Long, black, silky curls fade into mad, violent tresses.
Cold, amused, grey eyes fade into lifeless, insane, wild ones.
Happy, young, wild laughs fade into hysterical, childish peals.
Elegant, graceful, delicate features fade into pale, sunken cheek bones.
Bellatrix Black was far from insane, the beautiful, oldest daughter of a branch of the Blacks. The most coveted girl by the families for an arranged marriage. She was the wet dream of many Hogwart's boys, her cool demeanor paired with the delicious laughter you got to hear if you were just close enough.
She was a young girl, uninhibited. Bound by a contract in the distant future, but still distant enough to ignore. She was strong and powerful and, while she didn't know of as many spells as Cissy did, she could cast any curse she wished.
She was the quintessential, pure blood girl.
Bellatrix Lestrange was madder than a hatter. The girl had been broken, leaving behind a lifeless husk. Rodolphus spared her no mercy as he demanded her obedience and forced it from her when she wouldn't give it. Her strength was lost.
So was it any wonder when the Dark Lord appeared, prepared to offer her all her old strength and more that she didn't refuse?
He returned her the stolen power, but he couldn't un-break her. The Dark Lord didn't encompass the love to do so.
Her mind broken and her power at full force, she was the terrifying ghost of the girl she once was. And she had Lord Voldemort to thank for her return.
So she became his most loyal follower, she would follow him to the end. She bared his pain as love for her, to help her correct her flaws to become as flawless as him.
And when he rescued her from Azkaban, she felt her love cement even more.
A broken soul that latched so tight, it healed with the other's soul between it.
Too bad the Dark Lord no longer had his soul.