She stood among the circle of ominous figures in her jet-black robes and mask, her hands shaking with nervousness.
She remembered the first time she had heard of the movement. It had seemed like such a good idea: Preserving pureblood bloodlines, protection from the Aurors, and power, great power... All she had to do was attend meetings and show devotion to her... master.
It now felt wrong to say that word. All because of him. Before they had met, she would never have doubted her morals... she would never have regrets about what was about to take place.
Never had she thought that the people who surrounded her would be as sick and twisted as they were. Hatred, bitter hatred, welled up in her stomach. She was a fool. She should have known it was too good to be true, but never had she dreamt that it would go this far. She felt her master's presence and now focused her anger and nervousness into rapt attention as he began to speak....
Talia jerked awake, her heart racing at the memory. She rolled over onto her side, staring at the wall. It seemed so long ago... Maybe it was just a dream!... But no. She was still on the run. Still in hiding, still guarding her thoughts and feelings.
She shifted her weight to sit up and groaned softly at the dull aching of her body. She bent over to slip on her shoes and stifled a yawn. Talia stretched, the joints in her muscled arms cracking with tiredness. Why must she still have the dreams? Wasn't being tormented in real life enough stress? She picked up her robes and cloak, scattered across the cold, bare floor from her hasty arrival the night before. She plodded out of the room, every step a painful reminder of her plight.
She reached the kitchen and opened the glass door of what seemed to be an ancient, decaying pantry, hoping against all hopes to find some form of nourishment. Alas, it was as bare and empty as the house it resided in. "Damn and blast!" she thought, still not quite awake enough to ponder the consequences of her ongoing forced diet- that is, not eating. She slammed the door and jumped backwards as it shattered, the shards landing where her feet had been seconds before. She withdrew her wand from her pocket and murmured "Reparo!", and the glass flew back into place.
She felt frustration for letting her emotional control slide as she leaned against the wall. She slid slowly towards the floor, fuming also at her inability to curb hunger for more than a week. Talia looked forlornly to the worn traveling sack and broomstick where they sat next to the door. Within the hour, she'd have to leave this temporary safehouse. Too much was at stake to risk being found now.
Resigned to packing yet again, she checked within her bag to make sure it was still there. Reassured by the presence of the strange, dragonhide-covered parcel in her pack, she left the room humming to herself. It was the start of yet another day in the life of Natalia Lestrange.