𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 | 𝒟.𝑀.

1 | ﴾ Everything Hurts ﴿

How much time had passed was not of importance, as time did not exist in the dark netherworld I had been wandering with heavy foot steps, lost, forgotten even to myself. The quiet contemplation of the infinite, maleficent universe had oddly been tranquil. It was to say, that I was almost annoyed when the pale glow of light dancing and wavering appeared over my closed eyelids like a terrorist attack of afternoon sunlight sent to wake me. It was filtering in through a window somewhere. I could tell from the gentle heat against my skin.

An emptiness occupied my chest as I opened my eyes, a few blinks at a time. My vision allowed itself to lighten from the obsidian veil gradually as I peered around with mild and fatigued interest. I was in an absurdly white room with a tall white hearth before me, glittering gold items littered the room, and a dusty blue armoire occupied the corner. A wall of windows held itself together to my left in wooden framing. It was unmistakably my room at the Malfoy Manor.

The war had ended, surely. I couldn't be entirely certain given the unfortunate way I'd spent the remainder of my energy executing as many Death Eater's as possible in a raging flame before collapsing into an abyss of horrific evil. It had felt like sinking into a pit of ink filled with slithering, wicked creatures. I had lost myself to the combined magic of the Veela and dark mark, and now, I was at peace with the nearly desolated remnants of love or pain that clung to my soul. Instead, I was now channeling a calm, heavy power that burned in my veins.

Draco was dead. Due to my knowledge of our relationship I was painfully aware that I should be feeling devastated. I closed my eyes again, willing myself to feel any mournful emotion if there was one to be found, but there was only an empty void left behind where my heart had lay. My eyes drifted lazily to my left hand, where my white wedding band still sat with the tiny moonstone in the center of the vine-like ornamentation, glowing timidly and in a dark shade of purple.

I could tell that my body was badly battered. Every time I breathed inwards my ribs made miniature crackling noises and pain shot across my mid-torso. I was covered head to toe in bandages, and the skin on my right hand was darkened as if I had stuck it into the ashes of an extinguished fireplace. It was a miracle that I was still alive at all, after the amount of brickwork that had collided with my body during the battle of Hogwarts and the wicked magic that almost tore me to shreds.

I ripped off the covers and shouted immediately from the pain. Probably not the wisest idea to move so quickly, but I had never been one to sleep off a recovery. I pushed to a creaky stance with my long hair wild in my face. I had yet to adjust to the terribly monotonous, pristine white color it had morphed itself into when the dark mark poisoned my Veela magic.

I achingly brought myself to the bathroom to inspect myself, leaning with both hands on the counter.

What I saw was startling, and I momentarily looked at the floor in disbelief. I had been beautiful once, incredibly beautiful with honey locks comprised of a multitude of colors ranging between browns, reds and blonds. My eyes had been an inviting golden warm hue and I'd radiated with sunkist skin from growing up on the coast of France in Antibes.

The girl that I saw in the mirror looked like a ghost version of my former self; an identical twin with a vastly alternate color palette, bleached from the evil coursing through her veins. Aside from the devastatingly platinum hair, I was pale and my eyes had somehow burned into a deep, dark black. My stare was now horribly intense.

I sighed; it could be worse. I could be dead.

I bathed and dressed myself in a black dress with a tight waste and long tight sleeves, and dragged the long train around on the floor behind me, pausing to hover at the wall of windows in contemplation. My hand was still inexplicably charred and I slipped on a single, white silk glove I found in the armoire, toying with the bow on the back of it. It must've been closer to the afternoon that day, in the deep of summer. The plants outside looked scorched and exhausted from the hot weather.