Defense Against the Dark Arts [Assignment 4] (Bellamort; texture)
If You Dare Challenge (Continued) - warmongering
Warmongering
Theirs had always been a Dark Family.
The Black family had never been for those who were fainthearted. In fact faintheartedness had been trained out of them since childhood. Dark magic never left allowances for the slight stumble in the incantation that came with fear or the sight of blood that was crucial for many of their celebrations and enchantments.
Blood had been ingrained in their very personalities, no matter how even her cousin, Sirius, tried to hide it. The call for dark revenge fed his soul just like it did everyone else's. The call was powerful and sang to their blood like nothing else had or ever would. She could not understand why he would choose to fight something that was so obviously a part of him. Friends could never mean that much. Friends were only there to advantage you, and were to be cast aside when unnecessary.
The Dark Lord's power had felt indescribably rich the first time she had come into contact with it, filling the room with and incredible presence that brought her to her knees. The texture of the power was like a rich velvet that flowed over her skin, caressing her in all the right places. It pulled her in before she had even made a conscious decision, not that her decision would have been otherwise.
Some people naively called what the Dark Lord did 'warmongering.' They didn't understand his true purpose of wanting to keep the Wizarding World away from the mudbloods and vermin that polluted their majestic world with filth and dirt. Those people did not understand the caress of true power that came only with magical might, nor did they understand the true freedom that came with the dark magic her Lord held within his palm.
If only they had felt even an inkling, they would be like she was when she had been only a teenager. She had a glimpse of true power then, and had seen more and more of it ever since.
That magic had become a part of her and felt as natural as her arm that moved to cast that magic on whoever opposed her. That magic was the power she had never had as the middle child, growing up in the traitor Andromeda's shadow and being second to Narcissa's beauty.
Her Lord gave her everything she wanted and needed. In return, she did as he wished, knowing his plan was far greater than anything she could have dreamed of. Her Lord was the epitome of a wizard.
There was no one who could match him in any way. Not intelligence. Not power. Nothing. He had no equal and never would. He was the omniscient being that would continue to exist for all eternity.
Anyone who thought otherwise should be taught better or destroyed.
There simply wasn't a place for them in the world, in their world.
Their world which was perfect, and pure, ruled by the iron hand of her Lord.