It's really good to hear your voice saying my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak
February 12th, 1996
She watched him as he robed himself and moved over to the window, gazing pensively into the grounds of the Manor that lay unrecognisable in the darkness. Her skin burned from his touch, as though marks had been scorched into her skin from where each of his fingers had slowly caressed her that night. The room felt too hot around her, and the bedsheets wrapped around her naked body were a straightjacket separating her from the ecstasy of his embrace.
"My Lord" she breathed, but found that other words failed her. She allowed the bliss of saying his name once more envelop her, for in the darkness of the Azkaban cell all had seemed lost and never again had she thought that she would lie in this bedchamber, and find that the word felt natural on her lips once more.
She had suffered from the fifteen years that she had spent inside the fortress. Her tongue grazed across the holes in her mouth where teeth had fallen out, and a hand toyed with the hair that was no longer sleek but unkempt and dishevelled.
But hearing the sounds of his love again had made her feel so weak, and for this moment her hands did not trace the body of the wreck who had escaped from Azkaban, but the woman of beauty and power whom she had been when she had first entered his service.