PROLOGUE » in which characterizations are shot.
… crushed blood
†
A reason to glance away from the mirror: she hates to see what she has become when she has not asked for it. She's alive, as she likes to see it, for that is what the Mirror of damn Erised shows; but what she is is more terrifying than she can imagine. Because looking beyond the mirror, she can see herself, ripping the flesh off her bones and throwing what essentially forms her on the floor. She takes herself apart, blood on the walls, her heart slipping into a hazy oblivion, as she cracks and shatters her bones, her skull, until nothing is left but dust. And all that is really left is her, in stripped glory. A spirit, a soul -
- a fucking ghost.
†
Draco Malfoy was sitting in bed, blankets wrapped around his naked waist, a cigarette burning between his lips. The smoke swirled upwards and Blaise Zabini immediately thought of gutting his ignorant lover with the remains of Lucius Malfoy's cane - the snake end - and watch it come out one of his orifices. He finally lived to be twenty-fucking-one, and Malfoy was driving him on the road of Second-hand Smoke. Bastard.
He reached over and plucked the stick from his mouth, taking it between his own lips and inhaling through his mouth, exhaling thereafter. The other Pureblood scowled and Blaise wondered if Draco was suddenly romancing images of homicide in his head. Draco no longer liked coffee - in fact, both of them lost interest in the caffeine-laced drink (most prominent after the recent death of their third wheel) in exchange for cigarettes. Both, to their knowledge, were addicting so in the midst of the transition, neither of them had paid attention.
Draco stood up and his first direction was to the mirror, currently situated in the corner of their studio. On his way there, he stepped over crumpled paper and forgotten sketches - most of them drawings of women resembling the one he - they - loved years ago. His favorites were pinned to the walls in a haphazard manner (Blaise recalled their Mudblood getting extremely irritated by their lack of order) and some secretly tucked away. 'They exude sex and are only for my eyes,' Draco once said to him. Selfish. Selfish git. But it was okay, his selfishness, because Blaise was selfish himself; he had his own stash of sexual photos of his favorite Mudblood - wizarding photos at that, which implies movement. He grinned stupidly - movement, indeed.
Draco examined himself in the mirror, grimacing at moonprints on his back and arse. He sneered at Blaise and gave him a rude gesture and proceeded to rub the temporary marks on his body. The dark-haired youth smirked and shifted back underneath the sheets.
It was too early to argue.
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