The Madness of Bellatrix Lestrange

Colourless

It may have well covered my body, the dark Mark, not just my forearm, so indelibly imprinted was it on my soul, my very being. I'd never before realised how it took up residence in you - HE took up residence in you once he's marked you. It changed you. HE changed you. A bit of him seemed to reside in you. Not horcrux so much, but just as damnable .

So little you, so much him.

I'd felt it happening all along. Through our playful bouts of seduction. To me a courtiers game to him, the devil's quarry .

He chipped away at me with each interaction each encounter. Everytime I felt inexplicably drawn to him , it was him chiselling away at the very construct of who I was.

Every time I came from him and felt that dizzying blackness that so encompassed once he'd left, it was actually the disequilibrium of having a part of myself removed, the dizzying blackness an actual void where part of me once resided.

A void he would fill. Fill with whatever he deemed fit. Chip away and refill, again and again , until by the time I knelt before him and extended my left forearm to take the mark, to take HIS mark, to take HIM, I was an open vessel waiting to be poured into. Pour in he did , until he filled me, HE filled me, the spots that were once Bellatrix and now blackness . The colour gone, washed away until all that remained was black.

Black- until he filled it with whatever shade of darkness the vile pestilence that was service to the Dark Lord was made of.

I picture it muddled army green with oily black slithering throughout . Whatever colour emptiness is- that's what he's made of. That's what I became made of.

There's no love in a person conceived through a love potion. Just a vapid space in the soul where love resides. That's what he does . He hollows out your soul to match his- an arid wasteland upon which nothing can reside.

Without it, without love base instincts thrive. Lust, power, greed.

All things that lead to death.

Madness thrives. Madness flourishes . Madness revels in the dead emptiness service to the dark lord brings.

That wasteland of soul to madness is a flowing meadow and madness dashes through that darkness as a child playing fairies on warm spring day, twirling gleefully about consuming whatever you is left in its wake.

Madness was already making its acquaintance with me before he branded me his own.

My life events leading to had paved the way for madness to glide in easily, quietly into that space.

I hate emptiness so I welcomed it. Embraced it. Allowed it to take up happy residence. I controlled for awhile, but like all dark things, eventually it had enough of being subservient to weak me and took over in a fearsome coup d'etat.

Fortunately for me, no fortunately for him, madness played right into his plans. My brand of crazy made me even more valuable an asset. No longer constricted by the pesky mores a society holds to, I'd willingly do whatever he asked to whomever he asked it of without second thought. So utter profound was my devotion that I'd sacrifice anything or anyone in my blind allegiance .

Still it didn't all come at once. It didn't flood in like a tide with the mark on my skin. There was more of me to be stripped away. Some he personally saw to in my "training" . Training that he himself conducted. Some in further life events that my already wounded soul could not rise above.

Stripping and wounding until all that was left was void . When someone has nothing left they'll chain themselves to the gates of hell without second thought.

Me , I chained myself to the Devil himself.