You wrapped your arms around her body, still warm, and you cried. Shedding tears like you never knew how to before, you wept and grieved for her loss.
It was a beautiful sight,
Your haloed body, mind, and heart hovering above,
before,
and around her damned soul.
Oh, what a sight it was to see such grace, such beauty distorted and deformed into strangled sobs and high pitched moans. What wonder lay before us here, as you
mourned for something that was
beauty in pieces.
Your wings hung low, opening suddenly into a beautiful spread of
radiance and holy light with your loudest, most soul wrenching sob.
The old record player with the old disk and the old music softly crackled in the background, shooting out everything else but this view we had.
This play of old feelings;
Pain,
Loss,
Sorrow.
We sat there, sipping up the red blood of pure souls and relished in the sweetness of
Innocence.
Your blood shot eyes opened, screaming at us. Trying to scorch us with your
beautiful eyes.
Such beauty in your ugliness. The way your lips were down turned, each crinkle in your face as your cried out yet again.
The way each iris is now nothing but a thin, beautiful rim around the pupils or your eyes, the whites laced delicately with red.
You held her to you once again, trying to bring her back to life with your divine rights.
Oh, but you couldn't feel it anymore, could you?
Not even a spark for Hope to set aflame,
a wild fire that will eat at your soul,
consume you.
And leave you forever barren.
Your sobs subsided, and we lifted off the backs of our seats, curious.
Slumping down atop the body, you covered her naked body with your
glorious wings.
And you lifted up from her, the last feather gently dragged across her cheek, that rosy each and with your fingers you
closed those
chocolate eyes.
No longer on your knees then? No more crying over
spilled
blood?
Mudblood, one muttered.
In your stained robes, you sauntered over to us. Hips rolling, eyes lowered, lips set in place,
you stood before one of us, a look unreadable in your
beautiful eyes.
Did you hate the way he looked at you?
Full of lust and triumph;
We had broken an angel.
Did you touch his cheek and glide your gentle fingers down his body for spite?
No, no I did not think you won over, but I don't meddle.
Much.
As you took him by his hand, down the halls, waltzing about with wine on your breath and even more on his,
as you lead him to the clothed rooms with the drapes and the window,
as you
took him by his
blood,
by his wrist,
did you hate the way you
loved it?
I watched from the window, my silver eyes
seeing and yet unseen,
I watched your broken heart so never mended, as you somehow took revenge upon this...
this...
this monster by merely gazing at him the right way.
Never, I thought, that I would understand how easily that man... monster was won.
Green eyes? I scoff
Is that all?
Beautiful, entrancing, but not enough.
You slid the blade across your tongue, ensuring to all that, indeed,
we become what we kill.
Monster, I whispered, pupils dilating as my breath comes shorter.
Entranced, I watched as your eyes slowly found mine. My cheeks flushing and the touch of the wind in my
hair was already like the caress of a
lover.
In fear, in lust, I didn't move as you came closer.
The mansion walls could not contain such
lust, such
pain, such
want.
The marbled halls would not believe the sounds that they did not echo,
simply because they were too divine.
Why you did not take my life, I will never know.
But how you tasted,
felt,
shuddered under my touch and my
skin, I will
forget.
Never,
forget.
Oh such frail beauty, too thin, too
delicate to be in the light.
Morning comes.
I find the monster in the other room, bled out and dry, mouth gaping wide,
in a silent scream that will forever haunt the halls of my mind.
Forever.
And the curtains flutter in the wind, like your touch over all of my skin.
All
of
my
skin.
Such a great and terrible beauty, was yours.
Never will I admit that I understood how that
monster,
snake,
evil,
let himself be wooed by your
green eyes.
But your touch,
taste,
and beauty will I
forever,
never,
forget.
Do you like?
I hope so. Or else you just wasted a bit of yoru life on something you didn't like.
For the brain dead: Draco's point of view. Harry was holding on to Hermione... spelled right. Harry killed... someone. That's left up to you.
And don't ask me for a point to this. It just came out. Not my fault. Really.
Oh! A disclaimer: Character's aren't mine. But the insanity thrust upon them is. :)
You see this? This is me asking you to maybe read my other fanfics if you liked this. Even if you didn't. :)