[Completed]
An alchemist who poisoned himself, an assassin who stabbed his own heart, an arsonist who burned herself, and a hero who couldn't defeat his inner monster.
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( A re-enact of Hades...
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Silver moon scorching through the dusty window on number twelve Grimmauld place. The Slytherin boy bit his lips apprehensively, eyes darted to the silver ceiling. It was quiet as he peered to the clock on his side table, eleven-thirty evening. Regulus's inside swirled sourly and aching. He couldn't grasp how much it bothered him.
Hades had no feelings, which was what Regulus Black tried to achieve. The moment Sirius Black had left the door, he was a pile-up mess. Vile took over him and disgruntled clinging to his streams of cold blooded serpents. His set of dominoes was in the correct order, planned, then everything in went south along with her and inevitable aching soul.
Regulus could feel; anger, fury, desperation. He felt them crawling on his skin. As his hands swung the paintings off the wall, Slytherin banner tore to pieces. And he couldn't yell, Hades couldn't channel his fury or such demeanor in that house. He bit his lips, fists clenched and he had marked the wallpaper with his fist — red cherry as his blood leaked out of his tormented soul. He couldn't do anything to make it better, Sirius had left.
He left the house, he left him alone in circle of hell everyone else called home. Eyes pooling with tears he ran his fingers to his raven sea. Taking deep breaths as he peered at his reflection in the mirror. A tearless cry and fumbles came out of his lips. How such effortless beauty trapped a king of hell's soul?
It tormented his being for feeling lost, and left behind, it wasn't enough for being invisible. It went worse when the son of stars opened his eyes that someone cared about him. Sirius did. Though, he never properly showed it to him. He was the strings that kept Regulus relished the light within him. Then he just tossed him like a cheap coin.
Now that he left, Regulus felt the heavy crown of his own and the burden on his shoulder altogether. He just wished for a proper family, envying Rosier and his drunks uncles. They exchanged odd stories, suffocating in warmth. While he had to suffice with facade over facade, or Sirius tantrums playing muggle songs out loud, to damp the yells.
Regulus wanted to scream his skull off and yet, he couldn't. He darted to the torn pieces of the book, the piece of domino that started the effect. The one that started this puddling macabre, and he wanted to toss it to the fire. But then, why, oh, why did he found himself attached the book pieces by pieces. Why did he want the book to stay? Why did his gut want to do the other thing?
