The muggle world seemed colder than normal to Michael. He felt rather helpless and that seed the only reason for not getting drunk at this moment. Fear coursed through him. He was weak and powerless; he could be killed right now. He felt it would have been Larissa Dawn who would have killed him if he hadn't killed her first, now he didn't really know from which direction to expect his death. His death seemed so secure when she was around, so concrete that all that had to happen was the right moment and then he'd have been gone.

The reason for this was the hate she had shown him with a look. a look that currently haunted his mind as one of the most memorable things about her. She only had ever hated one other person in her life and Michael was there the night she got to destroy the object of her hate. He was there the night she killed her father.

The scene was one witnessed many times before; Death Eaters stormed a muggle household for fun. This particular raid was meant to be more for one girl though. The door was blown open beautifully. One Death Eater hummed cheerfully as she glided through the rubble, this seemed to be the only sort of situation that Larissa was able to be powerful, the only situation where she was graceful, the only sort of situation that mattered to her.

She halted in the wreckage of the entranceway as several black cloaked people swarmed past her and up the stairs. She looked on in mild amusement as the family was thrown down the stairs, three muggles and a squib.

"Who are you people?" the squib screamed. He was what she was after.

She squatted down to where his body had fallen, "poor, poor pure little Squib, surely you recognize this." She pulled up the left sleeve to her robes and brandished her marked forearm in his face.

"The dark mark," he whispered, astonished. "But the Dark Lord's dead."

"Don't make assumptions, they're bad for your health." Besides her one of the muggles was getting a round of Crucios. "Now," Larissa pulled back her cloak's hood and pushed her mask up, "Daddy dearest, you shall see where assumptions lead." She pulled out a good-sized knife as well as her wand.

Her father chuckled softly, "you really don't know what you're doing girl."

"Don't I? Fervefacio," she muttered pointing her wand at the knife. The knife glowed white for a few seconds before settling down to a pulsing hot reddish-orange.

"You're a stupid girl, I always knew you would never get anywhere." The side of the knife met his cheek in a brutal slap, the burn already blistering on the fair man's skin. Across the mark there was a line of blood where the tip of the knife grazed the skin as his head had turned.

"A warning, Father. Don't test my temper again or you will suffer a longer death then necessary. Fodio Morsus," she cried pointing her wand at him. He screamed in pain, the feeling of many snakes chewing viciously on random parts of his person was apparently not a very happy feeling. She let up the curse and petted his short hair, "Now isn't that better? Pain spells are so amazing sometimes. They're the spells I can do the best. And here you said I'd never amount to anything."

"You're mad!" he screamed trying to scramble away from her. Cords shot from her wand after a muttered word or two and held the man in place. She stepped over to where he was now laying and brought her heel down sharply on his kneecap twice, satisfied when she heard the crack she repeated the action on his other knee.

"Maybe," she said as she knelt next to him for better access. She dragged the knife lightly across his hands and up his arm, allowing the heat to make lines of burnt flesh in it's wake, "but that's your problem, isn't it?" The knife had trailed all the way up to his shoulder where she decided to plunge the knife. A scream ripped through her victim's throat as she twisted her weapon before ripping it out and moving on to the other shoulder.

She pulled out the knife and wiped the blood off on a clean part of her victim's shirt. Then she dragged the knife down his shirt, consequentially ridding him of the garment. "This," she said dragging the knife slowly across his chest, barley drawing blood, "is for every time I've thought of killing you." After about twenty marks she pushed the knife deeper, "This is for every time you made me want to kill myself." A few more then she pushed deeper, "These are for all the times I've killed thinking of you, wishing it was you. You deserve to die you filthy freak of magic." After a significant number of cuts marred his bloody skin she stood up to gaze proudly at her work.

"You're not screaming enough," she said, frowning as she pulled out her wand, "Hominis deleo," the screams rivaled the ones normally from the Cruciatus curse. "Just as good as Castration with a dull knife I would think. Though I've never had anyone tell me how it feels. So Daddy how does it feel to no longer be a man."

"Go to hell you little bitch!" he screamed hoarsely

She smiled happily, "Good. I shall remember that the next time I torture. Now I-"

"Time to go Pet," said a voice behind her, the speaker wrapping his arms around her lovingly.

"But I'm not finished yet, Love. He's not dead," she pouted.

"Well hurry up, and don't forget what I said about playing with the victims," Michael had scolded lightly before releasing her and heading out the door.

"Yeah, yeah, don't play with your victims too long or you'll get caught. Am I in charge of the mark tonight?" she asked cheerfully.

"Yes, you'll be the last out the door," with that he left.

"See Daddy, I can be something, I have a lover and you'll just have the worms that will eat your corpse," she swooped down and swiftly cut her fathers throat. "Exussum," she muttered as she exited the now burning building, "goodbye Father, Mordsmordre!"

The dark mark flew above a quaint house in London that night.