Rabastan · Lestrange
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How quaint. A little birdy here to see me, all fit to quack. What's the diagnosis, Madamoiselle Burke? ( Private to Montague Morsus ) MINISTRY OF MAGIC MONITORED JOURNAL
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amused | |||
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Get away from me, you fucking bastards! I'll fucking split your heads open. I'll tear your eyes out, every single one of them, I'll place them 'twixt my teeth and feed upon your sight. Why must you be so loud? Why must you wake him? Every day I'm sinking further into his gullet, and you tease me by holding the rope out of reach? If I could only feel my nails pierce your tender skin and peel layers away to reveal your pomegranate redness, if only I could tap the flow of your sanguine wine. You bastards! My brother! My brother and my sister-in-law and my friends and lovers - how could you? You have the audacity to deny me my divine right, my only right? And you watch me, so incessantly, but which thoughts are mine and which are yours? If you plant the seed within my head, which is the weed and which the flower? WHAT DO YOU WANT MINISTRY OF MAGIC MONITORED JOURNAL
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distressed | |
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. oh MINISTRY OF MAGIC MONITORED JOURNAL |
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closer, little blackbird over here i've come to hide among your nestlings MINISTRY OF MAGIC MONITORED JOURNAL
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Montague Morsus has kindly hired a lawyer to prepare my appeal for me. I have a good feeling about him; he seems rather reasonable, and at the very least, competent. Perhaps even competent enough that I may be out of here sooner than expected. MINISTRY OF MAGIC MONITORED JOURNAL
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They're watching me. I can feel it. I can see it in their eyes when they visit, when they come with their prying inquisition, and when they turn their heads, there are eyes there, too. Every man in this place has four, five, six, seven eyes; in the backs of their heads, erupting out of their flesh, hidden by robes and hair but they're watching. They're waiting for me to slip up. When my Lord fell, how long was I unconscious for? What did they do to me? I can feel it. Something is not right. The rooms here breathe, not because of the chilled wind of the North Sea, but because they're living. Every brick is watching, listening. I am in the belly of a giant beast, omnipotent and omniscient, and he sees what I have done and he does not like it. He doesn't understand that what I am doing is necessary. One day the men here will turn and mouths and tongues will burst from their heads and devour me, taking me apart, tearing skin from muscle and muscle from bone. When they come I will be ready; my blood will burn their mouths and melt their insides as they sup from the viscera they create. And what of the bells? Ringing ringing ringing ringing ringing ringing, always. Where is the silence? Why have they taken the long, interminable silences from me? The bells ring so hard my teeth shatter in my head with reverberation, blisters form on my lips, blood vessels burst like balloons. This is torture, but what more do they want? I have nothing to offer, i have nothing to offer i hvae nthing to ofer ihvngtor get out MINISTRY OF MAGIC MONITORED JOURNAL |
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The bells are ringing again. All day, today, ringing. I must be going mad. I can't say I'm surprised. They killed Rodolphus. Minutes before my Lord fell, they killed him, all by accident. Not even a hero's death, but the victim of mediocrity, a happy accident. The boy who did it was younger, much younger, than I; barely more than a child. I doubt he could have grown facial hair had he put his mind to it. And this little bastard blood traitor killed my brother with a curse he could not have begun to understand in his wildest dreams. I take some small consolation that this boy - if he's alive, mind - will be forever haunted by my brother. Do they not understand the ramifications of a killing curse? Do they not tell these pathetic children what happens when you rob a wizard of his life? Do they not know that, in death, a bond is wrought betweem them and their victim? Whenever the bastard walks down the street, he will have to stop and turn and think, "Was that him?" Somewhere, lurking in his periphery, is the shadow of my brother's soul, imprinted in his mind. And when he dreams... Perhaps he might find it comforting. I know that in here, I can never be alone. MINISTRY OF MAGIC MONITORED JOURNAL
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aggravated | |||
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This godforsaken place is cold, isn't it? ...The walls have ears. MINISTRY OF MAGIC MONITORED JOURNAL
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