freckles || {Sirius Black} #Wattys2018

Two | Pieces of a Shattered Heart

Rosemary, the girl with such fire in her eyes, such intelligence in her mind, and such love in her heart was as close to death as you could be without actually being in the process of dying.

She lay on her uncomfortable hospital bed in the dark, long limbs curled into a ball, marks from tears drawn on her face, and her hands shaking. In fact, Rosemary's hands hadn't stopped shaking since she and Ivy had arrived at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Her ginger hair was unruly, messy, and matted from pulling at it all night; her cuticles were bloody from being excessively chewed on, and her face was frozen into an expression of extreme shock and terror.

The girl had never felt so empty. She felt as if she were a chasm in the bottom of the deepest ocean, devoid of light and anything but dangerous fish who made their way through the dark. She needed comfort, but she didn't want human interaction. She needed her friends, but they didn't know what happened. She wanted to scream and cry and wail until she couldn't anymore, but she was unable to make a sound.

Death haunted her. At least, that was what Rosemary thought. He had expected to take all of the Peterson's lives the previous night, despite how unfair it was; but he had failed. Two members of the family had survived the murders, and he wanted to take them all.

"My family is dead." Rosemary whispered to herself, staring at the wall as dawn sunlight began to stream through the window. "My mother is dead, my father is dead, two of my sisters are dead..."

Rosemary could barely believe the words coming out of her own mouth. She never thought that she would say any of them, and at least not when she was only sixteen years old.

"Dead. D-dead. N-not l-living. Not still w-walking the earth..." Rosemary's words drifted off as she felt her stomach clench.

Never again would they wake up. Never again would Patricia smile down at Rosemary and pour cereal for her in the morning, or knit her a sweater or bake a batch of cookies that were only delicious when she made them. Never again would Quentin make a lame joke to Rosemary, or go to work or support muggle-borns for the Order of the Phoenix. Never again would Linnea ruffle Rosemary's hair, or read another novel or dote on one of her boyfriends. Never again would Olive get excited over schoolwork with Rosemary, or talk about animals or eat a piece of cake, her favorite dessert.

Rosemary, shutting her eyes tight, let out a whimper. It was simply all too much to handle.

Rosemary bit onto her hand to prevent herself from crying out.

Rosemary, the girl with such fire in her eyes, such intelligence in her mind, and such love in her heart had gone out like a match lit in a hurricane.