Hello there, the angel from my nightmare....
Sometimes there are times when I seem so prissy or so apathetic that I drive myself up the wall. My frustration in being so perfect and better than everyone else comes from the imperfected energy of everyone else which proves that I am still better than they are. I have everything they don't and they will never get. So, what is their problem? I am Pansy Priscilla Parkinson, heir of the second largest inheritance in the United Kingdom, second only to the Malfoy estate. Here I am, sitting in my room on the second floor, rambling to myself about petty things.
I stand up and walk towards my private balcony, slowing a little to run my hand across the dark frame encasing my dearest love's fair face and the delicate frame holding an elegant shot of my family dining in Italy beneath the stars. The ebony dress robe I am wearing came from that trip. I lean on the railing and gaze out towards the festivities far in the distance and I am disgusted. The celebrations are over the deaths of my friends and family who gave their lives for a cause that could never be more true.
Earlier this evening, I made small talk with Terry Boot. We had to stay far from the road, in the trees, in fear of being persecuted. The conversation eventually ended with me proving that there was "nothing left to live for" anymore. I turn back and walk to my rosewood writing desk. I reach for my wand and whisper a charm over my diary, causing it to glow green softly and then slowly burn to a soulless pile of charred remains. My memories shall be secret forever. I reach up to a long antique glass box, lined with velvet, and place my wand carefully inside. I lock the latch and place it back in it's resting spot. I walk again onto the balcony, with it's unique French balustre, and balance myself almost gracefully onto the ornate European railing I had hated to love. There was a chilling breeze that blew gently through my curls as I whispered, "Long live the darkness, long live my love." I gazed at the stars and leaned forward, awaiting the peaceful release of the cold ground.
Where are you,
and I'm so sorry,
I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight.
This sick strange darkness
comes creeping on so haunting everytime.
Will you come home and stop this pain tonight?
Stop this pain tonight.