Here's the next drabble already! Completely unrelated to the first one, and on a really different tone. Quite an odd tone, actually, I guess. Very contemplative. If you, dear reader, want to get in the mood of this, I have two suggestions: first, have a look at the Wikipedia article about twilight ( en . wikipedia wiki / Twilight), the pictures and the description at the top of the article will make it easier to see what I'm trying to describe. And second, if it suits your taste, get some Florence and the Machine in your ears. I wrote this with "Falling", "No Light, No Light" and "Shake It Out" on repeat, and it was what put me in the state of mind -coughtrancecough- that was necessary for this thing to get out. Ah, Florence. There are no words.
Maybe it was the light or maybe it was the dark. Fabric sung in bittersweet whispers, close to her ears and air slid tauntingly under the sheets to kiss her heated skin as he stepped out of the bed. Maybe it was everything combined that was screaming for her to wake up, or maybe it was all about his leaving, nothing else, and her mind was just grasping all it could, twisted and blurry as it always was, so that it would make sense. It didn't, it never did and she was all too aware, of course.
Her heart raced at impossible paces, fluttering and constricting, but he moved slowly, and yes – the light was odd, she mused, she had been right, the light was odd on his too-pale skin, blue and eerie. The night clung to him as she longed to and she clung to the sheets, watching his back to her. His skin disappeared under black robes and she was spared the scorching fire of his eyes. He did not turn; his hand extended, elegant, long fingers whose skillful touch she'd never get out of her thoughts, and his wand flew to him, settled gracefully into his palm.
Soundlessly he departed.
She was left with the ceaseless drumming and buzzing of her blood in her temples. She was left half-drenched in bizarre blue light, secrets wrapped around and lounging over every inch of her flesh, purring and speaking to her, and as dawn broke across the sky she would have to let them go. It was bittersweet as this time always was, the time when night danced away, already beyond reach, and day hadn't quite hit her yet. It was slow, the creeping return of reality, gentle as a kiss could sometimes be before something stronger took over. Gentle as the breath that brushed before the bite. And she willed her limbs to move. Almost time to stand again.
Slowly, she stood. She moved to the window, and fully faced the blue light, let it wash over her, with the cold and that hint of sadness that always came laced with beauty. The world looked like a picture and she smiled a little, just the smallest arch of her lips, in the distant irony of her beholding. The world stood pretty and quiet, barely just shaking its dreams off, as she did, watching and watching while nameless fears rose in her throat, until she shook and her fingers clung, her nails pierced her own skin, seeking relief.
Ah. Something sharp.
On cue, the sun broke the horizon, quite low and radiant. Bellatrix turned away, absent-mindedly brushing the blood on her arm. She faced the bedroom and saw how vacant it was. Her lips twisted and her heart drummed. Emptiness. Well, it was no stranger to her.
She had things to be doing, she thought dimly, a world to paint with blood and the vivid colours of crisscrossed curses. It was morning.
Time to remember, or perhaps to forget.