Lucius. I suppose it's a name that makes one expect evil. A name that one would think to associate with sinister stares and cruel thoughts of torture and death. A name to represent the epitome of darkness. Strange, then, that it means 'bringer of light', don't you think?
Perhaps it's that 'Lucius' sounds too akin to 'Lucifer'. And yet, the latter is attached to the same definition. Etymologically speaking, of course. Theology has taught us to think of 'Lucifer' as a name that belongs in the shadows. As a synonym of the Satan.
Do people honestly think me as bad as all that? I'm flattered. Really. To say that I deserve no love from any but a dementor is a mild compliment at best, but to equate me with the master of deception of betrayal is the highest sort of praise imaginable. The irony never ceases to draw out a bitter smirk from my lips.
Bringer of light. He was once, you know. Or perhaps you don't. Adam may have named the animals of the earth, but God named the angels of heaven; and yes, he named Lucifer too. But the Bringer of Light thought himself better than his creator, and with one third of heaven led an attack on the Light itself. Fool that he was. God cast him out of heaven, along with his one third of angels. And Lucifer was stripped of his name; he no longer worthy of its glory. God gave him a new name: Satan.
He doesn't bring light anymore. He fell into darkness, and that now is what he brings. So where do I stand in all of this? My name is fixed, the meaning remains. But perhaps the meaning itself becomes a little more meaningless with each passing year. With each passing month; week; day. For despite whatever connotations my name brings with it, there is darkness coursing through my veins. There is darkness burned into my forearm. And I bring it with me wherever I go.
With every fleeting moment my blood blackens more. It poisons my heart, and turns it to ash. It steals the light from my eyes, and it deadens my soul to nothing but a shadow. I loathe it; curse it for the way it has cursed me – damned Dark Mark.
Damned me.
I know I am, make no mistake. But no matter how precariously close I stand to the flames of hell, no warmth penetrates my bones. Forever cold, that's what I am now. Physically, emotionally.
There are few sensations that rise from me now; few things I feel. Pride, envy, greed, lust, anger, hate… bitterness. But that emotion, too, will fade. Fade with the memories it stems from. The recollections of a life that was stolen from me by a skull scorched onto my arm. Soon I'll forget that there's anything to be bitter about. Soon I'll forget all that the light ever promised.
And then my light, too, will be gone. Weaken, flicker, and fail into darkness. Then my own fall will be complete.