Bleeding the Noble Blood
He did not know how long he had stared down at the dead embers in the complete dark before he was oh so rudely jerked from his thoughts, his mind. He was somewhat brought back to reality with a simple word. "Master?" An empty word, a scared one. One that need not apply to him any longer. "What do you want Severus." The long sigh following the simple sentence gave the visitor an eerie, unshakable feeling of regret. "I've got the information you needed. I'll leave it on the desk…" The voice was eager to leave. Just like everything else in his life. Easy come, easy go, or maybe not. Its always hard to get things in life, and even harder to let go of them. With an uneasy interest, he slowly turned towards the dimly lit desk area. A large envelope sitting in the middle of the desolate top. The slow and unsteady footsteps echoed off of the thick stone walls. It was such a short walk, but entirely long. It was time to see the information he was longing to see not but three days ago, but wanted nothing to do with at the moment.
Before he had the time to blink, he was standing the small circle of light, harsh, intruding light. It seemed to go into his soul and bring out his troubles, and lay them out in that one envelope. One single piece of paper, folded into a holster of lies, betrayal and deceit. All he had ever worked for, hoped for, and dreamed of. All in one single piece of lifeless tree. His future was now in his hands, more in a physical sense as well as metaphorically. With a swift deft movement from his eerily steady hands, the top of the sealed envelope lay open, a stark white piece of plain muggle paper. It glared up spitefully at the man. The reflection of the painfully white paper in the dubious scarlet of the irises made the man put the open envelope back down on the desk. It was his future, glaring up at him like the predatorily gleam of the vampire's fangs before sucking the life out of its victim.
This was it, the moment of truth, whether or not the fangs would hurt. He plunged his hand into the envelope, and ignored the dull pain as it sliced into his skin. One iridescent drop of blood slid across the elongated finger, and dropped onto the now botched paper. It had one spot of evil, of life on its deadly paleness. One spot of lost life amongst the old death of the woven page of truth. The sharp contrast of the blackest ink on the page was harsh to look at without rapidly blinking. The words spread around the page in uniform lines. Lining up to be demolished into thoughts, and ideas. Deconstruction of the English language into evil, harmful things wasn't always such a bad thing, up until now. The words danced through his mind, creating a butterfly effect of thoughts. Oh the brilliant possibilities. In what seemed like forever, a grin, a feral grin, appeared on the lips of the man. There was indeed a way.
A way to escape the harsh reality of it all. To deny the living lifestyle of everything around him, or to become deaf, and ignorant. Whichever way brought the animosity of life and death to an end the fastest. He was ultimately supposed to kill again, the only one that could kill him was that Potter brat. And vise versa. Oh how this was wrong. This was wrong enough to make the man start to laugh, pathetic as a sound it was, but a laugh still indeed. There would be no more deaths, no more than one.