Decay
She clings to the realities that she still feels within every inch of her body. The image of the Dark Lord, immortal in her eyes, burns bright underneath her eyelids as she dreams. She holds on to her faith with everything that she has.
-
It is so hard, the colors in her image of the Dark Lord are becoming steadily less vivid. The red of his eyes is no longer blinding like the sun but something more tame, domestic. The words she has spoken proclaiming that he will return now seem almost foolish, a speech that borders on folly, and for the first time that she can remember she has begun to doubt her convictions, just a little.
She begins to hate herself for that, hates the doubt that has begun to take her over, doubt for everything she once believed in, the Dark Lord and Rodolphus and Cissy and the Black family line and everything she fought for. She relives her worst memories when the Dementors cycle by, hears Andromeda’s defiance and her screams that Bella has become a monster, a murderer, hears the door slam as Sirius leaves his house for the last time, leaving them all behind, hears the shouts and pleas of the people that she has killed, and it all echoes in her head and never goes away until she clamps her hands on her ears but they just become louder and more insistent and she doesn’t know what to do.
-
she is disintegrating. the walls of azkaban seem more like a mirage than anything else, a cage that she could break out of if she only gives in, if she only stops believing. some part of her deep inside knows that that is what is keeping her alive. her faith is what keeps her soul strong, but it has been weakening day by day. worst of all, she knows that there is nothing she can do to prevent it. just as she cannot prevent the snarls in her hair, the grime on her body, she cannot tear down the bars surrounding her, nor can she hold on to the verities of her existence.
-
it is all too much everything it is consuming and suffocating and sometimes she cannot breathe in the middle of the night she wakes up and the walls are touching her and she screams, screams into the night like a banshee and she is hardly aware of it hardly aware of the agony of her husband in the cell next to her hardly aware of anything but herself anything but the burning that is a lack of faith
she is losing herself the way religious fanatics do when they no longer have their religion to guide them she doesn’t believe in anything now not even herself nothing but the walls surrounding her confining her it is all too much and she yearns for death or for the kiss because it will at least be better than the agony this madness this torture that is worse than the cruciatus worse than anything that she ever inflicted
-
cannot remember
life
unbearable
everything is changing and still the same
what circle of hell
no more
embrace the madness
-
d e c o m p o s e d
u n s u r e
g o n e
-
It is so hard, the colors in her image of the Dark Lord are becoming steadily less vivid. The red of his eyes is no longer blinding like the sun but something more tame, domestic. The words she has spoken proclaiming that he will return now seem almost foolish, a speech that borders on folly, and for the first time that she can remember she has begun to doubt her convictions, just a little.
She begins to hate herself for that, hates the doubt that has begun to take her over, doubt for everything she once believed in, the Dark Lord and Rodolphus and Cissy and the Black family line and everything she fought for. She relives her worst memories when the Dementors cycle by, hears Andromeda’s defiance and her screams that Bella has become a monster, a murderer, hears the door slam as Sirius leaves his house for the last time, leaving them all behind, hears the shouts and pleas of the people that she has killed, and it all echoes in her head and never goes away until she clamps her hands on her ears but they just become louder and more insistent and she doesn’t know what to do.
-
she is disintegrating. the walls of azkaban seem more like a mirage than anything else, a cage that she could break out of if she only gives in, if she only stops believing. some part of her deep inside knows that that is what is keeping her alive. her faith is what keeps her soul strong, but it has been weakening day by day. worst of all, she knows that there is nothing she can do to prevent it. just as she cannot prevent the snarls in her hair, the grime on her body, she cannot tear down the bars surrounding her, nor can she hold on to the verities of her existence.
-
it is all too much everything it is consuming and suffocating and sometimes she cannot breathe in the middle of the night she wakes up and the walls are touching her and she screams, screams into the night like a banshee and she is hardly aware of it hardly aware of the agony of her husband in the cell next to her hardly aware of anything but herself anything but the burning that is a lack of faith
she is losing herself the way religious fanatics do when they no longer have their religion to guide them she doesn’t believe in anything now not even herself nothing but the walls surrounding her confining her it is all too much and she yearns for death or for the kiss because it will at least be better than the agony this madness this torture that is worse than the cruciatus worse than anything that she ever inflicted
-
cannot remember
life
unbearable
everything is changing and still the same
what circle of hell
no more
embrace the madness
-
d e c o m p o s e d
u n s u r e
g o n e