Post by Kamish on Dec 12, 2007 2:55:45 GMT -5
You're just trying to be yourself,
And it's harder than you expected,
You're just trying to be yourself,
Trying to stay unaffected.
^ This verse/part is perfect for that moment!
---
There was a sharp crack as she apparated in, covered from head to foot in black robes and a bone-pale mask hiding her face.
As soon as every part of her was there, she was trembling, hands clawing at the clothes. The dark material flew in all directions, fabric falling about her as though a whirlwind had torn them off.
The mask slammed audibly against the wall, and she sank to the dusty ground, shuddering and gripping her nude arms with white-knuckled fingers.
Ragged breaths began to come, sending searing pains through her chest -- or was that her heart breaking? --, and her brown eyes were shut tight. She drew her knees to her naked chest, rocking slowly, as though she wasn't entirely there.
'You're a terrible person.'
She shook her head, hysterically.
'Yes you are, you enjoyed that. You felt good, you felt strong.'
The voice was making too much sense to her.
Suddenly, she didn't feel like a nineteen-year-old woman, she felt like a five-year-old child.
'You watched those people die by your hand, and you enjoyed it. You're a monster. Why do you even claim that you want to help Dumbledore?'
She just trembled, not trying to deny the words.
She wanted Remus there, she wanted his arms around her, telling her that she wasn't a bad person.
She didn't deserve that. She was a bad person. She'd played her role in the little charade, but was it only a character she had to play? The laughter at the pain, as the Muggles writhed in agony, as they screamed in terror. That had come to easy.
'Monster. Murderer. Demon. Devil.'
She bit her lip, eyes blocking out the place she had run to.
She couldn't go home, not like this. She had come to the place that had once been home. When her parents died, she was left the house. The house she'd never set foot in, and never sold. The furniture was still there, in the same place.
And it was to this place, this place of pain, that she had come to see herself.
She sat, naked, in the living room, feeling more dead than alive. She sat, naked, while she felt cloaked in death and pain and sin. She felt as though she was being smothered by her own misdeeds, the sins, the murders.
'You knew this would happen, child, didn't you?'
She bit down harder.
'You knew you'd fall into this trap, but you thought you were stronger, strong enough to resist. You're a terrible person. You're as bad as them, you're as much one of them as any other.'
And as blood spilled down her chin, tears slipped down her cheeks.
"I'm a terrible person," she whispered, choked sobs breaking from her lips.
Alone in the tomb of her family life, she realised what she was.
"Murderer."
And it's harder than you expected,
You're just trying to be yourself,
Trying to stay unaffected.
^ This verse/part is perfect for that moment!
---
There was a sharp crack as she apparated in, covered from head to foot in black robes and a bone-pale mask hiding her face.
As soon as every part of her was there, she was trembling, hands clawing at the clothes. The dark material flew in all directions, fabric falling about her as though a whirlwind had torn them off.
The mask slammed audibly against the wall, and she sank to the dusty ground, shuddering and gripping her nude arms with white-knuckled fingers.
Ragged breaths began to come, sending searing pains through her chest -- or was that her heart breaking? --, and her brown eyes were shut tight. She drew her knees to her naked chest, rocking slowly, as though she wasn't entirely there.
'You're a terrible person.'
She shook her head, hysterically.
'Yes you are, you enjoyed that. You felt good, you felt strong.'
The voice was making too much sense to her.
Suddenly, she didn't feel like a nineteen-year-old woman, she felt like a five-year-old child.
'You watched those people die by your hand, and you enjoyed it. You're a monster. Why do you even claim that you want to help Dumbledore?'
She just trembled, not trying to deny the words.
She wanted Remus there, she wanted his arms around her, telling her that she wasn't a bad person.
She didn't deserve that. She was a bad person. She'd played her role in the little charade, but was it only a character she had to play? The laughter at the pain, as the Muggles writhed in agony, as they screamed in terror. That had come to easy.
'Monster. Murderer. Demon. Devil.'
She bit her lip, eyes blocking out the place she had run to.
She couldn't go home, not like this. She had come to the place that had once been home. When her parents died, she was left the house. The house she'd never set foot in, and never sold. The furniture was still there, in the same place.
And it was to this place, this place of pain, that she had come to see herself.
She sat, naked, in the living room, feeling more dead than alive. She sat, naked, while she felt cloaked in death and pain and sin. She felt as though she was being smothered by her own misdeeds, the sins, the murders.
'You knew this would happen, child, didn't you?'
She bit down harder.
'You knew you'd fall into this trap, but you thought you were stronger, strong enough to resist. You're a terrible person. You're as bad as them, you're as much one of them as any other.'
And as blood spilled down her chin, tears slipped down her cheeks.
"I'm a terrible person," she whispered, choked sobs breaking from her lips.
Alone in the tomb of her family life, she realised what she was.
"Murderer."