Chapter 4
The year was in full swing and Narcissa was slipping so deeply into her unhealthy state that it was starting to raise eyebrows around the school. She had requested to be moved into an individual dorm away from the other girls and spent her nights sleepless; staring into dark space with her mind dully searching for the light she so desperately needed.
She was in a vicious circle – a downward spiral. Her exhaustion caused her to lose her appetite and the loss of appetite made her feel sick. Whenever she tried eating her stomach would reject the substance and she would throw up. The lack of food fuelled her exhaustion and worries which kept her up all night. And so, life went on. Soon, Narcissa was paler than any of the school's resident ghosts with dark, heavy eyes and a frame that looked as if it would shatter at the slightest touch.
Professor Slughorn, the head of Slytherin house, had requested several meetings concerned for his student's wellbeing. Naturally, the actress took over whenever necessary to tell him exactly what he needed to hear. All to avoid a letter being written to her mother.
"I had a bad bout of the flu, Professor, I'll be right as rain in a week or two."
"I don't know what the girls have been gossiping about. I eat just as much as a lady should."
"Well, yes, I admit I haven't been sleeping all too well… I suppose I've been losing sleep trying to keep up with my NEWTs. Good grades are very important to me, you see."
The more lies Narcissa told, the easier it became for them to roll effortlessly off her tongue. They seemed to convince the pot-bellied wizard anyhow.
The young witch became accustomed to the staring and the whispering. Some sick part of her thought she quite enjoyed the attention. Every other morsel of her wished to the gods that the irritating school children would burn in hell.
Like all of her friends, Lucius had begun to keep his distance. Narcissa's cold demeanour was pushing everybody away. Even the Malfoy, who had been so keen to win his fiancé over, rarely spoke to her. She guessed her lack of swooning was too much of a knock to his ego. Narcissa tasted bitter whenever she saw the blonde boy around his friends. He was so cocky. So arrogant. And a bully. She had seen Lucius with his cronies – Mulciber, Avery and a few others – all laughing and jeering around a locked broom cupboard with some poor child kicking and screaming on the other side. She felt a thumping desire to smack the stupid boyish grin from his face. Still, it was easier to numb herself to the behaviour than rise to it.
It didn't take long for Narcissa to find herself in total isolation; living day-to-day life without so much as uttering a word to another person. All the better a situation to hide her snowballing secret. She could escape her miserable days through scarlet nights.
The witch came to appreciate the gothic beauty of it. Each drag of broken glass against porcelain skin reminded her that she was still alive and each drop of ruby that pain was merely temporary. For where there was pain, beauty would overcome it.
The tears long dried up, Narcissa continued glassy-eyed. The escape became a euphoria which sustained her.
Alone. Unloved. Imperfect.
But beautiful.
Such agony threatened the fragile girl's life and, yet, Narcissa could see it was beautiful. What could be more perfect than a spirograph of purest blood?