AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm sorry this is so delayed. Appears I don't have time for play anymore!
Those who used to roleplay with me know I'm no longer role-playing (Bellatriix Maneater Black) and I've cut off all forms of internet 'time wasting' including (regrettably) my tumblr, my instagram and my KIK (for all of those who had any of those –I am informing you now), but writing is something I enjoy and I will continue it.
The next few chapters are going to be odd and not quite to the original story. This is my interpretation, as we all know. Also, it may appear that I am in fact glorifying Bellatrix's time in prison –yes, I am almost, but that is because she is a warrior and thrives on agony and pain, in fact she likes it so much that she literally revels in the brutalisation of her master's hand... As we will see here. Enjoy.

She had slept awfully. Her head was resting on his leg once more, the old comfort that she would never lose. The Dark Lord stroked her hair back, slowly, letting it slip through his long, bony fingers. He looked different, but she was never changed, only more of a weapon now. He'd ruined his black rose, destroyed her and corrupted her beyond repair; he revelled in the glory of his creation. He had made a warrior, a psychopath. She could no longer feel, except towards him. Her adoration for him was stronger than ever.

Her lips were parted slightly; she had missed him too much. Her body ached; she needed him, desperate and craving. His fingers were slow through her hair, repetitive, just as he used to.
"Ten years, my Bella, and you remain ever faithful." He murmured, allowing her to tilt her head slightly to look up at him.
His sins had decayed him; tearing parts of his soul from the body it was in had ruined him completely. His body was still the same underneath, slim but muscular, well structured, but his sharp, snake like face from being damaged for years was something new. The once sharp blue eyes were now blood red. He looked demonic almost, the devil in his true form.
"Of course, my Lord," she answered him quietly; her hands were in her lap but she raised her left arm as she sat on her heels to show the burning skull and snake tattoo on her wrist before slipping her fingers to his and murmuring, "Forever your slave."
He couldn't help but smile, her devotion was unlike any others, she loved him more and more with every passing moment she had spent in prison, decaying –for him. He didn't mind as she toyed with his hand slightly, his attitude towards her submission never changing once. She worshipped his hands, the warmth they brought as he rested his hand on her head, or fell hard onto her cheek. She held his one hand with both of hers, resting her cheek on his palm before she looked up at him. He moved his finger numbly to her lip, to which she bit lightly before tilting her head to drag the same finger down her neck.

"You will be rewarded for all you have done for this cause. Come, girl." He said finally, removing his hand from her hair and instead moving to stand up. She remained on her knees for only a moment longer before she stood and followed him.
'Girl' –she was hardly that any more.
"Master." she said almost inaudibly.
He turned and looked at her as if to ask her what she wanted, though he remained silent. She said nothing and his lips pursed only the slightest bit to her. He sighed as she leant back to the wall, but was quick to cover her body with his own.
"You, girl-"
"I'm not a little girl anymore." She said quickly though without meaning to.
"Are you a woman?" he sneered, chuckling darkly as he gripped her wrists.
She flinched, her voice suddenly going quiet and sweet, "Forgive me, master."
"You've lost your talent," He said matter-of-factly, "What a shame."
"My Lord?" she asked, looking up at him as he pressed her into the wall hard enough to make her whimper, though she refused to let out a sound.
"You no longer interest me, Bellatrix. You are dismissed."
He uncovered her body, stepping aside and folding his hands silently behind him.
"I no longer..." the words didn't even form before her attitude and emotion changed hardly a second later, "No longer interest you!"
He said nothing, watched as she unfolded in front of him.
"Interest? INTEREST! Is that what you call it?!" she shrieked, "I sold my soul to you and I no longer interest you!? That's all I'll ever be to you, isn't it?! An object to either enjoy or dispose of, I don't care, you don't give a damn that I am your best. I AM YOUR BEST!"
His eyes never left her, he let her, watched her as she fumed, ready to attack almost.
"But of course, why would you care?! You... you... heartless, cruel... MONSTER!" she shrieked as completely lost her temper, forgetting where she was, all she saw was red, and all she heard was 'you no longer interest me' the words resounding in her head. She felt weak, her body was failing her slowly, she wasn't strong enough for this, she didn't care less as she continued, "You ruined my life! I didn't need this. 10 years I rot for you, TEN YEARS, and now I no longer 'interest' you!"
She fell to her knees, suddenly and quietly, her shrieks coming to a halt and instead replacing with a whimper as tears she hadn't shed for years sprang into her eyes and fell down her porcelain cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She cried suddenly, clinging to him, "I want to be your best. I need your approval, please master, please."
Her change was something he hadn't seen before, and somewhat interesting to him through surprise, the anger and emotional change to tears, he truly had broken her.
She whimpered and mewed like a kitten, her sighs soft but slightly broken as she pled, falling to sit at his feet, the young woman that was once so in control now so broken and hurt.
His chuckles were dark and haunting, and she looked up at him as she sniffled pathetically, like a little girl.
"Does a woman act like this?" he asked, looking down at her, his face void of all emotion.
"No." She answered, wiping her tears.
"Then you are still a girl."
"Yes master." She answered, defeated.
"However, in many ways, you were never a girl, were you my, my Bella?"
She let go of his leg, but remained on the floor, looking up at him. The mascara she had applied had run down her cheeks slightly through the tears she had shed, her tears hungered him.
"Come with me." He said simply as he left her on the floor, without so much as looking at her again and walking up the stairs and to what she remembered as the passage to his room, where he had taken her only once before. She had acted the same last time, the stubborn, angry, bitch of a woman who couldn't contain herself. She was dropped where she had been before, on the floor, at his feet, watching him walk away from her. He was as if death itself was undone, there was no more dreaming like a girl in love, instead she obeyed. Followed him like the obedient little girl who wanted him more than anything, wanted his power and strength, the love he could never give her. She was quick to her feet, unstable but she managed to stand –stupidly enough she had agreed when her sister had insisted she learnt how to walk in heels again. She followed him into the darkness of his room, to let him feed on her tortured soul and mind.