𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 - 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲

22-Invisible String II

After ricocheting from my unusual exploit. The voice came back, slinking, and more robust than before. It was not that courteous, silk, grand call that versified in my ears when the moon was angled at a position so specific, or when the sun could only touch so far beyond the castle. It was a voice, more tumultuous than the sirens, and I felt like it was deeply wounding my rib, puncturing profoundly within the essence of my heart; I could even scent the olfaction of my skeleton oxidizing as the drilling maintained on.

This rose while I was exiting the rusted-old sewer mine; Elizabeth told me a shorter way to get back to the lakes: Which was by taking a tunnel to my far left and swimming only forward after that. I could not see, but I used the senses on my fingers to feel an entrance to an exit. This mine was only partly flooded in Adam's ale. The water exhaled something acidic and pungent. I felt my eyes bulge, my vision humidifies into hallucinations with a lush glow, and my face ooze into an ugly yellow; The remaining flush of my skin seeped onto my hand, living my nerves prickle as it draped in the water, seeing that I saw a red liquid ostensibly bleed into the liquid. My posture hunched to look closer as I realized that was not the flush that drained from my face and had settled itself into whatever surface or liquid would have been close. It was blood. And it was not mine.

Before letting out a shriek, I clamped my hand over my mouth to deaden it. And to my horror and agitation, it had been the hand in droplets of untold blood. I felt my lungs were trapped in a chest box, my stomach coiling and looping into clusters of perturbation. I did not know where to go and I could not see; I was panicked to move; that I would bump into a butcher who would carelessly chop me and laugh whilst I was bleeding if I betrayed my instinct. I think with the intensity of my hand slapping against my mouth, I hit the floodgates of my tear duct as a cascade of torment liquid came flowing liberally into droplets; Paralleling to the ichor on my hand

'Come, Cordelia, come' The voice was like a hatchet to my gullet. I thought that my body was to split into two and I was seeping from the neck.

I am closer to death than I am to birth, I thought as I shamefully wiped the tears from my gills with my hand that was not in drops of blood. The voice began to grow louder, and more frequent, as did the state of my stiffness, for I was in no state of grace like I had been for the last several moons. I did something stupid. I ducked my head into the dirty water; Holding my breath, as I was scared to contaminate a disease. I blasphemed, cursed, and profaned Elizabeth for leading me on this route. I cursed her and swore I would never see or forgive her again. I want her to hold me to my words, as fear cradled me.

'Don't be stupid, Cordelia! You are scarcely anything but a spirit imprisoned by my skin and bones. Your soul is coated by my flesh. Yes, the blood that seeps from you is coated -'

And with the reassuring sound, I felt an eerie force slither through my neck. That was the last feeling I sensed before the darkness became heavier.

-

He finally concluded: The journal was nowhere to be found and will never be found. It was like the book had withered from existence, that it could only live within the souls and grounds of the dark lord's manor before taking hours to vanish from the after-winter air. He came to the termination of his tryings after many ampere-hours of looking behind mattresses and eyeing any suspicion. Yet he was so blinded by adrenalin, it was almost difficult to see anything but a sheer tint of red mist covering his vision. He was now in the Room of Requirement, mending the cabinet. Draco hadn't worked on the cabinet for a month now and was curious to see where his hazed state of mind would lead him, more so than the consequencing push if he determined to be lethargic.

Many mutters of many spells later... Draco had only managed to fix the knob of the cabinet, and get rid of the flakes of cutting timber sharpening. Although it progressed, he knew it wasn't adequate. He had a notion that the 'saint' lord had cryptically embedded two methods of this assignment into the vessels of his brain: Firstly, Draco assassinates Dumbledore ere fixing the cabinet and escapes, or he fixes the cabinet (which would well overtake seasons to even perfect) brings death eaters into the castle and then kills Dumbledore. With either option, Draco would still be left with a void in his stomach- Not empty, but filled with poisonous memories such as guilt, errant, and the blame for forsaking one (or more) at death's door, down where the spirit meets the bones.