ℒℯ𝓈𝓈ℴ𝓃 ℴ𝒻 ℒ𝒾𝒻ℯ 𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ

✗ 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝓈ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃 ✗

❤︎𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓷, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷'𝓽 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓬𝓻𝔂, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓴𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓼❤︎

TRIGGERWARNING - violent content ahead

In the realm of shadows, where twilight's secrets held sway, a specter emerged, an embodiment of dread and dismay. The air grew thick, suffused with an eerie stillness profound as the chilling, high-pitched voice pierced through the hallowed ground.

I could feel a tremor coursing through my veins, an instinctive fear gripping my heart. Though I dared not turn, I sensed her malevolence drawing near. The chains that bound me, cruel restraints etched scars on my wrists, crimson rivulets of defiance mingling with clenched fists.

"Struggle, little traitor," she hissed, her voice dripping with delight. Her words, like venomed whispers, were sown through the darkness. But I vowed not to grant her solace in my torment's abode, for willingly, my spirit would defy her cursed code.

It was Bellatrix, the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange, who beckoned me. And in that moment, Antonin Dolohov, bearer of shadows and doom, stepped forward from the gloom. Resigned, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the pain's embrace, ready to endure the harrowing path my soul had to trace.

"Crucio!" Her voice erupted, a tempest of malevolence unleashed. It pierced the stillness, reverberating through the ethereal fabric of twilight. Like a lightning bolt striking my core, agony surged through my being, a relentless storm surging within.

In that harrowing moment, my body became a vessel of torment, a symphony of convulsions and tremors, as though a thousand serpents coiled around my every sinew. Bones strained and splintered like fragile twigs beneath the weight of unyielding darkness. Through a haze of blurred vision, I glimpsed the undeterred onslaught, a relentless tempest of suffering that threatened to consume me whole.

As the vice of anguish tightened around my chest, it was as if the very air turned to a suffocating fog, pressing down on my lungs. Each breath was a struggle, a fragile dance on the precipice of suffocation. And within the cruel embrace of the chains, my essence, my spirit, took flight like a wounded bird seeking solace in the vast expanse of a desolate sky.

Muscles convulsed and trembled, their fibers entangled in a desperate waltz of agony. They were marionettes manipulated by unseen hands, their strings taut and relentless. Bones strained and splintered, echoing the shattering of brittle ice beneath the weight of relentless winter's embrace. Each movement was an exquisite symphony of pain, an offering to the gods of suffering.

Through the veil of blurred vision, distorted and fractured like a shattered mirror, I caught fleeting glimpses of the torment undeterred. It was a tempest of shadows and fire, an infernal ballet of twisted forms and contorted shapes. I became a mere spectator in this grotesque theater, trapped in the audience of my own torment.

Yet, just as the Darkness threatened to claim me, its grasp unyielding and dire, the witch, the mistress of pain, relinquished her hold. And in her wake, I found myself mired in the depths of torment's mire, a desolate landscape painted in hues of despair.

The chains that bound me were like serpents, their cold touch etching patterns of suffering into my flesh. Each link, an anchor tethering me to this realm of anguish. I was a prisoner of my own existence, trapped within a labyrinth of torment, where each step forward brought only deeper wounds and relentless despair.