Chapter 1 : Howl
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Howl was my inspiration for this piece of writing. I do not own Florence or The song.
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A solely lit candle illuminated my room. The dark green silk looked more brooding than ever. The French doors to the balcony on the other end of the room send a stream of moonlight, soft shadows dancing around, disturbing the gloomy mood. I was perched on the corner of my bed. Tapping one foot impatiently, killing time. I felt the weight of the wand in my pocket. I retrieved it one more time. I gave it one more glance.
Her wand (or so she claimed) was spinning between my fingers.
Dual core. Eleven inches. Dragon heart string. I considered the peculiarity of the situation. Her wand was an almost identical of mine. Being aware of wandlore was making me doubt my beliefs otherwise.
A wizard does not choose its wand.
But the wand chooses the wizard.
I shook my head to clear it of these forbidden thoughts. It wasn’t allowed. I went back to spinning her wand between my hands.
This time, I felt proud as my thoughts took over me. Everything was where it ought to be. We had the power, the control that our blood right instilled.
A little boy adjusts the expensive clothing wrapped around his figure and clutches his father’s hand; the father frees himself from the boy’s desperate hold telling the timid 11 year old to man up. The boy unsure, obeys his father’s command. He notices another man enter the scene increasing the group of black robes around the room. His skin is sickly white, his posture superior; he stretched out a hand, his long finger beckoning over the boy’s father. A woman, battered and broken floats through the still air, the hair filled with mud and blood, he face covered in gashes and scars, her plain clothing torn. She floats through the air, until at last resting before The Lord. The hides behind his father, burying his face in his robes, scared with the unfamiliarity of the events, sure, he had seen blood, but never had he dreamt of such exposure at such an age.
A wand was pointed, a jet of green light detected, a scream filled the thick air, and then silence. Again. Until another whisper, another wand pointed, and the body levitated, floating through the air again. Dead.
Anger boiled through my veins. I’ll destroy them all. I clutched the side of my bed to restrict myself from breaking something in two.
Have you ever had that satisfaction? When you see the pieces shatter, and you know that you have caused it? It’s pleasing. I looked up to survey my smirking face in the mirror.
The chimes from the grandfather clock distracted me. I counted them to calm down the aforementioned anger that had shown its face. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
Let the games begin.
I left my room and made my way down to the dungeons.
With the wand lit as a source of light for guidance I walked down to her cell. I traced the dark mark on my left forearm, the snake as vicious as ever. I felt prestige in serving the Dark Lord. HE had never been disappointed with my service, fighting in his cause to clean sweep the earth of all the dirt.
Next, I heard two distinct sounds. The echo of my steps against the flagstones and, her breathing. I closed the door and stepped into the cell. She was backed up in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest. Her breathing became ragged as she registered my presence, clad in a black cloak, though torn, the hood obscuring her face.
Well, someone amongst us had been weak, trying to protect the mudblood. Could it be the elves? No. They wouldn’t dare to. It’ll cost them their lives.
Deciding that I’ll address this matter later, I crouched down to her level. I noticed that the cloak was the only piece of garment that covered her previously naked body. I used the wand to hook it under the hood till it fell back to exhibit her face. She was sporting a cut under her left eye, her lips were cracked and dry, swollen, blood clotting at their corner.
I unhooked the wand from under the hood, tracing it along the side on her face, leaving a deep scar in its wake, the stream of red a contrast to her ghastly pale skin. She winced in pain. I smirked. I lit the wand in her face.
‘That’s mine’, her voice was hoarse, I noticed the tear stains on her cheeks. I noticed her blood shot eyes. She refused to shed tears in front of me, so much for her useless pride. Look where it got her? It doesn’t make her any better. She’s still as loathsome as the dirt beneath my feet.
She reached out to grab the wand from my hands. I noticed the cuts and bruises coloring her fair skin. I swelled with pride at my handiwork.
Silly girl! I backed away, tightening my grip on it.
‘You’re delusional. A wand belongs with a wizard or a witch. Unlike yourself.’
I turned my gaze back to her. She struggled at her feet. She made efforts in vain, trying to stand upright. Finally, finding the energy, she was at her feet, the wall behind her supporting her.
‘Give … me … my… wand. ‘
Her speech was disjointed, her words staccato. She briefly closed her eyes, her face hanging limp to one side, trying to regain whatever little energy resided in her body. Her breathing had not evened out as yet. Menacingly, I took a step forward, and then another, surveying her torn clothes and bruised skin. I stopped till I was right in front of her, our bodies an inch apart. I was towering her. I stared down at her face, too bad she was a mudblood or she would have been worth something.
Barely moving my lips, I whispered
‘If only you were in a position to make demands ’
I pocketed the wand once again.
‘Give me … my wand.’
The words came out firmer this time. But they made me laugh in her face. A hallow, merciless laughter. I stepped away, a sneer gracing my face. Her eyes were placid now, her body numb, no longer shaking from lack of nourishment.
Suddenly, she collapsed back to the floor, backing away in her corner. For that’s exactly where she deserved to be, at my feet. I kicked her, once. Twice. She winced. I smirked. I stepped out of the cell, and made my way to my room.
Silently, I roamed the empty corridors of the Manor. For how long, I wasn’t aware. The Dark Lord was coming tomorrow, to finish her for once and for all. He claimed her as His prey.
I pushed open the bedroom door. The room was dark, the candle had been out for a while perhaps. The moon’s light was no longer magnificent. I pushed my hand into my pocket to use it as a source of light, but nothing substantial came into contact. My fingers were only met with the smooth fabric. My eyes widened with realization.
How dare she?
I felt a similar rage pulsed through my veins. I wanted to break her neck in two. The snap of it would only calm me down now. I rushed at my feet, leaving my bedroom door ajar. The clock chimed again, its bells echoing across the ghostly corridors, bouncing off the stone walls.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
I felt the adrenaline coursing through me. I dashed down corridor after corridor, the portraits expressing their displeasure at the disturbance I caused. But I gave them no heed, making my way to the dungeons.
She couldn’t? She WOULDN’T? How can she ever know that they take the guards down at twelve and the spells are re-cast? I’ll kill them all. I kill them with my bare hands.
I hauled at the door of her cell, bursting through. She was nowhere in sight.
That night, I fled. I left the Manor, in search of her, to complete the task bestowed upon me. I swore upon my life to find her and to give her to my Lord.
Days. Months. Years. I spent searching her. Until one day.
She navigated through the woods like a lioness hunting its prey. The crunch of her boots against the grass barely audible, each step quiet and careful, every move calculated, her piercing eyes cold and unforgiving. They flashed with unadulterated determination. I saw the dagger clutched in her petite hand. Well, at least she gave those unfruitful efforts of being a witch.
Is that what I did to her? To the scared, little, mudblood who fought me? Begged me for her life at my feet? Now she trekked though the green foliage, seemingly nothing but a shell of her former self.
A twig cracked beneath my feet from where I was hiding, stalking her. She turned at the sound, her eyes penetrating through the mass of wood for any form of life. Concluding that there was none, she went back to her mission at hand. And so I decided to let my presence be acknowledged.
I attacked her from behind, backing her against a mighty tree trunk. She yelped in shock. Well, I guess than the façade was for no good. We stood face to face, barely an inch apart. I still had the same effect on her. I could still sow that inevitable fear in her mind and watch her writhe for forgiveness. Her eyes were wild, her lips parted as her breathing came out unsteady. Her face was now a display of perfection. It no longer revealed any signs of her past, her milky skin smooth and pale against her dark lashes, her lips full and red, a stark difference to what I last saw and remembered of her. Her eyes flickered to my mouth momentarily to be met once again to my unyielding gaze.
Some things never change.
‘Hello, again.’ I smirked.
‘What do you want?’ , she spat, her words venomous.
She let out a frustrated scream. Her dagger made its way to my heart, realization washed over me. I felt foolish; she twisted it around in my chest till I screamed in pain. She was strong, much stronger than I anticipated. Her lips were curled over her sharp teeth in a sneer. Her hands grabbed my face. And then, blank.
His neck snapped underneath her fingers. He was gone in a second. She tore him apart, limb by limb. She had been waiting for this opportunity for countless days; she could finally rest in peace now.
She fed on his corpse. His blood quenched her eternal thirst.
Have you ever had that satisfaction? When you see the pieces shatter, and you know that you have caused it? It’s pleasing.
Edited June 16, 2013
A/N : Juzz btw. The Dark Lord falls the night the girl escapes the dungeons, so he never comes to collect her. And the girl becomes a vampire. That's how she survives.
Hope you liked it.
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