(no subject)
[Hexed Private to Death Eaters (and Narcissa)]
Screams are always the same. Though the French wrap their tongues around sounds so terribly foreign when they speak -- beautiful, foreign sounds -- but when they scream...
Terror is a universal constant. The most basic, the most... primal instincts... no. Culture, nationality, all of it can be melted down, and all that's left is that terror we gained the same moment we gained the knowledge of good and evil-- ...no, even before that. Terror was before Man. Fear and abject terror churned in the waters of chaos, in the waste and void -- God's first child.
...children...
We have begun something here. We will see what comes of it. And despite the screams and the terror and the children, I am without remorse. I trust Antonin.
It is comforting to once again feel part of something greater.
[Added Layer -- Now Hexed Entirely Private]
My only regret is Antonin. His injury at Beauxbatons... yes, I know it wasn't that serious, but it wasn't that... It was my own guilt.
How many times had Antonin asked me if I was sure I wanted to go through with the attack? How many times had he told me to be careful? How many times? I don't even know how many times it was so many times...!
How many times had I told Antonin to be careful? None. Why? Because the thought never once entered my mind -- the notion never occurred to me that something could possibly happen to him. I didn't want to believe something could happen to him.
And, somehow, through my own guilt, I'm sure it would have been different if I'd told him... if I'd told him... to take care. Something.
But I am inept.
I am positively useless. He came home returned from his meeting with that wretched Vance woman, stumbling in, the walking wounded... Why did we have to kidnap that awful girl in the first place...? ...And despite the fact that he goes on about how he's glad that I'm safe, all I can think is how I should have been there, to help him, to do something...!
But I can't help him. I... I can't... I... Aldous can pull him away from the clutches of death itself, and I can hardly perform a decent superficial healing charm I hate myself I hate myself.
[Hexed More Private Still]
He told me that he's falling for me.
And it's just too good; it's just too perfect. I care for him too much. And for him to say that he may love me, too...?
He stayed in bed with me all day, yesterday -- wasn't it yesterday? Just the two of us, lying and lounging together and me so in love with him...
It's too good. Something is going to happen. It's too good to stay like this.
[And More Private -- ...oh, forget it. Layer Against Antonin Removed]
On that note, Antonin's talked me into staying for Christmas.
Along with the Mulcibers, and various other people...
...I think I'm going to have to pray a lot.
And Moscow...
I very much regret having never learned Russian. Very, very much. It's awful to feel isolated by one's own tongue. ...And Antonin's grandmother, Charlotte, and god damn Aldous...
...If Antonin weren't so happy...
...I think I'm going to have to learn Russian. Quickly.
[Hexed Oh So Private]
...Funny thing about languages. I've been speaking with a boy recently... Kit Warrington. Consoling him. Quoting Verlaine at him. I have a wicked desire to call him "Kitten."
I'm starting to think that maybe... I killed his cousin. Heloise, Kit said her name was. I've been looking through the papers for her picture, in the obituaries and whatnot, reports of the deaths caused during the attack... and her face is familiar to me. When I imagine her screaming.
...I suppose it was the guilt of seeing the boy's grief that made me feel the need to say something to him. And I find myself fond of Kit; he's fascinating. And when one thinks about it, if I hadn't killed Heloise, I mightn't have ever spoken to Kit...
Perhaps I should feel grateful for what I've done. Or pleased -- in a "the ends justify the means" sort of way.
...I'm going to Hell. But I'll burn alongside Verlaine.
[/Private] But I'm in a mood for Prevert.
Dejeuner du Matin
Il a mis le cafe
Dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de cafe
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le cafe au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourne
Il a bu le cafe au lait
Et il a repose la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allume
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumee
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s'est leve
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tete
Il a mis
Son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Et moi j'ai pris
Ma tete dans ma main
Et j'ai pleure.
Screams are always the same. Though the French wrap their tongues around sounds so terribly foreign when they speak -- beautiful, foreign sounds -- but when they scream...
Terror is a universal constant. The most basic, the most... primal instincts... no. Culture, nationality, all of it can be melted down, and all that's left is that terror we gained the same moment we gained the knowledge of good and evil-- ...no, even before that. Terror was before Man. Fear and abject terror churned in the waters of chaos, in the waste and void -- God's first child.
...children...
We have begun something here. We will see what comes of it. And despite the screams and the terror and the children, I am without remorse. I trust Antonin.
It is comforting to once again feel part of something greater.
[Added Layer -- Now Hexed Entirely Private]
My only regret is Antonin. His injury at Beauxbatons... yes, I know it wasn't that serious, but it wasn't that... It was my own guilt.
How many times had Antonin asked me if I was sure I wanted to go through with the attack? How many times had he told me to be careful? How many times? I don't even know how many times it was so many times...!
How many times had I told Antonin to be careful? None. Why? Because the thought never once entered my mind -- the notion never occurred to me that something could possibly happen to him. I didn't want to believe something could happen to him.
And, somehow, through my own guilt, I'm sure it would have been different if I'd told him... if I'd told him... to take care. Something.
But I am inept.
I am positively useless. He came home returned from his meeting with that wretched Vance woman, stumbling in, the walking wounded... Why did we have to kidnap that awful girl in the first place...? ...And despite the fact that he goes on about how he's glad that I'm safe, all I can think is how I should have been there, to help him, to do something...!
But I can't help him. I... I can't... I... Aldous can pull him away from the clutches of death itself, and I can hardly perform a decent superficial healing charm I hate myself I hate myself.
[Hexed More Private Still]
He told me that he's falling for me.
And it's just too good; it's just too perfect. I care for him too much. And for him to say that he may love me, too...?
He stayed in bed with me all day, yesterday -- wasn't it yesterday? Just the two of us, lying and lounging together and me so in love with him...
It's too good. Something is going to happen. It's too good to stay like this.
[And More Private -- ...oh, forget it. Layer Against Antonin Removed]
On that note, Antonin's talked me into staying for Christmas.
Along with the Mulcibers, and various other people...
...I think I'm going to have to pray a lot.
And Moscow...
I very much regret having never learned Russian. Very, very much. It's awful to feel isolated by one's own tongue. ...And Antonin's grandmother, Charlotte, and god damn Aldous...
...If Antonin weren't so happy...
...I think I'm going to have to learn Russian. Quickly.
[Hexed Oh So Private]
...Funny thing about languages. I've been speaking with a boy recently... Kit Warrington. Consoling him. Quoting Verlaine at him. I have a wicked desire to call him "Kitten."
I'm starting to think that maybe... I killed his cousin. Heloise, Kit said her name was. I've been looking through the papers for her picture, in the obituaries and whatnot, reports of the deaths caused during the attack... and her face is familiar to me. When I imagine her screaming.
...I suppose it was the guilt of seeing the boy's grief that made me feel the need to say something to him. And I find myself fond of Kit; he's fascinating. And when one thinks about it, if I hadn't killed Heloise, I mightn't have ever spoken to Kit...
Perhaps I should feel grateful for what I've done. Or pleased -- in a "the ends justify the means" sort of way.
...I'm going to Hell. But I'll burn alongside Verlaine.
[/Private] But I'm in a mood for Prevert.
Dejeuner du Matin
Il a mis le cafe
Dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de cafe
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le cafe au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourne
Il a bu le cafe au lait
Et il a repose la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allume
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumee
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s'est leve
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tete
Il a mis
Son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Et moi j'ai pris
Ma tete dans ma main
Et j'ai pleure.