. His touch would burn their fingers and singe their hair. His eyes blazed like that of a demon's.
He rocked back and forth on the floor, knees to his chest, huddled for warmth. He was scarcely breathing, and deathly still. Suddenly, he let out a short, vengeful chuckle. A scrap of paper floated gently to the ground. It read:
"Lucius Malfoy; found dead in his office this morning."
