A/N: Here's the 9th chapter of what was originally called Thoughts. Which means the end is approaching... As to the name changement, Les Fleurs du Mal is the name of a collection of poetry by the French poet Baudelaire. After reading the title, I was already thinking about changing the name, and reading some of the poems fully convinced me; it just works for the general idea, plus it's a beautiful name. By the way, its English translation can be both the Flowers of Evil, and the Flowers of Pain. So, sorry, the new story title isn't mine. On with the story, now! And please review...
Disclaimer: I solemnly ewar I am up to no good. I hereby disclaim.
Les Fleurs du Mal
Part Nine – Tattoo
The world of men is dreaming, it has gone mad in its sleep, and a snake is strangling it, but it can't wake up. (D.H. Lawrence)
Pale skin. White and flawless, almost like a child's.
But, alas, it wasn't supposed to be. Now a snake was scarring his skin. An ugly black tattoo, representing the snakelike Voldemort. Representing devotion.
He'd come to hate that tattoo. Once, a long time ago, he'd longed for the power he'd thought it would give to him. Today, though, it was ugly, it hurt and it connected him to a cause he had nightmares about.
What a simple tattoo could do to him. The snake had hurt him often. He remembered the burning, the searing pain, the blood. That snake meant torture, not being allowed to think for himself.
If only he'd known when he'd been young. But he'd been young, full of passion and hate. Of course he hadn't thought about the future. No child ever did.
But he hadn't been supposed to be free. Every day, the tattoo on his pale skin reminded him of what could have been. The tattoo reminded him of all he'd lost with his initiation. That tattoo symbolized all the wrong decisions he'd ever made, only one false step had been enough for him to fall.
A/N: Please review! You know you make my day when you do...
Anna Scathach