A once beautiful and somewhat sane woman sits in her dark and dusty cell, withering away at the behest of her lord, of her master, who has demanded her sacrifice for the greater good. He was all powerful, and one day, he would be return from his supposed death, and on that day he would free her, and she would rejoice. Until then, she simply needed to hold her breath, to remain above water despite the best efforts of the foolish dissidents who would rise against her lord, who would fight for those filthy mudbloods and blood traitors, and who proclaim themselves as leaders of the very world her lord claimed as his own. Infidels. Traitors. Imbeciles. Dead men.
A smirk graces her lips as she thinks of some of her victims, one of the few things to bring her joy and keep her sane, outside of thoughts of her lord and his rise back to the top of the food chain.
Dead women too. Yes, she tortured a lot of women in service of her lord, so to leave them out would be unfair. Still, the victims she's most fond of was one particular couple, their names slip her mind at the moment, who she crucio'd over and over again as she laughed with absolute glee at their anguished screams, as she set out to not only follow her orders, but to draw out the torture for as long as possible and break her own personal record. And their minds along with it. It was the last thing she did, unfortunately, as their movement hit an unexpected pitfall, but she had faith. A mere fluke would not keep them down for long, even as a decade of detainment passes, she has faith, for one day she will escape. She knows it. She expects it.
What she does not expect is to be visited one day, unofficially at that, by a young blond boy, a handsome boy with a curious aura about himself, almost a familiar aura, one that reminds her of…no. She can't think such blasphemous thoughts. Her lord was one of one, and she didn't even know who this brat was. He looked no older than a first year, but somehow he had got past the guards, past the Dementors that plagued her thoughts and her dreams, and was standing in front of her with a determined look on his face. He didn't look happy to be there, but he also didn't seem angry, murderous, or like someone seeking revenge. Somehow she felt at ease in his presence, almost connecting with the familiarity that he presented, both in the image of her lord, and with…something else he exuded. Was it his haughty attitude? His vaguely familiar hair? Was it his eyes?
"If you're wondering," the boy spoke with all of the confidence and prominence that she imagined he would, "I…am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and the true heir to Malfoy and the Black lineage." Ah, that's where she recognized him from. "And I have come, to keep you some company and to provide what I can only assume is a much-welcomed distraction from your…" He stops to gesture at their surroundings. "Life here." His expression then darkens as a grin adorns his visage. "I have also come to learn, as I have heard great things about you from very reputable sources." He stops to look around, and then casts a spell, one that she's unfamiliar with, but it does make her feel warm, comfortable, and overall less miserable. "I hope that you will have me, and take care of me as only you can. You have a lot of time and a lot of birthday presents to make up for, after all. And I don't wish to force you, but I will if you refuse." With that statement, she saw something in his eyes, something dangerous and it…excited her greatly. For the first time in over a decade, her heart beats in triple time, as she licks her lips and opens her mouth, a smile almost gracing her worn face. Speaking her first words in so long, she cannot hide the amusement and the interest in her face.
"I won't refuse you, I could never." She manages to breathe out in a husky tone. "As you said, we have a lot of time to make up for, dear Nephew." A sinister cackle fills her cell, as she cannot contain her glee. Finally.