Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
A/N: Naoko, you are the best, you deserve like twenty thousand awards. Everyone else, go to hell, but please review before you die-Cole
I am the youngest sister, I am the image of perfection. I am fragile, beautiful, perfect, and noone would dare say otherwise. They wouldn't dare, but even if someone was brave enough to say that I am not perfect, they would know they were wrong. They would know that I am perfect. I have no feeling, I am all numb, lifeless, but I am perfect. I have the perfect black hair, my family's pride and glory, I have the perfect saphire eyes, the same eyes my cousin Regulus once had. I have the perfect snow white skin, and I am loved for it.
But I don't want to be perfect, I know that deep down in the bottom of my frozen heart tht there is something more to me. I remember a time when Reggie and me would play out in the sun, when there was no white and black, and everything was perfect. I remember a time when I was not perfect. And I want that time back, I want to be able to feel again. I haven't felt anything in so long. Lucius can't make me feel, not even Draco, my own son, not even he can make me feel. There are times, late at night when Lucius is away on business and I have the house to myself. And on thses nights I take out my wand and cry 'Crucio' over and over again. I cry it until my voice is too hoarse to speak, until my mouth bleeds and the pain envelopes me. I yell out the curse until the tears roll freely down my face, I just keep casting it and casting it, knowing that I can throw it off at will but letting it devour me. And I love the pain, I thrive off of it. I love the pain, the sorrow, because I feel it. I feel the pain, the white hot fire, and I love it.
But then, then as I set the wand down and clean my wounds, I wonder about the pain, and I think, What happens when the pain no longer hurts? And then I cry myself to sleep because I know that I can't loose the pain. I know that if I loose the pain the world will crash down upon me and nothing will matter, and I will live in a body with no soul. The pain keeps me alive, and I can't loose it because then I become like them. I become like my sister and husband and friends, those people who never feel, who find solitude in killing. And I know I could never kill, not because it is wrong, but because I am weak. I am so weak I can not even kill myself, if I can't take my own life, how could I possibly take anothers?
I allow myself to fall onto the bed, yes fall because the pain is still with me, and I cry the tears I refuse to shed. I know that I am weak, I am weak because I need to feel. And I know that I need to feel, I understand that I need to feel, but I don't want to feel. I don't want to because they don't. And if they don't than why do I? Why should I feel when they don't have to? I let the tears fall until my head is pounding and I have no tears left. And then I sit up and bring my knees to my chest and say, 'If anyone hears me, if anyone can hear me, please take away my feeling, because to feel is to hurt, and I don't wish to hurt, but I can't take away the pain." And then I fall asleep, but my last concious thoughts are, When you can feel only pain, can you still truly feel?
