Author's note: here is another original character for you to digest.
Enjoy. If you have suggestions, I am open as always.
Mila [pronounced MEE-la]
"Leave me alone!"
"Why? Why should I? You never once granted me the same courtesy, or anyone else for that matter!"
"Please have mercy! Mercy!"
"Like the mercy you showed my husband? And child?"
"I was young. I didn't know what I was doing!"
"You killed them. A three-year-old would know what was being done!"
"Please. My husband is dead and I am left with a daughter. Who is to care for her if I die as well?"
"That is between you and God."
A flash of bright green light illuminated Mila's nightmare, shattering her sleep into shards of glass, stabbing her very soul. She couldn't breathe. Her head ached, but the sharp pain in her temples could never match the incessant pain in her chest. "She died," Mila thought. "She died."
Mila glanced at the clock. 4:30. She had finally gotten to sleep at 1:00. Her nights were getting shorter. She was finding it hard to find peace within her. The solitude of her icy prison was beginning to eat away at her sanity.
"I can't stay here," she said to herself. "This place, this place. Much too quiet. Too quiet for even a mouse. Noise. Noise. Voices. Any voice. Anyone at all. PLEASE!" Mila was trembling. Her voice rose to a manic level.
"Hello Mila," she began talking to herself. "Hello. I havent' seen you for a while. Have you been holed up here? How long has it been? Yes I know. 16 years. Sixteen long, hard years." Her eyes settled on the dagger she used to open letter she never got. She now understood why it had been one of the only things Snape had allowed her to keep.
"Clever Bastard, isn't he! Oh, you didn't want to kill you did he? He leaves you that happy pleasure, bless him. Well I have had it. It's too quiet. Much too quiet."
Mila picked that dagger shaped object up, holding it to her throat, when she was distracted. A Noise! A small flutter of wings out of the icy wind. How small, but so welcome. Life!
The owl perched on Mila's desk, letter in familiar untidy scrawl clenched in his beak. Mila took another look at the dagger, and then decided to take the letter from the owl.
"Who? I know this writing." Mila pondered the possible origins of the letter before the idea to actually open it came into her tangled mess of a mind. Mila's eyes bugged with sudden realization.
"Severus."
Mila [pronounced MEE-la]
"Leave me alone!"
"Why? Why should I? You never once granted me the same courtesy, or anyone else for that matter!"
"Please have mercy! Mercy!"
"Like the mercy you showed my husband? And child?"
"I was young. I didn't know what I was doing!"
"You killed them. A three-year-old would know what was being done!"
"Please. My husband is dead and I am left with a daughter. Who is to care for her if I die as well?"
"That is between you and God."
A flash of bright green light illuminated Mila's nightmare, shattering her sleep into shards of glass, stabbing her very soul. She couldn't breathe. Her head ached, but the sharp pain in her temples could never match the incessant pain in her chest. "She died," Mila thought. "She died."
Mila glanced at the clock. 4:30. She had finally gotten to sleep at 1:00. Her nights were getting shorter. She was finding it hard to find peace within her. The solitude of her icy prison was beginning to eat away at her sanity.
"I can't stay here," she said to herself. "This place, this place. Much too quiet. Too quiet for even a mouse. Noise. Noise. Voices. Any voice. Anyone at all. PLEASE!" Mila was trembling. Her voice rose to a manic level.
"Hello Mila," she began talking to herself. "Hello. I havent' seen you for a while. Have you been holed up here? How long has it been? Yes I know. 16 years. Sixteen long, hard years." Her eyes settled on the dagger she used to open letter she never got. She now understood why it had been one of the only things Snape had allowed her to keep.
"Clever Bastard, isn't he! Oh, you didn't want to kill you did he? He leaves you that happy pleasure, bless him. Well I have had it. It's too quiet. Much too quiet."
Mila picked that dagger shaped object up, holding it to her throat, when she was distracted. A Noise! A small flutter of wings out of the icy wind. How small, but so welcome. Life!
The owl perched on Mila's desk, letter in familiar untidy scrawl clenched in his beak. Mila took another look at the dagger, and then decided to take the letter from the owl.
"Who? I know this writing." Mila pondered the possible origins of the letter before the idea to actually open it came into her tangled mess of a mind. Mila's eyes bugged with sudden realization.
"Severus."