Rodolphus arrives home, sighing and moving to hang his cloak in the hallway closet. Exhausted from a long day at work, he moves slowly and stiffly like a man much older than himself. He squints toward the darkness of the kitchen expecting to see either Bella cooking or their dinner laid out on the table and grows concerned almost immediately when doesn't see either. Something is wrong.
Quickening his pace as much as his legs will allow, he hastens toward the bedroom and steps through the doorway. He sees the awkward position, the lack of motion or noise from his wife's form, and drops to his knees on the floor next to her. "Bella?" he asks quietly. He looks over her face and the tension that is etched in every aspect of her appearance at this moment and waits for a response or at least acknowledgment of his presence.
She tenses visibly a bit more, then her eyes slowly open, taking a moment to focus on him. She licks her lips, and the dried blood vanishes from them. She doesn't otherwise move, except to try to whisper his name. Her voice cracks from the hours of tense disuse, and she tries again. "Rodolphus..."
Her hand is still wrapped around the locket, still bleeding sluggishly. There's a drop of blood on the front of her shirt, and a trail of it across her hand from the wound. Still clenched in a fist in her other hand, which is pressed close to her heart, is her wedding ring. She hasn't moved since she clasped her locket, and her body suddenly aches.
The roughness of her usually clear voice lingers in her ears. She tries to blink the blurriness out of her eyes, and can't quite do it, so she gives up. She just watches him, trying to make out his expression in the dark room.
He mutters something quietly and suddenly the room is filled with a dim light - not bright enough to alarm or overwhelm Bellatrix yet enough light for Rodolphus to get a closer look at his wife. He sees the blood on her clothing and her hand as well as the faint brownish stain on her lips from where blood has been licked away. He notices the clenched fists and places his own hand over the one held close to her heart. He gently moves his fingers against the back of her hand.
He slowly stands and sits carefully on the edge of the bed. He reaches out his other hand to brush the hair away from her face. He looks into her eyes, alarmed at how unfocused they appear, yet he keeps his expression calm and gentle. "Love?" he whispers softly. "I am here. Your Rodolphus."
She closes her eyes, letting her body relax a little, and a tear runs over her cheek at his words, dripping off her chin to make a little dark spot on the pattern of the comforter. She releases the locket, turning her hand to fit better in his. She's aware of the pain from the her hands now, and she clumsily opens her left hand, letting the ring drop onto the bed. She hisses in pain very softly, another tear coming, then another.
Soon she's crying hard. She hasn't been able to, in all the time she has been lying here. She clings to his hand, smearing it unconciously with blood. She can't bring herself to stretch out and relieve the aches in her body, so she just lies there, body and mind crying out for relief.
The memories are fading with the presence of her husband and lover, but they're just below the surface. Infuriatingly, painfully close. She can't tell whether it hurts more to relieve them or to be constantly in fear of doing so.
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Quickening his pace as much as his legs will allow, he hastens toward the bedroom and steps through the doorway. He sees the awkward position, the lack of motion or noise from his wife's form, and drops to his knees on the floor next to her. "Bella?" he asks quietly. He looks over her face and the tension that is etched in every aspect of her appearance at this moment and waits for a response or at least acknowledgment of his presence.
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Her hand is still wrapped around the locket, still bleeding sluggishly. There's a drop of blood on the front of her shirt, and a trail of it across her hand from the wound. Still clenched in a fist in her other hand, which is pressed close to her heart, is her wedding ring. She hasn't moved since she clasped her locket, and her body suddenly aches.
The roughness of her usually clear voice lingers in her ears. She tries to blink the blurriness out of her eyes, and can't quite do it, so she gives up. She just watches him, trying to make out his expression in the dark room.
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He slowly stands and sits carefully on the edge of the bed. He reaches out his other hand to brush the hair away from her face. He looks into her eyes, alarmed at how unfocused they appear, yet he keeps his expression calm and gentle. "Love?" he whispers softly. "I am here. Your Rodolphus."
Reply
Soon she's crying hard. She hasn't been able to, in all the time she has been lying here. She clings to his hand, smearing it unconciously with blood. She can't bring herself to stretch out and relieve the aches in her body, so she just lies there, body and mind crying out for relief.
The memories are fading with the presence of her husband and lover, but they're just below the surface. Infuriatingly, painfully close. She can't tell whether it hurts more to relieve them or to be constantly in fear of doing so.
Reply
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