From the morning to the evening,
Complaints from the tenant,
Got the walls kicking like they're six months pregnant.
All that money, the money is the motive.
If it was him that started it, lit the flames of addiction and demise, it was also he who coaxed the fire of sin with a red-hot poker over her heart. Jabbing and poking at it until it was as black as her surname, that is, until he got the chance to change it.
Her life was a black hole of sin, they were as sinful as Lucifer himself. Twisting and turning themselves in white, satin sheets, bloodied and dirtied by their bodies. Twisted and turning in white fluffy clouds, breaking through them with imaginations as vivid as the colours of the drugs they popped.
It was too sinful for a Black, almost too sinful for a Lestrange. Although no one really said anything, she remembers, because there were deeper, darker secrets to be kept back then. Runaway cousins and Blood Traitor uncles. For him, a suicidal mother and a squib sister, surely Bella would reject such an impure bloodline?
She couldn't. Perhaps it was need, perhaps desire. It was anything other than love.
(It was quite simple in that regard. Bella didn't love.)
Rodolphus didn't love either. It was money, and prestige, she knows. There's no delusion, no mistake, nothing to stop her realising that they were never creatures of compassion with a need for company. Rather, raw and animalistic, as crazy as Bella had ever been and could be.
Rodolphus could make her crazy.
Rodolphus simply had the means to make her crazy, let her lose control and free her from anything holding her back, that was her need. Her purpose for him, his mission to fulfil. It was fortunate for him really, he would never run out of purpose, his job would never be fulfilled.
For her, Gringotts would never run dry, and so she would too, never run out of purpose. She would never lose control over him in a way that he simply couldn't. Money was the motive.
Money was the motive and he was a virgin to its power. Once he dipped a toe in its pool of gold, he couldn't escape the expanse of luxury, the trip it provided, worth far more to him than anything else.
For her the trips were different, there was a separate mechanism, a better release. Something someone as simple and tainted would never understand. Someone not as powerful.
And so it was: an endless cycle of sin. Black as Black and bleeding impurity all over her bedroom floor. He was her slave, her his provider, and never in the history of her life had there been such an exquisitely beautiful role reversal.
He coaxed the flames of sin with his poker because she let him. She let him come closer to trap him. He chose to be the moth entranced by the light because he thought he had the restraint to pull away.
But they each had their purpose, and both served it for the sake of the other. For the sake of need and desire.
For the sake of anything other than love.
The Weeknd - The Morning