phoenix ashes



I sat on the cold floor, waiting for something, anything, to happen. My breath was ragged, coming out in hoarse gasps. I clutched at the sudden stab of pain that seared through my side. My hand was now dripping with warm blood. The stone floor was frigid, burning like ice against my bare thighs. I had no knowledge of where I was. The room was too dark to see much of anything. I tried vainly to bring myself out of my crumpled fetal position, but was far too weak.
  Suddenly, I felt the frozen bite of cold metal crush into my hand. The vacuous room was filled with a sickening crunching noise. I would have vomitted right then if my stomach hadn't already been empty. I tried to scream between my dry heaves, but my cries were muffled by an icy hand against my mouth. My blood ran cold. I glanced up to the stolid figure forcing my silence. He smiled. A condescending, callous smile that did not reach his ruthless gray eyes. Gradually, he lifted his elaborate silver and black walking stick from my bleeding hand. I could no longer feel the injured digits. A malevolent sneer flickered across his features. I instantly became aware that nothing covered my prone figure but a thin silken shawl, now draped lazily over my left knee. Hastily, I snatched the scant garment and shielded my bare skin from his scrutinizing eyes. He scoffed at my modesty. It was then that I realized I was blushing.
  "Come," he demanded tersely, "it is time." He turned on his heels and stalked off into the blackness, his raven colored velvet cape floating behind him. I hastened to catch up with him, clutching the tiny piece of cloth around my shivering frame. I felt the sudden urge to ask where he was taking me, to demand that I be told why I had been brought to this godforsaken hole of darkness and blood. I bit my tongue.
  A pale blue flame glistened in the blackness, illuminating our drab surroundings. An elevated stone slab, splatted with crimson paint, hung in the air not three feet from the floor, hovering like a crude sort of altar. I chill ran down my spine and I realized that it was not crimson paint that adorned the stone sacriledge, but mortal blood. I swallowed the lump in my throat, now conscious of the dozens of others that had joined our company. Each one of these silent, looming figures was cloaked entirely in black, their emotionless eyes the only feature visible in the pale glow.
  The man's frozen hand touched the curve of my waist, gently stroking my blood stained form. He was so close to me that his long, white blond hair tickled my shoulders, despite the pain slicing through them. Two of the hooded apparitions appeared beside me suddenly, bearing a long, slender silver instrument attatched to a mishapen piece of metal, glistening with pale blue flame. I swallowed hard, realizing what was about to take place. Resolutely, I turned to my captor. He merely smiled at me, a bemused, patronizing smile. His icy fingers caressed my cheek.
"Such beauty," he mused, barely moving his lips. I couldn't help noticing that he himself posessed an eerie sort of beauty. His white blond locks were bound at the nape of his neck by an elegant black silk ribbon. His skin was a preternatural shade of ivory, his eyes an iridescent diamond blue. He was very beautiful indeed.
He yanked my wrist, rough and sudden, his grip strong enough to cut off the circulation.
"Glad to see you've finally come to your senses," he breathed, his malicious eyes surveying me. With a chilling half-smile, he retrieved the flaming brand from the masked devil who bore it and thrust it violently onto my forearm. The odor of singed flesh permeated the dank air. I fought to control my shrieks, fiercly wanting to appear stong before those mocking eyes. The fire bit into my skin, burning and freezing the blood in my veins. Finally, when I could no longer stand the pain, I emitted a piercing cry of pure pain, my body going limp. As my legs gave out beneath me, he held me firmly in place, possessing more strength in one arm than I could muster from my entire body.
After what seemed like hours, the brand was wrenched from my throbbing limb. The man let go of me and I crumpled to the floor, my trembling legs unable to hold my own weight. A chilling numbness washed over me. The threadbare cloth felt like ice against my shoulders. Dazed, I glanced about the room, pleading with the fates that this barbaric rite had come to an end.
The fates ignored my prayer.
A malicious glint in his colorless eyes, the blond man swaggered over to me, scooping up my shivering body in strong, unfeeling arms. A sick grin twisted his thin lips. The ritual was far from finished. He placed me gently on the stone slab, wrenching the shawl from my grasp. I pawed the air futilely, trying in vain to seize the garment as he tossed it to the floor.
"Now now," he scolded, "You don't have to make things so diffucult."
The mock tenderness returning, he stroked my cheek, his large finger tracing down the front of my exposed body, resting just above my apex.
"Exqusite," he breathed, drawing closer to me. I fought back the irrespressible urge to spit in his face. His eyes glinting, he slipped an icy finger into my womanhood, which, despite my disgust, was already responding to his touch. This was all a game to him. A cruel, sick game. I wanted both to kill him and succumb to him at the same time.
Abruptly, he jerked his fingers away, roughly pushing me backward onto the stone table. The frozen granite stung my naked back, sending shivers throughout my whole body. He laughed. Slowly, ceremoniously, he removed his cloaks, revealing the pale sculpted body of a pureblood adonis. I was vaguely reminded of muggle statues of their Greco-Roman gods, dazzingly in their glorious nudity. Despite his apathetic manner, his body made it quite obvious that he was taking pleasure from this ceremony.
Gracefully, he positioned himself on top of me and placed his lips against my own. I was astonished at the warmth and softness that met my mouth, enjoying the feeling of his nimble tongue in my parched oriface. His burning mouth traced over my whole body, nipping and biting.  To my horror, he drew blood from my left breast, lapping at the crimson liquid like a starved animal. I began to scream, but his hand flew to my mouth, stifling my cries. Any enjoyment I had been experiencing was forgotten. His free hand parted my thighs, yanking them roughly around his hips. I could feel his arousal throbbing against my thigh. I couldn't tell whether to be terrified or aroused.
He took my body swiftly and savagely, without caution or warning. A thousand images flashed through my mind. Why had I come here? Why had I agreed to this, why had I subjected myself to this kind of horror? And why, why in God's name, was I beginning to enjoy this? Enjoy the weight of his muscular body pinning me to the cold stone. Enjoy the long, whiteblond hair tickling my shoulders as his thrusts intensified. Enjoy the soft moans coming from his mouth...
Impulsively, I reached up and entwined my hands in his silky locks, placing a hard kiss on his breathless mouth. His eyes fluttered open, deep and silver, staring intently at me as we both came to a glorious climax.
I don't remember exactly what happened just then, but I soon found myself standing upright, freshly bathed and adorned in the ebony robes of a Death Eater. The crude scar left on my forearm seared with fiery pain. But I did not wince. Somehow, I was stronger now that I had been only moments before. Stronger than I had been in my entire life. I had been reborn. I fingered the ghastly mark that had been given to me, feeling nothing but pride at what I had accomplished. I was to part of something greater than any wizard on the face of the earth. I was to be part of a Dark Revolution, a revolution that would wipe out all those unfit to mold power and order out of softened chaos. I was beaming.
The blond man with whom I had shared this intimate ritual introduced himself to me as Lucius. Mister Lucius Malfoy, heir to great wealth and power. Old wizarding blood. Somehow, he seemed far less intimidating now. I told him my own name.
"Lovely," he mused. "Derived from an old world myth, is it not? One about a beautiful nymph, no?" I nodded in agreement, intrigued by his knowledge. Clearly, a connesiour of such luxuries.
"It suits you quite well. Well, Narcissa, I trust you will, at home, in the fold, I daresay?" His expression softened suddenly, his lips melding into the first real smile I had seen him show all evening. I returned the grin.
"Oh, I think I'll be just fine."

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