This is a short one. I sort of just vomited it out last night, and edited it today. But hey, I updated relatively quickly!
A huge thank you, as always, to my dear, darling reviewers, favouriters, alerters and silent readers.
Enjoy!
Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonnie and blithe and good and gay.
Traditional Nursery Rhyme
Saturday's child works hard for a living.
Bellatrix led her wand through a series of complex, intricate motions with the skill and languor of the truly talented.
Flowers of blood bloomed rosy red on the man's chest, arms, legs and a cry – harsh and unwilling – was torn from his throat.
She laughed. She laughed because here was all the compensation she needed. Years in Azkaban, months of chasing dead-end trails, weeks of searching, hours of waiting and those final unendurably long minutes of battle where the slightest mistake could let the filth win.
She would do anything – she did do anything – to make sure that her side got what it deserved. How many times had she killed, tortured, maimed? How many times had she endured her Lord's wrath? How many innumerable times had she broken those feeble, undeserving bodies?
And now here she was, standing above that man who dared deny the rights of her Lord, and she laughed, because after all she'd done, she deserved a reward.
I'm trying a new tactic. Bribery.
If you review, I will bestow upon you great honour and fame.