Chapter 3: She Just...Left

A/N: I must be on a roll I've had writers block since I wrote the first chapter in October, finally posted it yesterday wrote one today and may very well finish another and post it before the night is over .And I would like to add that my last chapter, after I re-read it sounded familiar if I stole your idea I'm very sorry I didn't realize it at the time.

Disclaimer: so far the only character I own is Anna tried to find a name that fit into the potterverse better but couldn't find anything I liked.

I stared back into my fireplace with what I suppose would have been a serine look on my hardened, bitter face.

I'm sure if this had been a painting the artist would make millions and a piece of my miserable life would hang in hallways by the abundance.

It would have to be the hallway; it's not cheerful or formal enough to hang in a family room or an old fashioned parlor.

And someone would be permanently scarred if it where in a bedroom or bathroom, exposing ones self in my presence never seemed to be anyone's idea of comfort, even during seduction, not that I had much experience there.

I rolled my newly-lighted cigarette between my fingers, I was never much for smoking, thought it was a terribly unattractive habit that eventually led to your inevitable death.

Now that I think about it that sentence doesn't make sense, if your death is indeed inevitable, which it is, than why on earth would you be careful? It will happen anyway.

I took a final, long drawl from the remains of my cigarette, which I only had about six puffs of anyway, before I crushed it in a nearby ashtray.

I'm really a very pathetic piece of work, aren't I?

Here I am, sitting in my shack staring at fire and thinking to myself, I even take the time to correct the sentences I think in my head! I must be the only person in the world who thinks in good sturdy sentences in which any English teacher would be proud of...and then I correct myself!

It's a habit I picked up from Anna.

Except she would think aloud and then she would turn to me and say something along the lines of "what? Like you don't know anyone else who thinks aloud, at least I don't answer myself," which that right there was a blatant lie. I've overheard entire arguments she had by herself. It wasn't that she was particularly crazy, she was just annoyingly indecisive.

A true Libra in every aspect, at least according to the horoscopes we studied in class: Indecisive and obsessed with things like art, literature, harmony, and above everything love.

I suppose you could say she was in love with being in love.

Maybe she never did love me but was just so desperate to have this idea of an emotion that she convinced herself that she did.

It doesn't really matter what was going on in her mind, I loved her. She captivated me with her mystic ways. She was the type of person you want to be or at least be around because she simply radiated with joy for everything, most of the time. She found beauty in everything and to her everything was a form of art. From music to dance and even cooking. It was all beauty in one form or another.

I loved everything about her: her rather temperamental personality, her red hair that looked auburn inside but was very bright when the sun shone upon it, her ivory skin and her dark green eyes.

And I hate her for it

She made me fall so desperately in love and then left me.

She pledged her undying love to me, she gave herself fully to me and I her, and she even carried our child.

And then she left, no explanation, no clue as to where, no way to contact her, I didn't even know if my child lived, or if it did what its gender is, for all I know she died.

Not even a last goodbye, she just...left.